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A Trading Expedition

Seldom do the silent
Speak foolishly

"Grandfather. Hall. You come."

Kiron lowered his bow, turned. The words were Tengu, the accent reasonably good, the speaker about seven. He replied, slowly, in the same language.

"I will come now. Thank you."

Harald was sitting at one end of the hall, his daughter beside him. On the table a small wooden cage. Nearer, Kiron could see a gray pigeon inside, fast asleep.

"From a friend of yours."

The paper was as thin as gold foil.

"Isk held Santio. Self to cover G.B. K. knows pig. A."

Kiron thought a moment.

"You sent the bird back with Artos?"

"For emergencies. Two weeks ride from here."

"Father's being held in the summer palace; that must mean Grandfather . . ."

"Is moving against him. Probably both of them. Wonder what the plan was if the attacks worked."

"He can't. Not unless he plans to bring out one of his bastards."

"Doesn't want to cut the princes' heads off, just make clear who's Emperor. Lock them up while he's busy, out if they ask nicely enough. Might buy him ten years—maybe all he's got anyway."

"I don't think Father . . ."

"Was planning to give him ten years. Neither was your uncle. Been playing them against each other for years; they decided to change the game. So did he."

"But why . . . ?"

"Send to me? Enemy's enemy is friend—for a while. Know what pig he's talking about?"

"That part is easy. The Commander's gone to cover in the Golden Boar. It's a big tavern in the capital, regular warren. Legionaries, twenty-year men, not many officers. Giorgios took me there twice. The manager is a friend of his."

Caralla looked up.

"Go as traders, find Artos, give him a hand?"

Harald nodded.

"You've never been to the Western Capital. Worth seeing."

He turned to Kiron.

"Can you tell Cara where the Golden Boar is, how she can get in touch with the Commander, maybe your friend's friend?"

Kiron thought a moment.

"He won't trust a stranger—especially not a woman. I'll go. If I have your leave. Give my word to come back."

"Up to you; your father's paid most of the ransom, good for the rest, may need you. Always welcome."

Two days later, they were on the road. As the line of loaded horses and mules moved up to the pass, Caralla went over details.

"First question is who is what. Mostly by age and language. Tengu is your birth tongue—can you tell where I'm from?"

"You don't talk like a highborn, but most people don't. If I heard you on the street I wouldn't think twice."

"What about Gudmund?"

"He sounds more foreign. A lot of people from the provinces learn Tengu second. Like that."

"What about you? Can you talk so you fit in with us?"

"Speaking highborn in the wrong place is stupid. In a tavern, I talk like Giorgios, or close. Easy."

"Remember to do it. Gudmund is the trader; I'm his wife. You don't look like us so you're my sister's boy. Rest of Gudmund's decade gives us five guards, four drivers. Poor traders—no servants. Guards are easy—cats. Erik is Gudmund's second and speaks some Tengu, so he can be guard captain. The rest, decide who's what for yourselves. Problems?"

One of the younger cats spoke.

"Suppose I'm a driver. Not from the Vales, what am I? Don't speak much Tengu."

"Good question. We want drivers from somewhere edge of beyond, nobody recognizes what they look like, how they talk. Kiron?"

"Northeast, beyond Belkhan? Lots of hill tribes."

"What do they call themselves?"

"Damned if I know."

Caralla thought a moment. "Drivers are Vlathi. Somewhere past Belkhan. Can't meet any others—aren't any. Need a language, Plains talk, Fox dialect, hope nobody knows it. Mostly, don't talk if anyone can hear. Drivers out of armor tonight. Tomorrow, we're a trading caravan, Vales to Western Capital, wool."

The second night, at Cloud's Eye, they met a westbound caravan. Gudmund—renamed Gudion—paid a brief visit, exchanged news, returned to share with wife, nephew, chief guard.

"Grain, beans, everything high. Long wait at the ferry. More than the usual griping. Sounds like he's started moving. Supplies, shipping. No word on troops."

"Send word to Harald?"

Caralla shook her head.

"He'll hear from the caravan. What he expects."

Kiron looked curious, said nothing. She explained.

"Princes went after barbarians, got beat. Maybe glorious Emperor will show how, earn triumph himself. Not to repeat, Nevvy—traders safer out of politics. Lot of beans, grain, for an army, less for us. River down, may ford instead. Save wait, save ferry fee."

