“How will you use it?” asked his companion, Hozaer, Son of Lor'Vilmyr, an equally rich vassal. They both had extensive east valley vineyards along the Maussin river managed by stewards and valley vassals.
“I've not seen it, but my steward says it's flat enough,” Hetel said. “Something is bound to grow in it. My steward will sort it out.”
“Flat as those knights on the arena floor?” Hozaer asked with a grin.
Hetel sneered. “It's sandy but usable. At least for common wines. Does anyone even notice these days?”
They chuckled smugly.
Their chatter sickened Taul, and he walked away. They'd burned the dead knights outside the crater just as his child. The smell of her pyre still lingered in his nostrils. Her death, his would-be daughter's death, had been with him all winter. He set the cup of wine on a stone ledge and rubbed his hands on his thighs. It all felt filthy to him, covered in the dead's ashes.
He walked through the gallery surrounding the inner courtyard, which functioned as a fighting pit. Hosmyr's vassals stood about watching the friendly bouts. He nodded to those he knew but didn't stop to talk. He had nothing to say despite the thoughts filling his mind. They were rivals and he couldn't share any of it with any of them.
Spears clashed in a flash of light and the crowd cheered. The combatants were fine young men bearing sunlit spears. In his time, Isilmyr had not taught the use of saythelaun, spears imbued with sunlight, but now it was the fashion. Despite the Zauhune champion's clear call to the Dark, no one here seemed willing to make the same choice he had. This hall could very well be in Daushalan territory for all the sunlight, the rich silken threads, the expensive drink made from the fruit his orchards and vineyards produced.
He'd not yet visited Toshtolin's other farms. Would they be like Zeldra, rotting from the roots? As attention moved to the south valley, the easiest place to grow, houses would abandon the east.
He cut a path toward a gathering of men he recognized. They were of a similar status as Lor'Toshtolin.
“Ah, Toshtolin! Sad business, that of your consort,” Gaur Lor'Paelune said to Taul as he approached. “I hope the winter served her well. May the goddess favor her. It's been so hard of late in the crater. Not a winter goes by without sad news.”
Taul smiled coldly. It didn't take long for them to point out his house's obvious weakness.
“I meant to buy cider from your Nolestin shop, but the shelves were empty,” Tris Lor'Baldir said.
“We're focusing our efforts on a more lucrative venture,” Taul said, grasping a glass from a passing waiter. He grimaced slightly at the wine, a proper answer to the insult. The wine was Baldir's. “Can't always have a good year, can you?” he said.
Tris looked away.
“In a few years, perhaps,” said Zadar Lor'Nevtar with a nod to his uncle. Zadar was the son of Taul's sister, Nevtar's heiress. He was a sharp lad and loved working the beehives. He produced decent honey and would make his second tender trial soon. “We'll all be dealing in wool soon.”
They chuckled. Wool was lucrative, more so with each passing generation. The south valley had ample pasture.
“If that boy continues winning,” Tris said, “we may have to.”
“I think he will,” Zadar said. “I doubt Roturra can send anyone capable of defeating him. Unless they plan to send Vaudin Lor'Baronar.”
“Goddess above, can you imagine the slaughter?” Gaur asked, shaking his head. “The young bear would tear him to pieces.”
“Didn't you stand for Isilayne with Nothrin?” Tris asked Zadar.
“I did. He was strange then as well.”
“Terrible business,” Gaur said.
The events of the Beytol arena, which led to Nothrin's twenty-nine-year exile, had been the source of juicy gossip for months. Then everyone had forgotten him, as the exile intended.
“Never thought he'd come back,” Tris said. “Would have been easier for him to disappear. Now he'll have all Roturra and eventually Daushalan wanting his death. I know there are those in the first high house who've not forgotten his name.”
“There are excellent lines in Roturra still,” Vornul Lor'Naxmyr said. “When their Daushalan master decides they've had enough, then the boy will end his reign as god of the arena.”
They called him boy to denigrate his knighthood, not earned from an academy but by simple oath to Zauhune's high matron.
“I hear they are using these fights to test new steel,” Zadar said. “That's why they lost… lumbering about in all that armor. Unnatural!”
Vornul, nodding, said, “Yes, there is no explanation for a wildling knight to beat Xaldan Lor'Mertrin. A shame, really. I saw Xaldan fight in a tournament once. Excellent.”
“And now dead,” Tris said blithely.
“The steel... have you seen the great foundries to the west?” Gaur asked. “My steward was out there on business and saw them. They never stop. Preparing for an invasion, it seems.”
“How far west?” Tris asked.
Gaur shrugged. “Perhaps as far as the Jalessin.”
“Farther out than the Tears?” Taul asked. “What business had your steward in those parts?”
Gaur shrugged again and lifted his chin. He knew but wasn't telling.
“It's the globes,” Vornul said. “Alcar globes in the far south. Daushalan must think there is merit to the threat.”
They grew silent. Not in any of their lifetimes had they thought such a thing was possible. Not after Saylassa's Fall. The Alcar were supposed to be gone and most Mornae used their name as a curse.
“Still, I've made a tidy stack of silver on that Zauhune boy,” Tris said. “Let him keep winning.”
“And the bodies?” Zadar asked. “What of those killed? It's disgusting. I'll stay in the east; you can have that unfavored soil bought with Mornae blood.”
“Could you grow our pears in the south valley?” Taul asked, taking a sip of the wine. It was actually quite fine, but he grimaced anyway.
