A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [38]
At that precise moment, just like an omen sent by the gods, servants began running toward the gates and shouting in welcome. With an enormous rumble and clatter, ox cart after ox cart pulled into the ward, and from her high perch Bellyra could see that they were loaded to the brim with rough-smelted iron ingots. All round swarmed mounted riders, some mercenary troop, she supposed, hired to guard this precious cargo on its long, slow journey down from the north, She felt her heart pounding as she rose.
“O dear Goddess, do let it be an omen. It would be a splendid one, coming just like that. O dear Goddess, I do want to live to grow up.”
She felt the tears pressing behind her eyes, hot and shameful. With a toss of her head she willed them away and ran for the door and the staircase. She should be in the great hall to welcome the merchants who’d brought her this treasure, she decided, be there and smile upon them and show them her favor, so they’d feel well rewarded beyond the coin her chamberlain would pay over.
By the time she reached the great hall, Tieryn Elyc, Lord Tammael the chamberlain, the seneschal, and the two stewards were already standing round the table of honor, up on the dais, with three merchants in checked brigga, two quite young, the other very old indeed, with a mop of thick white hair and a face as lined as an old burlap sack. Since everyone was arguing about paying for the iron no one noticed her make her entrance. Down on the floor of the hall servants rushed frantically round, trying to assemble enough ale tankards for the mercenary troop as the men strode in, laughing and talking, each with a dagger hilt made of silver gleaming at his belt. Bellyra hovered uncertainly behind Tieryn Elyc and waited for a chance to deliver her speech of thanks until, at last, the old merchant happened to look her way.
“Ah, the Princess of the Blood, no doubt,” he said with an amazingly deep and agile bow. “I do have the honor of addressing Bellyra of Cerrmor, do I not?”
“You do, good sir.” Bellyra drew herself up to full height and held out her hand for him to kiss. “You have our royal thanks for the risk you’ve run to bring us this black iron more precious than shining gold.”
“Your Highness is welcome from the bottom of my heart.”
Bellyra was annoyed to see Elyc smiling again, but the old man didn’t seem to notice.
“And your name, good sir?”
“My name, Your Highness, contains a jest, but it’s a name nonetheless. It’s Nevyn.”
“Just like the sorcerer!” She blushed, hating herself for blurting like a child. “I mean, I’ve read of a sorcerer with that name.”
Elyc was downright laughing at her by then, and she decided she hated him, too, loyal regent or not.
“You’ll forgive the princess, good sir.” He stepped forward to take command of the situation. “She’s a bit young for her position, truly, and—”
“Too young? Oh, she’s not that, Your Grace, but unusually attentive to her lessons, I’d say. I’ve read the same book myself, I’ll wager, because there was indeed a sorcerer named Nevyn who once lived in this very city—or so I heard.” He gave Bellyra a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps that’s why my mother gave me that name, Your Highness, because it was famous in its own small way.”
Elyc arranged a polite smile. Nevyn bowed and made room for the two young merchants to continue their earnest talk of due recompense. Bellyra could only hope that the treasury held enough silver to pay them; she rather doubted it. By then the royal warband was piling into the hall to see what all the excitement was about. Even though it was early in the spring, some of the lords faithful to Cerrmor had already brought their warbands to court, and they too appeared, the noble-born sitting down at tables on the dais, their men finding places on the lower level. Bellyra collared a couple of pages and told them to run tell Cook to get some sort of refreshments for the noble-born and to find the cellarer and fetch another barrel of ale for the warbands. As they trotted off she noticed that Elyc had left the discussion