Storms Over Open Fields

by G. Howell

  Rraerch lowered her hand and took a wary step backwards. “Oh,” she said very slowly and carefully. “Apologies.”

  I sagged. “I... I think I’m a bit jumpy.”

  “You think?” Chaeitch said quietly.

  “Come on,” Rraerch said quietly, and when she took my arm this time it was in the same way one might touch a dog that’d just growled at you. “Come along. We’ll take you back to your room.”

  I went. Only to stop as we passed Lady H’risnth. “Thank you,” I told her again. “For everything.”

  She sighed and cocked her head. Then she reached up, slowing her hand at the last moment before patting, gently, on my cheek. “Huhn, go and get some rest,” she told me. “And don’t forget this.”

  I accepted the bundle she pressed into my hands. “Thank you.”

  “Not as fancy as your box, but… use it well.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was a long walk back through dim corridors with her present tucked beneath my arm. Any feeling of festivity that might’ve been going around that evening had long since slunk away into the night. The lights that’d been burning in the palace grounds had gone out. There were guards moving around, more of them as we neared our quarters. How effective would that be? How good were they? How good was their training? They had pretty uniforms and shiny swords, but did they train for actual practical security or just practice formation marching and polishing their armor.

  I had visions of assassins simply dressing as guards or staff and walking past them. Hell, they’d done that already.

  ------v------

  My dreams that night were dark. I don’t remember much of them but I think I remember shapes that might have been black ink in black water; perhaps a tangle of shadows unfurling with ensnaring speed from a deeper darkness. I do remember waking sprawled on the floor, half propped up where I’d scrabbled into a corner over by the windows. The drapes were torn askew. A trapezoid of grey moonlight stretched across the room showing the tangled bedclothes strewn in a trail leading back to the bed. I was trembling, gasping breath, drenched with sweat and my throat was raw. Sensations still lingered, like there was something in the room, something closing in on me and I had to get away.

  “Oh, shit,” I gasped and put my hands over my eyes and face, breathing hard and listening to my racing heart trying to settle down. Sweat was cooling on my skin, making me feel clammy. There were distant voices that might have... no, they weren’t a lingering part of the nightmare. There were voices in some other room nearby, muffled beyond comprehension.

  “Mikah?” someone a lot closer said. Over past the angle of moonlight, over by the end of the bed the shadows moved. A Rris was there, squatting on haunches with hands dangling between knees, watching me.

  “Who’s that?” I croaked.

  “Jenes’ahn,” a low voice growled. “You... bad dreams, was it?”

  I clapped my hands back over my eyes and groaned. “A.”

  “You’re all right?”

  I shuddered. There were flashes of... there’d been Rris shapes and knives. “I’m all right,” I said.

  “Good,” she said and the dimly seen figure stood again. “Good.” Her eyes glinted. For a moment so did something else as her hands moved around the vicinity of her belt and then her hands were empty. “Then clean this up and get some sleep. We leave early.”

  There was a hint of movement and then nothing. She could have left or she may have been standing there staring at me, I couldn’t see enough to be sure. Eventually I groaned again and hauled myself to my feet. I collected the strewn blankets and replaced them. Out in the other room there was a hint of light as a door opened, some low voices growled and then the light was gone.

  Momentarily that voice spoke again, “Here, something for you.”

  She was right behind me. I hadn’t heard a thing, but she was there and there was something in her outstretched hand. “Drink this.”

  The goblet was metal and it was warm. So was the wine in it. “More alcohol?” I asked.

  “Drink it. To help you sleep.”

  “You think I need it?”

  “You were screaming like... You probably woke half the wing. I think you need something.”

  It was warm and spiced and not very good wine. I drank half of it and made a face. “You think that will help?”

  “It should. It’s drugged.”

  I looked at the cup and then at the silhouette of the Rris. “You know Rris medicines don’t have the same effect on me?”

