The apothecary greeted him with a small cup. He rolled his eyes at it. “Had you any trouble swallowing your meal?” she asked.
He nodded, taking the cup and eying it with a sigh.
“Lie down before you drink that,” she said.
He swallowed the noxious potion and was asleep before he could finish thinking that apothecaries everywhere seemed to enjoy making their medicinals taste wretched.
* * *
At midafternoon, Kazryn woke, feeling no pain. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, then opened his eyes and stretched. The apothecary who’d spoken to him in the morning appeared next to his bed.
“How do you feel?” He could sense her probing. “Aye, and you can speak now, if you do it soft.”
“Much better,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “You honor me with your skill, apothecary.”
“Aye, and you have manners, you do,” she replied, her eyebrows climbing her forehead. “Have you a name, farmhand?”
“Kazryn.”
“Well, Kazryn, and I am Syrana. It was my honor to serve you, and that of my colleague Durzyn. You can go back to Jer’s farm now, but work easy today and tomorrow. Long as your voice is hoarse, talk as little as you can. And get yourself a meal before you leave the stronghold. You missed the midday.”
“Yes, apothecary,” he said, slipping off the bed and bowing his thanks.
After getting himself a good hearty meal from the kitchens – which to his relief didn’t hurt his throat – he headed out of the stronghold. Once out of sight and out of range of the guards, he shut his barriers fully, camouflaged, and headed back in.
He went first to the roof, watching as workers reinforced the wood support beams and ancient stone with materials invented in the past hundred years. It was far beyond what any race in the Trade Alliance would expect from his apparently pre-industrial people. He shook his head silently. This was bad. All it would take was one observant outsider and the Tolari could be exposed for the highly advanced race they were.
Back down in the stronghold itself, he investigated the room in the family wing where he’d caught the strong smell on his first visit. The quarters were empty now, cleaned and deodorized, but he thought he could still catch a faint trace of the scent. He grinned when he noted the necessary had been replaced with chamber pots and the bathing area removed and replaced with large basins. The pieces of artwork scattered about were all composed of natural materials. He nodded. The Monral wasn’t being a complete fool. The beings lodged in these quarters wouldn’t have seen anything inconsistent with a pre-industrial culture.
He’d spent as much time as he dared before he needed to start back for Jeryth’s farm. The apothecaries would have informed her he had been released. He half-walked, half-ran as much as he could, surprised at how easily winded he was. When he started to near the farm, he slowed to a measured walk. He was as tired now as he wanted to appear.
Jeryneth came running up the road to greet him. She’d sensed him coming from quite a distance, he noted, shaking his head. The child had a huge range, in addition to being easily as sensitive as his celebrated advisor, Storaas. The Monral was a fool if he didn’t tap Jeryth’s daughter for deeper training. He hoped, for Jeryneth’s sake, the Monral visited the school to discover treasures like her.
“Kazryn, Kazryn!” she cried as she reached him, jumping up and down, wanting to be picked up.
He clasped one of her little hands with his thumb and two fingers, tugging her along with him as he walked. “Forgive me, little one,” he said hoarsely, “I cannot pick you up today.”
Her eyes went huge. “You got sick!”
He gave her a warm smile. “Perhaps you should be an apothecary when you grow up,” he rasped.
She beamed. “I like the healers!” she exclaimed. “They came to the school one day and showed us what they do. They said I would be good at it.”
He nodded and cleared his throat. It didn’t help. “You would have to study hard,” he said.
“I know,” she said with the certainty of the very young. “I like to study.”
He chuckled and fell silent as they entered the house.
“Fafea!” she called, running off. “Kazryn is home!”
Kazryn snorted and shook his head, bemused. Jeryth walked into the room with Jeryneth on one hip and a welcoming smile on her face. He bowed to her in apology and sat heavily in one of the sitting room chairs.
She returned the bow with a nod of her head. “Have you orders to work easy for a day or so?”
