“The tribe’s chief is generally the master shaper. His face, including his forehead and nose, is covered. The size, shape, and color of the design spells out the person’s exact abilities and position. The paint is applied in a ritualized manner each day before the performance of his duties.”
Coleman brushed his fingers thoughtfully through his hair. “I’m no expert on the subject, but I believe our guide was rather important. Red paint is reserved for the highest authority, and, of course, that mindprobe he gave us was expert.”
“I’m rather surprised that they returned our weapons,” said Hawk as he checked over their belongings. Nothing seemed to be missing.
“The Sylvan are quite confident of their abilities, perhaps overly confident. The mindprobe confirmed our identities and intentions, so they’ll treat us as guests for the time being, and if we do anything harmful, we’ll be out on our ears, which would be rather catastrophic at this height.”
Hawk turned his attention to the table. It grew out of the floor like a misshapen toadstool. A pliant, light-brown bark covered the pedestal and underside. The top was fiat and polished smooth. It had an intricate pattern of swirled grain that seemed designed rather than natural.
Wondering if there were a guard outside, Hawk walked to the door and listened.
“Don’t open it,” cautioned Coleman. “I doubt there is a guard, but you never can tell. We’re supposed to have the good manners to wait here until the Sylvan approach us. They’ll bring food and drink, and then probably leave us waiting here for hours, perhaps days, before Feder will actually see us.”
“Is it all right for me to call my eagles in?” asked Hawk. He had ordered the birds to perch outside the Sylvan village while they entered the forest.
“Go ahead. It would be best if they were here with us.”
Meanwhile Ro sat quietly in the chair, trying to relax. Her body tingled with the release of tension, as though she had stepped into a bath of ice. Coleman noticed her closed eyes and clenched fists. He remembered having a touch of acrophobia himself the first few times he’d visited the Sylvan.
Touching her hair gently, he said, “You’ll get used to it, and a lot sooner than you’d think. If you weren’t going to, you’d have never made it across that first swinging rope. Why don’t you take a nice hot shower—you’ll feel a lot better.”
Ro opened her eyes and smiled up at Coleman. “I’d love a shower, but there’s not even a toilet here.” She glanced around the room again to confirm her first impression.
Coleman S’Wessex laughed. “I told you the Sylvan were marvelous tree engineers.” He walked to the wall near the bookcase. “Come here.” He showed her the protrusion of dark-colored wood at about her eye-level, which would be about the right height for the tall Sylvan to place a doorknob. “Twist it to the right.” She did, and an arched door swung out, its edges normally concealed by the grain pattern. Inside grew a sink and toilet, as well as a recessed floor-level basin behind a projection of thin wood that ran from the floor to the ceiling. As with the main room, phosphorescent moss provided the lighting.
“Just press the knobs above the sink and by the wall of the shower for water and the knob there on the wall to flush the toilet,” Coleman explained.
Ro gingerly pressed the right-hand knob above the sink, and warm water gushed out of a hollow, rootlike protuberance. “How … ?”
“Most of the main trees have roots running to hot springs if they are available, as well as to cold underground rivers. The trees pump up the water for the plumbing. They also extract nutrients and water from the waste before pumping it back to the ground. It’s a perfect system.”
Having located his birds, Hawk looked past Coleman’s shoulder at the bathroom with admiration. “They don’t have this in all the trees; I had to build my own system in my watchtower.”
While Ro picked out some clean clothes, took her shower, and changed, Hawk and Coleman continued to discuss the Sylvan plumbing.
“Only the largest trees are capable of supporting such a complicated system; outlying structures on the forest’s edge rely on buckets and holes in the floor,” said Coleman.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
Then a female Sylvan entered, carrying a tray of food. Her tunic was similar to the males’, complete with belt knife, but the dolaan had been bleached and dyed light blue. Her six-foot form moved gracefully, and her large breasts jiggled rhythmically beneath the thin garment, making Hawk feel a wave of embarrassment. But he didn’t look away. A single blue skytree flower, shaped like a horn, adorned her long, braided hair. Silently she cleared a space among their belongings, set down the tray, and left.
