The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [114]
“Not Horsekin but Gel da’Thae,” the prince said. “Remember that. It’s very important.”
“Very well, Your Highness, my apologies.”
Blushing again, the page backed out of the chamber and shut the door behind him.
“Do get up,” the prince said. “That floor looks more than a little uncomfortable.”
“My thanks, Your Highness.” Laz rose and wiped the clinging straws from the knees of his brigga.
“Have a chair.” One of the Mountain men, who was sitting at the very end of the table, shoved a chair Laz’s way with one foot. “You come highly recommended, loremaster, in the letter Exalted Mother Grallezar sent about you. Cursed good thing you’re here, too. My name’s Brel, son of Brellio, by the by, and I’m the avro of my lot.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the other man of the Mountain Folk. “This is Envoy Garin.”
Laz bowed to them both and took the chair. As he sat down, he noticed that the prince was holding a flat leather bag in his lap. He recognized it as a Gel da’Thae dispatch rider’s bag. The prince passed it to Brel, who gave it to Laz. As Laz took it, he realized that dry blood crusted the flap. The dispatch rider had apparently not given it over willingly.
“I’m hoping you can read the letters inside for us,” Voran said.
“So am I, Your Highness,” Laz said.
The jest brought him a royal grin. Fortunately, the reading turned out to be quite straightforward. When Laz unfolded the two letters inside the bag, he discovered they’d been written in a common scribal hand.
“As far as I can tell from the remnants of these wax seals, Your Highness,” Laz began, “the letters come from a commander of a regiment of mounted warriors. I can’t tell which one, thanks to their being shattered, but I don’t suppose it would matter now, with everything so changed in the cities.”
“Probably it doesn’t, indeed,” Voran said. “Read them out.”
“To Burc, King of the Free Boars of the North,” Laz began then stopped when all three of his listeners swore aloud.
“King, is it?” Voran said. “Well, he’s got his gall, but then, we could have assumed that. You may continue, Laz.”
Laz did so. “Prataen, warleader of the Second—” He hesitated over an unusual use of a word. “Warleader of the Second Horde sends his greetings.”
“Do you recognize that name?” Brel interrupted.
“I don’t, sir,” Laz said. “It looks more Horsekin than Gel da’Thae, however, as does the use of horde instead of regiment.”
“Would you stop interrupting him?” Envoy Garin glared at Brel. “Do continue reading, good loremaster.”
“Very well. I am sending you my last squad of men who understand fortifications—”
“They never reached the Boar dun.” Brel glared right back at Garin. “That’s why we have the letters.”
“Who understand fortifications,” Laz picked up the thread again. “Once your compound has been made ready, we will send a hundred men and wagons with supplies to maintain them. Please send me messengers once your walls are strengthened, so I may know to get these reinforcements on their way.” Laz lowered the parchment and glanced at his listeners. “That’s the first letter, Your Highness, and good sirs.”
“Ye gods!” Prince Voran slammed both hands down on the table in front of him and made the candle flames dance in their lanterns. “That’s clear proof of treachery. I think we can assume that demanding the surrender of the Boar dun is well within our rights.”
“Just so, Your Highness,” Garin said with a nod his way.
Laz wondered if the lack of such evidence would have changed their minds about their planned attack on the Boars. He doubted it. When none of the others spoke again, Laz cleared his throat and started the second letter.
“It’s from Prataen again,” Laz began, “to our supposed King of the Boars. I have sent messengers to Her Holiness, Fellepzia, High Priestess of Alshandra in Taenbalapan, concerning your request of a temple to be built in your lands. She has responded that she’ll gladly grant such a request. A temple to our most holy goddess will be a splendid way to mark our temporary southern border.”
“Temporary?” Voran spat out the word.