She was wearing one of her seldom-used court gowns, a lush creation of silver brocade and emerald silk that went well with her pale blonde hair, making her a fit match for Amberdrake’s beaded and embroidered, bronze-and-brown finery. And with her were two hertasi laden with “proper” clothing for Judeth and Snowstar, at least by Amberdrake’s standards of the clothing appropriate to diplomatic receptions. Judeth sighed when she saw the particular uniform that her hertasi had brought, but she made no other complaint. Both of them headed for one of the nearby boathouses to change, while the two gryphons, Amberdrake, and Lady Cinnabar waited, keeping their vigil.
It would not be too much longer before the fishing “fleet” came in, and what they were going to make of this imposing vessel, Amberdrake had no notion. He had confidence in the basic good sense of everyone out on the water, though; the sea was a harsh teacher, and those who were not possessed of good sense had not survived the first two years of experimenting with boats and fishing.
“I met Tamsin on the way down, and he told me everything you know so far,” Cinnabar said, as she examined the Haighlei ship without appearing to pay any attention to it at all. “I don’t entirely agree with Judeth’s approach, Amberdrake. I’m not sure it was necessary to be quite so blunt with these people.”
Amberdrake shrugged. “I feel the same way,” he agreed. “But she’d already gotten the bit between her teeth and was galloping away before I could stop her. The little that I know about the Haighlei is that they are extremely formal, that their culture is very complicated. I’m afraid we shocked them, and I only hope we didn’t utterly revolt them.”
Cinnabar pursed her thin lips, but made no other change in her expression. “That could work to our advantage,” she told him. “If we follow up on the shock in the right way, that is. Now that we have shocked them with our barbaric directness—which could be a sign of power, and they can’t know one way or another yet—we need to prove we can play the diplomatic game as well. We can’t simply let them dismiss us as beneath them; we have to complicate the issue for them.”
Amberdrake nodded, relieved to have someone on his side in this. “We also can’t afford to have them out there, waiting, watching for us to make a fatal mistake,” he agreed, “And if we shock and frighten them too much, that’s exactly how they may decide to treat us.” Then he smiled weakly. “Although on the surface of things, it does look as if it would be very difficult for them to insert a spy among us without a boatload of makeup.”
Judeth emerged from the boathouse at that moment, looking as if she had just come from a dress parade. Somehow, despite the fact that the stiff, severely tailored black-and-silver uniform she wore was over ten years old—this time with all her medals and rank-decorations on it—her hertasi had made it look as if it had just been fitted for her yesterday. With it she wore her favorite thigh-high, black leather boots, marking her former position as a cavalry commander.
“I’m glad to see you here so quickly, Cinnabar,” Judeth said with a smile. “This is not my strong suit. Telling them they have no choice but to live with us—now that is my strong suit! But from now on—” she made a helpless little gesture with on hand. “—I’m in the woods. You and Amberdrake play this the way you see fit.”
Amberdrake relaxed a trifle; it would have been very difficult to get anything done if half of the Council members were at odds with the other half-----
“I agree,” Skan put in, “with one proviso. I do not believe that these people are familiar with gryphons or kyree—creatures that they think are mere animals—being intelligent. Look at the way they reacted when I spoke! If you wish, you may put me forward as the titular ruler here, and that will throw them further off balance, a state which we can use to our advantage.”
“Now that is a good idea,” Cinnabar said thoughtfully. “It might be the factor that turns us from mere barbarians into something so very exotic that we take ourselves out of the realm of anything they can calculate. We might be able to get away with a great deal more than we would as barbarians. They will certainly assume we are the most alien things they have ever seen, and make allowances. I like it.”
“So do I,” Amberdrake replied, as Snowstar emerged from the boathouse, garbed in one of his sweeping, midnight-blue silk robes, with dagged sleeves faced with white satin and a white leather belt. He had braided ornaments of white feathers and crystals into his hair as well, and now was more splendid than Amberdrake.
“Well, look who’s putting us in the shade,” Judeth chuckled, as Snowstar rejoined them. “Where were you keeping that rig all this time?”
“In a chest, where it belonged,” Snowstar replied serenely. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing one wears for building walls, weeding gardens, or trekking across the wilderness.” He half-bowed to Lady Cinnabar, who smiled back at him. “One wonders what our visitors will make of our transformation.”
They did not have to wait much longer to find out. As the first of the fishing vessels came up to the dock and tied up—be it noted, carefully and cautiously—the three envoys emerged from the cabin of their ship, waited for the sailors to unroll the carpet again, and trooped down the gangplank to face the Kaled’a’in delegation.
The Haighlei did not miss the change in wardrobe; each of the envoys gave them a penetrating glance, although they said nothing. Skan did not pause to give them a chance to speak first.
“You surprised us with your coming,” he said graciously, rumbling deeply despite the clear volume—offering an apology that was not an apology. “We of the White Gryphon Council are as much responsible for the work of our settlement as any of our citizens. We were dressed for labor when you arrived, as is our duty. Nevertheless, we deemed it important to be here at your arrival—and felt it was irresponsible to keep you waiting as clothes were changed. Healer Tamsin was required urgently above; in his place is the Honorable Lady Cinnabar, also a Healer and a member of our Council.”
