7.5

Jewel took an immediate dislike to the man that had ferried Bethica’s bull from the sun lands of old Cantor to her own demesne in Viznove. He stank of fear and malice that hung in the air around the peddler like an acrid cloud. The bet that the mercenaries would be uncouth enough to draw steel at the sight of her was lost thankfully.

They were afraid and braced for violence because of course they were at the sight of Jewel. But what fear they held was of the regular sort, a shocked hum of the unfamiliar and intimidating. They did not hold ire for her, merely acknowledged her danger.

But this man?

When he looked at her she could smell fear, but she could also taste the hate as he averted his eyes to Paul. He put on a fake smile and even tried to squeeze his eyes in an honest way. But Jewel could still taste the air, she could hear his heart. She could see that he was tense around the cheeks in a way that honest joy never was.

His attention stayed on her husband in a familiar (if annoying) manner. Although she supposed his position at the head of their little party was not helping. But mother’s words stirred inside her and reminded to not spend an advantage like this one frivolously.

“Ah my good lord! I am Leandro of Epirus. Merchant of the sunlands, and honored servant to have seen your charge here.”

Jewel glanced at the Countess’ guard and then her own footmen.

Everyone was standing straight and proper, Smithson and Muriel were decidedly not sharing a conspiratorial glance with her. But the scent in their sweat and the slight shifts across them reeked of humor. The unbeknownst fool for their amusement continued to blather on digging his proverbial grave.

“Ah! And is this the good lady of Valasect? To which my commission and final delivery is due of the good bull Celsus to his new pasture home?”

He turned not to Jewel with those words but to Muriel of all people.

Which finally brought a cough from Paul that took this peddler up short in his false courtesy. His fear filled out into an even wider cloud around him as Jewel glided from one step to another ahead of her husband.

Her fore claws sinking into the dirt of the road after she had barely brushed them before. Her coils slowly sinking out of the air as Jewel let her wyrmflame recede and drop the burden of her scales and flesh. The weight pressing away the road and bringing her closer to the stones beneath. The soundless voice of the mountain roots deep below stirring ever so slightly as she let herself press against it.

She coiled her head high, the movement well practiced to draw attention to her snout and lips for moments precisely like this.

“Good tidings to you Peddler Leandro of Epirus, I am Jewel, Shining Wyrm of Viznove and Lady of Valasect.”

That brought up a hitching breath from the man who was standing utterly still now. Like a rabbit before the hunter. His fear was pouring out his pores now and Jewel offered a gentle smile in consolation for the mistake she was openly ignoring.

“I thank you for your service in seeing to the well-being and safe travels of the bull Celsus to my lands. Shall we see that he is settled properly on his new pasture?”

The spike of hate rose up again at the mention of the bull’s name.

Jewel forced her face to the impassive soft mein of a benevolent lady but her flame roiled and fluttered in worry. Did this merchant understand the insult of formally referring to one of the esteemed poet bulls while leaving out his line?

Jewel had asked for the name. She’d tried to take every effort to be properly courteous but no one who knew his full pedigree had been able to be found. She only knew the bull’s name at all because the peddler at least had mentioned him. Well she was the lady of Valasect!

Her station should partially soften the insult.

She stepped past him and over towards the milky white herd that had been brought to Valasect, cows and bulls she could tell by scent. And that mostly did seem to align with which sported the longer horns. Up close the sheer whiteness of them was something to behold. Like pale clouds pulled tight over prominent muscle and bone. Standing they were each of them nearly as high on the shoulder as Smithson was tall.

Against the peddler they were well over his head.

Despite the size though each of them moved freely and without a tether or rope. Looking around curiously on the village of Valasect, favoring those around them with their ‘stranger’s eye’.

Jewel could not even guess which of them might be Celsus but she nodded to them all and several nodded back. Although a few twisted their heads to ward off flies right after, confusing how much acknowledgement that was.

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She glanced at the Peddler. The cow’s trick probably could have worked for Jewel too. Muriel was a bit visibly old to be Paul’s wife but it was not the most lopsided match she had read of.

Perhaps a jape she could play next time she had the opportunity.