Coleman lifted the bright towel covering the wooden tray and, seeing the shriveled bits of half-cooked squirrel meat, angrily tossed the cloth back down on the food.
Turning to Hawk he said, “So, we’ll be eating some more of our dried rations tonight. The Sylvan are giving us the treatment they normally reserve for human traders and hunters.”
“What’s wrong with the food?” Hawk asked.
“If the Sylvan considered us honored guests, we’d get tomaad and delaap, delaap wine, delicately cooked stews of osmur and deer or squirrel with ground delaap nuts—any of a number of dishes. But not this—”
Hawk looked at the shriveled bits of meat. Although they did not look too appetizing, after the ride and climb they did not seem all that bad either.
“Despite the invitation Elihen wrangled for us from Feder, evidently the Sylvan still feel contempt toward us and our offer of mutual aid,” Coleman continued.
“Perhaps it’s another test,” said Hawk. “Why would they invite us here unless they were at least slightly interested in our ideas?”
Coleman studied the tray. “Perhaps. This is the first time I’ve been invited to Alycia, the first time Feder himself has agreed to negotiate.”
Acting as an intermediary for York and the refugees from the kingdoms under the Empire’s control, Coleman S’Wessex had met with the Sylvan leaders for years to try to bring them over to York’s side. In the last year, since Taral’s intention to invade York had become clear, he had even participated in a formal series of meetings with some of the Sylvan chieftans. However, the meetings had led nowhere. But now that a Sylvan village had been attacked and York invaded, the Sylvan had suddenly taken the initiative, inviting Coleman to meet with Feder, the leader of the Council of Chieftans and head of the largest Sylvan forest, Alycia.
“Well, if Feder wants to verify the fact that we know something of Sylvan customs, we’ll wait to eat until he serves us something worth eating,” said Coleman.
11
Two days and six uneaten meals of squirrel later, Hawk fed the last of their dried rations to his eagles and contemplated sending the birds out to hunt. If Coleman remained firm in his refusal to lose honor by eating an unworthy meal, and if the Sylvan did not change their attitude, the birds could always provide them with a meal of raw mice or hare.
As it was, Hawk longed to send the birds outside just for exercise, anything to alleviate the boredom of waiting, but Coleman had thought it best if the birds remained inside. They perched atop the bookshelves most of the day like lifeless ornaments, until the Sylvan girl entered the room to bring or remove the trays, whereupon they glared at her and the food that they wanted to eat but were ordered not to.
Coleman paced the room, silent most of the time, becoming less talkative as the hours stretched on. Ro strummed her guitar.
Pausing in midsong, she asked Hawk, “Want to play another game of cards?”
“Oh, why not,” he replied. “Maybe this time you’ll let me beat you.”
As he sat down at the table and began to shuffle the deck of forty-eight oblong cards, the door to the room slid open and a tall man stepped inside.
“Elihen,” said Coleman.
Other than being eight feet tall, the man seemed totally human and bore a strong resemblance to his half-broth
er. His hair was black, streaked with gray; his nails and eyes looked normal.
Coleman solemnly extended his hand, palm up, in the traditional Sylvan greeting. His half-brother smiled wryly and completed the gesture by placing his palm on top. Then the big Sylvan grinned, and Coleman stepped forward to embrace his brother in a quick bear hug.
Hawk sensed that their relationship was both closer and more complex than Coleman had wanted to admit.
“It’s been too long,” said Elihen. He spoke with the strange, lilting Sylvan accent.
“I guess it has been several months since I was here last.”
Elihen nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get in to see you sooner, but this place has been in turmoil since you arrived. Feder insisted that no one contact you while he reevaluated the situation.”
“But he invited us … ” began Coleman.
