A Shore Too Far - By Kevin Manus-Pennings Page 0,26

our argument that morning. Though we had had arguments in the past, never had he spoken so forthrightly to me. And never had he challenged my concern for the men’s well-being. I turned away from the archery range and went to deal with the latest batch of Kullobrini messages.

***** ***** *****

Late in the afternoon, the sea breeze carried with it the news of rain, and the many-colored folds of the Kullobrini tents fluttered and stirred.

I was thinking with some pleasure of our newly revealed princes having to ride hours in the rain when Gwey appeared at the edge of the tents. A number of Kullobrini soldiers and women moved with him, debris in the storm that is Gwey’s charm. He gestured grandly, adding some last detail, some flourish, to his story, and the soldiers laughed. Gwey patted several soldiers on the back in leave-taking and accepted hugs from several others. One of the women handed Gwey the reins to his horse. With a final wave, he moved off, the women lingering at the Cloth of Blessing.

Gwey glanced at the sky but did not mount his horse. He moved slowly, his eyes on the ground. After a moment, his eyes searched for me against the cloth of my tent. When he made out my dark armor against the dark cloth, he raised a hand and waved fondly.

I waved back, as his eyes returned to contemplating the ground, his course drifting toward me. When he reached me, he pulled himself from his thoughts and leaned in for a kiss, a blazing smile across his face.

I kissed him briefly and looked at questioningly.

“Profitable day?” I asked.

He shrugged and turned back to the tents, taking them in with a sweep of his hand.

“They build ships that can tame the Hard Water and they can breed horses that look like they could run across the Hard Water,” he said. “But…”

“But?”

“But they’re negotiating me down to nothing.” He shook his head. “I let my competitors in first, let them fight one another for the quick money, the coin of here and now, but my success comes from relationships—not deals. I learned early that you can’t just go for the minute; it’s about a long road that takes you both where you want to go.”

“Surely, you’ve had tougher potential partners, tougher negotiations,” I said, leading us back into my tent.

“They’re tough,” he said, “no question. But this is different. I keep pushing for trading agreements beyond today, for long-term commitments, and they keep pushing so hard the agreements fall apart.”

We passed my war table and took seats in the room beyond. I pulled a flask of liquor from a saddlebag and held it for him to see.

He nodded quickly and leaned back in his chair. “Three times now, three times I’ve given in and given in, but now there’s no profit and I’ve had to pull out.”

I handed him a glass.

“A competitor, Gwey. Someone’s beaten you to the punch.” I took a sip. “You’ve been bested.”

“Three times? On three different products?” He tossed his drink back and winced at its bite. “No, something else is going on.”

He looked up at the cloth ceiling of the tent and studied it for answers.

“You’ll figure it out,” I said. “You didn’t get where you are by letting something stop you. You’re good at what you do, no matter what Eric says.”

Gwey laughed sharply and held out his glass. Outside, the rain began to patter against the tent, the thunder an insistence in the clouds.

“I certainly hope I’m better than Eric thinks,” Gwey said, watching the dark liquid as I poured.

I glanced up at him, but he would not meet my eyes. I handed him his glass and he again leaned back in his chair.

“The Kullobrini are just a different sort of challenge, I suppose,” he said, his eyes moving to me and then down to the floor of the tent. “I just have to keep applying my considerable charm.”

“I suppose,” I said and leaned back in my own chair. I watched him closely.

Gwey shifted in the silence. He played with his drink, swirling the dark fluid around and around in his glass.

“Any word from Eric?” he said suddenly. “Any word on how he handled the princes?”

I didn’t answer and instead took a long drink.

He sighed and stood. He sat again and tossed his drink down, swallowing hard.

“Kara, I’ve…,” he began. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“I see,” I said.

“It’s not, it’s not…,” he floundered. He rubbed his hands together, clasped them, and