by D. L. Carter
Despite Mitash's best efforts, they were unable to reach Eioth's primary residence in time for the Mid Summer Ritual. They celebrated Mid Summer in the small village of White Stone. The occupants appeared quite overawed to have the High Lord as their celebrant. For Halidan, it was the first time she'd been in the first circle of observers to the Rite. The local Fire Master stuttered his way through the familiar Ritual overwhelmed by the presence of the High Lord serving as his acolyte, and summoned enough power that even mortal Halidan had felt it climbing the skin of her arms like so many little insects, leaving her unable to sleep for the next two nights.
Halidan was on horseback a week later when they finally reached the ancestral home of High Lord Eioth. They traveled through layers of farmland, past the Village of Swift Breezes, that surrounded the High Lord's home and estate, and down a straight-as-an-arrow stone roadway. Cris was her companion that afternoon.
“There you see it,” said Cris waving toward the pale, many-storied stone building. “One of the High Lord's ancestors was deeply bonded to the Element of Earth and caused the building to rise fully formed from the ground.”
Halidan sounded her disbelief.
“You think not? I dare you to search the building for a single tool mark upon one solitary stone.”
This time Halidan squinted at the high walls that surrounded the flagged forecourt the processional was slowly filling. For a moment, she considered believing Cris. Certainly, she could not imagine that mere hands and tools had shaped the gentle curve and flow of the walls, created the delicate lace wrought-iron filigree over the windows. The grand entry staircase as wide at the bottom as two carriages one after another, had no cracks or marks to indicate joins and she wasn't certain she could identify the type of the stone.
Catching Cris watching her intent and awed face closely, she frowned at him. “Am I being teased?” she demanded.
“Tor Halidan, would I do that?” asked Cris, grinning. “Since you doubt me for the truth you must apply to the High Lord.”
She regarded him suspiciously for a moment, then turned away. “You are no longer my friend,” she declared, which set him to laughing.
As they approached, a flood of servants trotted down the staircase arranging themselves in a much practiced pattern and began intoning a chant in High Elven. Halidan listened for a moment, then glanced in shock at the High Lord. She couldn't imagine him requesting that on his return home his servants should sing about how magnificent was the High Lord of North West Demesne. He didn't seem the type to desire that sort of adulation.
Eioth was scowling at a very elderly Elven male who waited at the top of the stairs. That one had gone beyond showing his age as wisdom in tired eyes, and was actually as wrinkled, thin, and bent as an old mortal.
“Tribel,” said Eioth in a carrying voice, “I have told you more times than I am willing to admit that I will not tolerate this nonsense. Dismiss the servants back to their duties.”
The old Elf ignored him and continued directing the chant. Eioth dismounted and strode up and past the servants. Uncertain what to do, Halidan dismounted as well. Mitash appeared at her side, lifted her saddlebags down, and handed them to her.
“You must go inside with him, Halidan. Be brave and don't let Tribel disturb your peace. Know that the High Lord despises him utterly. He will protect you.”
With that odd remark, he gave her a gentle push toward the stairs. Halidan was halfway up before she realized Mitash was not with her. She glanced back and spotted him organizing the dismantling of the processional. Of course. Mitash's duties would keep him busy for hours yet; she could not turn to him for advice. Nodding to herself, she entered the House of Eioth and walked in on a scene of confusion.
Eioth was surrounded by servants. Four were burdened with wooden placards bearing Sigils of the Elements and they were jockeying to keep their position around the High Lord who was trying to walk past them. The elderly servant was jumping from one foot to another blocking Eioth's attempt to pass him, even going so far as to push Eioth back into the center of the circle while intoning yet another chant, this one of Ritual Welcome and Purification.
For a moment Halidan thought the High Lord would seize the servant and push him away, but the tension passed once the ritual was completed and the other servants vanished as fast as their feet would carry them. Behaving as if he were unaware of Eioth's disapproval the elderly servant turned to the next page of the book he had read the Ritual from and bowed intoning, “I welcome you home to the House of Your Fathers, Eioth, son of Renthi. The High Lord of the North West returns!”
At a gesture from Tribel the gathered servants began to sing. Halidan felt a blush begin to climb her own neck at the sight of Eioth’s embarrassment. He snarled at the servants to stop, then turned to the elderly servant.
“Tribel,” hissed Eioth, “if you inflict this Ritual upon me again I shall break both your legs.”
As far as Halidan could tell, Tribel continued as if the High Lord had not spoken.
“Minthel wine and fruit is served at the third hour on the Summer Balcony,” read Tribel. “Your arrival is late. The wine has been set out this last hour.”
The last was said in tones of ponderous disapproval as if the High Lord chose this hour to arrive deliberately to spoil the wine. That caught Halidan's attention. In all the meals she'd shared with the High Lord, he'd never requested wine, in fact he had refused it whenever offered. She glanced at Eioth who was studiously ignoring Tribel and progressing further into the house. He passed between Halidan and Tribel who looking up saw Halidan and started to shriek, “Guards! Guards!”
