Mercedes Lackey - Fiddler Fair (anthology)

Chali decided that it was wiser not to disturb them for now, and slipped away so quietly that they never knew she had been there.

The scout for Clan Skaht slipped into the encampment with the evening breeze and went straight to the gathering about Chief’s fire. His prairiecat had long since reported their impending arrival, so the raidleaders had had ample time to gather to hear him.

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” Daiv Mahrtun of Skaht announced, sinking wearily to the bare earth across the fire from his Chief. “The good news is that these Dirtmen look lazy and ripe for the picking—the bad news is that they’ve got traders with ’em, so the peace-banners are up. And I mean to tell you, they’re the weirdest damn traders I ever saw. Darker than any Ehleenee—dress like no clan I know—and—” He stopped, not certain of how much more he wanted to say—and if he’d be believed.

Tohnee Skaht snorted in disgust, and spat into the fire. “Dammit anyway—if we break trade-peace—”

“Word spreads fast,” agreed his cousin Jahn. “We may have trouble getting other traders to deal with us if we mount a raid while this lot’s got the peace-banners up.”

There were nearly a dozen clustered about the firepit; men and a pair of women, old and young—but all of them were seasoned raiders, regardless of age. And all of them were profoundly disappointed by the results of Daiv’s scouting foray.

“Which ­traders?” Tohnee asked after a long ­moment of thought. “Anybody mention a name or a clan you recognized?”

Daiv shook his head emphatically. “I tell you, they’re not like any lot I’ve ever seen or heard tell of. They got painted wagons, and they ain’t the big tradewagons; more, they got whole families, not just the menfolk—and they’re horsetraders.”

Tohnee’s head snapped up. “Horse—”

“Before you ask, I mindspoke their horses.” This was a perfect opening for the most disturbing of Daiv’s discoveries. “This oughta curl your hair. The horses wouldn’t talk to me. It wasn’t ’cause they couldn’t, and it wasn’t ’cause they was afraid to. It was like I was maybe an enemy—was surely an outsider, and maybe not to be trusted. Whoever, whatever these folks are, they got the same kind of alliance with their horses as we have with ours. And that’s plainly strange.”

“Wind and Sun—dammit Daiv, if I didn’t know you, I’d be tempted to call you a liar!” That was Dik Krooguh, whose jaw was hanging loose with total astonishment.

“Do the traders mindspeak?” Tohnee asked at nearly the same instant.

“I dunno,” Daiv replied, shaking his head, “I didn’t catch any of ’em at it, but that don’t mean much. My guess would be they do, but I can’t swear to it.”

“I think maybe we need more facts—” interrupted Alis Skaht. “If they’ve got horse-brothers, I’d be inclined to say they’re not likely to be a danger to us—but we can’t count on that. Tohnee?”

“Mm,” he nodded. “Question is, how?”

“I took some thought to that,” Daiv replied. “How about just mosey in open-like? Dahnah and I could come in like you’d sent us to trade with ’em.” Dahnah was Daiv’s twin sister; an archer with no peer in the clan, and a strong mindspeaker. “We could hang around for a couple of days without making ’em too suspicious. And a pair of Horseclan kids doin’ a little dickerin ain’t gonna make the Dirtmen too nervous. Not while the peace-banners are up.”

Tohnee thought that over a while, as the fire cast weird shadows on his stony face. “You’ve got the sense to call for help if you end up needing it—and you’ve got Brighttooth and Stubtail backing you.”

The two young prairiecats lounging at Daiv’s side purred agreement.

“All right—it sounds a good enough plan to me,” Tohnee concluded, while the rest of the sobered clansfolk nodded, slowly. “You two go in at first morning light and see what you can find. And I know I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but I’m telling you anyway.

Howard Thomson, son of “King” Robert Thomson, was distinctly angered. His narrow face was flushed, always a bad sign, and he’d been drinking, which was worse. When Howard drank, he thought he owned the world. Trouble was, he was almost right, at least in this little corner of it. His two swarthy merc-­bodyguards were between Kevin and the doors.

Just what I didn’t need, Kevin thought bleakly, taking care that nothing but respect showed on his face, a damn-fool touchy idiot with a brat’s disposition tryin’ to put me between a rock and a hard place.

“I tell you, my father sent me expressly to fetch him that blade, boy.” Howard’s face was getting redder by the minute, matching his long, fiery hair. “You’d better hand it over now, before you find yourself lacking a hand.”

I’ll just bet he sent you, Kevin growled to himself, Sure he did. You just decided to help yourself, more like—and leave me to explain to your father where his piece went, while you deny you ever saw me before.

But his outwardly cool expression didn’t change as he replied, stolidly, “Your pardon, but His Highness gave me orders that I was to put it into no one’s hands but his. And he hasn’t sent me written word telling me any different.”

Howard’s face enpurpled as Kevin obliquely reminded him that the Heir couldn’t read or write. Kevin waited for the inevitable lightning to fall. Better he should get beaten to a pulp than that King Robert’s wrath fall on Ehrik and Keegan, which it would if he gave in to Howard. What with Keegan being pregnant—better a beating. He tensed himself and waited for the order.

Except that, just at the moment when Howard was actually beginning to splutter orders to his two merc-bodyguards to take the blacksmith apart, salvation, in the form of Petro and a half-dozen strapping jippos came strolling through the door to the smithy. They were technically unarmed, but the long knives at their waists were a reminder that this was only a technicality.

“Sarishan, gajo,” he said cheerfully. “We have brought you your pony—”

Only then did he seem to notice the Heir and his two bodyguards.

“Why, what is this?” he asked with obviously feigned surprise. “Do we interrupt some business?”

Howard growled something obscene—if he started something now he would be breaking trade-peace, and no trader would deal with him or his family again without an extortionate bond being posted. For one moment Kevin feared that his temper might get the better of him anyway, but then the young man pushed past the jippos at the door and stalked into the street, leaving his bodyguards to follow as they would.

Kevin sagged against his cold forge, only now breaking into a sweat. “By all that’s holy, man,” he told Petro earnestly, “your timing couldn’t have been better! You saved me from a beatin’, and that’s for damn sure!”

“Something more than a beating,” the jippo replied, slowly, “—or I misread that one. I do not think we will sell any of our beasts there, no. But—” he grinned suddenly “—we lied, I fear. We did not bring the pony—we brought our other wares.”

“You needed six men to carry a bit of copperwork?” Kevin asked incredulously, firmly telling himself that he would not begin laughing hysterically out of ­relief.

“Oh no—but I was not of a mind to carry back horseshoes for every beast in our herd by myself! I am rom baro, not a packmule!”

Kevin began laughing after all, laughing until his sides hurt.