Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (47 page)

           
They found their own clothes gone
when they returned to the outer chamber where Kore waited, explaining their
leathers were taken to be cleaned and should be delivered to their quarters ere
night fell. As temporary replacement he offered loosefitting robes of dark
blue, and soft slippers, that they donned for the walk back to their chambers.

           
"Do you find the clothing the
Lady Nyka has selected unsuitable," Kore murmured at the door, "then
I shall bring you more. Do you require aught else, you need but ask—I shall
await you here."

           
He bowed, watching as they each went
into their room.

           
Calandryll explored his quarters,
marveling that the interiors of these Jesseryte buildings should be so
different to their dull exteriors. The floor was constructed of some highly
polished wood, warm underfoot and scattered with thick rugs of brilliant
colors, a wide bed covered with a blue and scarlet spread occupied the center,
at its foot a padded stool. There was a washstand, and a small table of
rosewood, inlaid like the cabinet, held a decanter and four goblets of delicate
ruby crystal. The walls were hung with sheets of soft green silk that lent the
chamber the feeling of an airy tent, save that it was dim, the only sources of
illumination the single lantern suspended from the white plaster ceiling and
the tall, glass-paneled doors that opened onto the balcony running the length
of the outside wall. He crossed to that, noticing with a thrill of excitement
that the balcony gave access to Cennaire's room, and with surprise that the
roof he could see across the width of the atrium was a garden, filled with
small, exotic trees, shrubbery, and vines that wound about little pergolas. He
returned inside to dress, thinking that the nature of Jesseryte architecture
reflected the personality of these mysterious folk.

           
Clad in the borrowed outfit, he
inspected himself in the mirrored panels mounted in the cabinet. As in the
keep, a shirt, a tunic, pantaloons, and boots had been provided, though here,
in Chazali's home, the outfit was far grander. The shirt was silk, of a white
so brilliant it seemed to sparkle even in the poor illumination of the chamber;
the pantaloons were dark blue, faintly iridescent; the boots of soft, black
hide, sewn with silver, the toes curling upward to points,- the tunic was of a
green akin to the drapery of the walls, bulked out at the shoulders and
fastened around his waist with a golden sash. A jet horse pranced within a
circle of crimson on chest and back, the perimeter of the disk embroidered with
the emblems of the Nakoti Makusen. It felt strange to wear such finery: he had
grown accustomed to his leathers.

           
He turned from his examination as a
fist pounded the door, opening it to greet Bracht, the Kern dressed in similar
fashion and no more comfortable than before.

           
"I'd feel happier had I my own
plain gear," Bracht grumbled, crossing to the table to fill a glass.
"Still, their wine is palatable."

           
Calandryll followed him, taking a
goblet for himself. "We sojourn here but the single night," he said.
"And after, I doubt we'll enjoy such hospitality again."

           
Bracht grunted a noncommittal reply
and wandered to the balcony. The day waned fast, the sky still heavy with
louring cloud, the square below almost lost in the burgeoning shadows. The
chambers situated about the surrounding walls showed as dim rectangles,
emitting a low babble of sound. The Kern returned inside, filling his glass afresh
as he shook his head in puzzlement.

           
"These are curious folk, these
Jesserytes," he remarked. "Ahrd, but to see these places from the
outside . . . Yet behind their walls, they live in palaces. But so dim."

           
"It's their way."
Calandryll chuckled as Bracht set down his goblet to fidget with sash and
tunic. "And tomorrow you shall have your own plain gear back, and ride the
open country again."

           
'Praise Ahrd for that," the
Kern muttered.

           
A discreet tapping brought them both
to the door. Kore stood there. "Forgive me," he murmured blandly,
"but the wazir Ochen Tajen Makusen requests your presence."

           
"A moment."

           
Calandryll went to the table,
setting down his goblet. Bracht's was already there and they quit the chamber,
each going to a woman's room, knocking.

           
Cennaire's voice answered
Calandryll: "Enter."

           
He opened the door and halted on the
threshold, gape-mouthed. In leather riding gear she was lovely,- in the robe
provided in the keep she had been splendid. Now—he could only stare, wideeyed,
lost for words. Her hair was piled up and fastened with jeweled pins that
sparkled against the black, emphasizing the slender column of her neck. Her
eyes were outlined in the Jesseryte fashion with kohl, her lips and nails with
bright crimson. She wore a high-collared robe of pale pink silk that seemed to
flow over the contours of her body, fastened with tiny amethyst buttons, the
hem and sleeves embroidered with a red that matched her cosmetics, slippers of
pink visible beneath. She would, he thought, grace any palace; and then thought
to tell her so.

           
"Thank you, my lord," she
said with mock formality, performing an adroit curtsy.

           
Calandryll was about to reply in
kind when Bracht's loud cry of "Ahrd!" brought his head around. He
saw the Kern gaping at Katya. The Vanu woman was coiffured as was Cennaire, her
piled flaxen hair all set with pins of jet. Her robe was a pale blue, her lips
and nails a roseate pink. Bracht stood shaking his head and muttering
"Ahrd!" as if he could think of no other word.

           
"The Lady Nyka sent a
hairdresser to us," Cennaire explained. "And a woman skillful with
cosmetics."

           
"They did you justice,"
declared Calandryll, regaining a measure of composure, "though their task
was surely easy for what they had to work with."

           
Katya heard the compliment and
studied Bracht with a mock haughty expression. "Do you perhaps take
lessons from Calandryll?" she suggested.

