Master of the Cauldron by David Drake Page A

could get a private room during the Sheep Fair if only he kept saying so long enough. “Three regiments is the minimum that Sandrakkan must supply to the royal army and provide the upkeep for.”
    Lord Tadai leaned forward with a stern expression, and added, “I’ll tell you frankly that according to my estimate of Earl Wildulf’s potential revenue and manpower, Sandrakkan should be providing four regiments. It’s only King Valence’s unwillingness to insult the Count of Blaise, who’s supplying three regiments, that decided him to reduce the Sandrakkan levy.”
    In her fatigued discomfort, Sharina took a moment to parse exactly what Tadai had just said. Because of that delay, she managed not to chortle in amusement. You couldn’t even call Tadai’s words a lie because nobody was expected to believe them. He’d been polite, but he’d made it perfectly clear to the Sandrakkan delegation the direction in which the royal position would move if they kept belaboring the point .
    Lord Morchan thumped his fist on the table, making the Sandrakkan side bounce wildly. “Curse it, we shouldn’t be here!” he blurted. “Everybody knows Volita’s cursed. That’s why none of this makes any sense!”
    It seemed to Sharina that the negotiations, though tedious, had been very productive. They’d involved the Sandrakkan envoys giving way on one point after another, of course, but that was primarily because Garric’s position—the royal position—had been reasonable to begin with.
    Admiral Zettin drew himself up straight and said in the drawl affected by the Valles nobility, “Quite the contrary, my good man. We’ve made great headway, and we’ll make more. That’s surely better than sweeping allSandrakkan commerce from the Inner Sea and burning the estates within five miles of the shore. Not so?”
    â€œLook, I’m just saying that we ought to get off Volita,” Morchan insisted truculently. “It’s an uncanny place, that’s all. Everybody knows that if you go up to the top of the Demon—”
    He bobbed his head, presumably indicating the granite spike that wasn’t visible from under the marquee.
    â€œâ€”you’ll see a wonder—but you may never come down again!”
    â€œMorchan,” said Lady Lelor in a poisonously calm voice, “if you’d give us just a little help, we’d all pretend to ignore the fact you’re a superstitious ninny. Do you know a soul who’s climbed—”
    â€œEverybody knows what I say is the truth, milady!” Morchan snapped. Marshal Renold, seated between them, leaned back from the table with a sour look and his eyes unfocused.
    â€œEverybody isn’t such a fool!” the priestess said. “Do you know even a sheep who’s climbed the Demon, Lord Morchan?”
    Morchan stood up, his face white. His mouth opened and closed silently. He repeated the process, then sat—collapsed into his seat like a pricked bladder—again, blushing furiously.
    Sharina looked at the embarrassed nobleman with a rush of sympathy that surprised her. Morchan was superstitious, and he was a ninny—which he’d proved amply in the course of the negotiations. But he was also more right than wrong in what he’d said about Volita.
    Sharina would’ve known that even without Tenoctris’ warning as the fleet landed. Volita was a center of power. Sitting there was like being in a wind blowing sand too fine to see but which prickled through your tunics. Her eyes felt scratchy no matter how often she blinked.
    Tenoctris had said that some people were more affected than others. Sharina supposed that she herself might be one of the sensitive ones, if only because of the things she’d been a part of in the year since she left Barca’s Hamlet. Everyone on the island must feel it to a degree, but…
    Sharina smiled. She’d