Two days later, the last hour of light brought them past hostel, campground, caravans, to make camp a mile up the north road. The next morning Kiron woke early. Caralla and Gudmund—Gudion and Karia, mother's sister and her husband—asleep at the other side of the tent. He rolled out of the low bed to the ground, stood up, went out. Stopped. There was a familiar figure bent over the fire pit.

"What are you doing here?"

"Starting the fire. Want to help, fetch some dead wood. Should have been done last night. Need someone can look farther than a warm bed."

"Where did you come from?"

"Haraldholt, like the rest of you. Couple of miles behind through the pass. Cut north above the hostel through the woods—'Liana made me a map. Hope Niall marries her. Nice to have an aunt who doesn't try to order me around."

Caralla came out of the tent behind Kiron. "Lot of good it ever did. Does Father know you're here?"

"Does Grandfather know which side of the mountains the sun comes up?"

"Meaning you didn't tell him."

"Gerda would have said I couldn't, made Grandfather pretend to try to stop me. Easier this way." Asbjorn turned back to the fire, blew gently. Kiron went off in search of firewood.

Three weeks and several hundred miles later, Asbjorn spoke in a hushed tone.

"Now that's a river."

"East and west branches join at Sarga, eighty miles upstream. If a raindrop falls in the mountains, east range or west, this is where it goes. Right by the golden wall."

Kiron pointed downstream, where the low sun of late afternoon lit up the capital's river wall.

"Going to tell me it's made of gold?"

"If I thought you would believe it. It's yellow stone from quarries southwest of here. The summer palace is built into the hole in the mountain that wall came out of."

"It's high."

"Ten times a man's height. All the way around the city."

"Have to siege it. How wide's the river?"

"Hundred yards, maybe more."

"Easy for bows, big rock throwers. One camp up stream, one down, no boats get by. Lot of people inside the wall—wait till they get hungry. Take a big army though."

"Took Konstantin the Great twenty legions, a two-year siege. A hundred years ago, nearly. Now it's ours."

"When you children finish sieging the Western Capital you might help the men set up the tents, stake out the animals. Too far to make the south gate tonight."

"Yes, Mother." Asbjorn almost sounded as if he meant it.

By twilight the work was done, the little caravan quiet. In the trader's tent, Caralla spoke quietly to Kiron.

"In tonight, try to find the Commander. Tell him we're here to help if he wants us to. City's hard to miss—can you find your way back in the dark?"

"I think so. If not I can wait till dawn."

"Something goes wrong, we might try sending someone after you. Can you tell us how to find the Golden Boar, get word to your friends?"

"It's in the barracks quarter—no barracks any more since they expanded the keep, but it's still popular with the legions. South gate is closed at dark but the little gate next to it is open all night, always a trickle in and out. Follow the road north till it joins the road of triumphs—built so a legion can march down it ten men across. Keep going north past two arches, then the barracks road goes left—maybe half as wide, still big. Red paving stones if there's enough light to see. Ends in a big square, statues, arches. It gets messy after that—west of the square you're in a tangle, used to be barracks, not too safe at night. Best go around. You might want to ask someone. The Boar is the biggest tavern in the quarter; everyone knows it. Niko runs it, friend of Giorgios."

Caralla put down the stylus, read back the directions, folded the tablet. Kiron looked once around the tent, pulled his cloak around him, picked up lantern and firebox, went out into the night.

Asbjorn was waiting; they moved off into the dark, spoke in whispers.

"It isn't like hunting in the mountains. I know the city, you don't."

"Why you have to go—besides, he doesn't know me. No reason you can't have someone to watch your back. Night before last you were talking about how dangerous parts of the city get after dark. Your friend isn't hidden as well as he thinks he is, might be watchers. Wear my hair like the boys we saw last week—nobody worries about kids. Servant to carry your lantern."

Three hours later it occurred to Kiron that he might have to follow his own advice—if he could find someone to ask. The narrow street past the south wall of the massive building that had once lodged a legion bent left instead of right. Whatever the streets, he knew the general direction of the Boar, cut right down something even narrower. An open space, bounded by blank walls. Footsteps behind them.

The larger held a heavy staff; the light from the lantern glanced from the iron-bound end. The smaller, a few steps back, had something in his right hand.

"No trouble, no blood. Give us what you've got, see dawn. Or not."

The servant carrying the lantern dropped it with a clank, backed off, vanished into the shadows. The man with the staff spoke without turning.

