Storm Warning (23 page)

Arnod winced. “It’s a good thing you didn’t stop, though, if you’ll forgive my saying so. We got word that the bridge at Loden is out; if you’d waited there tonight, you’d have had to go clear up to Poldara to cross in the morning. You’d have been another week getting here.” His brows knitted. “I’m not being too forward, am I? Tell me if I am, please—I’m not used to this serving business, but they thought you and I might have a bit in common, since my da raised horses.”

Karal laughed, a little startled at the young man’s open, easy manner, and Arnod gave him a tentative grin. “Oh, just be as respectful to Lord Ulrich as you would to any Priest that you honor, and I think it will be fine. Like I told you, I am
not
used to having a servant around, or to being served by anyone. The reverse, in fact.” He shared a conspiratorial grin with Arnod. “You see,
my
father was the stablemaster at an inn.”

It was a very good thing that he and Ulrich had a chance to practice their Valdemaran with Rubrik on the journey up here; Arnod’s Karsite was barely adequate to manage simple requests. A conversation like this one would have been impossible.

The wind pounded on the shutters again, and sent hail pounding against it in a futile effort to get through. Karal felt more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

That was a relief, a great relief. So great a relief that he relaxed enough to yawn.

“Oh—I drew you a bath, sir—” Arnod began.

“Karal. Just Karal,” Karal corrected. “My master is ‘sir,’ or ‘my lord.’ I’m just a novice, I haven’t taken any vows, and I’m not highborn, so I’m just plain ‘Karal.’ ”

Arnod nodded, earnestly. “Right—I drew you a bath, Karal, I figured you’d want it when you finished eating. Can I get you anything else, or shall I just clear the plates away and let you get that bath and some sleep?” He hesitated a moment, then added, “We have a pair of guards stationed on this corridor, outside your doors. Not just for your benefit, but all the ambassadors. You won’t have to worry about your safety.”

“Bath and sleep,” Karal said firmly—or he would have, if he hadn’t had to yawn right in the middle of the sentence. Arnod chuckled and began picking up the dishes even as Karal got up to go find that hot bath.

He was impressed all over again by the bathing chamber; tiled in clean white ceramic, it contained a tub large enough to relax in, supplied by heated water from some system of pipes and a wood-fired copper boiler. It also contained an indoor, water-flow privy, an amenity Karal had come to appreciate after living with Ulrich.
Especially
on a night like this one. Going out to a privy, or even to a jakes on the outside wall, would have required more courage than he thought he had. The mere idea of that cold, hail-laden wind coming at one’s tenderest parts....

When he returned, warm and dry and relaxed in every muscle, Arnod and the remains of dinner were both gone, and all but one of the candles in the sitting room had been blown out. Karal made his way across the chamber to his own room, smaller than Ulrich’s, and with one wall on the outer hallway where the guards supposedly prowled. His room would presumably shield his master’s from any intrusive sounds from the hall—and any sounds from the hall would wake
him
up so that he could defend his master if need be. Of course, this meant that he had no window in his room, but tonight he didn’t want one. The howling of the wind and the roar of rain on the shutters was
quite
clear enough.

Candles had been left burning in his room, and a set of bedclothes had been laid out for him—a sign that their luggage
had
arrived safely. Thanks be to Vkandis, indeed. If they did not have the appropriate clothing, they could not be formally presented without disgracing themselves and their ruler.

And besides, there were a dozen books in there he’d been wanting to read.

He dropped the towel he had wrapped around himself and pulled the soft, loose shirt and breeches on, blowing out all the candles but one and climbing into bed. The bed had been warmed, a welcome, if unexpected touch, and the candle nearest the bed gave off a delicate fragrance as well as light.

I could get used to living like this,
he decided. It was a far cry from sleeping in the stable, or the hard pallets in the Children’s Cloister. There was a lot to be said for the life of an envoy. He blew out the bedside candle, and lay back in the warm embrace of what had to be a real featherbed.

On the other hand, the real work was about to begin—not physical labor, but mental. Tomorrow, in addition to his work as a secretary, Ulrich would begin asking him to watch certain people, or take note of situations, and he would be expected to make accurate observations. When they were presented formally to the Valdemaran Court, it would be his job to remember the names, the faces, the positions, and the identifying characteristics. Then there would be long diplomatic meetings, during which he would be taking mental notes—and later, transcribing those notes into an accurate copy of what was actually said.

No, this was not unearned luxury after all, now that he thought it all over. He could foresee, without recourse to a mage-mirror or a scrying crystal, that there would be days when he would not see this bed until well past the midnight hour.

But before he could ponder that any further, he fell asleep.

“Watch the Heralds,” Ulrich said, just before they left their suite the next morning. Only that, but it was all the direction that Karal needed. Ulrich had trained his secretary well; Karal did not need to be told the rest of his job.

Ulrich
would be watching the Prince and the other officials of Valdemar during this first day of introductions and preliminary negotiations. He wanted Karal to keep a covert eye on the other power in this land, the power that never quite revealed itself openly but had a hand in literally everything.

