by Frank Morin
Dagmanson sprawled across a wide valley nestled beneath sweeping arms of the mountain, covering several miles and creeping right up onto the slopes. A long, oval-shaped lake started right at the base of the mountain where the head waters of the Saol burst out through a cliff in a turbulent waterfall. The lake ran south for over three miles and had to be over a mile wide at the center. It fed the Three Sisters, which all started there.
Boats of all shapes and sizes plied all three rivers and crowded the southern half of the lake. From tiny rowboats and skiffs to wide, low barges piled with goods, to many-masted sailing ships. The three rivers diverged immediately, with city built close along their steep, stone banks.
Hamish again activated the long-vision aspect of the front window so they could study the distant view. The lowest reaches of the city, all along the banks of the rivers and the lake, were constructed of wood. Tight-packed, three-story buildings huddled close around warrens of narrow streets in several dense communities pressing toward the waters. Those were probably the tenements of workers and the lower classes. Other areas enjoyed wider streets crowded with shoppers. Long caravans of wagons trundled between the many docks and long, low warehouses.
Farther from the rivers, the streets widened even more, with larger buildings flanking them. With steeply-pitched roofs, most were constructed of wood and painted in bright colors. Blues and yellows and reds seemed preferred, but Connor spotted greens, oranges interspersed between them.
The northern banks of the lake were far more ornate, with tree-lined avenues snow-covered parks, complete with geometric-patterned hedges. Enormous stone buildings rose in stately majesty there, reminding Connor of the Carraig, with their fluted stone columns, ornate carvings, and many statues and frozen fountains.
“What are those huge buildings on the north sides of the lake?” Connor asked as everyone studied the enormous, sprawling city.
“Government offices, embassies, and the parliament house.” Gisela gestured toward a gleaming palace of light gray stone built atop a low hill on the north-eastern bank of the lake. “There is lying the residences of the monarchy.”
“So who lives in the palaces on the hills?” Hamish asked.
Connor hadn’t even noticed those yet. Dozens of opulent mansions dotted the hills rising on the northeast and northwest sides of town, flanking the steep cliff of the mountain that reared high above the city.
“The noble classes, families of the parliament, and notable government officials mostly.”
“There are a lot of them,” Connor noted.
Mattias said, “Like I told you. Althing’s number one product is politicians.”
Eystri rose and pointed with a trembling finger, looking excited. “There, on the west side of the parliament hall, is the vault.”
Connor spotted the parliament, a long building facing a park that ran along the northwest side of the river. At least fifty stone pillars supported an ornate balcony that ran along the fourth floor. It looked self-important and pompous enough to house a parliament. The vault was a huge, five-story building of heavy, black stone just to the west. Unlike other buildings in the area, it was surrounded by a thick stone wall, complete with portcullis on the gates and soldiers prowling the parapets and grounds.
“Where to?” Hamish asked as they approached the lake.
“Please to taking us across Dagmanson Lake and landing in front of the parliament building,” Gisela said. “My mother and the rest of the sitting councilors of the Logretta will sending delegates. We will arranging to presenting before the Lawgiver.”
She had explained during the trip that the Logretta was the parliament, the legislative branch of the government, and the body that held the real power. The monarchy was more a figurehead, but the lawgiver, the president of the Logretta, held far more influence.
“Is Hannes still the lawgiver?” Mattias asked.
Gisela nodded. “He has being the lawgiver for thirty-eight years, the longest of any in our history.”
“So he’s really old?” Hamish asked. She nodded and he said, “Probably likes soft breads, fresh from the oven.”
“I am sure I do not knowing.” She seemed scandalized to consider what the lawgiver ate.
“Depends on how well he’s kept his teeth, unless he’s got special ones manufactured for meals.”
“Please don’t make that a topic of conversation,” Mattias said in a pained voice.
“Of course not. I’ve never asked you about your teeth, even though you go around glowing them at everyone, as if begging someone to ask if they’re fake.”