Cinnabar inclined her head toward them in an acknowledgment of equal status, and her formal, perfectly fitted gown left no doubt as to her rank. The meaning of the salute was not lost on them.
Amberdrake felt the appraising eyes of the two silent envoys assessing every detail of the new costumes, reckoning value, perhaps even assigning a tentative rank to each of them as the Haighlei judged such things. He thought he sensed a marginal relaxation, now that they were no longer forced to deal with what looked like a band of scruffy workmen.
The leader nodded graciously. “We see now that you are not the piratic interlopers we first took you for,” he said, offering his own not-quite-apology for their first demand. “Our agents reported that they had seen something like a river’s base being constructed; we see that you have built a formidable settlement here, made for the ages rather than the moment, and worthy of the name of ‘city.’ “
I think he’s saying that they’ve had a good look, and Judeth’s right; they can’t dislodge us without a nasty fight. The envoy’s next statement confirmed Amberdrake’s guess. “We see that you would also make valuable allies, and we have been advised to offer you the opportunity to come to King Shalaman’s Court, to negotiate.”
“We see that you are civilized and responsible,” said the man to the envoy’s right, a gentleman who had been silent until now. “We noted the careful planning of White Gryphon, and it appears that you have endeavored to despoil the land as little as possible. We had expected brigands, and we find builders, architects.” He smiled, revealing startlingly white teeth in his black face. “Such people would be valuable guards upon our northernmost border.”
Amberdrake smiled back, and Skan bowed slightly. “I am of the same opinion,” the gryphon said, with complete equanimity. “When would your monarch care to open negotiations?”
“Immediately, if possible,” the envoy replied without a moment of hesitation. “We would be pleased to host a delegation of two with families and retainers, one human and one—other, such as yourself. There is room in our v
essel to convey your initial delegation; others may follow you, if you so desire. We are authorized to wait here until you are ready to leave.”
That made Amberdrake’s eyebrows rise. Either these envoys had extraordinary power in making a decision here, or they had some way to communicate directly with their superiors.
Very possibly the latter. If their magic was working more reliably than magic used by the Kaled’a’in refugees, such communication would be simple enough.
Skandranon was equal to the challenge. “We would be pleased to host you in our city above for the night and show you a pale reflection of the hospitality we will be able to offer when our city is complete. In the morning Amberdrake and I and our families will be ready to leave with you. We are as anxious to conclude a treaty as you are.”
“Excellent,” the envoy said, as if he meant it. And for the first time, the three envoys stepped off their little strip of carpet and onto the dock.
Leaving their territory for ours? Whatever the gesture meant, it seemed they were perfectly prepared to make the trip up the cliff.
Well, none of them are very old, nor do they look out-of-shape . . . and how better to show them that we’re fortified for defense? Each of the envoys fell in beside one of the Councilors as they all began the walk to the path leading upward; the chief speaker beside Skan, the second man who spoke beside Amberdrake, and the one who had been silent the whole time beside Judeth.
The second man was thinner and a little taller than the other two, putting him at least a head taller than Amberdrake, who was not undersized by Kaled’a’in standards. His garments of red, black, and orange, while trimmed with heavy embroidery in gold threads, were made of very light material, perhaps silk. His walk and posture were relaxed now, and he strode beside Amberdrake with an easy gait that made the kestra’chern think that he was used to walking long distances. Perhaps they had no beasts of burden in his land.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Amberdrake said hesitantly, “How is it that you speak our language so fluently? Our people have heard of the Haighlei Emperors, and how powerful they are, but nothing of any detail and certainly not your tongue.”
“Oh,” the man said, with a flashing smile and a wave of his hand, “That is simple. We have had many northern kestra’chern in the Courts of the Kings over the years—there is one with King Shalaman now.”
“There is?” Amberdrake wondered—
“Oh, yes. A most remarkable and talented woman, and a great confidant of King Shalaman. Since he has no wife, she serves as Royal Companion. He even made her his Advisor for her wisdom. They call her Ke Arigat Osorna—that is, in your tongue and hers, The Silver Veil.”
Somehow, Amberdrake managed not to choke.
Three
Winterhart closed the pale-blue gauze curtains over the doorway to the balcony of the palace bedroom she shared with Amberdrake, and sighed contentedly. She left the doors open to the light breeze, a breeze that was already turning oppressively hot, and turned with all the grace of a courtier born, poised and elegant in the gown Lady Cinnabar had lent her. It was of a light cream silk, which complemented her skin. Her long hair, laced with cords of matching cream silk ornamented by bronze beads and cream-colored feathers, brushed her face as she smiled slowly at Amberdrake, and flicked her braids over her shoulder.
Then with all the abandon of a child, she flung herself between the pale-blue gauze bedcurtains into the heap of pale-blue silk pillows topping the bed. She grabbed one and hugged it to her chest, looking up at Amberdrake with a face full of mischief.
