good humor, for he alone of the princes knew Andrade well enough to understand the little quirk of her brows as she read treaties with his signature on them. He had not done too badly for a putative idiot, he told himself—but he wondered if his aunt would catch the real intent behind certain otherwise innocent agreements with Princes Clutha and Volog.
No self-respecting cow lasted more than one season in the Desert, no matter how hearty the breed, and Meadow-lord had produced too many cattle in the last few years. Rohan had offered to trade Clutha some of Chay’s best horses and a tidy amount of cash for the hides of cattle that had been butchered to thin out the herds. This was his first step down a much longer road; the treaty with Volog was the second. From that prince—Sioned’s cousin—he had gained the loan of two masters in the art of parchment making, in exchange for increased shipments of glass ingots to Kierst’s crafters. His official reason was that he wished his nephews’ education enhanced by copies of the books in Rohan’s own extensive library. Thus was Chay’s contribution explained.
But what he really wanted, someday in the future, was to set up a school. Rohan had had the advantage of an indulgent—if bewildered—father willing to spend any sum to keep his voracious scholar of a son supplied with books. But not every young highborn, and certainly none of the lower classes, were similarly fortunate. One of the things he wanted to work out was a means through which talented young men and women could be educated, their minds trained, their gifts explored. There were schools for some of the major crafts—the crystallers in Firon, the weavers in Cunaxa—but most people were locked into a family trade, no matter what their own natural inclinations. He knew his scheme would find an enthusiastic partner in Sioned, who was as mind-hungry as he. He was looking forward to a winter alone with her at Stronghold for more reasons than the obvious.
He stacked the parchments and leaned back to stretch, then heard footsteps on the other side of the partition separating his private quarters from the more public area of the tent. “Walvis?” he called out, and a moment later the squire appeared. Rohan stared and gave a low whistle. “Sweet Goddess, what happened to you?”
Walvis’ freckled cheeks crimsoned, accenting the angry bruise over one eye. “Nothing, my lord,” he muttered.
“Come over here and let me see.” Rohan turned the boy so he faced the light coming in through the fine mesh screening of a window. “If that’s ‘nothing,’ I’d hate to see your idea of ‘something.’ ” He picked up the squire’s right hand to inspect it.
“From the looks of your knuckles, you gave something back.”
“That I did, my lord,” Walvis replied grimly.
“Would you care to tell me the trouble?”
“A matter of honor.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Both.” A man’s stubborn jaw suddenly jutted out of the child-round face. “One of Prince Durriken’s squires said that—he said you were—”
“Yes?” Rohan prompted, knowing that under no circumstances must he laugh.
“I don’t like to repeat such things, my lord.”
“Repeat them anyway.”
The boy gulped and blushed again. “He said—that you were going to have trouble getting a son on any woman because—forgive me, my lord—because you’re too stupid to find the pisspot, let alone—”
“I see.” Rohan kept stern control over his facial muscles.
“I repaid him for the insult, my lord!”
“I can see that, too.”
Walvis touched the bruise and shrugged. “I was really something to see a while ago,” he admitted.
“Mmm.” Rohan turned away, occupying himself with the arrangement of the parchments in his traveling desk. When he could keep a straight face, he said, “I trust you have use enough of your limbs to go see our jeweler at the Fair.”
“Are my lady’s emeralds ready?”
“I’d like you to find out. If they’re finished, bring them back here. And if they’re not—”
“I’ll find out why!”
“Gently, please,” Rohan cautioned with a smile. “After all, we’ve given the poor man hardly any time at all. Off you go, now.” When the squire was at the partition he called softly, “Walvis?”
The boy turned. “Yes, my lord?”
“I’ll wager Prince Durriken’s man looks much worse than you do.” Walvis grinned proudly. “He won’t be chewing anything harder than water for days—nor walking straight up, either!”
This time the laughter escaped. As Walvis bowed and left him, Rohan’s amusement turned to a sigh. Oh, to be eleven years old again and able to take the