“Were you born and raised in Estone?” Margo asked.
“Not in the city,” Kestrel answered. “I lived in the forest,” he avoided specifying the Eastern Forest.
“I almost understand why Creata thought you were an elf,” Margo said at that moment.
Kestrel looked at her, startled.
“I mean, with your long hair, and your lean build, and something in your features,” she tried to explain.
“I’ll get my hair cut immediately,” he answered, deciding the matter right there.
“On no!” she exclaimed. “I don’t think you should cut it! It looks rugged and mysterious, in a way,” she paused after her outburst. “Maybe you could just pull it back, in a ponytail.
“We saw elves last fall, down at the palace,” she told him, apparentlyeager to change the subject. “They were slaves from the war against the elves. I’d never seen an elf before! It was fascinating, and then it wasn’t.
“They don’t look that different from us, in a lot of ways,” she mused. “It’s hard to understand why they should be slaves, or maybe I’m just too soft, too much like my father. Did you see elves in Estone?”
“There are elves in Estone; the city is not at war with them. There are traders who go back and forth between the two people,” Kestrel confirmed.
Just then there was a light tap at the door, and a maid appeared with a stack of clothes. “Pardon me, but the seamstress said to deliver these things to the nobleman’s suite.”
“I’m not a nobleman,” Kestrel said as he rose to meet the maid.
“Perhaps not, but this suite is called the nobleman’s suite because it’s reserved for our highest ranking guests, usually my parent’s friends who come to visit,” Margo explained. “I thought you deserved it since you were so heroic in rescuing us.”
“Thank you,” Kestrel told the maid as he took the clothes. She curtsied and left the room.
“I’ll leave you now. Is there anything you need?” Margo asked.
“Is there an armory, a place to practice weapons?” Kestrel asked.
“There is, out next to the stables,” Margo told him.
“And could I talk to a seamstress about sewing some things for me? Where can I find her?” Kestrel asked.
“Give your things to me and I’ll take them for you,” Margo answered with a smile.
“It’s not that simple; it will take some explanation. I think I need to talk to her myself,” Kestrel responded, thinking of his yeti hide that he wanted assembled into a protective garment.
“Well, I could lead you to her, if you’d like,” Margo suggested. “If you want to get dressed,” she motioned to the clothes he held, “I’ll lead you down to old Sisbeen’s quarters.”
Within minutes Kestrel emerged from his bedroom and stood before Margo, feeling both clean and civilized, in a human way, and also self-conscious, in his own way, as he felt her eyes examine the fit of his clothes.
“You are so handsome!” she clapped her hands twice in glee. “Here, you need just one thing.” Margo walked towards him, and placed her hands behind her head, then pulled them forward, bringing forth the ribbon that had held her hair in place. Her dark mane, no longer tied, spread out and fell across her shoulders as she stood directly in front of Kestrel and gathered his hair together at the back of his head, then lifted her ribbon back there as well, standing directly in front of him, their bodies almost touching, as she tied the ribbon around his hair to hold it all in place behind him. Her fingers adjusted a few stray strands of her own hair, tucking them behind her ears, a small intimate gesture that Kestrel noted as he smelled her delicate lilac scent.
“There,” she stepped back again and studied him intensely for a several seconds. “That’s all that was lacking. Now we just need to go get a new ribbon for me!” she smiled.
Kestrel picked up his roll of yeti hide. “I’m ready to go,” he told her, and she led him first to her room, where he waited outside as she ducked in and retied her hair with a new, yellow ribbon, then they went down stairs, and down another set of smaller, darker stairs that led to a narrow hallway and several doors. Moments later they were in a well-lit room where an elderly woman sat next to a sunny window, sewing a garment of bright yellow. It was the smock that Picco had worn when the robber had stolen her necklace, Kestrel realized.
“Sisbeen!” Margo said fondly. She knelt by the woman with the needle and hugged her, then looked up at Kestrel. “Sisbeen was my nurse when I was a little girl,” she explained to Kestrel.
