by Lori Martin
“Nichos,” she said with hesitation, “is it all right for me to ask you something?” Inwardly she cursed her ignorance. She had no notion of Mendale etiquette – after all, she had only recently mastered Lindahne manners – and was afraid of being tactless.
“Of course.” He looked inquiring.
“Well, how many of your people are – have the same – that is, resemble you? I mean, have your coloring?”
Nichos smiled. “We are called listtels, a name taken from legends, meaning ‘children of the caves.’ The legend has it that our forefather sired the first of us on the spirit of an ancient cave. Our darkness is said to be due to her, and to the cavern, which was very deep and without light.”
“I thought Mendales did not believe in the gods.”
“And that’s the sore point, isn’t it? Try not to let it bother you so much, little one. It’s true that we don’t have temples; we don’t believe in particular deities. Your gods are very like yourselves, aren’t they? Ours are not. Most Mendales believe only in spirits – invisible forces inside of natural things. When I drink a new wine, I spit the first swallow out, to pay the spirit of the grapes. If I fish at a stream I throw the first catch back to the water spirit. That’s all.”
“But if you believe something is there, how can you not honor it?”
“But we can all feel power around us. Different powers, different spirits, shaping and pulling the world this way and that. But because I recognize a power in the sun and a spirit in the rainclouds, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I believe them to be just, or good, or watchful of me. It doesn’t follow that they are deserving of worship.”
Pillyn considered it in distress, and wished he would not call her “little one,” as he did Baili. She turned the subject back.
“Is being a list – listtel, did you say? – considered a sign of nobility?”
“Yes. We are in fact really one bloodline. All of us are at least remotely related. I don’t know the actual numbers, but there are perhaps no more than two or three hundred of us in any given generation. I hope you won’t think I’m boasting, but our coloring is held to be a sign of beauty. Uncommon things are often desired, aren’t they? And we are raised to the political life.”
“My father told me that most of your government positions aren’t hereditary.”
“That’s true, though only the nobility can hold office. The listtels are an exception to the rule. My own branch of the family, as you know, is concerned with the positions of herald and Assembly secretary, among others. Of course, if we are unsuitable for our duties we lose the privilege. In Lindahne, all positions are inherited?”
“Yes. That is, every noble-born is entitled to claim a place at court or on his own Hill’s council once he has been presented. The royals appoint specific duties, the way the king has made my father ambassador.”
“Well, it’s much the same, except that here the Assembly does the appointing. The Trio is also appointed by the Assembly from its own ranks, but the people may vote them out if they are dissatisfied and demand new appointments.”
Pillyn nodded. The custom of voting had already been explained to her. “Does your family – I mean, the listtels – do they intermarry?”
“Usually. A child of a listtel and another Mendale will most likely have the common fair coloring, though his child, if he marries a list-tel, will be dark. And so since it is prized, most listtels do marry one another to keep from dying out. But we also need new blood, and in every generation there will be those who marry outside.”
“Are the marriages arranged?”
“Well, let us say they are sometimes strongly encouraged. Children who are comparatively distant relations, such as third cousins, will often be thrown together by hopeful parents. But no one is forced to marry. Even when left to chance, it seems to fall that the right number marry among themselves and the right number marry others. My own father,” he added unexpectedly, “was a pale blond who had difficulty tolerating the sun. His mother was a listtel, though, and so was my mother, which is why I am also dark.”
“Arranged marriages in my country sometimes occur, but most believe that unions are unworkable unless there is real love and affection,” she said, striving to sound mature. When she talked to him she sometimes felt like a child, sometimes like a full-grown woman, though she was neither.
“That is my opinion also,” he said, and smiled again. Pillyn cleared her throat and tried to look dignified.
He said, “You have been told, haven’t you, that you will be presented to the Trio this evening? Dining with all three Tribunes is a great honor.”
“I realize that,” she confessed, “but it makes me feel a little nervous.”
