Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight (12 page)

The basic structure of the attachment to the guest lodge meant to house the Companions had been finished quite quickly, but Ayshen (no mean architect) had planned for the ornamentation and elaboration to be completed in stages. No matter
when
the new residents arrived, the stables would appear finished. The first change had been to the fountain that supplied fresh running water; the initial installation had been a simple trough with water constantly flowing through it running along the rear of all three stalls. Utilitarian, but not very impressive; certainly not Tayledras. “There is power in style,” was all Ayshen would say concerning the redesign. Now each of the three stalls held a separate handsome terra-cotta basin, with a constant flow of fresh, clean water bubbling up from the bottom and drained by a pipe just beneath the rim at the rear. Outside, the pipes joined into one, which drained into an ornamental pond. Ayshen figured the fish wouldn't mind secondhand water.

The second change had been to add separate mangers for different sorts of foodstuffs; a hay rack just for hay, and smaller mangers and basins for oats, sweet-feed, and hot mashes. The hay rack had been fastened at the front of the stable for all three to share, but each stall had its own “special treat” containers; the latter were actually more terra-cotta basins which fitted into twisted-wire racks. The basins were removable, so that they could be taken away to be cleaned after use. The old wooden mangers that served for all food and were not removable for cleaning had been left in place, but trimmed with braided rope.

Then the dirt floor was replaced with brick, laid over a layer of gravel, over which in turn first sawdust, then clean straw was spread. Since Companions
weren't
horses, a “latrine stall” with a slanted brick floor was added, with a sluice to wash the waste away, and a drain to carry the waste to the waste tanks to be purified and turned into fertilizer. The Companions themselves could operate the sluice with a pull-rope, as they would be able to open all doors with a pull-latch and could come and go as they liked.

The last set of improvements was to give the place ornamentation; paneled woodwork, carvings along the beams, shelves and a proper tack room. Whenever Darian found himself with a moment to spare, he'd gone to help the building crew, and he'd been holding a wall panel in place when the news had come that the Heralds were within a few hours of arrival.

I'd be perfectly happy to live here,
he thought, looking around at the fine carvings, the solid appointments, the beautifully made door into the guest lodge itself, which was actually a double door. It was a regular door divided in half, so that the upper half could be left open for the Companions to stick their heads into the room.

“You've done a terrific job, friends,” he said aloud to the crew of
hertasi
picking up their tools. “I can't see anything that could be improved upon.”

One of the nearest looked up at him. “I can,” the
hertasi
responded. “And if I can, you know that Ayshen will, too.”

“This is better and far more gracious than anything outside of Haven,” he told the
hertasi
firmly. “I'll tell Ayshen that myself. Besides, I think any further changes ought to be made after you consult with the Companions themselves, not before.”

The
hertasi,
who appeared to be the work-crew chief, looked around, and nodded after a moment. “You're probably right,” it admitted. It (it was usually impossible for humans to tell which
hertasi
was male and which female) stowed the last of its tools in its toolbox, then bent and picked up the heavy box as easily as if it had weighed no more than a basket of eggs. The other
hertasi
cleared out as the crew chief took a last look around and nodded again. “It's solid,” the
hertasi
said, the ultimate compliment that any
hertasi
would ever pay to its own work. “Even Ayshen will agree to that.”

It trotted out with a wave of farewell to Darian, who shook his head and had to laugh.

He left through the door into the guest lodge just as more
hertasi
arrived, bearing bales of hay and bags of grain. More were following, carrying cleaning supplies, although he could not imagine how the place could possibly be any cleaner. But then, he wasn't a
hertasi.