Their little train of beasts, men and dragon made for a rather amusing farce of a triumph.

Jewel at the head of it with Smithson and Muriel. Paul lagging behind to speak with the terrified peddler, the line of blazingly white pelts that were the cows moving along amiably at no prodding or direction from anyone. Ambling along in a formation a bit better than green levies!

The rest of Valasect parted before them, following along and gossiping. A few of the women with larger plots of grazing available to them were eyeing the pale beasts.

Undoubtedly there would be petitions that Jewel acquire more of the herd for them then one bull.

Bethica had made her way further along the pastures from where Jewel first met her. Grass bitten down tidily where the cow had taken it up earlier in the year. She was not however pulling up more grass or chewing as they arrived. Her ears were perked and her eyes wide and searching as they came down the road. Nostrils flared.

Jewel could spot complementary attention from the herd of white beasts. The shortest amongst them was still taller at the shoulder than Bethica. The interest continued as they drew closer, but when finally they reached the road the herd stilled.

Bethica was approached by Jewel alone, while the rest of the cattle stilled to a stop mulling and groaning among themselves.

Finally a single bull stepped out beyond all of them.

His coat was white as the scattered clouds above and his eyes were pitch black. At the shoulder bone and his chiseled muscles brought him to almost a foot taller than Bethica. Jewel could see her friend’s nostrils flare and there was something in her eye that the cow had never shown before. Her voice rolled free in a clipping and solid set of words that Jewel almost didn't recognize.

Only becoming clear when Jewel realized they were the written word as spoken. The text of letters brought to sound! Something Jewel had never realized even existed.

“I am Bethica, Daughter of Belora, who was daughter of Orthica, who was daughter of-”

Her friend recited every ancestor Jewel had heard as before, but in a speech Jewel had not even realized she knew. In a speech the wyrm was still grappling with realizing it could even be spoken as such instead of merely written and understood. The confounding reality that the written word was in fact a different language and not just a strange collection of rules for putting meaning to vellum!

When Bethica had finished her litany of ancestors the white bull dipped his head solemnly to her then turned so his stranger’s eye was facing her as he raised it. Peering closely at her before he closed his eye and swung his face around in another dip before opening on her with the one meant for family.

Only after this acknowledgement did he begin to speak. And where Bethica’s tone was deep and resonant and undeniably feminine his was sharp, refined, clear and solid like stone, yet clear and legible as air.

His diction made Bethica’s words sound mumbling and mushy. In comparison, crisp as ice and yet not cold.

“I am Celsus, who was son of Quintus, who was son of Ennius, who was son of-”

And the bull continued, his words rolling in droning waves rising up and down with the names, like a song. A melody that made Jewel want to shift a little in a dance despite herself. To ride that wind and water she could practically feel in his sharply delineated words. He spoke for generations longer than Bethica had.

Continuing long enough the shape and sound of the names changed, their form going stranger. The word for son slipped past Jewel’s grasp to understand somewhere in the chant. But still the meaning was clear, his declaration of names always had solid foundations.

Somewhere in the midst of his words the entire herd had begun to call with the names. Not speaking but their voices rose with his.

At least Celsus’ lineage was coming to a close, Jewel could feel it and all the herd grew silent.

“Who was son of most beautiful Father Minos and the blessed Mother Pasiphaë”

Every head of cattle dipped low at that.

Even Bethica, who whispered hoarsely under her breath. So quiet Jewel was sure not even the bull could hear.

“blessed mother Pasiphaë”

Jewel had to focus on holding her every muscle to the graceful poise of a lady.

Celsus walked up as stately as a king and nuzzled at Bethica’s own snout. Which she accepted although Jewel could smell how awed she was.

“I will have you”

Bethica barely managed to make it more than a joyous mewl.

“You will.”

Jewel’s wedding had been the stuff of ballads. There had been actual ballads written about it and her husband’s deal with the heavens! It had been attended by kings and lords and other titles she still was not even entirely certain she actually knew the full scope and providence of!

But watching Bethica rise from her bow with her familiar eye on Celsus and all she could see and smell in her friend was making her deeply jealous of the wedding traditions of cattle!

Her friend didn't have to deal with gods or politics when she was married!