“Oh, I’m nervous myself! I’ll also be there, thanks to my uncle’s kindness.”
“Is it a private supper or a banquet?”
“A banquet, and quite large, I imagine. Many Assembly members will be there, too.”
She reflected that he had probably admitted to nervousness just to comfort her. Still, it made him more of an ally. She leaned forward, her pale brows drawing together.
“Do you think it would be possible – I know I shouldn’t really ask this – but is it at all possible for Baili to come? Of course, he’s just a child,” she rushed on before he could react, “and does get into trouble sometimes, but he can behave when it’s important. And he’s just so enchanted with everything here, and dying to see the Tribunes.”
Nichos tapped a finger on the top of his glass. “It’s not usual, particularly as he is not, I gather, a real member of your family.”
“He is so,” Pillyn said indignantly, reverting to childhood. “Blood doesn’t always define a family.”
“I beg your pardon. You’re quite right. I’ll see if my uncle can get him an invitation.”
Pillyn decided he was really very nice.
Whether it was by accident or design (and she suspected the latter), Pillyn was greatly relieved to find herself seated near to Nichos at the long table, with Baili trying to look inconspicuous between them. Her father was on her right, preventing her from having to converse politely with too many Assembly members. The person directly across from her, the Second Tribune’s husband, did not look too formidable.
Boessus was deep in conversation with the First Tribune, a jovial man named Nesmin. He had large red mustaches and an even larger laugh. In his early career, before people had found out better, he had often been considered a fool.
The Second Tribune, as hostess to the Lindahne embassy, sat at the head of the table. Her name was Tana, and Pillyn had disliked her immediately. She spoke in clipped, curt sentences, even when trying to be gracious, and her entire face and body seemed composed of sharp angles. Seated on Tana’s right, across from Nesmin, was Nichos’s uncle, the Third Tribune. Forlas was also a listtel, though his skin was brown, several shades lighter than his nephew’s. He had the same serene air, but unlike Nichos he had deliberately cultivated it. He was a man who listened quietly and smiled often, veiling his own opinions and plans behind his courtesy.
The Mendale government, thought Pillyn. It’s a strange thing. At least the food is good.
It was excellent and plentiful, steeped in unfamiliar but enjoyable spices, served out continually by young boys who roamed the room looking for empty plates to refill. Pillyn heard her father make a complimentary remark about one of the dishes, adding, “I’m surprised, happily so, to see your people enjoying their food, Tribune. In general most of your population appears on the lean side to me. I was beginning to think Lindahnes must be plumper and greedier.”
The First Tribune’s permanent grin grew a little stiff. With excessive heartiness Nesmin replied, “But we would be greedy too, Ambassador, if we had your excellent fish to dine on on a regular basis. We only get it a few times a year, you know.”
Baili’s small sharp elbow dug into Pillyn’s ribs. True to his promise, he had remained completely docile and (almost) speechless, though several
people had taken second looks at seeing a foreign child at a state banquet. He was trying now to direct her attention to the Second Tribune’s husband, who was speaking across the table to her. Pillyn quickly gave him her attention, trying to remember his name and finding it hard to hear him above the noise gathering.
“– and find it a rough journey, my lady?”
Pillyn, who was accustomed to being addressed that way only by young and nervous servants, shook her head. “Not really, thank you, sir. We were lucky to have such light snowfall, although the mud made it hard to pitch our tents when we camped at night. It’s a long trip, however.”
“Yes, indeed,” he answered. He was the kind of listless man who fussed over his children and played with his food, which he was now doing. “I made the journey to your country once myself long ago, but the rain was heavy that year and it was quite difficult.”
Pillyn opened her mouth to ask the purpose of the trip, but caught herself when he suddenly dropped his fork, embarrassed. She realized it must have been during the last war, and he had not intended to mention it. He looked old enough to have been a soldier then.