  “A,” she said in a completely matter-of-fact tone. “Aesh Smither did mention it. She thought something like this might happen. She said this was safe for you. Now go and get into bed; I don’t want to have to haul your carcass off the floor.”

  She took the cup back from my hands and turned her tail to me as she started to leave. “Do you know what happened?” I called out. “Who was behind this evening?”

  Her silhouette stopped, then turned. I could barely make out her profile in the gloom. “Not yet.”

  “They weren’t the ones from before, were they. I mean, associated with your Guild...”

  “No,” she snapped back. “No they are not.”

  “They were working alone?”

  A pause. Then: “We’re not sure. They seem to be small fish. Hired [something].”

  “I don’t know that word,” I admitted, “But that means someone else is trying to kill me? Someone with money.”

  She laughed and the sound was a short, sharp snarl that felt completely devoid of humor. “You figured that out just now? Really, Mikah, did you think that after this decision the Guild made that people no longer wanted you dead? Huhn! The only reason they haven’t moved before is that they were hoping we would do their work for them. Now...you know if the Guild really did want to dispose of you, we’d simply with-hold our protection and let the circling wolves do the rest.”

  I stared at the patch of shadows in the doorway.

  “Now sleep,” she said and there was a suggestion of movement, but that was all. She was gone.

  The bed was still a tangled mess and the linen smelled of sweat, but I didn’t care. I just wrapped a sheet around myself and stared up into nothing. Christ, she tells me something like that and then expects me to sleep? Who was after me? Someone with money enough to hire assassins. Not the best ones, granted, but still... There were obviously Rris who didn’t like me – I’d met with a few that night. They’d kept their teeth covered but there was a frostiness there. How many of them had seemed hostile enough to perhaps go to lengths like that?

  I ran out of fingers counting them.

  And they were willing to go against the Mediator’s Guild. As her Ladyship had been. So the Guild was protecting me and openly nobody would oppose them, but under the surface that was a whole different story. That was... interesting. I wondered just how aware of that the Guild was. I strongly suspected that if their opponents used dirty tricks, they would to. In fact, after a while I wondered if there had actually been a drug in that wine or if she was playing mind games. I think that was the last thing I wondered.

  ------v------

  I was woken the next morning, groggy and nauseas, by Rraerch sitting herself on my bedside and poking me with a clawtip until I stirred. It was still dark outside; a time before sunrise when the sky was velvet blue-black and from down over the eastern horizon a pre-dawn sun was lighting up long, low clouds along the dark horizon like burning threads. I was feeling thick and lethargic; my head felt like it was clogged with wool and I wasn’t sure if it was a hangover from the alcohol, from the bad night’s sleep or a remnant of whatever it was they’d slipped me.

  While my pair of personal Mediators stood by and watched warily, the suite staff helped me stagger out of bed, wash and then dress in a hodge-podge mixt
ure of clothing: my jeans, moccasins and a light Rris shirt and vest. There was a quick breakfast of strips of smoked venison and bison, poached eggs, honeyed bread and watered wine while the sunward horizon glowed brighter, lighting the pale morning mist hugging the dells and hollows, trees standing from it like masts from a pale sea. The food helped clear the remaining cobwebs so by the time it was time to leave I was feeling a little more human.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” was the first thing Chaeitch said as he fell in with our little procession headed down to the waiting carriages. The Mediators were spread out; Jenes’ahn behind. Rohinia in front. He was carrying a stubby blunderbuss of oiled and engraved metal and wood that looked old, well used, and very dangerous. Both of them wore slender, slightly curved swords at their hips.

  “Better,” I said, settling the laptop case on my shoulder. “Despite the fact someone drugged me last night.”

  His ears tipped. “Ah, sorry. We thought... well, we thought you needed it.”

  Rraerch stepped in. “Mikah, you were screaming last night.”

  So I’d heard. I scratched at my beard and shrugged. “You knew that would happen? You seemed prepared.”

  “Her Ladyship cautioned us,” Rraerch said and then pursed her muzzle thoughtfully. “I was wondering how she knew that, though.”

