Fires of Aggar (51 page)

“Which would merely force them back into a desperate corner and return them to their pillage and plunder tactics.” Brit nodded. “It wouldn’t solve their economic and agricultural problems either. Wouldn’t solve anything.”

“All right then,” Sparrow saw the sense in that. “Going to Churv for help won’t work. So what would?”

“We do need to contact the Crowned Rule and ask that she send us the Prince with his troops. But it wouldn’t work for them to come and take on the Clan’s militia. Taysa’s Swords make the better target.”

Brit put out a hand in puzzlement. “How is that different from targeting the Clan’s militia?”

“There are three factors.” Llinolae counted them off on her fingers as she went. “First, Taysa and her Swords must be dealt with in Khirla. Her role as Steward and the Swords’ position of tyranny must be displaced. Second, Taysa and her power among the Clan’s own militia must also be eliminated. Throwing her out of my Palace isn’t enough, if she can come running back to the Clan’s militia and her stockpile of fire weapons. However, it would work if we drove her out, and the Clan’s militia weren’t ready to back her anymore; then she’d only have a renegade’s group behind her, armed with a small batch of fire weapons left over from Khirla.”

“But we destroyed those!”

Brit’s gentle touch stilled Sparrow, and she reminded her shadowmate, “There would have been individual pieces scattered among the Swords’ personal gear.”

“But those weapons would be limited in number,” Gwyn interjected quietly. “And once their fuel cells were drained, Taysa would have no replacements to draw on.”

“Precisely,” Llinolae nodded. “She and her renegades would probably refuse to ever compromise. But their numbers would be cut, their access to information from the Palace would be closed, and eventually I could contain them and there’d be peace again.”

“That’s only,” Brit warned again, “if the Clan itself doesn’t decide to launch another young hot-head to scavenge land from your district.”

“That’s the third piece to be considered. If Taysa’s power falls, then we have to be ready to offer the Clan Leads another path, and we’ll have to do it quickly, while the shock of the crisis can give the Clan Leads the impetus they’ll need in order to sway the middle ranks of those militia left in Clantown.”

“But the Clan folk need a treaty that addresses so much!” Sparrow protested, setting back in her chair. “Enough land for their community? Is that even viable? They’ve no gist of trade skills, Ramains or Desert Tribunal law — most of ’em don’t even speak Trade Tongue!”

“Aye,” Llinolae was undaunted. “And if we truly want to take away Taysa’s power, our plans must account for the Clan soldiers as well. In any militia there are honorable fighters who only want what is best for their people. Yet after seasons of warfare, they have no other skills and they have pride in their strength as protectors. No one can expect all veterans to contentedly shed a sword and take a plow. Whatever truce the Clan Leads negotiate for, there must be contingencies for everyone. Remember, Taysa’s power was built on the Clan’s need to survive, and the border scouts such as Camdora joined her cause as soldiers because Taysa said a larger militia was necessary for the good of the Clan. ”

“Could you see it? A treaty that gives both farmer and soldier a respected Clan place! I can just see Taysa sputtering objections as her veterans all leave her!” Sparrow gloated with a gleeful slap on the table. “She’ll be out there in the forests by herself! Just running around, all by her lonesome!”

“Mae n’Pour! Sweet Sparrowhawk — you’ll be the death of me!” Brit roared half-rising from her chair. “Don’t these things get complicated enough without you flinging tangents every which way. Now sit down…”

“So we can get on with it!” Finished Sparrow undauntedly. “Yes, I want to know too, Llinolae, how’re we to do all this?”

“Aye.” Gwyn’s quiet voice cut gently through her Sisters’. Her copper-bright gaze turned to Llinolae, and her calm spoke only of a confidence in what Llinolae would propose. “What is your plan, Soroi? ”

Llinolae leaned forward. “We resettle the Clan as an entire community, as a new district with lands legally deeded by the Crowned Rule. But we resettle them on lands which already are better matched to their farming skills…”

“Plows and pastures instead of forest plots?” Sparrow prodded.

Brit tossed a scowl at her with a hissed, “Yes!”

“Yes,” Llinolae continued, “a treaty of two parts. First, the Royal Family sponsors them to resettle on better land, then the Council sponsors them to bonded status with the Traders’ Guild. In these ways the treaty respects the Clan’s pride in its community and acknowledges the Clan is a part of Aggar now — not the ruffian cast-away of another world. They have struggled amongst us for enough generations, even the sandwolves acknowledge they live here. ”

Ril endorsed Llinolae’s words with a faint nudge to Gwyn along their pack bond. Gwyn found herself smiling, but for other reasons, as she turned to Brit. “I’ve just had the most extraordinary realization, n’Minona.”

