Mercedes Lackey - The Price Of Command

Kra’heera nodded. “It is said that war respects no one’s boundaries that are not guarded, and I can think of nothing that would bring those secret folk to us except war.”

Pot calling kettle black—a Shin’a‘in calling someone else secretive ! She hid her amusement, as they reached the door of the guest house, and the sentry (posted there any time there were guests) saluted her and opened it for them.

The guest house included a small common room, and there they found the first four of their visitors, seated at the table there. Somehow they had managed the seating so that no one had his back to the door. All four were sitting with military stiffness that they couldn’t seem to drop, even over four flagons of chilled ale.

They rose slowly to their feet, looking from her to the Shin’a’in and back with uncertainty; obviously, since she had no uniform or insignia they’d recognize, they had no idea who or what she was nor how to treat her. And the Shin’a’in, in their brightly embroidered vests and trappings of barbaric splendor had them severely puzzled. She ended their suspense, though not after a struggle with temptation. “I’m Captain Kerowyn,” she said in their own tongue, and accepted their belated attention and salutes with a nod. “These are my Shin’a’in cousins; I am the agent for their horses. What can we do for you?”

She watched them work that through—a mercenary Captain, who knew their language, related to the purportedly unfriendly Shin’a’in, who was also acting as a merchant-agent for those same unfriendly Shin’a’in, who were standing beside her with undisguised curiosity eating them alive. That was at least two outright contradictions and three real surprises.

“We’re here on behalf of Queen Selenay,” said the one with the most silver braid on his sleeves, a man about a decade older than the other three, and “military” from his teeth to his toenails. “We need cavalry mounts, good ones, horses we can depend on with very little training; while we normally wouldn’t seek this far for them, word has come as far as Valdemar of this fair. Everyone knows about the quality of the beasts the Shin’a’in breed, and it seemed more than worth our time to come here. While we ordinarily might not trust that these horses for sale were full Shin’a’in-bloods, the H—our information is that you are very honest and that the fair and the beasts are what rumor claims them. Our query with the Mercenary Guild supported that.”

She hadn’t missed his slip—he’d been about to say “the Heralds,” or even “the Herald Eldan.” She translated quickly for her cousins, trying to ignore the little thrill of elation that Eldan at least still thought well enough of her to call her “honest and fair.”

“Ask them how many they want,” Sa’dassan said, coming straight to the point.

“All you have,” one of the younger Guards said eagerly, when she repeated the question. “We saw them as we were coming in—the mounts your people were training with. Wonderful! We’ll take everything!”

The older man looked at him oddly, but didn’t contradict or reprimand him for speaking out of turn.

So that’s the one who holds the purse strings. The older one is in nominal command, but this is the important one. Hmm. Noble, younger son would be my guess, the other two are probably breeders or trainers, brought along as consultants. Right, now I know who’s what.

She explained her observations to her cousins, then turned back to the visitors. “This is where I put on my merchant hat,” she said, “Only it’s an odd sort of merchant hat, because I am not going to urge you to buy everything with legs in sight. First of all, only about half the horses here are Shin’a’in-blood, and of those, not all of them are going to be suitable for cavalry mounts. Yes, they’ve all been broken and given some training that involves fighting, but it may not be what you want. The Shin’a’in feel very strongly about their beasts; the name they call them means ‘younger sibs.’ If they think you’re going to put one horse to a task for which it isn’t suited, they won’t sell you any. ”

Purse-holder opened and shut his mouth twice, without saying anything. The One In Charge blinked, as if he was so surprised by her response that he wasn’t certain he’d heard it right.

“And in any event, these are light beasts; good for skirmishers, horse-archers and light cavalry. So, has Valdemar ever run any troops like that before so that you know what to look for?” She waited for a response; the One In Charge gave it.

“Not in the standing army, no,” he admitted. “Some of the nobles on the Border have private troops like that; no one else. That’s why we came here for the mounts.”

She nodded, and translated. Kra’heera put in his own discoveries. “I have been watching their minds, cousin. The one who speaks out of turn is a wealthy man of highborn, who breeds the Ashkevron hunters and heavy horses. The ones who do not speak are trainers of skirmishers. The one who speaks much is a warleader. It is as he has said—and these are fighters they wish now to have. He has not told you why. There is to be fighting upon their eastern border, and soon, he thinks. Very, very serious fighting.”

Kero nodded; there had been rumors about conflict between Valdemar and Hardorn, but since Karse was between Hardorn and any potential client, and Valdemar never hired mercenaries, she hadn’t paid much attention to the rumors.

This might involve more for us than just selling horses. If Hardorn is starting a major war and wins, they’ll be on Rethwellan’s border, and that means we get involved. Another thought occurred to her. Just because Valdemar hasn’t hired mercs in the past, that doesn’t mean they won’t start.

“Troops like that aren’t trained in a day,” she warned. “It took us ten years to get where we are. Most standing armies don’t bother—but if you’re sure of the need—?”

Purse-holder nodded, and he wasn’t entirely happy about the need being there, either.

“Well, if you’ll trust my judgment on what beasts will suit you,” she told him, “I think we can come to the bargaining table.”

Purse-holder tapped One In Charge on the shoulder, and they spent a moment in huddled conference. One In Charge finally turned back toward her and nodded.

“Is this all right with you?” she asked her cousins. They looked at each other, then Sa’dassan shrugged. “We had rather our younger-sibs did not go to war, but if they go to hands that will care for them, they are as safe as may be in this world. It is well.”

“All right, gentlemen,” she said, waving to the cousins to precede her. “If you’ll follow me, we can expedite this transaction as quickly as even you might want.”

Sa’dassan weighed the first of three heavy pouches in her hand as she held the other two in the crook of one arm. She smiled, watching as the last of the Valdemaran horse-handlers urged a straggler to catch up with the rest of the herd and out past the corrals. Kero coughed at the dust they raised, and quirked her eyebrow at the Shin’a’in trainer. “Well, they certainly paid enough. Are you content, cousin?”

“More than content,” Sa’dassan said with certainty. “Kra’heera has kept watch on their minds. Their ruler is a good one; this, their Queen, has sold some of her wedding gifts to give to these men, that they might purchase the best mounts they could find. She thinks first of her people, their lands, and their beasts, and only then of herself.”

“That’s what I’d heard from El—from a Herald I knew,” Kero said, hastily avoiding Eldan’s name. “I didn’t know whether to believe it or not, frankly. You know, if all monarchs took care of their people that way, there might be fewer wars.”