by Jeff Grubb
Kayla gave a small smile and said, “He is very charming, and I have heard that the desert traders have the ability to talk a snake out of its skin. Do you think he has the ability to enforce any deal made here?”
Tawnos nodded. “He brought the dragon engine with him. The men who follow him apparently think well of him.”
Kayla was silent for a moment, then said, “Do you think we can trust him?”
Tawnos held up his hands. “I don’t think we have given him much chance to prove our trust so far.”
“Indeed,” said Kayla, and pressed her fingers to her lips. “What if I were to tell you that Mishra was prepared to sign a treaty recognizing Yotia’s claim to the Sword Marches?”
Amazed, Tawnos said, “The qadir is willing to do this?”
Kayla held up a finger. “I said ‘what if.’ Diplomacy is filled with what ifs, idle ideas that are launched. If they fail to fly, they are quickly denied and more quickly forgotten.”
“Like prototypes in the orniary,” smiled Tawnos, and he thought about the nature of the offer. “What would be the price for such a boon?”
Kayla nodded. “Their declared price involves protection of Fallaji natives among our populace, guards for their caravans within our land, and a token payment for the land seized, but no formal apology for seizing it. Along with a recognition of the qadir as ruler of the united Fallaji people. In national terms, these are very small things indeed. But there is one last piece, and that is the sticking point.”
Kayla was quiet for a moment, and Tawnos did not interrupt the pause. When she spoke again, it was in cool tones.
“What are the abilities of Urza’s stone? The one he wears around his neck?”
“His Mightstone!” said Tawnos. Light broke over him. “Mishra wants his brother’s talisman!”
“What does it do?” persisted Kayla. “He is rarely without it.” Tawnos thought about what he had seen Urza do with the stone. Slowly he replied, “It seems to make artifacts and creatures more powerful within a limited range. He uses it to heal flawed power crystals, but it seems to work that way only in his hands. And he holds it when he is thinking, though that may be just force of habit.”
“Goodsir Mishra has his own stone, mate to his brother’s,” said Kayla. “Has he told you that?”
Tawnos was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
“I was surprised at that as well, the more so that it was Mishra who told me,” said Kayla, a ripple of irritation evident in her voice. “So the stone has some power, and Mishra wants it. Mishra said his stone sang to him. Does Urza’s stone sing?”
“Not that I have noticed,” said Tawnos.
“Nor I,” agreed Kayla. “The ambassador may be using some desert idiom I am not familiar with, so it may just be a flowery allusion. Yet the fact remains that Mishra is willing to guarantee peace, backed by his dragon engine and other devices he has hinted at, all if Urza will give up his stone.”
Tawnos shook his head. “Urza would not do this, I think.”
“You think correctly,” said Kayla gloomily. “Hence the ‘discussion’ that shook the halls of this palace.”
The queen of Yotia placed her palms together, fingers extended, and twisted them a quarter-turn against each other, then back. It struck Tawnos that he had seen Urza use the same mannerism when faced with a problem in design. He wondered if the queen had picked up the habit from her Prince Consort, or the Chief Artificer from his royal wife.
“I do not think it would do the nation harm if Mishra was to get the other half of his stone,” she said.
“But it might do Urza harm,” replied Tawnos. “In doing so, it could harm the nation.”
“Agreed,” said Kayla, again twisting her palms against each other, then setting them down in her lap. “But can I let this opportunity pass by? Am I condemning the Sword Marches to continual raids and the rest of the country to a constant military footing because of an item coveted by both brothers?”
Tawnos was silent for a moment, then said, “Urza is right.”
Kayla’s face fell, but Tawnos added, “You both need to talk more on the subject. You and Urza. You and Mishra. Mishra and Urza themselves. Perhaps there is some common ground that frees the Sword Marches. Perhaps Mishra is merely testing the waters, trying the prototype of an idea to see what your reaction is. Perhaps he asks for the stone and will settle for something else, something you don’t know he wants yet.”
Kayla sighed. “These are the problems of rulership. There are some situations that resist all easy solutions.”