“There was never a sweeter child in all the world,” the elderly woman said with a smile. “What brings you bringing a handsome man down to see old Sisbeen?” she asked.
“Kestrel, I’ll let you tell Sissy what you have in mind,” Margo replied.
“Well,” said Kestrel, somewhat self-conscious as Margo looked on, “I have these hides that I would like to have made into something protective I can wear, like a vest or even a coat with sleeves,” he explained as he unrolled his yeti skin pieces on the floor. “But the hide’s too tough for you to put a needle through it or cut it, I’m afraid,” he said.
“Too tough for Sisbeen’s needle? Nonsense,” the seamstress replied. “Hand me one of those,” she commanded, as she motioned towards the patches on the floor.
Kestrel dutifully complied. Sisbeen’s needle poked against the yeti skin, and she grunted a second later as she unsuccessfully tried to force the needle to penetrate the hide. A moment later she tried a different edge of the hide, then tried a third spot.
“Great Growelk, what is this?” she looked up at Kestrel.
He grinned at her. “Want to guess? You’ll never figure it out in a million years,” he challenged her.
“Horsehide? Bearskin? Crocodile?” both Sisbeen and Margo guessed.
“No, although I don’t know what a crocodile is,” he replied.
“It’s like a giant lizard, but it lives in the water,” Margo replied. “I’m told. I haven’t seen one,” she added. “They’re from way down south, down around Uniontown in the Gamble River.”
Kestrel held his breath as he remembered the monstrous creature that had bitten Jonson, and he thought about the disturbing new connection of a threat to Uniontown.
“Well?” Margo impatiently recalled his attention to the present. “What kind of hide is it? Don’t keep us waiting!”
“It’s yeti skin,” Kestrel told them.
Sisbeen dropped the piece in her hand, and looked up incredulously. “You’re pulling my leg now, aren’t you?”
“No,” Kestrel said. “It’s from a yeti, in the Water Mountains.”
“Did you kill it yourself?” Margo asked breathlessly.
“Yes, I did,” he confirmed. “And I kept the skin because I knew how tough it is. It should provide exceptional protection.”
“How did you cut it from the body if it’s real yeti skin?” Sisbeen challenged him.
“I’ve got a special knife, one with possibly the finest blade in the world. I don’t think there’s another blade that would have made it possible to kill the monsteror take its hide,” he patted the blade he had belted on his hip.
“Well, how am I supposed to make a coat or a vest for you out of a skin I can’t cut or sew?” Sisbeen asked.
“I don’t know,” Kestrel admitted. “That’s why I wanted to come down and talk to you, to see if you had any ideas.”
Sisbeen looked up at Margo. “You had to bring him here, didn’t you?” she asked in a sour tone, one that she dispelled with a smile a moment later.
“I thought he should work with the best. I just didn’t realize what he had in mind,” Margo answered.
“Is it important to you that everyone see your yeti skin? Do you want to wear it like a badge of pride?” the seamstress asked after a moment of thinking with her eyes closed.
“No,” Kestrel answered. “It might be better if it remained hidden, a secret, so people would take me for granted and not try to work around the hi
de.”
“Here, spread the pieces out so I can see what we have to work with,” she commanded. “There, hand me that one and that one,” she pointed as he knelt on the floor, indicating the two pieces Kestrel had cut from the torso of the monster.
“I could make a normal vest for you, then put those pieces of your yeti skin inside it, and sew a lining inside of that. That would trap the yeti skin, holding in place around you. It wouldn’t be visible, but it would protect you,” she said. “Would you want sleeves on it? I could make it a jacket if I used those pieces over there the same way for the sleeves,” she pointed to a pair of strips on the floor.
Kestrel paused, unable to decide. “How long are you going to be here?” Sisbeen asked as he stood in silent indecision.
“I think he’ll be here until we go to court, probably two more days,” Margo answered for him, quickly.
“I could make a vest, and put buttons on the shoulders and bottom, and then make sleeves and a skirt that would attach to it when you wanted them,” Sisbeen suggested. “You’d have to make a couple of cuts for me to make some of these pieces fit the right way.”