“My teeth are not fake,” Mattias declared.
“If you say so.”
Mattias half raised a hand toward his mouth, frowning at Hamish’s back. Connor stifled a chuckle.
Many heads turned and fingers pointed in their direction as they crossed the city. Connor wondered if any of the Grandurian windriders had ever been sent to Althing before. By the way people were gawking and shouting, he doubted it.
Hamish took his time landing on the expansive, snow-covered lawns outside of the enormous Logretta building. A crowd scrambled to meet them, including at least a dozen soldiers.
The soldiers didn’t look like locals. Most Althins were fair skinned, with brown or blond hair, often with blue eyes. Those soldiers were tall, wide of shoulder, with dark hair and swarthy skin. They wore plate armor over thick, fur-lined leathers, and fur-trimmed helmets. They carried their swords, axes, and polearms like they knew how to use them.
Wolfram noticed them too. “Varvakins. They provide most of the security for Dagmanson.”
Connor had never met a Varkakin. He hoped his first experience with them didn’t involve denting all those pretty helmets.
Crisp, cold air rushed into the cabin as soon as Hamish dropped the shielding. Connor shivered, despite the fur coat he had just donned. Dagmanson was colder than Altkalen.
Gisela stepped out of the Hawk first, and timid Eystri surprised Connor by rushing to join her.
The many civilians stared wide-eyed at the Hawk and its passengers. The soldiers pushed to the front, their captain a grizzled veteran who looked tough enough that he might not need a granite affinity to enjoy bash fighting. Gisela had said the Arishat League countries enjoyed few Petralists, but Connor decided not to make assumptions.
The captain barked something in a harsh language that Connor didn’t understand, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Gisela replied in what Connor had to assume was the same language, but it flowed with beautiful sounds that rolled off her tongue, punctuated by rolling R’s and strong K’s.
The captain switched to Obrioner. “Name business and intent.” He spoke with a deep accent, and the syllables seemed longer and slower and meaner.
“Oh, put that away, Captain.” A middle-aged woman in a long, fur coat pushed through the crowd. Her head was bare, her thick brown hair tied back in a bun. She spoke with authority and almost no accent, and others in the crowd made way for her.
Gisela grinned and rushed toward her. The captain moved to intercept her, but the other woman snapped, “I told you to stand down. That is my daughter.”
She and Gisela embraced warmly and the sense of potential violence that had hovered around the soldiers subsided. Gisela towed her mother to the where the rest of them waited beside the Hawk.
“This is my mother, Briet, senior counselor of the Logretta. Mother, these are my companions.” She introduced them all in turn.
Briet greeted Lord Mattias and General Wolfram with warm dignity. “I heard rumor that Crown Prince Theodor was planning to send an embassy, but had not expected you so soon or for you to arrive in such a startling manner.”
“You are well informed,” Mattias said smoothly, with just a hint of glow in his teeth. “The decision to send a delegation was made only days ago.”
Connor wondered how she knew anything about it. They clearly didn’t have access to fast flying craft like the Hawk. Did they have a listening post
like the ones Shona had told him about in Obrion, leftovers from the Age of Discovery?
“Allies should work as hard as possible to understand each other.”
And no doubt, she worked twice as hard to spy on her enemies.
Surprisingly, Briet grabbed Eystri’s hands and hugged her. “Eystri, dear! Where have you been, and how did you join up with this group?”
Eystri smiled warmly at her. “I have being doing much researches.”
“You were never a field researcher,” Briet noted, studying Eystri more closely.
“My studies of the Blood of the Tallan have leading me to Obrion and Granadure, to the inheritor of the bloodlines.” Eystri gestured to Connor.
Briet inhaled sharply as her eyes settled on Connor. “You’re not Grandurian.”
Connor made a formal bow the way Aunt Ailsa had taught him. “Like Eystri said. Blood of the Tallan in the flesh. Figured I’d come along for the ride.”