Halidan spun in place seeking the source of the attack fearing the arrival of a few new petitioners for a High King or something similar, but there was no one behind her except stunned and confused servants with arms full of packages. From side corridors guards in the High Lord's livery appeared.
She turned back to find Tribel pointing directly at her.
“That mortal. Remove her immediately before she taints the building.”
The guards tensed, preparing to obey when Eioth's voice rang out.
“Hold! By my command, no one touches or harms tor Halidan.”
“Take her out!” shouted Tribel. “By High Lord Renthi's command, no mortals are permitted under his roof.”
Halidan was shocked beyond speech. The servant had countered the order of his Lord! In his presence! What manner of Household was this?
Eioth gripped Tribel by the arm and spun him around. “Listen to me, old man,” he growled. “My father is dead! He no longer commands in this House.”
The twig thin male trembled from head to toe and tears threatened at the sound of the word dead. Halidan and all the other waiting staff stared openmouthed.
“High Lord Renthi,” Tribel began.
“I am the High Lord! If you cannot obey my commands, accept your retirement and go!”
“I must stay,” protested Tribel. “I gave my oath! I must maintain the House. I promised High Lord Renthi . . .”
“Enough!” Eioth roared. “Will you obey or not?”
Tribel stepped back, head bowed and both hands wrapped about the book in his arms. “I obey the High Lord,” murmured Tribel. “I live to serve the House. I will never leave.”
Halidan was certain that she wasn't the only one who noticed that Tribel had avoided answering which High Lord he obeyed. Certainly he hadn't promised to obey Eioth. She had never seen the High Lord in such a state. She'd even begun to believe that Eioth didn't have a temper so calm was he during the processional. But, here he was, threatening the body of one of his elderly servants, someone who'd obviously worked in the Household for decades if not centuries.
Eioth snarled, then turned his back on the servant. Instead of continuing the argument he addressed the other servants directly. “This is tor Halidan, my private librarian. You will treat her with respect. Escort her to the Blue Room in my wing of the House.”
Since Eioth
had his back to Tribel, he did not see that Elf turn his head to glare at the gathered staff. Under the pressure of his gaze not a single person moved. Considering what Matriarch Pitchuri would do if faced with this degree of disobedience Halidan held her breath and waited. To her surprise, Eioth did nothing to Tribel or to the other servants, instead he gestured for Halidan to accompany him and stalked past the servants up the grand staircase and deeper into the House.
Halidan ran to keep up as they traveled down corridors and up staircases. The High Lord's silence was intimidating. She could feel the barely restrained rage coming off him in waves. It was all very well in Halidan’s opinion for him to be angry, but she had the greater right to rage. Other Households might choose not to employ mortals. That was their right. But, to issue an outright ban on their very presence under a roof? No, that was not well done!
“I do not understand how you could permit this,” cried Halidan, when she could hold her agitation in no longer, “for him to speak in such a manner! How could you?”
Eioth halted in the center of the corridor and spun to stare at her.
“Do you judge me by him?” he demanded.
“Indeed, I do. I expect Low Court manners from Low Court families. Superstition has become ritual and habit with them. Since they are closer to mortals in the years given to them they feel the need to press mortals down in order to feel . . . more Elven, well, just more. But, here in your House, in the House of one who creates and enforces the laws of the Empire, I expected better treatment.”
Eioth’s eyes flashed and he moved to stand far too close to Halidan for her comfort. “What have I done to make you think I hold you in low opinion, or that I permit superstition to guide my actions?”
“You permitted a member of your staff to promote intolerance and prejudice in your presence. Mortal barracks and taint? How can you permit such degrading practices?”
“Do not judge me by Tribel. I despise him and all his workings.”
“And yet he holds authority in your House. Any who come here would be exposed to his opinion and leave believing that while you tolerate him you also tolerate and share his opinions.”
“And I say I do not! What, you think I would hire you, a mortal I have never seen before, if I held mortals to be so low?”
“When you offer me employment and expect to use my body, yes!”
Eioth seized her by the arm and drew her through dark wooden doors adorned with the Sigil of North West Demesne, shutting the door hard behind them.
“This wing is my private residence. Should you find it necessary to criticize me to my face, I require that you do it privately, here.”
“As you wish,” said Halidan, “although, I am surprised you care since you permitted Tribel to disobey you to your face before the whole processional!”
“My father was the prejudiced one,” cried Eioth, drawing a breath and visibly calming himself. “The one who treated all mortals and half bloods with contempt was my father. Tribel was his steward for years and now that my father is departed from life, he continues his policy despite my attempts to turn him aside. You saw for yourself my actions in the main hall.”
“I saw you try and fail!”
“Choose your words with care . . .”
“In what way am I incorrect? Was I not witness to your staff refusing direct orders? Choosing to obey the prejudices of your House manager over your own? Why do you endure it if it is truly not what you wish?”
Eioth covered his face and stepped away from her.
“I do not wish to discuss this, Halidan. It is my preference that there be peace between us. Continuing this discussion will only bring discord.”
“What will I gain by silence?” demanded Halidan. “Will I be ejected from the House this evening or tomorrow morning just as I was dismissed before?”
Eioth closed his eyes with a groan. “You will stay, Halidan, have no fear on that score.”
