The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [105]
“It’s about time,” Enj put in. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been trouble between us already. An unmarked border’s a dangerous border.”
“So they always say,” Kov said. “I suppose we can thank the Horsekin threat for the lack of trouble. This is no time for allies to start bickering among themselves.”
“Just so.” Garin sighed and looked away. “I hate traveling, these days, but Voran specifically asked for me, so I can’t get out of it. We’ll meet in Gwingedd.”
“Voran himself?” Enj said. “I would have thought a herald would—”
“This matter is too grave to leave to the heralds,” Garin interrupted him. “Voran’s been newly appointed Justiciar of the Northern Border.”
“Um, what?” Enj said. “What does that mean?”
“Anything he wants it to, I wager.” Garin smiled, as sly as a bargaining merchant. “Whatever power he can gather, whatever teeth he can put into the new law.”
“I see,” Kov said. “Then knowing Voran, I’d say it’s going to amount to a very important position indeed.”
Not just the Mountain Folk, but everyone in Dun Cengarn, and especially its gwerbret, had been wondering about this new post of justiciar as well. While they waited, Prince Daralanteriel had been inquiring about the exact meaning of the term, but neither Lord Oth nor the priests of Bel in Cengarn’s own temple could give him much information.
“It’s a new post that the high king’s invented,” Dar told his curious vassals at an impromptu council. “Cerrgonney has no gwerbretion, you see, so it needs some sort of legal officer. Voran will be able to try criminals and adjudicate feuds and disputes, just like a gwerbret, but his post won’t pass from father to son. The king wants someone who owes fealty directly to him rather than drawing his power from a holding of land.”
“But is it just for Cerrgonney, Your Highness?” Gerran said. “I thought the title was Justiciar of the Northern Border.”
“It is indeed.” Dar paused for a sly grin. “And Ridvar’s very aware that Arcodd stretches along the northern border for a good long way.”
“What’s east of Cerrgonney?” Mirryn asked.
Everyone turned to look at Salamander, who shrugged. “Not much,” the gerthddyn said. “Mountains, mostly. I’ve always assumed that Mountain Folk lived in them, but you know, now that you mention it, I’m not sure if they do or not.”
No one else knew, either. They were all sitting in the warm sunlight down in the meadow below Cengarn’s grim cliffs. The Westfolk had raised their tents and made a proper camp along the river’s edge among the scattered trees. On the other side of the ford, their horses grazed at tether.
“From what I hear about Cerrgonney,” Dar continued, “Voran will have more than enough trouble to occupy him without worrying about the eastern hills.”
“Or about us,” Calonderiel said. “Which gladdens my heart. As long as their own territories keep them busy, the cursed Roundears won’t be trying to take ours.” He glanced at Gerran and Mirryn. “No offense meant to our allies, of course.”
“Of course.” Dar rolled his eyes. “Your son has turned out to be a fine herald. He must have gotten his tact from his mother.”
“Actually, Rhodda didn’t have any, either.” Cal grinned at the prince. “The lad grew up listening to us fight, and I think that’s what made him decide to be a peaceable man.”
“Well, once Voran gets here, Maelaber’s going to have plenty of official work to do,” Dar went on. “And I hope Voran gets here soon. We don’t have a lot of grain left, and the first harvest won’t come in for some weeks yet.”
Fortunately, Voran arrived in the middle of the next afternoon, accompanied by a retinue of officials and servants and a warband of seventy-five riders. They had brought supplies with them from Dun Deverry, a good thing, as Lord Oth remarked, considering how many of them there were. Except for an honor guard of ten, the warband camped out in the meadows with the Westfolk archers, but the officials had to be accommodated in the dun itself.
The two princes and the gwerbret seated themselves at the honor table while the