by K. M. Tolan
Tucking her helmet beneath her right arm, Mikial put on a face of indifferent importance, not wanting to give anyone the impression that she was here as a prisoner. No matter how it appeared otherwise. They walked up the marble steps; their footsteps echoing back from the palace walls. Dahin's dusty troops were themselves surrounded by an equal contingent of soldiers wearing pistols and plumed hats.
“Family Guard,” Dahin assured her, pointing to the white insignia of two skathes on their hats, the predatory fish opposing each other with fangs exposed.
Mikial favored some of the looks she received with bared teeth of her own, until she caught Dahin's bushy eyebrows crease in disapproval.
They passed between the opened glass doors and turned left down a hall where oval windows overlooked the veranda outside. Dahin put a cautioning hand on her shoulder guard as they walked along green-and-gold floor panels. “I would suggest that you conduct yourself with the utmost restraint before the Steward, Mikial. Keep that temper of yours down. Like it or not, your entire people will be judged according to what you say and do. I'll escort you in from here."
“I'm not going to crawl, either,” she half whispered when the soldiers stopped at the intersection of another hallway. Mikial did not need her hunting eyes to sense the number of people around the corner. It sounded and smelled like a crowded marketplace. Dahin led her away from her escorts, taking her down a hall, its peaked ceiling lined with small gas-lit chandeliers. Burnished wood paneling extended down to thick green carpets. It reminded her of an excessively decorated High Keep.
Ironwood doors opened into a circular chamber she guessed was beneath the central rotunda. The roof curved up three stories to frame a chandelier hanging like some wondrous jeweled tree. For a moment Mikial just gaped at the masterpiece. That can only be Taqurl artistry, she thought. Each crystal globe threw off multicolored reflections of sunlight that streamed in from surrounding windows.
Mikial's amber eyes swept across three encircling balconies full of Servants, with the floor itself containing two more rows of blue-cushioned seats. All occupied. Mikial estimated that the dome held almost a thousand people. Servants sat either in military uniform, or in lavish suits and dresses of all colors and fashions. Compared to the orderly sect colors she was used to seeing at formal Holding functions, these Kiorannans seemed more prepared for a festival than a Judgment. Until she looked in their eyes. There were furtive whispers at first as they studied her, but soon the discussions rose in volume to fill the large room.
Mikial studied the floor, ignoring the pointing fingers and other gestures from the Servants around her. The surface was a montage of inlaid woods that depicted a map of Kioranna from its western coast to her hills, the latter rendered in lacquered ironwood. Her attention shifted to three rectangular tables, each covered with white linen, occupying the middle of the room. She doubted that her hosts, many of whom were now shouting at each other, had prepared a lunch in her honor.
A series of crystalline chimes rode over the top of the din, followed by a voice she recognized. Maltenna's words rang out over the room. “Gentry, to your seats, please! Gentry to your seats. The Hearing shall begin."
The crowd quieted. Mikial spied Maltenna directly across from her on the other side of the tables. She wore a deep blue dress bound by green webbing about her waist. Maltenna's coal black eyes regarded her with a combative alertness, though Mikial could see that her supposed natural mother's narrow cheeks were drawn with fatigue.
“The Hearing shall begin,” Maltenna repeated, quieting the chamber even further. “The Gentry call for Steward Alad, of the Family Kior."
A male, as pale as an Ipper, stood up from the first row of seats near Maltenna. He wore a ruffled green shirt and aquamarine jacket. His amber eyes were deep-set, almost feverish looking in the way they glinted. His hair ... Mikial drew in a breath. Auburn like hers, and closely cropped along the sides. Nor did the resemblance end there, for she caught similar angles in the Kiorannan's jaw line and slender nose. He stood at least a head shorter than she, much like most males did outside her sect. This, then, was Kioranna's leader. She glanced at Alad's belt, half expecting to see banded colors there, but of course there were none.
“Present, Governess,” the Steward said in a surprisingly deep voice. Sliding aside his chair, he regarded Mikial with an expression that burned with an intense focus. Alad clapped his hands as if in anticipation of the event to take place. “Set Commander Chadrak. Please the Hearing with your report."