The Heralds. Even a Karsite knew
that
much.

He was the perfect person to perform that particular task; it was not likely that anyone would pay a great deal of attention to
him.
He was only the secretary, after all, of no importance, and furthermore, no older than the callow lads who had been assigned to serve them.
He
could not possibly be hiding anything.

Well, he
wasn’t.
He doubted that he could ever successfully conceal the fact that he knew something, if anyone ever entrusted him with a real secret. But he didn’t have to hide anything; all he had to do was
watch
passively.

They rose late—for Ulrich, at least, who was used to rising at dawn. A new young man, who introduced himself as “Johen” but otherwise was as silent as Arnod had been talkative, brought them their breakfast and took away Ulrich’s request for the formal presentation.

He returned with the word that it would be agreeable to everyone if that presentation could be made at the regular Court session in a mark. Or “candlemark,” as the Valdemarans reckoned time. Easy enough to judge, since the candle that had been left burning all night was a time-candle—marked off at regular intervals. As near as Karal could judge, the Valdemaran “candlemark” and the Karsite “mark” as reckoned by water-clock were about the same length.

Since immediate reception was precisely what Ulrich had hoped for, they sent Johen off with word of their agreement. They both dressed with care for the occasion; fine velvet robes that had been especially created for their roles as both Priest and Novice, and Envoy and Secretary. There was a great deal more gold and embroidery than Karal personally felt comfortable with; he rather liked the simple, short black woolen robes, sashes, and breeches that those who served Vkandis normally wore. But he was a representative of Her Holiness—it was right and proper that he should
look
like a representative of Her Holiness.

Besides, Ulrich was laden with three times the gold braid and embroidery that
he
had to endure. He didn’t even want to
think
about the amount of ecclesiastical jewelry Ulrich was carrying; it was enough to make his shoulders ache just looking at it.

Johen brought a young Guard to serve as their escort to the Court chamber, or whatever it was that the Valdemarans called it. The Throne Room, Karal had thought he’d heard Johen say. This second Herald-in-training spoke a lot faster than Arnod, and it was harder to follow him.

The Guard left them at the door, which was wide open, and they simply took their places among the other people gathered there. They stood out among the Valdemaran courtiers like a pair of crows in an aviary of exotic birds. As they waited their turn to be summoned before Queen Selenay, there was a little space around them, a degree of separation from the rest of the Court that clearly showed that most Valdemarans were still not altogether sure of their new allies.

Watch the Heralds,
Ulrich had said. Karal kept his eyes humbly down, but he watched the people around him through his lashes. There were not too many Heralds out here among the courtiers—one, standing beside a man who
looked
like a soldier, and a second, female Herald in a very
strange
and exotic white outfit, chatting with the first. There were three up on the dais with the Queen—well, five, if you counted the Queen and her Consort as well. Another surprise, that—the Queen wore a variation on the white livery, as well as the Prince. One Herald he already recognized; that was Talia, who had come to Karse herself as the representative of Selenay. Not a bad idea, really, although there were Guards in their blue and silver uniforms everywhere in this room, standing at rigid attention along the walls.

The last two he dismissed, at least temporarily. If they were standing there in any capacity other than as guards, it was probably to do the same task that Ulrich had assigned to him—
watch.
He would learn nothing from their faces which would wear the same receptive blankness that his would.

No, he would concentrate on Talia and the other two, the man who shadowed the richly-dressed warrior, and the fascinating, peculiar white-clad woman.

He would have watched the latter just out of sheer curiosity. If he was a gilded crow in this aviary,
she
was the exotic bird-of-prey. For all her fancy plumage, the deliberate way that she moved and the implicit confidence of her carriage warned him that she would be dangerous in any situation, and that very little would ever escape her notice. She looked far too young to have that mane of silvered hair, though; that was strange.

Then he recalled his magic lessons, rudimentary as they were.
Ah. She may be an Adept; handling node-magic bleaches the hair and eyes.
Ulrich’s hair had gone all to gray and silver before he reached middle age, his master had told him. So, if she was an Adept, who was she? There weren’t that many Adept-level mages in Valdemar, after all.

The reference points quickly fell together for him; the exotic garb, the age, the deference with which she was treated....

There was some commotion at the door, and more people entered; people ... and things.

The sea of courtiers parted with respect tinged with just a little fear, making way for an odd party indeed. There were two men, both silver-haired, both dressed in costumes as foreign and elaborate as Lady Elspeth’s. Neither of the costumes was white, however, and compared to them, her outfit was quite conservative. The younger and handsomer of the two was the more flamboyant, in layered silks of a dozen different shades of emerald green; the second contented himself with garments cut more closely to his body, in the colors of the deep forest.

But they paled beside the creatures that followed; a huge, wolflike gray beast the size of a newborn calf, and—

—a gryphon—

He stared, his heart racing, as he took in the near-mythical beast. He felt very much the same way as he had when he had first seen Hansa—except that the Firecat was nowhere near this
big.