“Which is why I am trying to avoid providing you with any,” said Tawnos.
Kayla nodded. “Your talents are wasted as Urza’s apprentice, Tawnos. You would make an excellent seneschal.”
Tawnos winced comically. “You already have an excellent seneschal. And were I not Urza’s apprentice, who would you talk to about the Prince Consort?”
That sally brought a true smile to Kayla Bin-Kroog’s face. “Agreed. Now be off with you. But be sure to tell me later how the brothers are getting along.”
Tawnos rejoined the Chief Artificer at the orniary as Urza was explaining the better control of the wing surface with a double-bend structure. Mishra was attentive and seemed to ask all the right questions, leading Urza each time into his next point. Urza, for his part, was scholarly but not pedantic about his work. To Tawnos there seemed to be no friction between the brothers, and he deemed it likely that the subject of the stone had not arisen on either side.
Tawnos looked around. Most of the rest of the Fallaji seemed bored beyond human conception, and the students present had heard most of Urza’s explanations before. They were staring at odd bits of the orniary, trying to keep from falling asleep.
Ashnod, however, was watching Tawnos. When he looked her way, she turned her head back to the two brothers. Then, as soon as he turned away, he could feel the pressure of her eyes on him. It made him very uncomfortable.
Tawnos had assumed from what Urza had said that Ashnod was Mishra’s lover as well as his student. Yet the two did not behave as intimates. And that earlier wink (if it were truly a wink) and now these stares-that-were-not-stares told a different story entirely.
The talk lasted through most of the early afternoon. Mishra made a number of small suggestions of his own concerning the design, while Urza pointed out what other changes they would necessitate. Finally it became clear they would not have time to tour the dragon engine as well that evening, and indeed there would be much rushing-about if that evening’s state dinner was to go off as planned. Mishra was effusive in his apologies.
“I can see that you’ve achieved much here. Once there is peace, I hope to be able to establish my own small foundry and laboratory,” he said.
“When you do,” responded Urza, “let me send you the notes on my teaching experiences. I discovered that certain methods work better than others in holding the attention of young men.”
“As if we never had that problem when we were young,” said Mishra with a laugh, and Urza managed a tight smile.
Yes, thought Tawnos, Urza had not entirely forgotten the argument with Kayla, but he was not going to let it spill out before his brother. It would not be he who created an incident, not he who spoiled his wife’s hopes for peace.
The state dinner was held within the great courtyard, an open-air celebration in the Fallaji style to honor the guests. Every cushion and throw rug in the palace was pressed into service, and a fine repast of roast lamb and spiced chicken was laid out for the attendees, who sprawled alongside low tables. The Fallaji, after too many suppers in stiff-backed chairs, were notably at ease, whereas the Yotians continually shifted and moved to find suitable resting places. The seneschal had found a band of Muaharin musicians in the city who had no qualms about playing for members of the Suwwardi clan, and the air was filled with their high-pitched strings and hearty shouts.
Kayla sat with Urza on one side of her, Mishra on the other. She spoke with both, though she was
mostly attentive to her husband, at one point offering him a date stuffed with cheese. He did not let her feed him but rather took the fruit from her hand and smiled at her, popping the treat into his mouth. Those city folk who watched the royal couple were no doubt delighted by their display of affection. To Tawnos it was a sign that perhaps the storm in their private quarters had blown over. Mishra, for his part, when talking to Kayla, continually extolled some virtue or another of desert life.
The meal ran eight courses, in the Yotian tradition, but all the courses were of Fallaji dishes. In addition to the lamb and chicken there was a broiled fish done with hot peppers, salads of spinach and goat cheese, and all manner of salted meats. Everything was served with a pungent wine smelling of cinnamon. The wine, called nabiz, was as potent as it was pungent, and Tawnos noted that a number of the Yotians used it to offset the discomforts of sprawling across the pillows. Most of his table consisted of Fallaji lieutenants, who laughed among themselves, and once, when a recognizable tune appeared from the band, rose to engage in a long line dance. Mishra joined them, keeping pace with their kicks and flourishes.