The guest lodge had been cleaned and polished until every surface gleamed; the mattresses taken out and restuffed, new linens made for the beds, new blue gauze curtains hung on the windows. There were flowers in all the rooms, scented candles in holders on every table, with bundles of additional candles tied with a ribbon stocked in an open cabinet in the main room. Last year a bathing room had been added to the guest lodge since not every guest cared to bathe in company; like Darian's, this bathing room was supplied with sun-heated water from a tank above the roof. He took a quick peek, and saw that everything possible had been supplied here, as well. In two of the rooms, a set of white clothing designed by the
hertasi
was laid out on the bed. Presumably one set had been made to Shandi's measurements. As for Herald Anda, perhaps the
hertasi
had simply guessed at the size for the other set. It was easy enough to tell which room had been designated for each Herald, though. The room that was to be Shandi's held some of her old possessions brought from Errold's Grove, and a specially chosen basket of sewing and embroidery supplies.

Obviously there was nothing more he needed to do here. As Darian walked out onto the covered porch that surrounded the Lodge, he nearly ran into another
hertasi,
an adolescent by its build. “Dar'ian—you are to prepare!” the youngster blurted out before he could apologize for his clumsiness. “The guests are less than two hours distant!”

He glanced up at the sky, trying to tell where the sun was through the trees, and judged that it was early afternoon. The Heralds had made good time, but the Vale was ready for them.

All except me!
he reminded himself, and bolted up the trail to his
ekele.

It was empty when he arrived; Keisha had probably gotten ready hours ago. He had seen her outfit earlier; the
hertasi
that had adopted the two of them had outdone themselves in the way of clothing for her. She now had a set of Greens that would be the envy of every Healer who saw them. There would be plenty of Healers to impress, too; every Sanctuary Healer that could get away had been arriving all morning. Even if they hadn't been anxious to meet the new Heralds, no one wanted to miss a Vale-wide Hawkbrother celebration. K'Valdemar had a far-flung reputation for its hedonistic hospitality on such occasions.

The
hertasi
hadn't exactly shirked when it came to Darian's outfit either, but at the moment he wasn't concerned with his clothing. After helping with the stables since early morning, what he needed most was a bath.

Once clean, he hurried into the first of his four sets of “welcoming” garb. This first set, the most exotic and ornamental of the lot, was for today, when the Heralds were formally greeted and welcomed into k'Valdemar Vale. This was to mark his primary allegiance to his Vale and Clan. Tomorrow, he would wear Valdemaran formal military garb, although it would not be in Guard blue, but in brown, with badges of owls rather than the winged horse of Valdemar. This outfit included light ornamental armor and came complete with embroidered surcoat displaying his new arms. But the arms were not in Valdemaran style, but in the mode of the Hawkbrothers—the fluid, sinuous curves and stylization they had developed over the course of centuries. And the device itself was not Valdemaran either, for there was not a single noble family in all of the land that used an owl for their device. It seemed odd to him, but it was so. Lord Breon told him that owls were considered ill-omened in some parts; it was said that if an owl landed on one's house three nights in a row and called, someone in the house would die. Others swore that owls were the eyes of evil spirits, because they flew so silently and attacked in the darkness when no other creature could see. There were plenty of nocturnal creatures besides owls, including animals no one thought of as evil—but there was no arguing with superstition. The good part was that there was no one to argue with when he planned his device around a stylized portrait of Kuari coming in to land, wings spread wide.

He would spend the night in that outfit, in vigil. The next morning he would change into his third outfit, Valdemaran Court garb, with a more elaborate version of his embroidered surcoat, this one sparkling with gold-and-silver thread and tiny gemstones. He had no idea how the
hertasi
had managed to get not one, but two embroidered surcoats done in time, yet they had. There was always the belief that there were more
hertasi
than anyone ever actually saw, down in their burrows—and since so many looked alike to human eyes, who could count for sure just how many there were to make the goods they brought? That outfit was for the feast celebrating his knighting. Hopefully they'd let him get a nap before he had to endure hours of a formal Valdemaran feast....

