by David Weber
Several questions followed one another through Balcartha’s mind as she and the younger woman gazed at one another. But the only one who had the right to ask Leeana those questions was Leeana herself, and so—
“I don’t see any problem about arranging a couple of months of leave for you,” the five hundred said. “You’ll have to discuss it with Erlis, of course—make sure she’s covered while you’re away—but I feel confident we’ll manage in your absence somehow.”
* * *
“Leeana! Over here!”
Garlahna’s shout cut through the friendly, noisy, dimly lit din of The Green Maiden’s common room, and Leeana turned her head, peering through the rather smoky air until she spotted her friend at a corner table. Unlike her, Garlahna had exchanged her chari and yathu for a gown for the evening, and its amber silk clung to her like a second skin. It was interesting, Leeana thought, how the gown actually emphasized Garlahna’s undeniably curvaceous figure so much more...emphatically than the far more “revealing” traditional war maid attire did. It was a point she’d been paying more attention to of late herself, and she admired the embroidery on her friend’s deeply plunging bodice.
Of course, some people had more curves to emphasize in the first place, she reflected, although she had to admit she was less challenged in that area herself than she’d once expected to be. It was simply that Garlahna could have challenged anyone in that particular competition.
She smiled at the familiar thought as Garlahna waved, beckoning her over. Then she waved back and started working her way through the crowd.
The Green Maiden was always crowded, especially on the evenings like this one, when fresh rain clouds had come swelling up along the western horizon as the sun settled towards evening. It didn’t feel like it was going to be one of the Wind Plain’s tumultuous thunderstorms, but unless Leeana missed her guess, they were in for a long, steady soaking. In fact, the first drops had already begun to fall, although no one could possibly hear them pattering on the The Green Maiden’s roof through the chattering voices, the clatter of tableware, the calls for refilled mugs and glasses, and the preliminary tootling of the three musicians setting up for the evening’s entertainment on the tiny stage beside the huge fireplace.
Leeana reached the table Garlahna had snagged and paused to use both hands to slick beads of rainwater off of her bare shoulders and upper arms before she hooked a toe under the unoccupied chair on her side and pulled it out.
“Didn’t think you were going to make it before the floodgates opened,” Garlahna observed.
“I didn’t—quite,” Leeana pointed out wryly. “And I’ve got gate duty tonight. Third watch, in fact.” She grimaced. “It ought to be coming down nicely by then.”
“And Barlahn and I will be thinking of you with the deepest sympathy as we listen to the rain drumming on the roof and gurgling in the gutters,” Garlahna assured her, leaning comfortably against Barlahn Ironsmith’s shoulder. It was a well muscled shoulder, connected to powerful arms and calloused, capable hands, one of which was draped possessively around Garlahna at that very moment. “Assuming we can spare any of our attention from more...pressing matters, that is,” Garlahna added with a smile.
“Knowing you?” Leeana snorted. “Somehow I don’t think I’d better be counting on you to come make sure I haven’t come down with pneumonia.”
“Are you suggesting anything could possibly distract me from my deep and burning concern about my very best friend’s well-being on a dark and stormy night like this?”
“I’m suggesting it would take Chemalka’s own thunderbolt to get any ‘spare attention’ out of the two of you!”
“Well, that’s only because we’re going to be enjoying a few thunderbolts of our own,” Garlahna replied, arching her spine ever so slightly to round her bosom provocatively, then batted her eyes in Barlahn’s direction.
“Shameless hussy,” he remarked comfortably, smiling down at her, and she laughed and patted him on the thigh.
“Yep, and you love it,” she told him. “Don’t try to pretend differently to me!”
“Happen I’m not so likely to be doing that. ’S long as you don’t take t’ taking me for granted, anywise.”
“Trust me, that’s not going to happen,” she purred, raising her head far enough to plant a kiss on the side of his neck.
“Good.” He smiled again, then looked across the table at Leeana. “And a good evening to you, too, Leeana,” he said blandly.
“Why don’t the two of you just go ahead and get a room here at the inn?” Leeana asked sweetly. “It would save so much time. And I’d be happy to wait to order until you got back.”
“I tried, but they were all already taken,” Garlahna said mournfully. “Still,” she brightened, “I understand Raythas told Shallys she’d only need her room for an hour or so.” She smiled wickedly at Leeana. “I’m sure Barlahn and I could get it when she’s done...if you’d care to join us before you go on watch, that is.”
“Garlahna, if I thought you were really willing to share Barlahn for even one moment, you might actually manage to embarrass me,” Leeana told her with a smile of her own. “Since I know perfectly well what a greedy bitch you are where he’s concerned, I’m not really worried.”
“Spoilsport!” Garlahna laughed, then looked up as one of The Green Maiden’s servers appeared at the edge of the table. Like quite a few of the other war maids scattered around the common room, the woman had a pipe clasped between her teeth, and smoke curled up from its bowl to join the haze drifting overhead as she cocked an eyebrow at the three of them.
“So are you finally ready to order, Garlahna? Or do you and Barlahn want to sit over here in each other’s laps for another hour or so, first? Oh, and hi, Leeana.”