A shadow moved along Tawnos’s side. “Interesting, no?” asked Ashnod, as she settled down next to Tawnos.
“Traditional warrior’s dance,” replied Tawnos. Ashnod held out her cup, one of the gold ones from the warlord’s tenth anniversary celebration. Tawnos reached for the ewer of nabiz and refilled the goblet.
Ashnod made a rude noise at Tawnos’s words. “It’s one more boys-only tradition,” she said with a slight slur in her voice, and Tawnos wondered how much wine she had had already. “The Fallaji are typically chauvinist, and the Suwwardi the worst of the pack. Mishra had to practically club the qadir over the head to agree to negotiate with a woman in the first place. Women should be out raising the children and baking flat bread, not getting involved in politics, war, religion, science, or any of the rest of that ‘boys’ stuff.’ ”
Tawnos did not let his surprise at Ashnod’s words show. “Times change for all of us,” he said. “Perhaps the Fallaji will change as well.”
“Not in my lifetime or in yours,” returned Ashnod. She pressed a slim hand against her bare breastbone and stifled a burp.
“They are here, negotiating with a woman, and things are going well. And you, a woman, are among their number,” Tawnos said.
“I am merely tolerated,” replied the red-haired woman. “I am Mishra’s apprentice and assistant. The great Mishra is as much the leader of the Fallaji now as the qadir, and the chiefs trust him more than they do the fat young pup currently running things. So they put up with me. And the Fallaji legends say things about dangerous women with red hair.” She set down her cup and ran both hands through her long tresses, arching her back as she did so. “So they fear me as well.”
“Should they?” asked Tawnos. He knew he was feeling the effects of the nabiz work through his system as well, but he could not suppress his interest in this woman.
“Fear me?” said Ashnod, with a devilish smile. “I’d like to think so. But if Mishra left them tomorrow, I would be gone as well before nightfall; of that I have no doubt.”
Tawnos made no comment and instead looked at the dancers. Most of the Fallaji had joined the dance, which had transformed from a line into a spiral curling in on itself. Mishra led the procession and had enticed the spindly seneschal to accompany him. The birdlike man tried to mimic Mishra’s steps and did an admirable job miming the steps, bows, and shouts. Other members of the palace staff had joined the procession, but both unfamiliarity and spiced wine worked against them, reducing them to mere shufflers in the procession. The Fallaji did not seem to mind and in fact seemed to spur them to increased gyrations and bellows.
“Things are going very well,” said Tawnos.
“Better than you could imagine,” said Ashnod softly.
“What did you think of the orniary?” asked Tawnos.
“More impressive than I expected,” replied Ashnod, shaking her hair back. “Master Mishra is jealous, you know. Not that he’d admit it, but he’s been talking about getting a place to set up his own work for years. I think that’s why he wants this peace treaty. He’s been recruiting artisans from Tomakul and Zegon, but he has no permanent place for them.”
Tawnos nodded. Ashnod was sharing more than she should, but he had no problems listening to her. “Still,” he said, “it is a pity we ran long at the orniary. I would have liked to have examined…” Tawnos stared into her stormy eyes and almost lost his thought. “…Mishra’s dragon engine,” he finished lamely.
“Who’s to say you can’t?” asked Ashnod.
“Well, there is always tomorrow,” said Tawnos.
Ashnod shook her head. “Not tomorrow. Tonight.”
Tawnos stared at her. “There’s a banquet going on.”
“Later,” said Ashnod. “Listen. Can you get past the Yotian guards on our wing of the palace?”
Tawnos thought for a moment. “They know me. I don’t think there would be a problem.”
“And I can get past the brass hats guarding the engine,” said the woman, shaking her head again. “They know me and fear me, remember? I can give you a private tour. Interested?”
Tawnos stammered for a moment, and Ashnod added, “Come on. We’re supposed to be students. That means we can occasionally play hooky. You’ve never played hooky?”
“Never,” said Tawnos, and realized he was blushing. “Well, hardly ever. You?”
Ashnod’s face became suddenly stern, mocking her companion. “Never,” she said in a low, masculine tone, then smiled and winked. A definite wink this time. “Well, hardly ever. So, are you interested?”
