something in the scrying pool the
other day. He’s loading barges with armsmen. but I don’t even know who holds Elahwa.” Anna
looked at Jecks.
“There are rumors... you recall the blades you tried to purchase?”
“Yes. Some trader bought them.”
“They were sent to Elahwa—by the SouthWomen.”
Anna sighed. “So the Matriarch is trying to grab some territory, too?”
“No. The South Women and the Matriarch—”
“Oh... Lady Essan told me something about that. The SouthWomen are the radicals..." Anna
wanted to smile at the puzzled look that crossed Jecks’ face when she used political terms from
Earth. “And they sent the b1ades... to these free-women that Hadrenn wrote me about in his
scroll? Does that mean they’re trying to set up a land for themselves?” Lord, all you need is a
bunch of Liedwahran radical feminists with blades starting another conflict to complicate things.
“I do not know." Jecks frowned. “The SouthWomen keep matters to themselves.”
Anna nodded. “Another thing to keep track of. We ought to send a few golds to Hadrenn. How
many, do you think?”
“A hundred, if you can spare them.”
“Will you take care of that before we leave for Fussen?” I will.”
“Thank you.” Anna didn’t have to force the smile.
11
DOLOV, EBRA
What news, Ceorwyn?” The blond man in the burgundy tunic smiles warmly as the gray-haired
figure in battle leathers steps across the time-polished stones of the north wall of Castle Dolov.
“What we expected, Lord Bertmynn,” answers Ceorwyn. “A Ranuan trader slipped past the
Shoals of Discord, and ported in Elahwa. The cargo was grain from Encora—grain and blades
supplied by the SouthWomen to the freewomen. The free-women now hold both the north and
south sides of the river— and perhaps three leagues west along the river.”
“The Matriarch, for all her talk of peace and harmony!” Bertmynn’s smile vanishes with his
snort. “Yet she sends cold iron to arm those rebel women.
Ceorwyn shakes his head. “No…your seer—Lessted…
“Lessted. What says he?” asks Bertmynn, an ironic cast sliding across his smile.
“The arms came against the will of the Matriarch. The old woman struggles with her own
Mercantile Exchange as well as with the SouthWomen. That is why she will throw what support
she can into allowing the Sorceress of Defalk generous terms in repaying the debts incurred by
Defalk in years past.”
“Better yet if the bitches of the south are disunited. Still, I like it less that the Matriarch speaks
well of the... sorceress."
Ceorwyn nods.
Bertmynn turns and rests his elbows on the sun-warmed stone of the rampart, looking westward
and downhill across the city to the wharves that line the eastern shore of the River Dol. He
fingers his curly blond beard before asking, “Are the barges ready?”
“Not before weekend, sire,” replies the armsmaster. “Or perchance later."
“I had thought as much. Promises come easy, but actions lag those promises." Bertmynn
stretches, and his near-two-yard height becomes more apparent, even beside the tall and muscu-
lar Ceorwyn.
“The bargemasters would not act until they received the advance golds you promised.”
“We have enough golds to take the city before winter. Hadrenn cannot wage a winter war, and
both the Sturinnese and the Liedfuhr will supply us.” A wry smile crosses Bertmynn’s lips, and
even his clear blue eyes smile. “Especially now that cousin Hadrenn has thrown in with the
sorceress.”
“He would claim you left him no choice,” points out Ceorwyn.
“I would have left him Synek and even Vult....”
“All that is left of Vult is the Zauberinfeuer—and it continues to spread its lava across what was
once a fertile valley.”
“Proof enough that the Regent-sorceress is evil, do you not think,
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