“Hi, Barthyma.” Leeana shook her head and jabbed a thumb in Garlahna’s direction. “You know the two of them are lowering the tone of your entire establishment, don’t you?”
“I keep telling them to get a room,” Barthyma Darhanfressa replied, and raised both eyebrows as Garlahna went into a fit of giggles. “I said something especially funny?” she asked.
“Only to someone like Garlahna,” Leeana assured her. “And since I’ve got the duty in another couple of hours, I’ll go ahead and order a beer now, if you don’t mind. And is that venison I smell?”
“Shallys’ special recipe,” Barthyma confirmed.
“Then I’ll have that, too. With the buttered potatoes and lima beans. Oh, and don’t forget the cornbread! And—”
“And make sure it’s a generous portion,” Barthyma finished for her with a smile, and shook her head. “Girl, it’s a good thing you’re as fanatical as you are about those morning runs of yours!”
“I’m just making sure I get to go on enjoying the good things in life,” Leeana replied with a smile.
“Some of them, at least,” Garlahna said. “Personally, I prefer to burn off the pounds without running around barefoot in the misty morn.”
Leeana shook her head fondly. Garlahna might miss the occasional morning, but the two of them ran together at least four days a week.
“So, are you two going to order?” Barthyma asked the dark-haired war maid, and Barlahn laughed.
“O’ course she is. In fact,” he smiled down at Garlahna, “I’m thinking you’d best fetch her an extra portion, too.” He looked up at Barthyma and winked. “Happen she’ll need her strength tonight.”
“Mother, take me now!” Barthyma rolled her eyes, and looked back at Leeana. “If it gets any deeper back here, you’re going to drown before you have to go out in the rain, Leeana. You’re always welcome at the bar if you need to escape.”
“Thanks,” Leeana said wryly, “but I think I’ll just stay here and take notes.”
“Take notes?” Garlahna sat up a little straighter, brown eyes narrowing slightly. “And the cause of this sudden curiosity of yours would be—?”
“Who said anything about ‘curiosity’?” Leeana retorted. “I’
m just looking for blackmail material.”
“Blackmail material?” Garhlahna laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding! I was a farm girl, not a ‘noblewoman’ like someone I could mention, before I ran off to the war maids!”
“Oh, I know it wouldn’t have any effect on you,” Leanna shot back. “But Barlahn was a respectable fellow before he took up with you. He may still have a reputation to worry about, you know!”
She grinned at her friend, green eyes dancing, but Garlahna gazed back at her with that same speculative air for a heartbeat or two. There was something about Leeana’s tone, she thought. And was that the slightest edge of a blush along the other war maid’s cheekbones?
Their eyes met for just a moment, and then Garlahna snorted.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, snuggling comfortably back down beside her freemate. “If Barlahn was going to worry about his ‘reputation,’ he never would’ve ‘taken up’ with me in the first place!”
Chapter Eleven
Bahzell leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and whistled tunelessly as he gazed out from the balcony across the roofs and busy streets of Sothōfalas. They were worth gazing at, although they couldn’t hold a candle to Belhadan or Axe Hallow. On the other hand, those were Axeman cities, with dwarvish engineering readily available and located in a far more densely populated land.
Sothōfalas was substantially smaller than Axe Hallow, although it actually covered a greater area than Belhadan, he estimated. But the dwarven sarthnaisks who’d contributed to Belhadan’s construction had buried at least half of that city’s housing, shops, and warehouses in the solid stone of its mountainous terrain. Sothōfalas sprawled out in every direction from the towering battlements of King Markhos’ great fortress of Sothōkarnas, and beyond the rib of granite which had broken the Wind Plain’s surface like a broaching whale to serve as Sothōkarnas’ foundation, the terrain was flat as a griddle on either side of the Pardahn River.
The Pardahn, yet another of the mighty Spear River’s countless tributaries, wasn’t all that much of a river, but it did offer the Sothōii capital a reliable source of water. And it was deep enough for barge traffic, he thought, watching a horse-drawn barge creeping towards the city. Hradani eyes were much better than human ones, and Bahzell could easily make out the crossed battleaxe and warhammer of Frahmahn flying from the stumpy flagstaff on the vessel’s stern. It was a lengthy haul from Nachfalas to Sothōfalas, but he didn’t doubt Cassan was going to show a tidy profit on the barge’s cargo.
For now, at least, he told himself with grim satisfaction, and let his eyes sweep back across the steeply pitched, brightly colored roofs of Sothōfalas. They built in stone or brick, the Sothōii, and they burned coal in winter. There wasn’t that much wood here on the Wind Plain, and what there was of it was far too precious to be used as a mere building material or fuel. In that respect, they really did have quite a bit in common with the subterranean cities of Dwarvenhame, he reflected. And, even more than his own people, they built thick walls, too, fit to stand the blasts of the far northern winter even at the Wind Plain’s altitude and thick enough to shed the sometimes fierce heat of the brief northern summer, as well. There were few exterior windows, however, and all of the larger, more prosperous homes clustered around his present vantage point had obviously been designed with an eye towards defense, even here in the very heart of the Kingdom’s capital. It was a reminder that feuds between the great Sothōii clans could be just as bloody as among Bahzell’s own people, but it was more than that, as well. Without handy terrain features, the Sothōii had deliberately constructed defensive strong points within their city. At least two thirds of Sothōfalas’ present area lay beyond the old city walls, which had last been extended more than two generations ago...and whose maintenance was scarcely the first charge on the Exchequer. That faintly offended Bahzell’s sense of the way things ought to be, but stone walls had never been the Sothōii idea of a proper defense, and the capital was far from unguarded. Indeed, if a hostile army ever managed to reach it at all—an almost insuperable challenge, given what Sothōii light cavalry and wind riders would do to any invader here on their home ground—those fortified villas would make Sothōfalas a tougher nut to crack than it might expect, he thought.