"Don't bother. Time he finds help around here, we're long gone."

Trust looked an even worse gamble than fighting; Kiron's hand slid under his cloak, reached the dagger hilt next his purse. "Yes sir. No trouble."

The smaller man jerked his head up and back, as if to look at something above him, collapsed with an odd gurgling noise. The other stepped back from Kiron, half turned. The figure standing where his companion had stood stepped forward, caught the staff left-handed, pulled as its owner pushed. The man grunted, buckled, fell to the ground, lay still. Asbjorn picked the lantern back up; it was still burning.

"Told you it wasn't safe alone. Best out before someone else shows up."

He leaned over one of the bodies, carefully wiped his dagger blade, sheathed it.

The second time Kiron guessed right; five minutes more brought them to a door, a gold pig crudely painted above.

Inside was a tangle of rooms, smell of smoke, sweat, beer. They got lost twice before Kiron found his way to the central hall, sat down at one of the tables. Asbjorn squatted beside him.

"Beer a tenth bit, dinner two for you, one for the boy."

"Beer now, dinner later. Can you take a message to Niko?"

The woman looked at Kiron. "Who from?"

"Friend of a friend."

"Name? Niko's busy this time of night."

"Friend of his friend Giorgios."

"Friend of Giorgios. Right." She moved off, leaving a pitcher and one mug behind her. Kiron filled, drained, refilled, passed the mug down. Asbjorn took it without looking, continued to watch the room.

Half an hour later, a big man, gray, limping a little, made his round of the tables, stopping at some to exchange a few words. When he reached theirs he looked down at Kiron.

"Thena said a friend of Giorgios. Look familiar."

"I'm looking for another friend of Giorgios. Very old friend. I heard he was staying here. Quietly."

"What do I tell the friend of your friend who might be staying here, supposing I see him?"

"Tell him the boy who knows the pig is home, looking for him."

"The boy who knows the pig. Come to the right place." Niko drifted off, stopped at two more tables, vanished through a door.

It was almost dawn before they got back to the camp. While they were talking with the cat on guard, Caralla joined them. Kiron spoke softly:

"He wouldn't let me see the Commander. Either he isn't really there or he's afraid someone might be spying on him—or me. But Niko took a note, brought one back. He'll meet us at a place I know from hunting, a couple of miles from the walls. Half an hour after dark."

Moonlight in the clearing, three figures. Artos stood still trying to make them out. One stepped forward:

"Commander. The Lady Caralla ni Leonor, her companion Gudmund Ottarson."

He nodded, remained silent, looking curiously at the two strangers. The tall Lady spoke.

"Came about a bird; Father thought you could maybe use a hand. The Most Noble wanted to come along; brought him."

"Kind of you. Hand with what?"

"His father might want to be somewhere other than where he is at the moment."

A figure stepped out of the shadows, spoke to Caralla in the vales tongue, too quickly for Artos to follow. A boy. No. The Lady turned back to him.

"Any friends following you?"

Artos shook his head.

"Then not friends. Two. We'll deal with it."

She turned back to the young man, said something. He vanished into the trees.

"What sort of help?"

"Father thought finding safe people might be a problem; the Old Man's no fool. Not a problem for us. Brought a decade of cats, my nephew, the Most Noble. You want him out, see what we can do."

"May I take council with the Most Noble?"

The Lady nodded. "Quarter hour do it? We don't plan to be here much longer than that."

He nodded. The Lady and her companion stepped out of the clearing, vanished. Artos moved to the center; Kiron joined him. The two spoke quietly.

"The Lady?"

"Daughter of Harald and the Lady Commander, Order captain. Harald said she drove Gavin back across the river; I think he meant it."

"How did they get here?"

"Small caravan, some cats guards, some drivers. Quiet trip."

"Do you trust them?"

Kiron hesitated. "Haraldholt was strange—more like visiting a big family than prisoner in an enemy hold. Some day, peace, Father doesn't need me a while, I'll go back. He's clever, might have fooled me, but I talked with the children, watched them. Good people. Wouldn't help us if he didn't think it helped him, but I think you can trust him. Them."

"Emperor is moving in force against the Karls. Harald knows or guesses. If we can get your father free, west of the low pass where our people are, one more thing for the Emperor to worry about. The more things he has to worry about, happier Harald is."

"Do we do it?"

"For His Highness to decide. I have someone in the palace. For now, we go with them."

 

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