Dahin gave Mikial a reassuring squeeze on her arm before stepping forward. He took the sack he had brought and tossed it on the table. His voice boomed around the domed chamber. “Steward and Gentry, there has been yet another attack on our frontier. This time it was a baby exchange, which I attended along with my son. The baby's parents were killed.” Dahin raised his hand to quiet the shouts of indignation. “We all would have died had it not been for the Taqurls.” He nodded at the stunned silence. “You heard correctly. Their warriors, their Datha, drove off the attackers. The Taqurls protected both the baby and me, using their own bodies as shields.” Dahin inclined his head toward Mikial. “This one risked her own life to save my son.” He slowly turned until he looked over Maltenna's shoulder. The look on his face was cutting. “Commander Chasa, would you please open that sack I just dropped."
The officer who stood up was tall enough for Mikial to look directly in his eyes, which were the color of dark soot. Chasa's features were harsh and uncompromising, as if he had been chiseled into existence. His hair, a calico mix of black and white, was combed away from a broad forehead creased with disapproval. His large jaw was set in grim lines as he moved from behind Maltenna to untie the canvas cords. He stared inside. “I see Taqurl equipment."
“Show us the rifle, if you would."
Mikial gave a sigh of frustration as he pulled out one of the Minneran's new rifles. Lovely. Now Kiorannans had them too. What else? Her heart sank as Chasa next withdrew a thick khaki vest. Dahin, on the other hand, was looking triumphant, apparently savoring this moment. Mikial did not need to guess that Dahin and this Chasa were longtime adversaries.
“Gentry,” Dahin said, “I will now show you genuine Taqurl equipment.” Dahin motioned Mikial forward. “This formidable young creature is what they call a Dathia.” Dahin wrapped his knuckles on her armor. “Pure tensa. We've lost the ability to make it, and they're carving it into feathers.” Dahin gestured for her rifle from an escorting soldier. “This is a Taqurl rifle. There is no trigger, and it fires darts.” He placed her rifle adjacent to the vest Chasa had laid on the table, then picked up the Minneran rifle beside it. “This rifle has a trigger and uses a kind of ball shot that's pointed at one end. It doesn't take an expert in Taqurl sciences to discern a difference here.” Glowering, Dahin folded his arms. “So if these weapons are not Taqurl, whose are they?"
Dahin regarded Maltenna with a dour expression. “All along, Ruth's Governess has urged us to join this great Union rising to the east, an alliance created by Minnera's Protector to crush the Taqurls and use them as slaves to increase the Union's dwindling populations.” Dahin looked back at Mikial. “Tell us when you last saw weapons like those on this table?"
“When we turned back a force of Minnerans near our eastern border,” she answered, biting back her tongue. Slaves? Had the Servant race gone completely mad?
“It could also be a clever trick!” Maltenna shouted over the resulting bedlam. She pointed to Mikial. “She was sent here to undermine the one thing her kind fears—a merging of countries against a common enemy.” The shouting boiled down to whispers as Maltenna walked out to face Dahin. “Can't you see how obvious this is? They send none other than the Steward's own exchanged daughter to cast blame at Minnera!"
Her words rang off the domed ceiling. The audience responded to her accusation with utter silence. All eyes, including Maltenna's, looked expectantly to Alad.
Mikial looked over at Kioranna's Steward, expecting a clo
ud of rage across his face. Instead, Alad smiled, inclining his head in Mikial's direction. “Yes, Governess, one only has to look at her to see the Kior bloodline. There is more proof, too. This Taqurl came here with eyes open to the risks of being among her enemies. How many of us would walk as willingly into their hills to stop a war? The Steward's voice raised as he looked up at the balconies. “So I ask you, Gentry. Tell me she is not my daughter! That there is not strength in the Kior bloodline, no matter on which side it falls!” His face reddened. “Tell me!"
If anyone had an answer, they wisely kept it to themselves. Maltenna stood as if planted to the floor, looking completely unraveled.