           
The Kern could only nod, wide-eyed,
his jaw dropped. "I ..." he spluttered. "Ahrd! I . . . You . . .
Never ..."

           
His embarrassment was alleviated by
Kore, who coughed diplomatically, reminding them that Ochen awaited their
presence. Calandryll offered his arm to Cennaire as if at court, and Bracht,
after a moment's hesitation, did the same to Katya. The Vanu woman chuckled as
they proceeded down the twilight corridor, calling over her shoulder to
Calandryll, "Do we have time along the way, perhaps you'll attempt to
school this barbarian in his manners."

           
"A difficult task," he
answered, "but I'll do my best."

           
At his side, Cennaire leaned closer
and whispered, "You've noticed the balcony?"

           
Calandryll felt his cheeks grow
warm, unsure whether embarrassment or excitement caused the flush. "I
have," he said.

           
"It's not so chill a night my
windows need be closed," she murmured, and he returned her, "Lady, I
shall be there."

           
"Good." She pressed a
moment against him, smiling, then drew apart as Kore halted and tapped on a
door, calling through it that they were arrived.

           
They entered a chamber set with a
food-laden table, the wazir seated at the farther end. Calandryll saw that
candelabra had been placed about the room, as if in deference to the guests,
and that the table was set with six places. Ochen motioned them to the stools
set either side and dismissed the waiting Kore.

           
When the door was closed he said,
"I thought perhaps it better we should eat here, alone. Chazali and Nyka
have little enough time together, and I'd introduce you to the gijan."

           
As if that cue had been rehearsed a
figure came in from the balcony. Calandryll assumed it a female figure because
she wore a robe of black, high- throated and sewn with silver horseheads, the
argent a match with her hair, that piled up like Katya's and Cennaire's, fixed
in place with sable pins. Her face gave little indication of her sex, being both
devoid of cosmetic and webbed with even more wrinkles than Ochen's. She seemed
so old as to have somehow passed beyond the definitions of gender, though
beneath snow-white brows her eyes glinted with intelligent light. When she
spoke, her voice was a rustling whisper that seemed too soft to be heard so
well.

           
"I am the gijan Kyama,"
she announced.
^“
Ochen tells me you
^’
d have a scrying of
me.
^”

           
Calandryll said, "Aye, do you
agree.
^”

           
"Readily.
^”
She
laughed, and the sound was a twinkling as of silver bells. "But first, do
we eat? And you shall tell me all you've done to bring you here."

           
She took the empty place, at the
table's farther end, facing Ochen, who filled a glass with wine and passed the
decanter to Calandryll. It rounded the table, back to the wazir, before the
gijan spoke again.

           
"So, you come together from the
world's four corners," she rustled. "The first outlanders to visit
Pamur-teng, or any other hold. Do you tell me this tale from its
beginning?"

           
Calandryll nodded, and glanced
toward Bracht, to Katya, both of them indicating he should speak on their
behalf.

           
When he was done, the food was
almost gone, and none there wished for more. He drank a glass, his mouth
somewhat dry from the recital, and awaited Kyama's response.

           
She studied him awhile in silence,
her face so mapped with lines he could read nothing there, then turned her
attention slowly to the others. He thought perhaps she weighed them, each in
turn, and that this was a very different manner of scrying than was practiced
by the spaewives of Lysse or
Kandahar
. The silence stretched out: none spoke,
only waited on her.

           
Finally she said, "Ochen, do
you call a man to clear this table?"

           
Calandryll had anticipated some
weightier pronouncement, not so prosaic a request, and he found he must
struggle not to frown and ask her what she had discerned from her lengthy
examination. Ochen, however, appeared to find nothing odd, and rose, going to
the door, two servants on his heels as he retook his place.

           
All waited in silence as the debris
of their meal was removed, only a single decanter and their glasses left
behind. Then, when the last plate was taken away and the door closed on the
departing servants, the gijan said, "So, now I've knowledge of your
past—do we look toward your future?"

           
Beneath the level of the table's
edge, the movement hidden, Cennaire took Calandryll's hand, finding courage in
the contact. It felt, for all she knew she bore no heart, but only what Anomius
had put there in its place, that the organ pounded a fierce drumbeat against
her ribs. She felt her mouth go dry and with her free hand raised her glass to
her lips. It was a conscious effort to stay the trembling that threatened to
spill the ruby vintage over her robe, for she believed she fast approached a
crossroads in her destiny, and that what this ancient woman scried in her, and
all of them there present, should likely decide her future. Carefully, she set
the goblet down, grateful for the pressure of Calandryll's fingers and the
confident smile he turned toward her.

           
It was a confidence he did not,
entirely, feel, but rather an attempt to reassure the woman he loved. No less
himself: as did Cennaire, he felt the future hung now in balance, and he voiced
a silent prayer to Dera—to all the Younger Gods—that this scrying give him what
he wanted to hear.

           
"What must we do?" he
asked, pleased that his voice came clear, unsullied by the trepidation that
knotted in his throat.

           
"Do you each take one another's
hand," Kyama said. "Ochen's no part in this, but only you four."

           
They did as she bade, Calandryll
lifting the hand he still clutched from under the table, reaching across to
take Katya's, she taking Bracht's, the Kern and Cennaire each reaching toward
the ancient spaewife.

           
"I know not how this is done in
those lands you come from," she said, "but here I'd ask you remain
silent while I trance. What questions you may have I'll answer later, as best I
may. Now ..."