But that wasn't the end. On the fifth day—they were going to allow him a day to rest before he took up the trial again—he would don a set of clothing that was a blend of Ghost Cat and Hawkbrother styles. Crafted mostly of supple leather, it was decorated with Kuari's feathers, ornaments of carved bone harvested from Kuari's kills, beadwork with an owl-and-feather theme, and finished with a belt and dagger-sheath carved with a frieze of standing owls. Under it all was a draped loincloth, woven with a decorative pattern of feathers. He would put it all on only to take it off again (except for the loincloth), for this was his costume for his presentation at the Ghost Cat sweathouse.

At least both Heralds would have to keep him company through most of this. They would stand guard to make certain he didn't fall asleep during the vigil, and Anda would join all the men in the sweat-house ceremony while Shandi waited with the women in the drum-circle outside. The women had their own rituals, which were held secret from the men; all he knew was that they involved drumming for the men in the lodge.

Right now, however, he had best concentrate on today's ordeal.

This was not the sort of outfit he would have chosen to wear to a celebration, but fortunately, like the clothing that Snowfire and Nightwind wore for their wedding, he was going to be able to abandon part of it once the most formal portions of the evening were over. The base was a comfortable, soft sleeveless tunic of silk the color of red amber, and a pair of dark brown silk trews. Over this went a hip-length vest woven with a pattern of owl feathers, buttoned with amber toggles. Over
that
went an ankle-length coat, this cut of and lined with silk the color of honey amber, with a high collar, sleeves scalloped to resemble great wings, and so completely embroidered with owl feathers that very little of the original silk showed through. It was belted over the hips with a belt made of plaques of tiger-eye stone carved with more owls, no two of which were alike. The belt clasp was the mask of an owl, made in two halves that met so perfectly that it looked like a solid piece when buckled. The eyes were amber, the beak of creamy shell all the way from Lake Evendim, and the owl mask of carved horn, each feather individually carved and fitted to a metal backing plate. His boots of warm brown leather were inlaid on each calf with a design of an owl feather in four different shades of brown deerskin.

The coat was infernally heavy; not hot, but heavy. The weight of all that beading and embroidery hung on his shoulders like the heaviest pack he'd ever had to hike with.

Once the entire outfit was on, he waited for Meeren to return to inspect him and put the finishing touches on his appearance.

He certainly couldn't put the finishing touches on himself; he could hardly move without knocking something over with his sleeves.

It wasn't long until Meeren trotted in the door, clad himself in a coat made of thousands of tiny black octagonal scales of metal, forming a “fabric” as flexible as silk. Meeren examined him closely, looking at him from all angles, before pronouncing his satisfaction. “You'll do,” the
hertasi
said. “Now sit, and let me make you presentable.”

Darian sat gingerly on a low stool, and Meeren moved in, brush and comb in hand. Despite his apprehension, Meeren did not pull every hair out of Darian's head; in fact, he was remarkably gentle. Darian had allowed his hair to grow long, Tayledras-fashion, so that he could braid feathers and beads into it as his Clan-brothers did. It took a defter hand than his to achieve the kind of effects that Firesong or Starfall managed, and that was where Meeren came in.

He sat patiently as Meeren worked, wondering what was going on, but unable to tell anything from the gentle tugs and pulls on his hair. Meeren didn't take long, not as long as the
hertasi
must have taken with Keisha, but Darian was very impatient to see his handiwork, and shifted restlessly on his stool.

“All right, all right, I'm finished!” Meeren exclaimed. “Go ahead and look—but don't admire yourself too long; they're waiting for you at the Vale entrance.”

He got up carefully, mindful of his costume, and moved into the bedroom to peer into the only mirror in the house.

It was a pleasant surprise, for he had been a little afraid that Meeren would overdo the decorations; Meeren had worked Kuari's feathers, a few strands of amber beads, and leather thongs finished with tiny silver feathers and figurines into his hair without making him look like a walking display of hair-jewelry. In fact, with his hair pulled back from his face and given a little more discipline, he looked a few years older than he actually was. That was exactly the effect he'd hoped for, but when he turned to thank the
hertasi,
Meeren was already gone.