Tawnos realized that it might be an opportunity to gain additional insights into Mishra for the queen and the Chief Artificer. “Yes,” he said at last. “I think I’d like that.”
“Dandy,” said Ashnod, rising smoothly from her seat without a sign of the effects of the alcohol she had been consuming. “After the midnight bell, then. Come to my quarters. And bring a civilized, decent dry wine, will you? All this desert wine is like liquefied candy.”
With that she was gone, disappearing along the edges of the cluster of drunken Fallaji and Yotians, all bellowing and shuffling to the music, forming an ever-growing maelstrom of celebrants.
Tawnos picked out a white wine from the larder’s private stock, which the palace cook assured him was the finest vintage the Korlis vinyards had produced in a hundred years. Still Urza’s apprentice felt more like a spy than a scholar with a jug of wine. As an afterthought he picked up his yarrow wood serpent, the one that had impressed Urza years ago. He wound the toy’s spring, set the latch, and put the coiled wooden snake in his pocket.
Off across the city, the midnight bell was tolling. Servants would be clearing the banquet by now, and those revellers not capable of making it back to their quarters would be rolled to a convenient corner and covered with a blanket until morning. Urza and Kayla had left arm-in-arm, their heads bent together in conversation. Mishra had completed one last dance with his men, then bade them return to the encampment. He and Ashnod would be staying at the quarters provided in the palace. At the time Tawnos thought that the availability of soft beds and running water had something to do with that decision.
After talking to Ashnod, Tawnos had stopped drinking the nabiz. However, the other drink being offered was a thick, syrupy coffee served in small cups. The mixture turned his stomach slightly, and left him feeling nervous.
At least Tawnos hoped that it was only the coffee and the nabiz that had unsettled his stomach.
Tawnos paused at the hallway leading to the guest quarters, then changed direction, heading instead for the orniary at the far end of the palace. It was only past midnight. Urza would still be awake and could tell him what to look for in particular when inspecting the metallic beast.
The apprentice arrived to discover Kayla quietly backing out and closing the door of the orniary, watching into the workshop
as she did so. She gave a small jump when she saw Tawnos standing there, then raised a finger to her lips.
“He’s resting,” she whispered.
“It is early for him,” said Tawnos quietly.
“Its been a long day,” she said, “and a good one, for him.”
“Yes,” said Tawnos. “He and his brother seemed to be getting along.”
Kayla pushed a loose strand of hair back, and a small smile broke across her face. “Yes, that,” she said, “among other things. In any event, I don’t think you should disturb him for a little while.”
Tawnos nodded, suddenly aware that he was carrying a bottle of white wine with him. Fortunately, Kayla did not say anything about it. Regardless, he shifted the jug slightly behind him and asked, “About the, uh, discussion you two had, earlier.”
Kayla shrugged, and moved away from the door. “We’ve talked. We had a good talk.”
“And what did he say?” asked Tawnos.
Kayla hesitated for a moment, then said, “He didn’t say no.”
Tawnos gave a sage nod. “Well, that’s a start.”
“A good start,” agreed Kayla. “Now, I think we both have other places to be at the moment.”
Tawnos blushed slightly. Of course the queen had seen the bottle, and made the assumption he had some late-night rendezvous. Tomorrow he would tell her the truth of the matter and the nature of the dragon engine. For the moment, he merely bowed and retreated back toward the guest wing.
The guest quarters consisted of a separate wing of the palace of Kroog, and Ashnod and her master had been placed on separate floors, each in a huge encampment of suites. A handpicked group of servants, known for their open ears and shut mouths, had been assigned to the wing, along with a number of loyal guards. The Fallaji were allowed to keep their own bodyguards, with the understanding that they too would be under guard. After the second night Mishra had dismissed his own guards as a sign of his trust in their hosts.
The arrangements were very Kroogian in nature. Each offer of beneficence concealed some implicit method of control. Tawnos wondered how much of it was Urza’s doing, and decided that there was little involving his brother’s visit that the Chief Artificer was not aware of.
