Prydae thought it wise to not point out that his holding was pouring money, men, food, and other supplies into those efforts against Ethelbert. "They, we, are grateful that Laird Delaval has seen fit to side with us against the intrusions."
"Laird Delaval respects the sovereignty of the smaller holdings."
Laird Prydae didn't respond, but Bannagran nearly choked hearing that and covered up by coughing, and Rennarq merely rolled his eyes.
"Of course, Laird Delaval cannot settle all of the problems of Honce alone," Yeslnik continued.
Prydae wasn't surprised at the leading statement, of course. He knew that Yeslnik had come here to exact more resources. "More than half the men of Pryd Holding over the age of twelve are dead or off fighting in the south," he answered.
"There is more to fighting a war than soldiers."
"And we are, in every respect, thin, Prince of Delaval," replied Prydae. "Every belly in Pryd growls with hunger, and many of the peasants growl with mounting anger."
"How you control your peasants is no concern of Laird Delaval," said the prince.
"Kill a few and the others will quiet," his wife added, surprising the other four at the table. Rennarq gave a chuckle-one appreciative of Olym's understanding, it seemed to Prydae-and Bannagran cleared his throat.
So did Yeslnik, and he seemed a bit disconcerted by the bluntly callous statement. "Forgive my wife, I pray you," he said.
"For speaking that which we all know to be true?" Rennarq asked. "That which the Samhaists have understood for centuries?"
"Yes, well…" Prydae cut in, trying to change the subject, especially since peasant servants were coming to the table often. "My good prince, you must understand that our demands on the people of Pryd Holding have pushed them to the very edge of despair."
"Then push them over," Yeslnik was quick to answer. "Ethelbert is a stubborn foe and for every Pryd man killed, Delaval has lost two."
The fact that Delaval Holding had a population more than twenty times that of Pryd-plus a fishing fleet that easily kept its people fed-was yet another of those troubling details that Prydae thought it best to not mention.
"Bernivvigar will keep the peasants in line, my liege," Rennarq offered, and it was obvious to Prydae that he wasn't the least bit concerned with the common folk or their troubles.
"Our warriors die in the south for the sake of your holding, Laird Prydae," Yeslnik added. "Need I remind you of that? Men of Laird Delaval do battle with those of Laird Ethelbert for your good! Laird Delaval has sent me here because more is needed. More coin and more supplies. And we will expect you to keep your ranks well stocked with soldiers to replace those who fall. This is the critical moment in our struggles with Laird Ethelbert. His lines are near to breaking, and he has found more resistance to his plans of conquest and domination than he expected from the various lairds along the Mantis Arm."
Prydae kept his face emotionless. He knew that the resistance Ethelbert was facing was simply due to the deep pockets of Laird Delaval, who had made many of the other lairds a better offer, as he had done with Prydae. He also understood that Yeslnik's estimation of Ethelbert's weakness was more than a bit exaggerated. Many of Honce's lairds understood the truth of Delaval's offers: that autonomy was such only under the continued willingness and the fluctuating interpretations of Laird Delaval himself. If Delaval proved victorious in the struggles with Ethelbert, then, yes, Prydae would retain his power in Pryd Holding.
But that wouldn't stop the occasional visits from Prince Yeslnik or some other Delaval nobleman. And there were always demands to be met, after all.
"Bannagran here will lead the tax collectors out at the break of morn," Prydae assured his guest. "Your wagon will leave laden with supplies."
"With coin and other valuables," Lady Olym corrected before her husband could speak.
Yeslnik only confirmed that anyway, adding, "Your own wagons may deliver the mundane supplies to the south. I expect to remain another three days. Will that suffice for your collection?"
Prydae looked to Bannagran, who nodded.
"Three days, it is," Prydae confirmed. Noticing that Yeslnik wasn't even looking at him as he replied, he followed the prince's gaze to the man's wife, who sat there seeming perfectly giddy and glowing.
A moment later, not unexpectedly, Yeslnik said, "You will pardon me and my wife for a few moments, good Laird Prydae. We have something we must discuss at once." He rose up swiftly and took his wife's hand. He bowed, she curtsied, both abruptly, and they hurried off toward their private quarters.
"I expect there will be little conversation between them," Rennarq said dryly.
Prydae chuckled at the lewd innuendo, but Bannagran did not. "Laird Delaval's forces do battle for the good of Laird Delaval, not for Pryd Holding," he said.
Prydae disarmed that ire with a smile and a wave of his hand. "It matters not at all. For whatever reason, the army of Laird Delaval serves our purposes in their struggle with Laird Ethelbert; and so we do well to support our friend."
"In the end, we all see to our own needs," Rennarq added.
Prydae looked at the old man and thought that had been a perfectly Samhaist thing to say. Bransen loved days like this, when all the brothers, with the exception of Father Jerak and one-usually sleeping-attendant, were away. He tied the soul stone onto his forehead and finished his duties in a matter of minutes, then took up a sack with his highwayman garb, removed the soul stone, and went out of the abbey in the guise of the Stork.
He made his way to the river, and there, when he was sure that he was alone, became his true self.
The Highwayman looked all around, feeling strange in this guise when the sun was still bright in the sky. He knew that he'd have to be careful every step of his way, but he couldn't deny the thrill he now felt-as intense and exciting as the night when he had gone to Cadayle's rescue.
Bransen knew that he shouldn't be enjoying the danger so profoundly. The Book of Jhest didn't allow for such thrills. But he didn't deny it; and the young man, whose life had been so empty for all these years, didn't push the excitement away.
Courting disaster and basking in the glow of danger, the Highwayman set out, circling the town to the north, the one region of Pryd Holding he did not know.
He kept imagining that he would find his true sire on the road-hadn't Bran Dynard left Chapel Pryd on a northerly route?-but of course, he did not. He kept thinking of Cadayle as well, and he knew that his roundabout course would take him to her eventually. It always did.
He crossed fields of grain, and followed the aroma of a baked treat very near to the windows of one cottage. He glanced all around and approached. The yard was unkempt, the fields overgrown, and the garden ill tended. But the smell kept Bransen moving for the window, where he even dared to peek in.
A peasant woman perhaps ten years older than he went about her chores, a pair of young children yapping at her feet. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but neither was she ugly, with the blond hair and blue eyes so common among the folk of the region and a body still relatively shapely despite the obviously difficult conditions around her. Bransen studied her for a few moments, but then his nose drew his eyes to the middle of the room. On a small table sat a pie, steaming in the morning air. Blueberry, by the smell of it.
The Highwayman considered how he might get to that treat and take a slice, but it was just a mental exercise, for he had no desire to take anything from the peasants of Pryd, who had next to nothing.
He was still musing about the pie, glancing left and right and trying to figure out how he might get in the front door without being noticed, when he realized his error. For the woman turned around and gave a shriek.
The Highwayman looked at her and held up his hands, bidding her to silence and trying very hard not to seem threatening to her in any way.