Briet gripped his hands excitedly. “Welcome. Welcome all of you.” She surprised him again by giving him a quick hug. While she did so, she whispered softly into his ear. “Ailsa told me much about you, but said nothing about this visit. Her reports about the queen are disturbing.”
“She’s worse in person.”
Briet pulled back, looking astonished. “You’ve met Queen Dreokt?”
“Cracking mad as a blind pedra hunter.”
Briet gestured them all to follow her. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
As they followed her toward the Logretta, she ordered the captain to keep people back from the Hawk, then turned to Hamish without breaking stride. “I apologize for not waiting to be introduced. You must be Hamish, the first Obrioner Builder.”
“How’d you know that?” Hamish asked, sounding surprised and proud at the same time.
She gestured toward his suit. “I’ve heard of your fantastic research exploits and unprecedented battle prowess.”
Hamish walked a little taller. “If you know so much, what’s my favorite food?”
Briet smiled. “From what I’ve heard, you prefer quantity above all else.”
“I think we’re going to get along just fine,” Hamish said with a smile.
41
New Friends, New Baggage
The inside of the Logretta building was just as grand as the exterior suggested. They followed a wide, marble-tiled hall with twelve-foot ceilings. Paintings, statues, and ornate woodwork trimmed in gold leaf seemed to be everywhere. It was surprisingly warm too, although Connor spotted no fireplaces.
“How do you keep it so warm?” he asked Briet, who led the group, flanked by Wolfram and Mattias.
“This area is much like Altkalen, with many hot springs. All of our heating needs are supplied by the mountain itself. We harness the hot water and use it to heat the flooring, which in turn heats everything else.
Connor pressed a hand to the tiled floor and it was indeed warm to the touch instead of icy cold like it should be.
Hamish said, “Clever. Do you eat a lot of soups too?”
Briet smiled. “Some days nothing will do like a good soup.”
The halls were crowded with well-dressed men and women of such varied appearance and dress that they had to be from different countries. Many cast interested glances at them, but Briet did not stop to chat.
Connor easily picked out the fair-skinned Althins in their colorful, woolen clothing. Now that he knew what Varvakins looked like, he also easily picked them out of the crowd. The diplomats didn’t wear armor, but every Varvakin he saw proudly wore on their left breast an insignia of a pair of golden eagles, clasping in their claws a sword and a bolt of lightning.
He picked out a number of Grandurians, and even several who looked like Obrioner nobles. Other darker-skinned people wore flowing robes and strange turbans instead of hats. The men wore long, curving scimitars on wide, cloth belts. The women concealed their faces behind gauzy veils that gave them an exotic, mysterious air.
Eystri noted his gaze and said, “Those are Sehrazad. Not so many remaining through the winters. They have suffering so very cold in the winters.”
Hamish said, “So those blokes with the vests and jackets, and the women wearing the sensible shoes are from Ravinder?”
Connor hadn’t noticed the shoes, but he had spotted a group who seemed to like smiling more than everyone else. The men wore pastel-colored vests buttoned over white shirts and open, long jackets of oiled leather or dark wool over it all. The women with them wore modest dresses with far less jewelry and ornamentation than many of the other ladies.
“Correct. The Ravinders are mostly farmers, and all are being so very friendly.”
Gisela had once explained a little about the various nations. She’d also mentioned Ravinder was very peaceful. They specialized in agriculture and supplied large portions of everyone’s foodstuffs, even Obrion.
Student Eighteen had mentioned that her homeland was concealed in Ravinder, though. If anyone tried invading, they’d have a host of angry assassins descending on them in vengeful fury. Not a wise move.
Briet led them into a spacious conference room on the ground floor, with a massive table surrounded by forty chairs. She gestured them to seats. “This late in the day, we will most likely need to postpone a formal welcoming banquet until tomorrow. I will send for some light refreshments for now. No doubt Hannes the lawgiver will wish to meet you later. If we’re lucky, he’ll be able to join us at my manor to dine this evening.”