His half-brother nodded. “Reluctantly. After Taral’s forces attacked Avedon last month, even Feder became disturbed. But then you arrived with a telepath whom even Feder’s best communicator, Proter, can’t mindprobe. Feder represents the majority of the tribal chieftans—they are suspicious of humans to begin with, and they don’t want to get involved in a human war. They refuse to realize its inevitability. Naturally Feder and some of the other important Sylvan who are here were upset to find a human able to withstand the best Sylvan telepath.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Coleman. “That woman you brought,” Elihen pointed at Ro, “has a mind-shield that Proter couldn’t break.” “What’s this?” Coleman turned to Ro.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “When the Sylvan telepath looked at me … “
“That was Proter,” interrupted Elihen.
“Well, when he looked into my eyes, I felt his mind-touch. I guess I must have automatically blocked it, although I’ve had no training.” Ro shrugged. “What did I do?”
Coleman sighed. “You’re probably as immune to telepathic attack as to sorcery.”
“I couldn’t really get through to her when we both communicated with one of my eagles,” added Hawk. “Forgive me, Elihen, let me introduce you before we try to sort this out,” said Coleman. “This young lady, who seems to have caused all the trouble, is Ro S’Cascar. I told you about her when I saw you several months ago.”
“Oh, I’m beginning to understand. She has the Rowen immunity; yes, I remember you telling me about that.” He turned toward Ro. “And your grandmother was a shiffem?” His face began to relax. Recognizing their kinship, he held out his hand in the Sylvan greeting. Ro smiled and placed her hand over his.
“And this is Hawk, a bird-path from York,” Coleman continued.
Elihen nodded an acknowledgment but did not extend his hand.
Then he sat down at the table and faced his brother. “At any rate, a couple of the chiefs of nearby forests decided that this meeting was important enough to attend in person, instead of relying on reports from the communicators. When they learned that one of you couldn’t be probed, they were so suspicious that they wanted Feder to call off negotiations completely. There was quite an uproar, and I could do nothing. As a shiffman I’m in a precarious position. I dare not seem too partial toward humans or I could jeopardize what influence I have. But to my surprise Feder became conciliatory and said that the meetings would take place after you were evaluated and tested to prove your worthiness.” A note of irony edged into his voice. “He’s a great one for tests.
“Although Feder’s probably the most conservative chief, and normally quite opposed to a Sylvan-human alliance, the Avedon incident seems to have finally convinced him of Taral’s potential danger. Meanwhile you’ve been off limits for two days while he had you watched.”
“I take it we passed his test, since he allowed you to visit,” said Coleman.
“Evidently. I received word that I could greet you and prepare you for an initial audience with Feder tomorrow. When I explain Miss S’Cascar’s background and the reason for Proter’s failure, it will ease tension considerably.”
“Wait a minute, you can’t do that!” exclaimed Coleman. “I told you before that Ro’s existence must be kept secret to protect her.”
“But under the circumstances it’s very important for the chieftans and especially for Feder to realize that she is part Sylvan. Sylvan distrust of humans runs deep—with much justification.” Elihen’s face tensed with conflict as he struggled to bring his mixed loyalties into accord.
Ro put her arm around Coleman’s shoulders. “He’s right. You thought it would help if the Sylvan knew about my powers, but you didn’t think it through. How could they understand the true nature and origin of my abilities without knowing my identity? If they don’t trust me, I’d be a detriment, not a help, to this mission. Coleman, you knew it had to come out sometime.”
Elihen nodded agreement. “I can explain the situation to Feder and the others and ask them not to pass on the information.”
“That wouldn’t be any help; the news would leak out,” replied Coleman. “You know as well as I do that some of the Sylvan have contacts with the Empire, just as you have a certain allegiance to Wessex and the Eastern Kingdoms.”
“My allegiance is to the Sylvan,” Elihen snapped. Sensing the undercurrents of strain in the relationship between the two brothers, Ro tried to smooth things over.
“That telepath, Proter, could have picked up the information anyway, when he scanned you and Hawk,” she said to Coleman.