  “I think stories get around, a Chaeitch?” I yawned and then asked, “Is there any reason we’re leaving this early? Do we have to catch the tide or something?”

  They gave me a pair of peculiar looks, then laughed.

  “What?” I blinked, then shook my head. “Oh. Lake. Right. But, is there a reason?”

  Chaeitch chittered again. “We don’t have that wonderful ship anymore. Remember? We’re going on a winder, and that means this trip’s going to take most of a week. Making the next port safely means doing it while there’s still light. To do that we should make full use of the entire day.”

  The ceremony seeing us off wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the welcoming one had been. Out in the cool morning shadows there were carriages waiting and a full complement of guards with their weapons honor-tied and ceremonial armor gleaming. Not only Cover-my-Tail guards: There were a few mounted Mediators. In comparison with the guards’ gleaming metal, their equipment looked like a hodge-podge assortment: no two sword sheaths were the same; firearms were time and use worn and looked obsolete even by Rris standards, but all of them glowed with oil and maintenance and their wielders carried them with an air of utter familiarity. Those half-dozen mediators carried more of an air of menace than all the guards.

  Baggage had already been loaded and gone off ahead, along with its own escort. Our own was mounted and waiting. I was shown to a carriage, clambered in and bunched my legs up while Rraerch, Chaeitch and Jenes’ahn settled themselves. Rohinia clambered up to ride shotgun on top. Literally.

  Unlike our arrival, there were no fancy displays of lights and flags; no curious guests and servants craning for a look at their guests. Instead the palace was almost pointedly quiet. Normal morning activity was going on, but that was about all. I wondered if some carefully laid plans had been rudely cancelled after last night’s fiasco. Up to the moment we set off I kept half expecting Lady H’risnth to appear on the steps. Perhaps waving a kerchief in farewell. It wasn’t going to happen of course. A farewell is a farewell and she’d said hers. It’s something else that Rris feel differently about. They don’t form emotional attachments in the same way. Perhaps, when you think about it, the shallower the attachments, the less pain when they’re ripped out.

  Was that an advantage for us or them?

  A few calls rang out from the drivers along the length of the processions and the carriage lurched into motion. I sat with my back to the front of the cab and watched the palace receding behind us.

  “Something on your mind?” Rraerch asked from across the cab. Jenes’ahn’s ears pricked up.

  “Huh?”

  “The way you’re looking. It’s... different. You’re sorry to leave? After everything that happened here?”

  “Oh,” I leaned back. The cab was as luxurious as any of these royal carriages were, but the suspension still sucked. “Not the running and the screaming and the shooting and the killing. I can leave that. But... her ladyship...” I waved a shrug. “You know, I think I liked her. She had a sense of humor.”

  Rraerch cocked her head. “She made an impression on you, did she?

  “Well, she had great taste in art.”

  “Is that all?” Chaeitch leaned back and slitted his eyes. “A personal gift for you, a? What was it, anyway?”

  I shrugged. “Paper and charcoal,” I said. “Very nice paper and charcoal.”

  “You would expect less from royalty?” Chaeitch snorted and eyed me, one hand stroking the fur on his other arm. “You didn’t go and get yourself emotionally attached with her, did you?”

  “I like her, but not in that way.”

  “Honestly, how many ways do you have of liking someone?”

  “As many ways as they have of being liked.”

  “A wonderfully vague answer.” Chittering laugher sounded from across the cab and from beside me. Jenes’ahn looked back and forth from the Rris to me, as if she were trying to understand something that just wasn’t sinking in.

  The procession slowly proceeded along that road that sloped gently up away from the shallow valley that cupped the palace. Fields of grass rippled, waves of stirring grasses marching across hillsides as fingers of wind combed across the stalks and dispelled the last of the mists. By the time the caravan crested the lip of the valley the sky was a riot of dawn colors.

