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continued, “We wanted your thoughts on the matter.”
    “Good. Where is Father?”
    “At the stables, inspecting the honor guard’s mounts. He sent me to find you.”
    Gyan faced Cynda. “Can you finish here? And make sure there are enough pallets and sleeping furs in the Commons for the rest of Dumarec’s party?”
    “Ach, Gyan, be off with you!” She gave Gyan a gentle but firm shove toward the door. “I’ve been doing this sort of thing since before you were born, and not likely to forget anything now.”
    As the door thumped behind them, Gyan and Per shared a laugh.
    “You know,” he said between chuckles, “I will miss that little tyrant.”
    She made a noncommittal grunt. With luck, she would not have to miss Cynda at all.
    The area outside the stables was bustling with the regular Argyll patrol and the twenty-two mounted men selected to serve as Chieftain Dumarec’s honor guard. In their midst loomed Ogryvan, scrutinizing everything from harness furnishings to helmet crests. Like Per, he was impressively arrayed in his finest battle-gear, as were the honor guard and their horses.
    Gyan yearned to be riding out with the guard, to see these fierce Breatanach warriors for the first time and meet destiny headlong.
    But duty tethered her to the settlement. Everything had to be in perfect readiness for the guests. This task was just as important as the honor guard’s, though not nearly as exciting. She released her disappointment on the wings of a sigh.
    Ogryvan looked up as his daughter and stepson drew near. “Ah, good.” His eyebrows made a thick line across his forehead as he glanced at the sky. Dark clouds were boiling over the mountain peaks, heralding a storm. “Let’s go inside before the skies open on us. Gyan, I don’t want you to ruin your gown.”
    “What’s the matter, Father?” She grinned teasingly. “Afraid I might melt?”
    “With you, I don’t know anymore,” Ogryvan retorted. “You seem to be full of surprises lately. Now, go on inside, both of you.”
    The three crowded into the nearest chamber to offer any measure of privacy, the tack room. Outside, the first drops assaulted the timbers of the roof.
    “Did Per describe our problem? That we need to have one of our slaves act as translator?” When Gyan nodded, Ogryvan said, “The slightest misunderstanding could spell disaster. I don’t want to trust just anyone.”
    “Trust, aye. We don’t need someone who might say something other than what he’s told to say. Although…” Per’s face clouded with a rare frown. “I have to wonder whether any of them can really be trusted that far.”
    “But since none of us knows the Breatanaiche tongue beyond a few words to get the slaves to do our bidding, we don’t have much choice, do we?” Gyan glanced at Ogryvan. “Father, what is to be the reward if the person does well?”
    Scrutinizing a spare length of saddle girth, Ogryvan did not answer right away. Nor did he look up when at last he spoke: “Freedom.”
    As Gyan started to voice her consent, Per said, “I thought one of Arthur’s treaty terms was for the clans to free every Breatan.”
    “Aye, son. By this time next year, we must.”
    “Then why not let them all go now?”
    “Think, Per.” Gyan laid a hand lightly on his leather-covered forearm. “We have close to threescore men and women here, and I’ve lost count of how many children. We can’t free them all at once, especially with winter at the gate. The slaves own little more than the clothes on their backs. They couldn’t make it to their villages on foot before the snows come. And think what the loss of their labor would do to us.” She grinned to soften her words. “Would you want to be shoveling Rukh’s manure all winter?”
    “I suppose not.” Her brother’s short laugh sounded rueful.
    “Very well. Let us grant freedom for the slave and his or her family and offer them passage home, wherever it may be,” Ogryvan said. “We can manage the