He swept his hand past Buhippus and the squadron.
“Ah. Posse, you say,” Agrimentikos replied. “I know this term from Tappiolus. It is a deputation of men charged temporarily with legal authority, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“I assure you, there is nothing temporary about it,” Agrimentikos said. “These Yunockers have been assigned to your safety. Captain Buhippus will attend us to assure the case.”
“To assure the case,” Buhippus echoed.
The three Danuwa came forward.
“We have come, Lord Belmundus,” Elypticus announced, much passion in his voice.
“I am ready to serve,” Parnasus echoed.
This lad was tall and willowy, a replica of his father, Posan. He had none of his mother’s fleshy acreage. Harris had taken a shine to him, choosing him over several other Thirdlings in Miracola’s brood. Harris noticed Melonius remained silent — no bow or nod or expression, except a hint of arrogance. Melonius’ nose twitched as if he smelled a bad odor.
Harris turned to Yustichisqua.
“Little Bird,” he said. “Take my marshals to their new uniforms.”
Yustichisqua touched his belt — a new belt, where his dagger hung. His hand tapped the hilt, his adaptation of a salute. As Taleenay, he also wore a new uniform — a crimson tunic, a leather kilt, a short silver cape and a small gold box cap with a sapphire top button and tied beneath his chin so he wouldn’t lose it in the wind. Simple and sleek, but impressive compared with many outfits worn by Thirdlings in the Ayelli.
Little Bird led the Danuwa into a dressing room. They followed tenuously, as if to do so would recognize this Trone as their better. The fact that Lord Belmundus had named him Taleenay swept all questions aside. For a moment, Harris thought Melonius wouldn’t follow, but Agrimentikos came forward, placing his arm around the recalcitrant Thirdling’s shoulder.
“Ah, a new uniform, Melonius,” he said. “Let me see what my brother consort has concocted for you three.”
Agrimentikos winked at Harris, and then ushered Melonius away, leaving Lord Belmundus alone with his unwanted guard and their proud captain.
3
After a nervous silence, Harris dared to stare down Buhippus, who had taken a sentry’s stance on his zulus.
“The sky is different today, captain,” Harris said. “I know the significance.”
“Do you now, my lord?” Buhippus said, bristling. “With luck, the Elector will mount his steed and proceed to Protractus to conclude his business. Until then, Montjoy shall be a gloomy place. The Sceptas will be out of sorts. The Thirdlings will not play games. The Scullery Dorgan will go on half rations. Even the garden will withhold its fragrance. The sooner we descend into the valley, the better.”
“An ill omen, you think?”
Buhippus drifted to Harris’ side.
“I would not concern yourself with Lord Kuriakis’ disposition. When the sky is . . . that color, he sometimes changes his mind about things. Lord Agrimentikos feared our lord might recall his generosity in this quarter of the household, even though he had issued his confirmation of your selections. Lord Agrimentikos feared the Elector might pay you a visit. He still might do so.”
“He has never done it before, but he would be welcomed, I assure you.”
Buhippus laughed. Harris didn’t care for the mirth, especially at his expense.
“Trust me, my lord; you would not want to chance it.”
“I know he sometimes acts upon a whim,” Harris said. “But he certainly hasn’t acted in secret.”
“He can be private or public as he sees fit. It doesn’t matter.” Buhippus came close to Harris’ eye. “Kuriakis is Montjoy. If he farts, we all smell it. If he dances with the Memer, we all rejoice. But when the sky turns . . .” He pointed.
Time to get out of Dodge.
“I thank you for the warning,” Harris said, reluctantly.
“We are not enemies, Lord Belmundus.” Buhippus let his feet touch the ground. “The fact that I am regulated by Lord Tappiolus has on no occasion shaded my judgment of you or your actions.”
“Are you my judge?”
“I am a Yunocker. We are the heirs to the valley.”
“That means your people conquered it like a bunch of Aztecs dancing over the people of the corn.”
Buhippus cocked his head, clearly missing the allusion.
“We were the masters of the land, true,” he said. “The Cetrones once held that distinction, but they are saddled by the promise and prophecy. We are not. The Ayelli are saddled by it also. The Yunockers are still the masters of our race. Greater powers have transformed us into tributaries, but not slaves, Lord Belmundus. Not slaves.”
Harris was glad to hear these words, because they informed, although he had no idea what the promise and prophecy had to do with the relationship of the conquered, the masters and the House of Montjoy.
“I have much to learn,” Harris admitted.
“You have, and in that gap you have cast aside sacred order. I must tell you that I am tolerant — more tolerant than most Yunockers.”
Harris was puzzled. He had regarded Buhippus as an unmitigated bigot.
“You refer to my treatment of Yustichisqua.”
“Trones are not treated by the Ayelli. They serve. They are an extension of want and fulfillment. They fetch, carry and, in Montjoy they are the shadows of this world. How you have convinced the Elector to permit a slave to be addressed, shuck the zulus, wear finery, carry a weapon and be titled, is beyond me. However, I am tolerant and respectful. I recognize as truth anything called as such by the great Kuriakis. And to that end, I can admire you, Lord Belmundus, for taking a sacred vessel and dashing it on the tiles without cutting your feet on the shards.”
