'Let's hope he gets the point-before I have to give it to him.' The sword and Gwena joined in laughter. 'oh, I think he did,' Gwena chuckled. 'I'll have a talk with Cymry and see if she can't have a word with him.'
'She'd better do something,' Elspeth replied grimly. 'Or I will. And this time, Herald or not, I'll be more direct.'
Priests and other religious travelers had their own special camping ground reserved for them away from the bazaar, on top of a rise. Shaman Kra'heera shena Tale'sedrin looked out over the crowded tents of the bazaar from his vantage point above it and smiled a little. Somewhere down there was a young woman, accompanied by a tall young man, who was looking for them.
Not them, specifically. just the Tale'sedrin. Since he and Tre'valen had arrived late this afternoon, no less than four traders had come strolling up to their tent with the casually proffered information that someone was looking for Tale'sedrin.
To each of those four, Kra'heera had said nothing. He had simply gone about his business of raising their tent. His apprentice, Tre'valen, had thanked them politely, but when he had shown no further interest in the subject, the four had strolled onward, ostensibly to visit some other tent dweller farther on. But Kra'heera read the set of their shoulders, and knew that they went away disappointed because he had not been interested in buying the rest of their information. There was as much traffic in information in the bazaars of Kata'shin'a'in as there was in material goods.
He had not bought their intelligence because he did not need to. And he let them know by his manner, since they were no fools, that he had his own ways of information. Reinforcing the shamans' reputation for uncanny, timely knowledge never hurt.
As sunset touched the tops of the tents with a sanguine glow, another visitor reached the encampment of the Shin'a'in, but this visitor had no interest in selling her information. Not to folk of the People of the Plains. not when her own son rode with them, adopted into the Clan of Tale'sedrin by marriage.
This scarlet-clad visitor was welcomed within the newly-pitched tent with jokes and news; the brazier was fired for her, and cakes and sweet tea were offered and accepted. And when all the civilized amenities were completed, and only then, did rug seller Dira Crimson say what she came to say.
She, Kra'heera, and Tre'valen sat comfortably on overstuffed cushions, placed on a carpet any of the rug traders would have offered their firstborn offspring for. 'There is a girl,' the woman said, her plump, weathered face crinkling with a smile as she arranged the folds of her scarlet skirt about her feet. 'She is a stranger, and speaks with an accent that I would not know, had I not journeyed once into Valdemar with the Clan-where we had much profit, the gods be praised.' Kra'heera's lips curled up in his own smile, and he filled her cup with more tea. 'I think that the gods had less to do with that than your own wit and fine goods, trade-sister She waved the suggestion aside. 'Na, na, one does one's best, and the gods decree the rest. So. There is a girl. There is a young man with her. She looks for Tale'sedrin. He watches her with the eyes of a young dog with his first bitch.' Kra'heera laughed at the old woman's simile. There was no repressing Dira; she told things as she saw them, and if anyone objected, why, she felt they need not listen.
'Young men are ever thus. What of this girl of Valdemar, who seeks the Children of the Hawk?' he asked.
'Well, it is said that she comes from Kerowyn, on whom be peace and profit, if such a thing is possible for one whose livelihood is by the sword. It is said that she bears the mage-sword given her from the hand of Kerowyn as a token of this.' The old woman's black eyes peered at him sharply, from within a nest of wrinkles. 'This is the sword of Clanmother Kethryveris, the blade called'Need.'
'It is said?' Kra'heera pondered the information. 'You have seen this?' Dira shook her head. 'No, not with my own eyes. Nor have I heard her claim this with my own ears. I have spoken with her but briefly, a few words at most. She seems honest. That is all I can say.' Kra'heera nodded, and Dira smiled her satisfaction. No Shin'a'in ever moved on purely hearsay evidence. No Shin'a'in dared move on hearsay.
But Dira had reported what she knew, and Kra'heera would not be caught by surprise.
The last of the light faded, and Tre'valen lit the scarlet lamps that marked the tent as priestly and not to be disturbed. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Dira took herself back to her own tent, somewhere in the labyrinthine recesses of the rug seller's bazaar.
Kra'heera nodded to his apprentice to take her place beside the brazier. The elder shaman sat in thought while his apprentice seated himself. 'Will you do nothing about this Outlander?' Tre'valen wondered aloud. 'Will you seek her out?'
'Perhaps.' Kra'heera studied the bottom of his paper-thin porcelain teacup. 'Perhaps. She may be of some use to us, whether she speaks the truth or no. But we have a more urgent appointment, you and I.'
'We do?' Tre'valen asked, surprised, his black brows arching upwards in surprise. Tre'valen was one of the pure-blood Shina'in-by no means the majority among the mixed-blood Clan of Tale'sedrin. His iceblue eyes were startling to an outsider, set beneath his raven-black hair, in an angular, golden-skinned face.
'Surely you did not think that we came riding over the Plains in the heat of summer for the pleasure Of it?
Kra'heera responded wryly. C'If that is so, you have an odd notion of pleasure.' Tre'valen flushed a little but