  By then the road was a familiar one. On those trips to and from the city I’d travelled it more than a few times and had grown to know the contours. I knew the curves when it left the valley; the narrow little stone bridge after which the grating of iron-rimmed wheels on gravel road turned to the jolting rumble of flagstones; the long, straight, tree-lined avenue through the outskirts; the frontages of some of the more prominent buildings. I could recognize the Guild houses, the warehouses and workshops and factories where I’d been working with various Rris. And I knew some of those streets because I’d run for my life through them, being chased by other various Rris.

  Escorts mounted on brightly outfitted elk rode alongside the convoy. They still looked peculiar to my eyes. Their animals were something I’d expected to see in a Christmas pageant, not trotting along cobbled streets, bedecked in parade heraldry and ridden by feline-featured soldiers in gleaming armor.

  Through the window I could see one such mounted guard passing by outside, who was in turn intently watching the activity going on in a small side-street market dealing breakfast food. The animal moved with a sure-footed bobbing head motion and there was none of the attendant clip-clopping racket shod horses on cobblestones would make.

  I felt my jaw muscles clench in a grimace and I sat back. Across the cab Jenes’ahn was also sitting back, just watching me.

  It took us perhaps a half-hour to reach the waterfront. The water was still and unruffled: as flat as a burnished mirror reflecting the pearlescent glory of the dawn sky. Out at the harbor mouth the beacons had been extinguished but coils of smoke still drifted upwards, dark smudges against the growing liquid gold-metal smear of the rising sun. Vessels of all sizes filled berths along the wharves: a mass of wooden hulls with an artificial jungle canopy of rigging and masts rising above them. The tallest masts had only just been stroked by the first direct rays of sunlight, turning them into golden-tipped candles, but the quayside and harbor was already seething with activity.

  Rris swarmed about the docks. Voices snarling out across the wooden decking and water as vendors hawked food and wares and services, as stevedores loaded goods into ships, as crews prepared their vessels. Further along the wharves a ship was under construc
tion; the sounds of hammering rose from the wooden framework. Out on the mirror-still water of the harbor tugs milled around, towing larger ships toward the harbor mouth. Boats with Rris straining at oars left twin rows of dimples across the surface as they hauled much larger vessels; the few puttering steam tugs churned the water with their paddles, leaving roiled wakes and tendrils of dark smoke. Beyond the harbor walls a couple of sailing vessels were raising sail against the , searching for some breeze in the morning air.

  The ship that was to be our transport was moored in the VIP berth, where the Ironheart had been moored. It wasn’t anything like those other boats. Those ships were various sizes, tending toward rounded, tubby-looking hulls with one, two, or three masts and triangular sails and were obviously designed for cargo capacity rather than sheer speed. The ship we were to be taking was quite different.

  I’d seen the like before, on my trip to Blizzard’s Coat a year or so back. The design was something comparable to a schooner from my world: a sleek, three-masted design of brilliantly white lacquer, pale wood and polished brass fittings, it nestled at the wharf like a white dart. The trio of masts were rigged with triangular sails on booms. I remembered Mai giving me lessons in what the various parts were called and why they were better than other kinds of sails, being able to sail closer to the wind or something like that. I could identify and name a few of the sails and ropes in the Rris tongue, which was better than I could do in English.

  The carriages rattled to a halt and guards hastened to open the door. Jenes’ahn was the first out, slinking out in a fluid movement that went straight from the cab to the ground with no evidence of effort. I climbed out after her, taking things a bit slower and looking around at the activity on the quayside. Armed Rris were everywhere. Stevedores were busy carrying loading crates and chests and trunks onto the ship. The Mediators on elk-back were arrayed around the courtyard, carefully watching everything as carriages still rolled in after us, carrying other members of the delegation and guards. Over by the wharf was another cluster of Land-of-Water uniforms: staff and guards from the embassy. The Ambassador... what was his name again? Maetoi something-or-other was standing there, looking twitchy and tense as he watched us approach.