Buhippus bowed.
“I have much to learn, captain, but I also have much to teach.”
“I am tolerant, but I am a poor student when the lessons defy natural order. One kernel in an ear of quillerfoil can rot the entire crop. However, a harvest can be destroyed before reaped and pounded into use.”
Harris grinned.
“Is that a warning, Buhippus?”
“Advice, my lord. Many have no capacity for tolerance. Some are standing behind me now. If I were not here, they might have drawn their Sticks and removed your new Taleenay’s cap, and perhaps might have inadvertently taken off his head. In the valley, you will find many who hold these sentiments to their hearts, and some who would harvest the quillerfoil with flame and not apologize later.”
Harris sighed. At least the man was being honest. Perhaps Buhippus would prove essential to this enterprise. Harris pictured wagons filled with vigilantes in white hoods riding through the valley, snatching every uppity Cetrone within reach and lynching them on the nearest phitron wall. He had more questions for this chief Yunocker, but before he could engage his next sentence, Agrimentikos returned with a dazzling display of Danuwa.
4
“Brilliant,” Harris said, applauding his three marshals as they reentered the hall.
Uniform, except in color — Elypticus in ivory, Parnasus in goldenrod and Melonius in mauve. Each Danuwa wore a metallic tunic with pleated kilt. Each sported a braided belt with an array of badges and weapons — a dagger, a Stick and a short sword. Three capes rustled in the breeze, and, upon their noggins, helmets topped with tanager plumes like fiery cock crests. They bowed (Melonius a bit off the mark), stunning to behold — an extension of their lord’s ermine cape and golden-laurel lid.
“Xyftys does splendid work,” Agrimentikos remarked.
“He does, indeed,” Harris said. “I must send a gift around to express my satisfaction.”
“Please, Lord Belmundus,” Agrimentikos coached. “You mean to spoil all the races. If you were to overpay Xyftys, the price of mending our socks will increase by three yedalas a pair. Leave well enough alone. He is overpriced as it is. Besides, you must learn about the economy now that you are in charge of the marketplace.�
��
Harris agreed with this sentiment. He had much to learn. However, he was proud of this sight — his three Danuwa and his Taleenay, arrayed before a squadron of turkey-feathered Yunockers and one cocky captain of the guard. They would make an impressive entrance into the Wudayleegu. The Zecronisian reception committee couldn’t fail to regard their new Provost with respect. Still, they hadn’t had a Provost within the memory of a single lifetime, so the novelty might be just that. Despite his elation, Harris recognized vanity when he saw it and spotted his own particularly well. He was a star, after all. He shook it off, looked toward the sky and grimaced.
“If only the Elector didn’t stir,” he muttered.
“It will fade when he departs for the council,” Agrimentikos said. “It is best we depart while it is pale green. When it turns olive, we would best be grounded.” He looked toward Buhippus. “Good captain, what strategy do you propose?”
“Our Cabriolins are standing at the ready,” he replied. “I shall lead with half my squadron. The Didaniyisgi will follow with his Taleenay. The three Danuwa can V-form behind him. Then you, my lord can stay as drogue. We shall bypass Montjoy and the Yuyutlu.”
“Bypass the city?” Harris asked.
“Yes, my lord. It is best to go through the Yugda Yustiganu.”
“The Yugda . . .”
“Yugda Yustiganu, oginali,” Little Bird said. “The Ravine Road going to the sea and the Wudayleegu.”
“Wise,” Agrimentikos remarked.
“But isn’t that like sneaking in the back door?” Harris asked.
“While the Elector stirs,” Buhippus explained, “any large Cabriolin convoy approaching Montjoy or the Yuyutlu would cause undue anxiety.”
“Besides, Lord Belmundus,” Agrimentikos said, “it would be improper for you to be introduced into the marketplace before meeting with the Zocor council. Nikodemos can be a prickly character when he wants to press his authority.”
Harris nodded his assent, and then raised his arms toward his Danuwa.
“I have one more gift for each,” he said. “Yustichisqua.”
Little Bird scurried to a display case in the mathom collection, snatching three small velvet boxes. He carried these to Harris, who took them up.
“Here! Catch!” He tossed them unceremoniously to each of the marshals, who, unprepared, fumbled to catch them. “Well, open them. Open them.”
As the Danuwa flipped the box lids up, their faces blossomed collectively. Even Melonius’ dour puss changed for the better.
“Rings,” Elypticus announced, popping his out and holding it to his eye.
“Not just rings,” Harris said. “They are seals of your authority to be used when I am away attending the Scepta and you are toiling on my behalf.”
Parnasus slipped his ring on, and then knelt.
“Now, none of that,” Harris said. He glanced to Buhippus. “I’m not a king or a blue-blood and I don’t cotton kindly to all this bowing and scraping. I’m just a kid from California who just happened to have my fly opened on a moonlit night near the Bowery.”