Brit glanced at her wryly. “Yes, I’m a Royal Marshal and a Council representative. I’d already figured that Jes’ and my time negotiating with the Changlings had elected me to be the persuasive Diplomat we send into the Clan Leads. I’m just waiting to hear where this marvelous, fertile plain is located.”

“I know!” Sparrow pounced upright suddenly, her memory’s images of land blooming sweet in the spring — before a battle — and an autumn rain rinsing the late spell of heat from the evening air, cleansing the stained earth by mixing mud and blood into soil for Aggar’s growth. For the first time in a season, her mental pictures of the north came to feed hope and not despair. “The Clans wants land that’s fertile but empty, district-sized but needing soldiers to protect it? Land that others in Ramains would be too weary to fight for and too frightened to leave as unguarded? Maltar’s plains — way up north!”

“The northern ranges?” Brit leaned forward, clutching eagerly at the idea. “Why hadn’t I seen…? The Mid-Plains of the old Maltar realm — they border the new Changlings’ lands now. They’re all those things!”

“Would you agree to negotiate then?” Llinolae pressed.

“Yes! This has the very real advantage of meeting many folks’ needs. But I would need to send word quick to Churv and Council that I’m instigating such an enterprise.”

“They’ll back us,” Gwyn said quietly, nodding to those gathered at their table. “Together we four are empowered representatives of Council, Royal Family, and Valley Bay. We’ve a Dracoon and us Marshals — or apprenticed Marshal. And myself as Bryana’s surrogate — she and Jes gave me leave to make decisions as Ring Binder proxy. And Ring Binder as well as you, Brit, have voice for the Council.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that — the damned Seers and Council Masters probably had the thing planned from the start!” Brit scoffed. “But reaching them from here is…”

“Is not a problem,” Llinolae reminded them all, with a grin. “I’m a Blue Sight, remember? I can reach Bryana again. I remember well enough what Valley Bay’s gardens looked like. Then we can send word to Council and Churv through her.”

“That would do… do nicely,” Brit agreed.

“Then I’ll tend to it.”

Their unspoken hesitancy rose suddenly, creating a tense silence. Llinolae glanced about at them, and grinned more broadly. “The need for hiding my Blue Sight is past. The need to use my talents more openly is obvious.”

“Then you have our support,” Gwyn returned.

“I’d be honored,” Sparrow seconded.

“As would I,” Brit grinned, still somewhat incredulous at her slowness in adding some of this together. “You know, not only will this help Khirla and Clan… the Changlings’ own governing force has trouble managing the Changlings’ renegades, and they fear the Treaty will be lost for them all, if the renegades go unchecked by the Prince. But there’re so few people left — after the migrations during the wars, after the fears of the renegades — that there’s no place nor money to post a Royal Legion along that border.”

“Well, the Clan’s border scouts are well practiced at roving patrol maneuvers,” Gwyn noted.

“And Brit’s never lost a delegate or frightened anyone from a difficult barter,” Sparrow said with some pride, casting her shadowmate a smile.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t it? Considering my temper,” Brit admitted. Then her revelry faded, and she turned a level gaze back to Llinolae. “Calling the Prince’s troops in deals with Taysa presence in Khirla. Calling the Council and Crowned in deals with the Clan’s survival problems. There’s one link left unattended — Taysa’s power base was initially sponsored by the Clan’s survival needs, but she maintains it by her fire weapons.”

“Yes,” Llinolae sat back in her chair, tall and calm. They listened attentively to have confirmed what they had all been speculating since the beginning. “The armory must be destroyed. The weapons the militia have among their personal gear I’d not confiscate, especially if they are to engage renegades once resettled. But the stockpile, their ability to indefinitely resupply any commander — the destruction must stop.”

No one protested. Llinolae gave a quick nod, “Then I propose Gwyn and I use these next few days that Camdora is among us to go in search of the armory and leave you and Sparrow with the Clan Lead and her brother.”

“With the sandwolves too,” Gwyn interjected softly.

Llinolae flashed her a quick smile of agreement. “With my Blue Sight I’ll be able to slip our small party past any of the other scouts we might meet. As long as Camdora remains here for the full five days of those standing orders to her scouting party, we shouldn’t have difficulty in avoiding Clan scouts once into the Plateau’s wastelands.”