“He could have for all I know,” Hawk added. “He penetrated my shields as though they weren’t even there.”
“Perhaps he kept it to himself or passed it on to Feder. And if he hasn’t already learned about me, he could at any time by probing you,” Ro pointed out.
“That’s true,” confirmed Elihen. “It would be just like Feder to learn something valuable and then withhold the information from the other chieftans until he could use it to his advantage. Perhaps he did know about Ro, and maybe that’s why he didn’t want to call off the meeting.”
“Please Coleman, the masquerade has gone on long enough. Perhaps the fact that I’m a S’Cascar can help convince the Sylvan to support us.”
Shaking his head, Coleman resigned himself to the truth of their arguments. “I don’t like it, but I guess it’s necessary. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you with me, Ro.”
“It will work out,” she replied.
Suddenly the door opened, and several young Sylvan girls carried in trays of food—sliced delaap nuts, dishes of cooked delaap with venison and osmur, flasks of tomaad and a liquor called dinuuci made from the fermented skytree nuts. There was even a plate of raw meat scraps for the eagles.
“So Feder has finally decided to give us some decent food,” said Coleman to his half-brother. “Part of his test consisted of offering us half-cooked squirrel meat and nothing else—which we returned. We haven’t had a good meal in days.”
As soon as the Sylvan left, Hawk fed his hungry birds and then joined the others at the table.
Although Elihen sat with them, he ate little of the food. He seemed to be somewhat ill at ease to be sharing a meal with humans. Hawk guessed that Elihen had accepted the necessity of having humans as allies, but that socializing with them conflicted with too many deep-seated prohibitions.
When they finished the enormous meal, they discussed the arguments they would use to prove to the Sylvan that war with Taral would be inevitable. Already the tribal chieftains were divided on whether to support York or to continue their neutral policy. If they could convince Feder, head of the Sylvan Council and leader of the conservative pro-neutrality faction, they would be able to swing the entire Council to their side.
In the morning they repeated the arguments to Feder himself.
Feder was just as Hawk expected—his face an elaborate mask of paint covering granite-chiseled features; his body so tall, thin, and graceful that it did seem nonhuman; his aspect savage, his manner cold, his attitude superior.
He examine
d them as though he were dissecting insects, watching them through one blue eye and one vivid green one, while Coleman S’Wessex explained the reasons why the Sylvan should fight against Taral. Feder said nothing in reply. Instead, he let the three visiting chiefs ask all the questions.
“You say that Taral will turn on us and attack all the forests as he did at Avedon,” said the chief of the Aseneth tribe, “but we easily repelled their attack and we could do so again.”
Coleman smiled. He’d been waiting for that comment. He replied with well-chosen words. “That was not a concerted attack by Taral’s main forces, but rather an isolated incident by a power-hungry governor who was eager to steal your tomaad, which as you know is a very valuable medicine. When Taral attacks you, it will be with the full backing of his sorcerers. You must realize that Taral is no ordinary sorcerer. He had the power to break the Triad stones, to pulverize Castle Cascar into rubble, and to conquer almost all of the Eastern Kingdoms in little over a decade. He is a greater sorcerer than S’Shegan, and he plans to follow S’Shegan’s example, with a different outcome.”
He paused and then touched the curved wall of Feder’s council chambers. “These trees are mighty, but they are not indestructible. More than a hundred years ago, during the Great War, S’Shegan attacked your forests, and he was able to destroy some of them. If he hadn’t been stopped, and stopped by humans, I might add, there probably would be no Sylvan left.”
The Sylvan chiefs glared at him angrily, but Feder remained expressionless.
“You recall the forest he attacked in northern York?”
“Artoria,” Elihen identified.
“The center of that forest burned like a candle, and even now, more than a hundred years later, nothing grows there. Hawk here can attest to that, he lives in an ancient Sylvan watchtower on the edge.”
Master of Hawks Page 12