He nodded. “And talk little,” he said. His voice had become a basso rumble.
“My Jery had you talk too much already, so I can hear,” she said.
He shrugged and smiled. “Tired now,” he rasped.
“Aye, and the walk would do that to you. Have a rest till the evening meal then.” She set Jeryneth down. “Run along and help Marzaina in the laundry, Jery.” She followed her daughter out of the room.
* * *
Kazryn was stronger in the morning. Jeryth had him walk Jeryneth to school, giving him another brief chance to camouflage and investigate the stronghold. The roof reinforcement wasn’t finished, but he was relieved to see the workers had begun to conceal anything not made of stone or wood. His concerns allayed on that point, he slipped out of the stronghold and walked back to the farm, where he spent the day, at Jeryth’s behest, helping with light kitchen and house chores.
He went about the work with dampened spirits and less than his usual energy. The stress of being a world away from his province and people was wearing on him and becoming painful. While folding robes in the laundry, he found himself motionless, caught in his thoughts, staring out the window with longing. He shook himself and turned his attention back to folding the robe in his hands, only to notice Marzaina gazing at him.
“Have you left someone behind, then?” she asked in a soft voice.
Many someones. He nodded to Marzaina and applied himself to the clean laundry, closing himself up as much as he could without rousing her suspicion.
“Aye, and that will be pain enough for anyone,” she said, almost to herself.
He glanced up and gave her a rueful smile, then picked up another robe to fold. Marzaina left him to his thoughts.
For all that the work was light, he was exhausted by the end of the day. Excusing himself, he left the rest of the laborers relaxing in the sitting room and dropped onto his mat, half asleep by the time he lay down his head. Physical fatigue from the cora reaction was only part of his weariness. As long as he was away from Suralia, he would slowly weaken. He needed to finish this business, and soon.
A ruler and his people are one, he thought as he drifted toward sleep. Without each other, they have no purpose. How long would it be before his people began to sense something was wrong? He trusted the Jorann to know what she was doing by sending him here, but he desperately wished she had simply told the Monral to send the odalli to Suralia. He let go of that wish, and let his longing for his people be swallowed by sleep.
* * *
Deep in the night, Kazryn was awakened by a faint rumble of distant thunder. He frowned as his eyes opened. Was weather control malfunctioning? There shouldn’t be a storm during the harvest. He threw off his blanket and went to the window. In the distance, a point of light was descending on the stronghold.
A landing craft! He pulled out the compressed package he’d been carrying and donned the loose trousers and embroidered robe it contained, then camouflaged and slipped out of the house, heading for the Monral’s stronghold as quickly as his still-healing lungs would allow. If all went well now, he would not need to return to the farm for any reason other than to apologize.
He arrived at the stronghold just as guards were closing the great doors. He vaulted over their heads and twisted sideways through the narrowing gap. Landing lightly, he dodged to one side and made his way to the audience room, willing his aching chest to breathe silently.
The small vesse
l’s occupants had not yet arrived there. Excellent, he thought. He had a few moments to catch his breath. The Monral was sitting on his heels on the dais, conferring with one of his advisors. Kazryn moved to one side and waited.
A guard near the door flickered, and all conversation ceased. Moments later, the odalli delegation entered the room.
Kazryn’s face went slack in shock. Though his barriers were shut, he slammed them tighter. Humans! So, they had finally begun exploring this end of the sector, after spending so many tens of years concentrating their focus on the Terosha Federation side of their space. It had only been a matter of time before they developed interstellar travel fast enough to indulge their thirst for exploration.
Four humans made up the delegation: a gray-haired, stocky man accompanied by a younger woman, and two men who moved like guards, dressed alike and carrying what appeared to be weapons. Distance weapons, he thought. He hoped the Monral had thought to disable them. Such weapons might be primitive, but they were profoundly dangerous.