“Not so,” Agrimentikos chided. “You were selected and drawn for your strength of character and for your ability to portray the noblest of your race. Never think or say otherwise. Whether you wish those about you to bow and scrape is another matter and depends on . . .” He pointed to the sky. “It depends on the color of the sky and how our world is tuned to the lord of these realms. Never forget it, Lord Belmundus.”
Harris shrugged, but looked again at the sky. No matter how he would ultimately handle the obeisance of others, it was time to get out of Dodge or at least drift down from the Ayelli through the Yugda Yustiganu and arrive at the edge of the sea.
Chapter Ten
In the Wudayleegu
1
A mist hung across the invisible gate. A Yunocker convoy met Lord Belmundus’ entourage, halting Buhippus short of the boundary between the Ayelli and Montjoy proper. While Buhippus explained their mission to the guards, Harris glanced at the gulf below, which separated hill from valley. The terrain puzzled him.
“Little Bird,” he said. “What lies at that pit’s bottom?”
“I do not know, oginali. There are many tales and rumors.”
Harris twisted, glancing at his Dune Tygger, who seemed to know everything else.
“You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”
“There is nothing to tell,” Yustichisqua replied, shrugging. “I cross the pit on zulus. My waddly wazzoo does not stay lit when I pass. Some say it is a passage between the realms of light and darkness. As children, we are told the Zinbear dwells below — a monster with twelve heads that devours light, extinguishing it forever. But it is a tale to scare children. We shall never know, because no one, not even the Elector ventures there.”
Harris regarded the rift, realizing it grew shallower at one end and, at that end, it formed a promontory, cutting the hills into a canyon.
“And there?”
“That is the Yugda Yustiganu, oginali.”
“Our way?”
“Yes. That is why the Zinbear stories must be false. If true, it could climb out and devour all the light in Montjoy.”
“Which it hasn’t.”
“No. There is light to spare, for we keep it sacred for all. A thankless task, but our duty.”
Harris saw that. Why did a people, who preserved light in a land powered by the stuff be regarded abysmally?
“We are summoned, oginali.”
Harris saw Buhippus signal him to come, so he maneuvered the Cabriolin to the fore, Agrimentikos joining him. Two lords were better than one. However, what caused the delay, Harris couldn’t guess. Wisely, he announced himself.
“What seems to be the hold up, Captain Buhippus?”
“It is unseemly to keep consorts in queue,” Agrimentikos complained.
Buhippus raised his hand, indicating his regal charges.
“Here is proof enough,” Buhippus said to the sentries. “Proof that the Ayelli travel during Yichiyusti.”
“Green sky days,” Little Bird whispered to Harris as his ever-present translator.
“Indeed,” Harris piped. “I’m the new Didaniyisgi of the Yuyutlu and I go to the Wudayleegu through the Yugda Yustiganu. How dare you question the Elector’s mandate?”
The sentry twitched, and then bowed. Buhippus grinned, and Agrimentikos nodded as if to say that was a mouthful, but you nailed it. Harris was an actor, after all, and lines are lines. However, he wouldn’t chance repeating that mouthful any time soon.
“Pardon us, Lord Belmundus,” the sentry said. “It has not been the custom for the Ayelli to travel during Yichiyusti.” He pointed skyward. “However, I now see that you do.”
“And I shall.” Harris turned his Cabriolin about, returning to his place in the formation. “Lead on, Captain Buhippus,” he shouted.
The sentries parted and the entourage crossed the Zinbear’s lair, steeply banking right, following the promontory to the Yugda’s entrance.
“How did I do?” Belmundus whispered to Yustichisqua.
“I must teach you the correct pronunciation on some words, oginali, but I think you were clear enough.”
“Well, we’re jugging through the Yugda, aren’t we?” He laughed, and glanced through the approaching mist, which clung to the canyon’s walls.
The Yugda Yustiganu was alpine, although the two mountains forming the ravine weren’t precipitously high. However, the gorge was deep. The haze lent it a charged atmosphere — one wrapped in mystery. Harris kept an eye on the verdant slopes, where shadows drifted. He thought of the Zinbear, Mama Monster leading baby monsters along the cleft to lash at the Cabriolins. Then he spotted flocks of lavender sheep — or at least they looked like sheep, larger than the kind that jumped dream fences, but fleecy, nonetheless.
“Awidena,” Yustichisqua said. “Good to wear, to eat and to drink.”
“A regular department store on legs,” Harris remarked. “And thos
e?”
“Tludachi,” Little Bird said.
“Tyggers?” Harris mused. “They look more like lions than the beast I killed in the Forling.”
“These are Odala Tludachi — Mountain Tyggers.”
They appeared as fierce as their majestic Serengeti cousins, stalking their prey until the chase began, although sheep were no contest for lions or tyggers or Zinbears — life in all its food-chain elegance in universal, even in this realm’s membrane.
Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1) Page 28