“A maid for the bath, another for the rooms—two nursemaids for Windsong—eating incredible delicacies at the royal table—and a suite of five rooms all to ourselves! And all Gesten has to do is oversee the Haighlei servants! I could get used to this very quickly,” she said contentedly. “It certainly is a cut above spending my mornings weeding the vegetable garden, my afternoons tending to minor gryphonic ailments, and the rest of the time chasing a two-year-old with endless energy and a positive fascination for heights!”
Amberdrake smiled, and sat down on the bed beside her, reaching out to touch her cheek. “As far as I am concerned, the main benefit is the nursemaids, who give us the chance to be alone together! How is it that Windsong always knows the moment you and I—”
“Empathy, I suspect,” Winterhart said impishly. “She certainly takes after you in every other respect, so I can’t see any reason why she shouldn’t have your gifts as well. And you know how little ones are, they want to be the center of attention, so when Mum and Da begin to shift that attention to each other. . . .”
Amberdrake sighed. “It is a perfectly rational explanation,” he said ruefully. “But it doesn’t suggest a solution to keep her from interrupting.”
“But the nursemaids will,” Winterhart said gleefully and waved her legs in the air, looking for all the world like a giddy adolescent. “Which means that we can spend as much time together as you can spare from being a diplomat.”
“You are as much the diplomat as I, no matter how much you bounce on the beds,” he reminded her with a slight grin. Small wonder—she never had a chance to be giddy when she was an adolescent. He ruffled her hair affectionately. She is good at this business; she looked every bit as regal as the highest of the Haighlei at the court reception this afternoon.
It had taken two weeks to sail down the coast to King Shalaman’s capital city of Khimbata; a second vessel with more room for passengers would be arriving at White Gryphon shortly, to bring the rest of the delegation. The initial party consisted of Amberdrake and Winterhart, Skan and Zhaneel, the twin gryphlets and Windsong, and three hertasi, Gesten, Jewel, and a little female named Corvi. Jewel and Corvi were with Skan; Gesten mostly served (and lectured) Amberdrake these days, but he often stuck his bossy little snout into Skandranon’s quarters to make certain that Jewel and Corvi were “doing things right by the old bird.”
The first few days had been occupied with settling into their new quarters, a pair of side-by-side suites in’ the Royal Palace itself. The architecture of Khimbata was strange and fascinating, even to those who were used to the weirdly lovely buildings Urtho, the Mage of Silence, had raised over his lands. It had an oddly organic feeling to it, with pronounced woodgrains, and no exterior surface was ever left unornamented. The swirling curves were covered with mosaics and sculptured reliefs of plants, birds, and animals. There was seldom anything as simple as a straight line, either, even in the interiors of buildings. The corners and the joining of walls and ceilings were always gently rounded, forming arches; ceilings sloped slightly upward to the center of a room, where there was always a flower-shaped or globe-shaped lamp. There wasn’t a right angle to be seen here, unlike the carved stone austerity of the buildings of long-lost Ka’venusho.
The private rooms all seemed to be decorated in pastels, and featured a number of ingenious ways to at least simulate coolness. There were gauze curtains to reflect away the worst of the sunlight, and huge windows and balcony doors to catch the least breeze. Fabrics were light and airy, smooth and soft to the touch. That was just as well because Khimbata lay in the heart of a jungle, and it was the most northerly of all the Haighlei Kingdoms. Amberdrake did not want to think about spending summer in one of the more southerly regions. One, at least, was a desert, with temperatures literally high enough to kill a man standing under the open sky for more than a few moments. So he had been told, at any rate, and he saw no reason to dispute the claim.
In the public chambers, however, the Haighlei love of color ran riot. The Haighlei felt as much at home in the jungle as within a building, and brought the jungle into their buildings as a pleasant reminder of the wealth of life lying outside the city. Huge, lush plants prospered inside, placed where sunlight would reach them and accompanied by cheerful fountains or pools with lazy fish of gold, white, and black. Tiny, huge-eyed furry creatures scampered tamely up the plants’ trunks, and out onto their limbs, and loud, rainbow-bright bird
s sang, whistled, or spoke mockingly down at the humans passing beneath.
The birds made Amberdrake feel comfortable amid all the alien architecture. They were like the tiny, rainbow-hued messenger-birds that the Kaled’a’in had brought with them, cherished, carefully nurtured, all the way from Urtho’s Tower. These birds were larger, but like the messengers, spoke in human voices, with sense to their speech. He had already made friends with two, a salmon-pink one with a backward-curving crest of deep red, and one seemingly painted in blue, gold, and green.
The walls were covered with mosaics that were just as colorful as the birds, and cool, dim, deep-green passages between the vast public rooms brought to mind the cool, dim trails between huge forest giants.
The Haighlei themselves were as harlequin-bright in costume as their architecture; the clothing the three envoys had worn was fairly typical. Silk, raime, the finest linen imaginable, and a gauzy stuff made from fluffy plant fiber were dyed and fashioned into elaborate, fluttering robes, billowing trousers, and draped gowns, none of which incorporated less than three colors.
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