The human guards stayed near the doorway, while the stocky man continued toward the dais with the woman on his arm. They were exotically dressed and reeking faintly of the strange chemical scent he’d detected in the guest quarters. His eyes began to water. He blinked away the involuntary tearing and focused on them. When they reached the foot of the dais, the male lowered himself to the mats to sit on one hip, like a gravid woman. Kazryn’s mouth twitched. The female, in contrast, sat perfectly on her heels. Both waited politely for the Monral to speak.
Sparks of amusement ran through the Monral as he kept them waiting. Kazryn compressed his lips. It was rude to treat guests in such a manner. The male human appeared to be a trained diplomat, waiting patiently, though he was in some discomfort. The woman was hiding something. She was dangerous, that one, he decided. He extended a delicate probe into her. She had more real power than her companion, but she was letting him think he was in charge. Very dangerous, Kazryn amended. And sense-blind. She had failed to notice his probe.
The Monral finally spoke. “Welcome,” he said.
Kazryn’s eyes narrowed. That word was the same in Monrali and Suralian.
“You honor me, high one,” the graying man replied in good Suralian.
Kazryn’s eyebrows shot up. The man didn’t speak Monrali, but he did speak Suralian. He waited for the Monral’s response.
The Monral, clearly enjoying the opportunity to make the human diplomat uncomfortable, merely stared at the man for a time. Finally, he broke the silence. With Suralian. Kazryn smiled grimly.
“Have you consulted your government?” the Monral asked.
“I have, high one,” the human replied. “It isn’t clear to Central Command what you want from us.”
The Monral smiled slowly. “I will only accept—”
Enough was enough. Kazryn interrupted by bursting into view, drawing on more than a century of authority and his impressive height to make himself as imposing as possible. He was finally back in Suralian blue, in a robe with the extensive white embroidery of the planetary ruler, confronting the Monral. He felt his identity as a farm laborer drop away. He was the Sural again.
The humans startled. The woman uttered a small, involuntary cry, and the human guards raised their weapons in alarm. Even the Monral jerked a little, and every guard in the room flickered into view, focused and ready to attack. The Monral locked eyes with him, then signaled his guards to stand down. The human barked an order in what must have been his own language. The two human guards slowly lowered their weapons.
He broke into an affable smile. “How kind of you to offer my guests the hospitality of your stronghold, Monralar,” he said in a pleasant voice.
“How did you –” The Monral stopped himself, his eyes narrowing. Then his face lit with recognition, and the Sural knew he’d put the pieces together. The Monral stood and bowed, rigid with anger. “Monralar greets you, Suralia. I present to you Ambassador Smithton Russell of Earth and his bond-partner, Adeline.”
The humans stood as the Monral introduced them. The Sural offered them a slight bow. “Welcome to Tolar,” he said.
“High one, I don’t understand,” the Ambassador said to the Monral.
The Monral smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but the Sural silenced him with a gesture.
“I am the Sural,” he said, “leader of the ruling caste and ruler of Tolar.”
Ambassador Russell looked from the Monral to the Sural and back, an expression of comprehension dawning on his face. He smiled winningly and bowed. “Earth is honored to meet you, high one,” he said.
The Sural studied the humans. Then the Monral, in what seemed to be an effort to salvage the situation for himself, muttered a few words in the human’s language. The Sural locked eyes again with the rogue ruler. You play a dangerous game, Monralar, he thought. The air crackled, and even the human in front of him seemed to feel it, sense-blind though he was.
“He merely offers some friendly advice,” the Ambassador said.
He turned his attention back to the male human, more impressed by the tone of voice he’d used than the statement itself, which was a glowing lie. “Monralar is known for hospitality,” he said, choosing to counter the lie with a well-known aphorism.
The Monral muttered another unintelligible phrase. The Sural snapped a gesture. “Leave us,” he commanded in Monrali. “Take your advisors with you. Wait in the corridor for me.”
The Monral gave a curt nod and bowed, his lips a thin line as he stalked from the room. His advisors followed, bowing as they passed.