“Until she tells them to go look for you, no one’s going to think you’d get in there so far,” Brit agreed.

“But how’re you going to find the armory?” Sparrow prompted. “There’ve been a few attempts in the last generation or so. No one ever succeeds.”

“No one’s ever had the Sight and used it as I do,” Llinolae stated flatly. “The Forest has a sense of rock, crystal, metal. These things aren’t particularly alive, I know, but they’re recognizable. The other night, when Gwyn and I were caught in the storm and Camdora’s brother almost fired at us, his fire weapon was lost and crushed. I wouldn’t normally be able to See to search for metal casings or rock formations in and of themselves. But the Forest can, here and on the Plateau’s wastelands. Given that I’ve Seen his weapon up close, I can follow the Forest’s amarin and find the armory.”

Sparrow eyed Brit worriedly, but the older woman pursed her lips and shook her head in silent denial of a problem. Sparrow held her tongue then, but it sounded like a very risky venture.

“The pack will follow you,” Gwyn affirmed, her tone steady.

Llinolae glanced at her, grateful and proud to have their support.

“Then Sparrow and I will occupy Camdora here. If we can get her to trust us any little amount, things will grow immensely easier.” Brit liked the idea: a stationary camp, a couple days to chat and eat — either win the Lead’s favor with the taste of her best feast, or with swapping bread recipes. She wondered which would be more to the scout’s skills? She shook the trivia away for later and cleared her throat. “When Camdora and her brother go, we’ll leave with them. If things go well with you and Gwyn, then we ought to be escorted into Clantown about the same time they get word on the armory.”

“A dangerous gambit,” Gwyn noted in alarm.

“Best place to win trust is in the sandwolves’ clutches,” Sparrow recited the desert folk’s idiom.

“If you want to worry about dangerous,” Brit scoffed and leaned forward heavily, “then think on how you’re going to destroy that kind of stockpile and not yourselves with it!”

“I’ve a few ideas on that,” Gwyn murmured, glancing covertly to Llinolae.

The Dracoon smiled wryly, “I’m sure we both do.” Llinolae glanced back to Brit. “Gwyn and I should be out of camp before Camdora wakes again. She’ll not press for an explanation if we don’t put her in a position where she has to ask for duty’s sake.”

“Good thing to know. I’ll give a little line about how you were returning to the Palace. Which I assume you eventually will be doing?”

“We’ll do fine,” Gwyn assured her friend, reaching across the table for a warm clasp.

Then Sparrow leaned in, covering their hands with her own. Llinolae stood and took their four, one of hers atop and one beneath.

“May the Mother’s Wind ride with each of us,” Llinolae murmured, looking at the Sisters. “For our strengths and our compassion, may we remember why we’re pledged to protecting. And I am honored in having had you all near for a time.” Her smile fell to Sparrow with an even greater gentleness. “I wish you both care — even if it comes full season again, before we meet.”

“Full season or more,” Brit mumbled sadly. She knew how long it took to build trusts. The Clan Leads would probably ask for neutral negotiations, and another Shea Hole would most likely be the wisest setting. The Dracoon would not be a welcomed figure in those meetings for a long, long time — if ever. “We’ll remember you. Keep pack and hearts sound, yes?”

Llinolae nodded, and Gwyn added, “I’ll miss you and Sparrow, ann!”

Hands grasped, then loosened. They turned quickly — there was little time to pack them off before the dawn came.

“And where are you now?”

“We’re camped at a Shea Hole in the Great Forest — the Virgin’s Nest. It’s about five, maybe six days hard riding south of your Council’s Keep.”

“Not my Council nor Keep,” griped a lackadaisical drawl.

Both of them glanced at the Mistress n’Athena, but it was such an old argument of semantics that the Mistress n’Shea refused to rise to the bait. Instead she inquired, “Do we have Shea Holes on Aggar yet?”

“No.” She grinned, quite undaunted by her Beloved’s silent reproach and she turned back to Llinolae with her brown eyes still full of mischief. A slender hand pushed through the short, whitened hair, but the bangs needed trimming and refused to stay back off her tanned forehead. “Mind you, Daughter, we have a number of those aid stations hidden on quite a few other planets. But back in these decrepit times barely anyone on Aggar even knows about the Terran Base, let alone about the Sisterhood! We’ve got no reason to place a Shea Hole in the Great Forest. There’s nobody to smuggle out!”