Alad, however, was not finished. Mikial offered no resistance as he came over and pulled her to the center of the room next to Maltenna. “I have rightly disowned her as my daughter, but I cannot equally distance myself from the bravery this Taqurl has shown. For that alone, she will be my guest here while I learn how much the Minnerans have betrayed us.” He gave Maltenna a withering look. “And before you condemn me for such cooperation, explain again why we would ally ourselves with those who butcher our families and brand their bodies?"
Maltenna stepped back, her dark eyes wide with anger. “You dare think I would follow Minnera after such treachery? Better that we take Manwal Kinn's prized alliance from him!” Her voice rose above the surprised exclamations. “We will pay Minnera for their attacks, and lead the alliance ourselves. Let us not abandon the ideals of Corias Kior!"
“And what ideals are those?” Alad interrupted before Maltenna's idea could gain momentum. “Don't be so quick to put words on our founder's tongue, Governess.” He pointed a finger at Mikial. “A Taqurl has been raised from the Kior line. It is time for Corias to speak for herself."
Maltenna raised her hands to quiet the resulting bedlam. “Agreed!” Her eyes flashed with eagerness. “Then tonight one of us will continue their walk, and the other will follow.” Skirt swirling, Maltenna walked quickly from the room with a grim-faced Commander Chasa in tow.
“A tactical retreat if I ever saw one,” Mikial muttered smugly to Dahin when Alad returned her to him. “And please don't tell me your Steward believes that fiction regarding Corias, not that I understood half of what he was referring to."
Dahin gave her a long look. “Best to let Alad do the explaining, Mikial. You've got a hard education ahead of you, I fear. For now, I'll take you to your chambers where you can clean up. I think we can worry a bit less about your mother for now."
“She's not my mother,” Mikial snapped back, following Dahin back through the ironwood doors as voices rose behind them. A pair of soldiers from the Family Guard followed them as Dahin led her back to the intersection and turned right. They ascended a series of deeply stained wooden stairs, passing by the second tier hallway to arrive at the level Mikial assumed was reserved for the Kior family.
Mikial paused at one of the huge oval windows, her eyes looking out over distant rooftops. “Such a large city, but why is it so dark? All I see are torches and gas lamps. Don't your kind have regular lights? Batteries?"
Dahin joined her. “We've yet to recover what was lost after the Freedom Wars. Many have tried to rediscover the sciences, your natural father among them.” He looked at her. “Gane Kior died two years ago, during his second expedition to Min Saja. Alad's brother would've been fascinated with you, Mikial, and proud as well."
She gave an uncomfortable shiver, not wanting to hear any of this. “You'd best take me to my room."
Nodding, he took her up to one of the doorways on the inner side of the hall. Dahin gave her a critical eye. “You'll find a bath available. I'll send someone to measure you for proper attire since it's unlikely anything will fit you. I trust that you don't intend remaining in that armor for the duration of your stay?"
Mikial glanced at the guards who kept pace a respectful distance behind them. She leapt at the thought of shedding her tensa after so many months in the field. And a bath? Rain showers and cold streams made for poor substitutes. Besides, if these Kiorannans wanted her dead, all the armor in the Holding would not protect her.
“Mikial?"
She smiled. “I would be grateful for a change of clothes."
Dahin chuckled and brushed at her shoulder guards. “I suspect that there's something pretty beneath all that ferocity. Let's see if we can bring her out, shall we?"
Mikial stepped inside the room, her mind on that promised bath as Dahin gently shut the door behind her. Her hunting eyes outlined the patterns of two guards taking station outside the door. Well, what did I expect?
She considered her room; no, make that rooms. They rivaled the best that Shadow Canyon Inn had to offer. Gaslights on ornate silver wall holders shone across what appeared to be either a reception or reading area. A deep turquoise carpet went well with the rosewood couch and adjoining seats. There was even a desk.
Mikial looked up. Surrounded by decorative molding, round lights were imbedded within a porcelain white ceiling. Long unused from the looks of it. A thought made her inspect the paneled wall near the door. No charge pads. Probably covered over.
Mikial walked up to windows that overlooked the central dome. She shook her head at the Shandi teachings. Savages who scrabbled around in Taqurl ruins? Hardly. Still, there were reminders that things were not quite up to Qurl standards either. She inspected the copper pot that hung over the embers of a hearth. For hot water, she guessed, looking through the next room at a gray marble tub. Hopefully the pipes still worked.