“We appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Mattias said. He looked a lot more comfortable in the role of delegation leader than he had riding in the Hawk.
Connor was happy to let him deal with all the formal chatter. He’d seen enough of that at the Carraig to prefer sitting out of the circle of attention. He could study what was said better that way. Politicians loved double meanings almost as much as Sentries, but without quite as much style.
Briet sent messengers to summon other council members to meet with them, along with senior military officers. “I’ll make introductions, although I recommend we limit our discussions to preliminary topics for today. We can delve deeper into the specifics of your proposed treaty tomorrow.”
No doubt she wanted time to speak with Gisela in private and learn more about their objectives. Although Mattias must have understood that, he nodded politely. “Exactly what I was thinking, my lady.”
Connor dreaded the idea of days of political speak, the intricate dance of words that they’d weave together as the basis for their treaty. Every word could prove important, and those kind of negotiations were as exhausting in their own way as bash fighting, but not nearly as much fun.
While they waited, he said, “Lady Briet, thanks again for the chemicals you provided to Gisela. They helped a lot at the battle of Altkalen.”
Hamish added, “The mega-stench was a life-changing experience.”
“You smelled it?” She looked astonished. Maybe the many accounts she no doubt received from all of her spies in Altkalen hadn’t been quite so complete after all.
Hamish nodded, a look of awe on his face. “I didn’t even get a full measure of it, but still emptied my guts all over myself. There’s nothing like it in the world. I started milking skunks after that. Initial battlefield tests were promising, but milked-skunk stench is just not epic enough to compete with your mega stench.”
“Milking skunks?” Briet asked with that surprised look so many people often wore around Hamish. “I can’t say I’ve heard our researchers ever tried that.”
“Gotta have the right kind of suit. They get testy, and sometimes you have to stand in a hot fire for a while to get properly clean. I’d be happy to give your research teams some pointers.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her enthusiasm seemed forced.
Now that Hamish got her distracted, Connor asked, “How do you think your Arishat armies can help stop that raving lunatic, Queen Dreokt, if Obrion invades?”
Briet looked surprised b
y the straight-forward question and Mattias gave Connor an angry glare. “That’s one of the points we need to negotiate. Weren’t you listening?”
“Just making conversation. You’ve probably got some other impressive chemicals to help. Hopefully they can disrupt armies as well as the mega-stench and the pedra’s spittle, but those were mostly distraction weapons. They didn’t stop Petralists for long. I’m hoping you have some that can cause more direct damage.”
“We mostly wish to be left alone,” Briet said, once again calm and collected.
Connor shook his head. “Too late for that. When Obrion comes, they’ll hit hard and we’ve got to be ready to hit harder or the queen will destroy everything.”
“You’ve met her and survived. Tell me,” Briet asked.
Connor thought back to that terrifying day and shuddered. “She has a sense of absolute self-confidence. She simply walked into the room and took over.” He described how she smothered free thought, how she stole their will to fight, and how she shrugged off the few brutal punches he’d managed, as if they were laughably weak
He didn’t tell her everything, didn’t mention that their courier guide was another of Eystri’s personalities, or that Aifric died in the encounter. He left out everything about Shona too, as well as any reference to his porphyry addiction. As he spoke, Briet’s concern grew to open fear.
“How did you escape?” she asked.
He hated that he still didn’t quite remember, so he said, “She let us go. Told us she figured she might find use for us sometime later and that she’d come collect us when she was ready.”
Connor shivered as he remembered that sense of complete helplessness. Everyone looked at him as something special because of his affinities, but he now knew the truth. He barely understood how to tap his powers and he stood absolutely zero chance against Queen Dreokt. He honestly could not imagine how they were going to stop her.
So he added, “While you’re negotiating, remember what the stakes are. The queen is an entirely new threat. She will laugh at powers we used to think were amazing. If she decides to attack your country, you have to be ready to hit her with everything you’ve got. I hope you’ve got a lot more than we’ve seen so far because it won’t be nearly enough.”