“That could work,” Kestrel said thoughtfully. “Could you really do that for me?”
“I could start this afternoon if you’ll let me get some measurements,” Sisbeen confirmed. “Take off your shirt,” she said as she pulled a tape measure out of her sewing basket.
“Why do I need to take off the shirt?” Kestrel asked, taken by surprise. “The valet measured me for this shirt while I wore a robe.”
“I like to do things right,” Sisbeen replied, standing up. “We’ll do this my way, unless you’re too shy? Would you like for Margo to leave?” she looked over at the young noblewoman.
“Yes, of course,” Margo said immediately, “I’ll step right out. I think it’s charming you’re so modest,” she smiled at Kestrel then left the room.
“Come on, take off your shirt,” Sisbeen urged. “Let’s get this, oh my!” she exclaimed as Kestrel raised his shirt and she saw the colorful display on his chest. “That is beautiful! You should be showing this off to the girls, not hiding it from them,” she whispered as her fingers gently rubbed the shield that Kia had installed.
“I’d like to keep this private,” Kestrel told the seamstress.
She looked up at his eyes and saw the seriousness there. “Of course,” she nodded her head. “I don’t know why, but I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” Kestrel said. The tone of her voice convinced him that he could trust her. “This was done to me by the goddess Kia herself, while I was in Estone. I am on a mission she has assigned me to, and there are evil forces that will try to stop me if they find out who and where I am.”
Sisbeen’s eye grew large. “You say that like you mean it.”
“I do; it’s one reason I want a yeti skin vest for protection,” Kestrel said. “Now, let’s get the measurements,” he said, and the seamstress promptly stretched her string around him several times, then called Margo back in as Kestrel pulled his shirt back on.
“I will have this ready for you before you go,” Sisbeen promised.
“Thank you,” Margo told her former nurse, and then she and Kestrel were heading back up to the main floor of manor. “This is the way to the armory,” she told Kestrel, holding a door open, and leading him out to the stable yard. “That’s the stables, obviously,” she pointed, “and that building over there is the armory.”
“Thank you,” Kestrel said. “I appreciate the time.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Margo said, then left him, as he ventured to the armory. There was no one else in the building, but Kestrel took pleasure in working out with the practice staff and swords on his own, until he noticed how long the shadows were stretching as a result of the setting sun. He hurried back to his own room, took a quick bath again, put on more clean clothes, and went downstairs, where a servant found him and led him to the dining room.
All the others were already gathered, and Kestrel apologized for being tardy. “Where were you?” Philip asked.
“I went to the armory to practice,” Kestrel said.
“I should have known that!” Margo chimed in, “but I figured you had enough martial activity today!”
“Margo says you’re a shy one,” Picco said slyly as they all took their seats. In addition to the four young nobles, he had met in the forest, a distinguished-looking older couple who Kestrel guessed to be Philip and Margo’s parents were present, and an older woman who Kestrel thought might be the grandparent of the youths was also seated.
“There’s nothing shy about a man who wipes out an entire band of criminals,” the older man at the table said. “I am Paul, the Baron of the Northern Mountains,” the man introduced himself. “And this is my wife, Celina. We’re so very thankful for your valuable intervention today, and we’re delighted to hear that you’ll be traveling south with the children as well.”
“We’re hardly children,” Margo said firmly.
“You know what he means dear,” her mother said. “You’re always going to be children to us.
“And this is my aunt, the Lady Gertrude,” she introduced the last person at the table.
The servants arrived with bowls of a thick creamy soup just then, momentarily pausing the conversation.
“There were no robbers on the estate when I was younger,” Lady Gertrude said. “I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
“When one’s own prince essentially robs his neighboring nation, and even his own people, as ours has, it sets a tenor for all people throughout the country that lawlessness is acceptable,” Paul said quietly but forcefully. “What’s more, his occupation of Hydrotaz requires so many of our young soldiers and guards to be in the east, keeping that country calm, or preparing to attack the elves again, that there aren’t many forces here to deter the bad judgments of those who become criminals.”