“Trading lines, perhaps!” First Tribune Nesmin bellowed in delight to Boessus. “Think how profitable it would be for both of our peoples!”
“But Nesmin,” Second Tribune Tana broke in, in her rasping voice, “we already do trade.”
“Well, of course, but not with everyone, eh, Ambassador? We do get some of the crops from your valley, and the excellent pottery your artisans make, which I hope we pay for fairly with our leather. But your seafood is a real delicacy here. Our coastline is almost unfishable, you realize.”
“I was rather struck,” Boessus said, “at not passing a single trade caravan on our journey here.” The Lindahnes at home had also been struck, over the past few months, by trade coming wildly into their favor. The Mendales were competing with each other and driving up Lindahne prices. The king had ordered him to find out why, and Boessus hoped this would lead them to it. He wasn’t used to discussing important subjects over food, but evidently the Mendales were.
“Ah, but only government servants like ourselves are willing to undertake that kind of thing in the cold.” Nesmin laughed. “But you see I’m hoping to persuade you, Ambassador, that we should open trade lines farther seaward, so that we can get more of your lovely fish. And perhaps we could introduce you to new things. You’re not used to foods from the plains, are you? But see how good this is.” He presented a large piece of vegetable. Boessus was forced to eat it off his fork. “Delicious, wouldn’t you say? There you see, Tana? He has a taste for it.”
The Second Tribune carved a smile into her brittle face. Boessus said politely, “It would be an excellent thing, certainly Tribune, but there are many difficulties.” Chief among these would be that the Mendales would have to cross Lindahne soil if they wanted to trade directly with the fishermen, but he did not want to say so.
“Ah, but these things can be worked out – ”
“I should think the food would spoil,” the Second Tribune cut in. Apparently she had her own objections to the plan; she looked angry.
“Try some of this, little one,” Pillyn heard Nichos say. He was helping Baili from the platter. “It’s from the very shores of the Valtah. There’s not too much of it this year; the river flooded most of the crops out.”
“Thank you,” Baili said, remembering his manners. “Nichos, who is the Second Tribune mourning?”
“Shhh,” Pillyn warned. “He doesn’t understand, Nichos. In Lindahne that heavy brown color she’s wearing would mean you were mourning someone very close to you. Colors are more important to us than they are to you.”
“Everything means something in Lindahne, doesn’t it? I think that might be better. Here, too often, nothing matters at all.”
“There’s no need to discuss it now, Nesmin,” the Third Tribune was saying. It was the first time she had heard Forlas’s voice. Nichos’s uncle sounded something like him, but his voice was not as deep. He was smiling gently. “Friendships need time to grow, after all. And I am certain we will grow closer, to Lindahne and to their charming ambassador.” He raised his glass to Boessus, who bowed. They turned their attention to their food.
A strange government, Pillyn thought again. She glanced at Nichos over Baili’s head and was startled. He was looking at her, and for a moment he looked almost sad. As soon as she caught his eye, however, he smiled.
“I hope these political functions aren’t too boring for you.”
“I’m not bored,” Pillyn said, but she felt uneasy.
Later that evening Forlas sat in an inner room of the Second Tribune’s apartments, his back to the fireplace. Across from him, Nesmin was settled comfortably in a high-backed chair, both feet up. The door was closed and the passage guarded. The Assemblage, including their visitors, slept.
“–and I tell you I simply don’t favor it,” Forlas was saying. “It could be very costly for us.”
“So you keep repeating,” Nesmin said. He was always amiable, always congenial, relaxed now and drinking his wine. “But it would be far more costly not to do it, wouldn’t it? In any case, why argue about it? The Assembly’s already voted to continue ahead.”
“I realize that. And I’m a loyal man, I’ll support it. But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with it.”
Tana’s long skirt swept between them as she paced up and down. “The problem, gentlemen, is to see we carry it out with complete success,” she said acidly. “We’ve laid all the foundations and now we have to go through with it. It will only be a matter of a few months.”