The humans swiveled to watch him leave. The woman uttered some words, then joined her bond-partner, tucking her hand under his arm.
“I do not understand your language, Ambassador,” the Sural said.
“Adeline says the Monral hates you,” the Ambassador translated.
He raised an eyebrow, considering the woman again. Even sense-blind as she was, the woman was a keen observer. “The Monral has never been a friend of Suralia,” he commented in a neutral voice.
“Are you safe here? We can transport you to your home province, if you like.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “They cannot harm me here, and I must attend to unfinished business in this province,” he told them. “If you wish to have a discussion with one who has the authority to speak for Tolar, you must come to my stronghold in Suralia in three tens of days. We will talk then.”
“Where is Suralia?” the Ambassador asked.
“Servant,” he called. “Bring a map of Tolar.”
A servant brought a beautifully bound book containing a complete atlas of the planet. He showed the Ambassador the location of his stronghold and where Suralia was in relation to Monralar.
“My stronghold lies on a plateau above the city,” he added. “The city lies on the coast. Both are easily located. There is a field the shape of a waning moon halfway down the cliff below the stronghold. You may land your vessel there.”
The Ambassador beamed a smile. “Until we meet again, high one,” he said, bowing. His bond-partner bowed with him.
He watched them leave, satisfied until he sensed guards creeping toward him. “Do you truly wish to walk into the dark?” he warned in Monrali. “The Monral has not dishonored himself – yet.”
The guards stopped. Shaking his head, he headed out into the corridor to confront the simmering Monral. His furious enemy stopped pacing and impaled him with his eyes.
“Show me how you concealed your activity from the rest of the ruling caste,” the Sural ordered.
* * *
He headed up the road toward Jeryth’s farm at dawn, tolerably satisfied the Monral would cause no further trouble. The planetary sensor net was online and no longer being routed through Monralar’s substations. The human ship in orbit was now visible to the rest of Tolar.
The future had become more complicated due to the Monral’s scheming. His old enemy had succeeded in one of his usual goals: the Sural was irritated.
He’d taken care not to let the Monral know it.
Sounds of the morning meal greeted his ears as he let himself into Jeryth’s house. Quietly, he went to the eating area of the kitchen and stood in the doorway until they noticed him. When they did, the silence was profound, as the five laborers, the cook and the kitchen servant all stared at him with wide-eyed shock. Jeryth’s shock was mixed with feelings of betrayal. All recognized what his robe meant. Suddenly, they all stood and bowed low, murmuring.
“I knew it! I knew it!” Jeryneth’s pelted into the room and threw her arms around his legs. “You are a ruler! You are!”
He scooped her up into a big hug. “Yes, Jery,” he said. “You were right.” He fixed her with a look. “Forgive me for making you doubt yourself. You must never doubt your ability again. You have a special gift.”
She gave him a happy smile and rubbed her forehead on his cheek. “Are you staying? Are you going to be our ruler now?”
He shook his head. “I am the Sural. I must return to my own people. You will still be ruled by your Monral.”
“When he comes to my school, he’s nice,” she said.
He gave her a fond smile and a squeeze before setting her back down. “Jeryth,” he said.
“Yes, high one?” she answered, bowing low without looking at him.
“When I met you on the road, I was a farm laborer and nothing more. It was no lie or deception. The Jorann made me so, to accomplish the goal she set for me.”
Surprise flashed through her and made her finally look up to meet his eyes. “The Jorann?”
“The Jorann can strip even the Sural of his rank and title, if she wishes.”
“Aye, so she can,” Jeryth said, looking a little happier. “She must have set you to teach our Monral a little humility, so I say. You rulers can get some high and mighty, now and again.”
Sounds of agreement came from the men. The Sural laughed. “Even so,” he said, sobering. “Jeryth, if you ever need anything—”
“Nay,” she interrupted. “I want for nothing. And there are none in Monralar as would let me nor mine go hungry or dirty.”
Into Tolari Space (Tales of Tolari Space) Page 5