“You will forgive me, High Lord, if I place no dependence upon your promises.”
This time his eyes narrowed and voice dropped to a threatening growl. “Do not presume to insult my honor, Halidan. I am a man of my word . . .”
“Except in this House where you have variously promised to kill, dismiss, and break bones, none of which actions you have undertaken!”
His anger vanished as if it had never been as he brushed one hand over his forehead. “Yes, I know.”
Halidan waited, standing in a corridor wider than most village roads. Ornate doors were spaced at decorative intervals down into the distance. Halidan's first impression was that this one wing of the House was larger than the whole of the Pitchuri residence.
Her second was that the High Lord had never seemed so tired or so sad.
Before she could think of anything to say, he led her to the nearest door. Pushing it open far enough for her to peer inside he said, “This is my private library. As you see, it could be better organized.”
Baffled by the sudden change in subject, Halidan could not but agree. The chamber was large. Very large. It extending halfway down the corridor the length of three ordinary rooms and was well provided with light through floor to ceiling windows covered with thin linen shields to protect the books from sun damage. But, there were no books on the many shelves only stack upon stack of boxes on the floor. Some were open with books balanced haphazardly within.
“Poorly organized is not the word I would have chosen.” Halidan shook her head sadly at the mess. “I know you are reputed to buy whole libraries, but I must ask, after you purchase them are they ever seen again?”
Eioth gave a short barking laugh and some of the tension began to leave his face. “Sometimes. I admit there are sleepless nights that I spend here picking through the piles until I find something that interests me.” His nod directed her attention to a single comfortable couch positioned beside an unlit lamp.
“Oh.” Halidan considered the mess for a moment. “So, you truly have no idea what is here.”
“Exactly. Now you will admit I do have need of your skill. The offer of employment was sincere.”
He placed a subtle emphasis on the last word. Halidan raised her chin, determined to pretend to ignore the suggestive tilt of his lips.
“I never doubted that. It was the other that bothered me.”
Eioth's eyebrows rose. “Bothered? Past tense?”
Halidan went to step past him into the library, but he moved quickly to block the doorway.
“Halidan? What are your thoughts?”
She kept her eyes downcast. “I am not yet ready to make my decision.”
“As you wish.” Eioth's voice was mild, but there was something in his hesitation that had her pulling away.
“Thank you for showing me my duties. I shall begin now.” She composed herself as best she could and raised her face. “Are there not refreshments awaiting you on the Summer Balcony?”
“I despise Minthel wine. I have all my life.”
“Truly? Does Tribel know?”
The anger was back in an instant. “Of course the damned fool knows. I have told him more times than I can remember. But whether I am here or not, all during the summer months and not one day beyond Tribel escorts a tray of fruit and bottle of wine to the Summer Balcony at the tolling of the third hour. Since the death of my father no one has been there to consume them.”
Eioth walked into the crowded room that would soon, if Halidan had any say in the matter, become a well-organized library.
He began wandering between the stacks. “In the winter . . . it is tea from the Grey Forest served in the receiving room beside the main hall. In the spring . . . bah. . .it hardly matters. Let it only be said that I drink none of the things he prepares.”
Halidan tucked her hands into her sleeves to hide their shaking and tried to find a disinterested and politic tone in which to inquire, “I find myself wondering . . . why do you endure this?”
Eioth cast her a narrow-eyed stare, “Do you mean, why, if I am Hig
h Lord of the North West and master of this House, do I permit a servant to disobey me? Why do I not cast him out onto the street? Break my contract with him and send him away?”
The words rang in the silence that followed. Halidan swallowed, but did not respond beyond a nod.
“The truth of the matter is,” continued Eioth, “that I have done all of those things. When I first came to my authority I offered him retirement with a generous settlement and he refused to leave. I tried to break his contract and command him to go, but he showed me his papers. Those state that he is bound, lifelong, to this actual building rather than in service to an individual or the Household.” Eioth waved at the stone that surrounded them. “My father created a contract requiring Tribel to spend every remaining day of his life within these walls.”
Halidan had never been so shocked. She had never heard of such a contract.
“That is cruel. Slavery. I am certain that is illegal.”
“That is what I said. I offered to free him and Tribel refused. He wants to stay. He demands to stay and remain in service at the command of someone who has been dead sixty-four years. Unless I wish to create a scandal in which I order my guards to physically carry him,an old and fragile individual from the building, I am forced to permit him to stay.”
“That hardly seems . . . sane,” whispered Halidan, aware that she was insulting the High Lord's late father as well as the aged servant.
Eioth sighed and nodded. “There I agree with you. It is a difficult position to be in, helpless before the weight of public opinion and the insanity of a . . . But, do not permit it to disturb you. While we are here, Tribel is to be ignored. As you are my direct employee, not bound to service of my House or the demesne, but to me, Tribel is not in authority over you. Should he attempt to cause you difficulty send for your bodyguards and have them aid you.”
“My bodyguards?” Halidan's hands went to her throat. “Why? What do you think he will do?”
“Your presence will annoy him without a doubt. Ignore him, Halidan. Eventually he will ignore you.”