Not that the city was any sort of grim, gray fortress. Its streets were as clean and well kept as any Axeman town might boast, and streamers, pennants, and wind-tube banners flew from the towers of Sothōkarnas. The great royal standard which indicated the King was in residence snapped and cracked above its central keep, and every manor in the city appeared to sport the brave banners of whatever noble house had built them, as well. Nor was that the city’s only color. The Sothōii didn’t favor the bas relief sculptures and intricate mosaics Axeman architects incorporated into their public buildings, but the walls of Sothōfalas’ buildings were bright with painted frescoes and murals. Those on more public buildngs tended to reflect each structure’s function, but the competiton between private homes was often fierce, and mural painters were both highly prized and lucratively paid. From where he stood, he could see artisans touching up at a dozen or so of those murals, apparently repairing the last of the winter’s ravages. And the streets themselves were full of pedestrians, carts, and—inevitably—mounted riders. The clatter of hooves, the rattle of cart wheels, the buzz of conversation, the cries of vendors and shouts of children...all the vibrant, living noises of the city came to his ears like the music of life.
He’d considered stepping out onto the balcony proper, the better to enjoy its bustling life, but he’d decided against it. He wasn’t the hardest person in the Kingdom for people to recognize, and he and his fellow hradani remained less than fully welcome in the eyes of all too many Sothōii. There was no point calling unnecessary attention to his presence here in the city...and especially not to the fact that he was an honored guest in this particular house. That was why he’d been careful to remain well back, where—hopefully—none of those who continued to cherish less than warm and welcoming thoughts might spy him.
He’d been careful when he first opened the balcony’s glass doors and propped himself here, as well, since the diamond-paned panels looked suspiciously fragile, and he’d had entirely too much experience with furnishings—and buildings—which hadn’t really been intended for a hradani who stood nine inches over seven feet to go about leaning on them. He’d tested the strength of the frame with a thoughtful expression before satisfying himself it was truly up to his weight, studiously ignoring the obvious amusement of his two companions while he did so.
“Dathgar says you and Walsharno are being full of yourselves again,” Tellian Bowmaster remarked from behind him. Bahzell stopped whistling and glanced over his shoulder at the baron, ears cocked interrogatively, and Tellian chuckled. “Walsharno’s mind voice is a little stronger than other coursers’, you know. And, ah, Dathgar’s been around longer than he has and developed a bit better ‘hearing.’ If you two really don’t want him eavesdropping, Walsharno’s going to have to learn not to shout when the two of you aren’t nose-to-nose.”
Tellian’s eyes twinkled, and he shook his head.
“Dathgar just suggested that perhaps Wals
harno thinks it’s only a ‘firmly voiced discussion’ because of the volume you two normally need to get through one another’s thick skulls.”
“I’m thinking you and your four-footed friend need to be finding yourselves another insult,” Bahzell said genially. “Mind, I’ll not say as how either of us are after having the very thinnest skulls in the whole wide world, but it’s in my mind as how someone who’s of a truly inventive turn of phrase could be coming up with something a mite fresher.”
“We can only do our humble best in Brandark’s absence,” Tellian replied with an apologetic air.
“Besides,” Vaijon put in, looking up from his book in the chair he’d tilted back against one of the handsomely decorated chamber’s walls, “we’ve found the simplest insults are best. You seem to miss the more complicated ones every so often.”
“Oh! That was a clean hit!” Tellian congratulated, and Vaijon nodded in acknowledgment with a suitably modest expression.
“Aye, so it was,” Bahzell agreed, glancing at the younger champion.
Vaijon grinned at him, and the hradani shook his head. His human friend had reverted—partly, at least—to the Vaijon he’d first met in Belhadan. He was never going to attain such heights of magnificence again, thank Tomanāk, but he’d definitely turned his regular attire up a notch for the occasion. The plain woolen surcoat he’d adopted for normal wear had been replaced with one of green silk, glittering with genuine gold bullion, and the spurs on the glistening black boots stretched out before him as he lounged inelegantly on the base of his spine in the comfortable (and expensive) chair gleamed with silver inlay.
“Of course,” Bahzell continued, “while I’ve no choice but to admit it’s true as death hradani can be a mite slow noticing as how someone’s trying to get through to them, I’m thinking someone as lives in a glass house might be a mite careful how he lobs cobblestones about. It’s in my mind as how I recall a young Axeman popinjay as was a bit behind hand himself when it came time to be listening to others.”
