Red Country Read Free Page B

Confederacy is a balance,” I said, “and Everran is its fulcrum. Estar, Hazghend, Quarred, Holym. Whoever has Everran’s support can tip the balance. And Quarred has always wanted to rule the Confederacy.”
    â€œAnd so?”
    It was just like our old discussions, except that now the examples, and the consequences, would be real. I thought aloud to the ram horns on the big red seal.
    â€œAnd so the clever way is to arrive before Everran falls apart or any other Confederate takes us over, and offer me ‘protection’—in effect, annex me. Make Everran a province, and me a puppet queen.”
    He smiled his cold, keen smile. “You were right, princess. I could teach you to think like me.”
    So the embassy took back a note as flowery and euphemistic as their own, with grateful thanks for Quarred’s offer of support; promises, should need arise, to call on them first; and a query, with many delicate circumlocutions, on whether they wished to forego the Raskelf pastures that year . If, in your opinion, the flocks are in the slightest danger, we shall be more than willing to agree.
    At which Kastir smiled again and said, “The sweet way to say, if you badger me, I’ll tread on your toes. Deny you your pasture, which is more important than ambitions to lead the Confederacy. Quite right, princess. Aim low.”
    * * * * * *
    For the rest of winter I was busy traveling over Everran, and shearing away the business of tradition that had made those royal progresses as slow and conspicuous and predictable as the coming of the rains. I meant to be quick, unexpected, and anticipate my messenger’s word. There was pleasure in the achievement. By spring, there was greater pleasure in feeling the Resh-lords settle back into docility, like a team that has just, at the back of the mind, contemplated rebellion when they first feel a new hand on the reins.
    It was in spring that the Lyngthirans struck.
    They too had heard the news, Everran’s king dead in his prime, his heir an eighteen-year-old girl. They are nomads who move with the grass and the herds, and now a good season in Stiriand had brought them south to the banks of the Kemreswash, whence it is an easy step, after the floods subside, into Stiriand Resh. They came in force, five or six tribes’ worth of horsemen thrown across the river in a night, whisking back with the vineyards and grainfields alight behind them, the gold and silver in their saddlebags and the women tied across their saddle-bows, showing me, for the first time, that I was fettered by more than the past.
    â€œWhy not?” I demanded of Kastir, who sat immoveable by the fireplace while I ramped about the audience hall. “I don’t have to wave a sword to lead an army! I’m the head, not the fist.”
    â€œShall we consider the facts?” he said. “How far can you ride in a day?”
    â€œForty—fifty miles, if I must!”
    â€œAnd the second day?”
    â€œThe same!”
    â€œAnd the third?”
    We looked at each other. Facts are facts. They cannot be denied for delusion, or desire, or even pride.
    â€œI’ll be in the base camp,” I said.
    He studied the floor-tiles, rose and jade green, Harran’s harp superimposed on Everran’s shield and vine.
    â€œCan you use a sword?”
    â€œI can use a bow!”
    â€œAnd a shield? Could you use one of the big phalanx shields as they should be used, to push a man backward, knock in his teeth, stun him with a hit under the chin, break his kneecap?”
    â€œI shall be in the camp!”
    â€œA postulation, then.” He eyed the rosewood roofbeams. “The Lyngthirans circle to make a rear attack. One of their favorite tactics. If they strike the camp by night, in the melee, how will you fare? If you are killed, how will Everran fare?”
    Nerthor had inherited his father’s post of chamberlain. He came softly in with a fresh jug of