“Exactly,” Nesmin said. He dipped his long mustaches into the goblet as he drank. “And when we reap the benefits, Forlas my friend, I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Forlas remained calm, but his lips pressed together, his only sign of anger. “Have either of you ever thought – ever even considered – what may happen if we are unsuccessful? Does our history mean nothing to you? Our people have already lost too much to the Lindahnes!”
“Which is why it’s time for a change,” the Second Tribune said. “They’ve owed their debts to us for too long. What would you suggest, for making them pay?”
“What was wrong with Nesmin’s idea at dinner? Perhaps more trade lines –”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Tana snapped.
Nesmin burst out laughing. “By the howl of the wind, man,” he spluttered. “Did you think I meant it?”
“No,” Forlas said. “I knew you didn’t. But you should have.”
Tana made a sound of annoyance and turned away. Nesmin drained his wine. A log fell in the fireplace, giving off a final moment of heat. Into the quiet Forlas spoke again.
“It’s a terrible thing we are bringing down on our people, and yes, even on the Lindahnes.” His voice was sad. “How will we answer for it? Each generation sends down its sins. The children to come will write our epitaphs; and they will say, What was thy life’s work? And we will answer, War.”
CHAPTER 11
The Introduction Ceremony was nothing but a look at “second-generation trouble,” in the king’s opinion, and so he had shifted the task to Dalleena. Its purpose was to allow a councilor to present a son or daughter to the court. It took place whenever a sizable number of nobleborn children came of age. The newcomer would be presented for inspection and – having been accepted – would be welcomed to Marlos-An to learn the art of governing, under a parent’s supervision and the royal eye. This particular group was a large one, composed in part of the children of some of the most troublesome councilors. Raynii had taken one look at the list and sent for his daughter.
The ceremony was held in a mid-sized stateroom. It did not begin well; there was a sense in the air that the king had slighted them. It was not really the duty of the relas to preside over this. Dalleena, however, exerted all her grace and charm, her firedust hair piled up on her head. Perhaps it was better after all, since this younger generation should
learn to deal with the royal heir. She would be their queen.
Everything went along in the predictable fashion and Dalleena found no surprises, except for the presence of Sillus in the gathering. Why had her uncle bothered to come? Carden, as a member of the royal family, had of course no need to be presented at court; nor had his sister, who in any case had forsaken a political life for the sect of Proseras, married, and moved to the Fourth Hill. The afternoon wore on. Then Sillus suddenly rose and approached the herald. Dalleena tried to follow his movements while at the same time greeting Sistra, a woman from the Second who was presenting her son. The son’s merits were no greater than those of any of the others, but Sistra dwelled on them. Dalleena continued to beam, trying to see Sillus, as she presented the son to the assembled crowd.
The herald bawled, “Sillus, royal son of King Reenis and Queen Leita, high Councilor and king-brother – ”
The bored company came back to attention. Dalleena stared at the young man beside him. He looked a little like –”
“–presenting Temhas son of Boessus and of Meyna, of the Third Hill!”
They stood before her. Her uncle said, “Relas, permit me to recommend to your service and that of your royal parents, as well as to the service of this company and all of Marlos-An, this man Temhas son of Boessus and of Meyna, of the Third Hill.”
She regained her composure. Temhas bowed deeply. Dalleena said, “What merits has he, presenter, that we should take him into royal service?”
Sillus began to recite Temhas’s age, schooling, family background, demonstrated talents and virtues (“a sharp eye and great discretion”), and his deep desire to learn the workings of government. The relas expressed the proper amount of awe. Breaking the formula, she commented, “I’m a little surprised, Uncle, to see you as a presenter.”
“Ah, well, Temhas has lately reached his majority and is eager to begin at court. So in the absence of his father I decided to present him.”
“I see. I didn’t know you were acquainted with the family.”