“But my lord,” Creata carefully objected, “everyone at court agrees the conquest of Hydrotaz has been a complete success, and will enrich our nation, besides giving us access to the battlefront against the elves. Our losses have been very minor so far.”
“Do the people of Hydrotaz believe the conquest was a success?” the baron asked. “Do the hostages that we are keeping locked up in the old summer palace think it was a success? Do the elves think it a success, especially those who are now slaves?”
“Our place is to think about Graylee, not everyone else,” Creata responded. “Look at how strong our new friends in Uniontown are becoming, and be glad that we are growing stronger with them. We’ll be able to help them and to stand up to them if that day should ever come.
“Even our mountain-climbing friend would agree with me, I’m sure,” Creata turned to Kestrel, expecting the warrior to agree with his position.
Kestrel thought of the fire he had seen started in the forest, the one Kai had doused in response to his prayers. He thought of Lucretia and Mastrim, both killed by the war, Hinger and Termine, saved from slavery, and he thought of Vinetia, who had changed as a result of the war. And hanging over it all was his memory of the ambassador from Uniontown who had tried to kill him– a man who claimed to be one of numerous champions established by evil gods bent of conquest.
“Uniontown is a force for evil,” Kestrel said. “Graylee should trust nothing they say, accept nothing they give, and resist everything they propose,” he said intensely. “Their ambassador at Estone called upon evil powers granted by their gods.”
There was silence, as the others at the table sat in astonishment at Kestrel’s vehement denunciation of Graylee’s new ally.
“Uniontown has a brilliant man serving as ambassador to Graylee, a man who is the constant companion of the prince. Through their friendship, and the advice that Poma has given, our ruler has led us towards greatness as a nation,” Creata answered.
“Uniontown is only interested in power for Uniontown, because they are driven by their own new gods, gods that
think they can overthrow our gods even as their forces will overthrow Graylee and all the nations of the Inner Seas,” Kestrel discovered that he was coming out of his seat in his emotional response.
Creata was standing as well, on the opposite side of the table, staring intently at Kestrel, his fists clenched.
“Gentlemen, this is a family dinner, not a political debate. It’s my faultfor allowing politics to enter my own comments,” Paul said forcefully. “Please take your seats, remember that there are ladies present and that we are the noble class of Graylee, and expected to behave as such.”
Kestrel immediately sat down, and moments later, Creata did as well.
“My apologies, my lord,” Kestrel said, feeling embarrassed.
The soup bowls were cleared, and plates of spring greens arrived. Kestrel watched Margo, who picked up a small fork, and discreetly shook her head negatively when he picked up a larger one.
“So our stables are full of your horses now, I’m told,” Paul said to Kestrel as they began to eat the greens.
“I’m sorry to crowd your barn, my lord,” Kestrel said.
They’re no problem at all for us, my friend,” Paul replied. “But I was wondering if you knew what you would do with them all? I haven’t inspected them yet to know their quality, but I’d guess they are not of racing quality, and if you do not intend to go into the trading business, you will not need them as pack horses. Do you think you will sell them in Graylee City or on the way there? If so, we know a couple of men who can help you get the fairest prices for your prizes.”
“Yes, of course father!” Philip immediately exclaimed. “We’ll pass several estates that will be looking for new horses with the spring season arrived!”
“Thank you,” Kestrel answered. “I haven’t really given it a thought. I paid more attention to the people on the saddles than I did to the horses under the saddles at the time,” he grinned.
“Philip says you came down from the mountains,” Celina spoke. “When we were young,” she looked at Paul with a sparkle in her eyes, looking momentarily like the youthful beauty Kestrel realized she must have been, “we went on an ‘expedition’ up into the mountains for three or four days. We took another couple with us, and several servants of course, who pitched tents for us every night. I remember the night it rained!” she laughed. “The next morning we came straight home!”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 6