Mikial entered an expansive bedroom that continued the plush theme of her general surroundings. She took a relieved breath and began to unbuckle her armor, happy to feel the added weight sloughing off her. She caught sight of herself in a wide mirror opposite the bed and paused. Her braids were matted by sweat and grime above lean and feral cheeks. Mikial remembered how Yora had come off a long patrol looking the same way. She turned away from the mirror with a scowl and pulled off the rest of her armor.
Throwing aside the worn olive blouse and pants of her battle dress, Mikial walked into the bathroom to inspect her dim prospects for a long hot soak. Twisting at a gold spigot produced an encouraging splash of water. They even had scented soap in the trays. The water was no warmer than the streams she had dunked herself in, however. Time to fetch the pot.
Mikial bent down to stop the water. Her amber eyes fell on two round copper pads right where they were supposed to be at the base of the tub. Even the tiny discharge button was still there, though it took a few moments of scratching with her claws to get it unstuck. Mikial paused. Taqurl technology was forbidden to use. The Shandi had made that edict clear enough. But a bathtub? She gave the tarnished copper pads a measured look then carefully placed her palms against them. Would this relic actually work? Mikial felt the glands along her wrists warm to the task. She could sense the ancient batteries actually taking the charge. Wiping the thin film of sweat from her palms, Mikial delicately touched the discharge button. The crystal surface of the button glowed dimly at first, then strengthened to a warm orange light. There was an ominous clinking sound from within the tub that made her quickly step back. When she was satisfied that the ancient artifact would not explode in her face, Mikial touched the water pooling in the bottom of the tub. It was actually warm! Grinning, she turned the spigot on full. They could keep their stupid water pots.
Sitting on the bed to unbraid her hair while the tub filled, Mikial heard a furtive tap on the door. That will be the seamstress, she guessed. Mikial threw her battle dress back on. Remembering the reaction she had gotten from Chadrak's servant girl, Mikial approached the door slowly. Her senses told her of three women outside the door, along with the guards. Hopefully they won't start to scream. I'd hate being shot before taking that bath.
Mikial cracked the door open, and met a pair of brown eyes no less filled with consternation than her own. “We are here to measure you,” the female said in an almost reproving tone. “I am Theoren, seamstress to the Hous
e of Kior ... among other things. Do we push our way in, or would you like to simply open the door?"
Dumbfounded, Mikial stepped aside. Theoren wore a two-layered tan dress with embroidered side-skirts, and an authoritarian air to equal any Shandi Teacher. She had a rounded face with filled-out cheeks, her nose upturned above pursed lips as she regarded Mikial with a seamstress's practiced eye. The Kiorannan was trailed by two assistants in simpler dresses who seemed far less assertive in their anxious glances.
Raising her arms, Mikial watched as they expertly went about their work with measure tapes. Upon finishing, Theoren backed up a few steps and gave Mikial a far more critical appraisal than she would have preferred. “There is just so much I can do, of course. Are all Taqurl females like you?"
Mikial's ears flattened. “We don't have Taqurls—and no, most Qurl females don't look like me. I'm a Dathia. I wasn't raised to look particularly attractive."
Theoren gave a snort. “I can see that for myself. However, a challenge is something I have not had in awhile. You will do just fine. I will return in two chimes to see what wonders can be worked here.” She turned, waving her assistants out the door.
“I'm not an animal that you can tie a pretty bow around!” Mikial hissed, already quite fed up with this female.
Theoren looked backward. Mikial finally saw a small amount of trepidation in her eyes, yet her jaw held steady as a rock. “That, Lady Mikial, is entirely for you to decide."
Mikial stared after her as the seamstress left. She could imagine this Theoren even ordering the Tasuria around. Definitely Shandi material.
She returned to undressing, wondering what torment the seamstress might weave into whatever dress they fashioned for her. Undoing the last of her wide combat braids, Mikial sought a respite to all the confusion in the one luxury she sorely missed. The tub recharge light had extinguished, and the water felt ... Mikial gave a sigh as she slowly eased herself in, steam rising to her nostrils. Splendid!