Page 69 of Into the West

To Kordas’s surprise, Silvermoon asked if the Hawkbrothers could spend the night among the Valdemarans.

Maybe they don’t want to put an unsupported Gate up so soon after the first one.

“You—what?” he asked. “Surely you—I mean, our hospitality is real, but primitive is too mild a word for what we can offer at this point.” Kordas’s logistical mind began trying to figure out how he could switch people around to get enough beds in barges, who would cooperate and who would not.

But Silvermoon was not in the least perturbed. “Oh, we are hardier souls than you think we are. If this building of yours is not needed tonight, we will sleep here.”

Good gods. Well . . . “Rose,” he said aloud, “Can we get enough Dolls to help make this place comfortable?”

“That’s easily done, Baron,” Rose replied calmly. “Will the birds be inside or outside, Silvermoon?”

“Outside until nightfall, then inside, I think. Even the owl. Thank you, Truthseeker.” As the last of the Councilors—except for the Six and Jonaton—left the building to spread their own versions of this unexpected development, Silvermoon looked around with every evidence of satisfaction. “I will consult with you, Truthseeker, as to what we will need.”

Well, if he’s satisfied with wattle-and-daub walls, an earthen roof, and a dirt floor, we can certainly give him those.

“My name is Rose,” the Doll said, with what sounded like pride.

“Very well, then. Rose it is.” The arch of Silvermoon’s eyebrow suggested that he had never heard of vrondi taking personal names before, but he wasn’t going to comment on it. At least, not just now. “Now, Baron Kordas, if you would introduce me to your Elders?”

Kordas did so, wondering what his mages were making of these people. Meanwhile, the other Hawkbrothers were using barely a trickle of magic to root those support staffs into the earth at the edge of the building, turning them into sturdy and immovable perches that would be up to their birds’ weights. Silvermoon, in his turn, introduced his group to the rest, but before he’d gotten past six names, Kordas was already losing track of who was “Leafdance,” who was “Steelstrike,” and all the other names, which seemed to consist of “object-action,” except when they were “adjective-object.” “There are intricacies in our naming,” Silvermoon explained, “and our names can change according to life events. Or, in the case of the highly sensitive, our overwhelming moods. These names are sacred to us, but not so sacred they cannot be laughed at. Sometimes, even though their meaning is usually solemn, they’re objectively ridiculous. We had a skygazing poet-scout, Wildwolf, who went through an awkward, dramatic stage of life as Moonmoon.” A few Tayledras laughed about that, and half the Six snorted and snickered. “They changed it back after a year.”

As the Hawkbrothers and Kordas’s mages began talking cautiously to one another—inasmuch as the Six could be circumspect when met with incredible artists of the craft—Silvermoon consulted with Rose and Isla, and shortly after that, Dolls began arriving with things to make the place less uncomfortable to sleep in.

They started with armfuls of bracken laid around the fire at a distance such that it was unlikely a spark or ember would set the stuff aflame, followed by armfuls of dry, cut grass. Then came the sort of sturdy woolen blankets that were issued to the Imperial Army, and then the tanned sheepskins from the culling at the Lake. Last of all, cushions. Silvermoon seemed to be completely satisfied with this arrangement, and Kordas didn’t see any sign of objections from the rest of his party.

By this point Kordas was distinctly torn. He wanted to have a very long, serious discussion with Silvermoon about this “place” the Hawkbrothers intended to take them to, but he also had the feeling he needed to show himself to his people to reassure them that he hadn’t been taken control of by the Hawkbrothers, and that this offer the Hawkbrothers were making was exactly what they had been hoping for.

Individual Dolls seemed to have assigned themselves to each of the Hawkbrothers, waiting patiently for “their” Hawkbrother to ask them for something. And meanwhile, the “seven” had each zeroed in on one of the Hawkbrothers as well—or perhaps the Hawkbrothers in question had taken the mages aside—and they were already deep in talk.

Silvermoon watched all this unfold with aplomb, keeping his eyes fixed on Jonaton, who in his turn watched Silvermoon very intently out of the corner of his eye. “I think, Baron Kordas,” Silvermoon said, when everyone had settled, sleeping places were being laid out with help from the individual Dolls, and a grate with a pot of water on it had been settled at the fire to heat. “I think you should go reassure your people that we have not taken you over, mind and soul, and are about to lead you and them into one of the three Hells.”

“I thought there were seven,” Kordas replied, hoping he sounded less anxious than he was feeling.

“And six, and nine, three, and thirteen,” Silvermoon said, with genuine amusement. “Apparently, hells are not consistent. That could be why they are hells. Go, and return when you are certain your people’s hearts are settled.”

That turned out to be after nightfall, and once the boys were put in their beds—with orders to stay there, much to their bitter disappointment—he and Isla put some more bottles of mead into a couple of baskets and returned to the building. By this point the number of mage-lights had doubled, the temperature was shockingly comfortable, and the Hawkbrothers and Valdemaran mages that Kordas knew personally had been joined by a couple of other mages, Delia, Isla, Alberdina, and Hakkon.

I should have known Hakkon wasn’t going to stay away. Not with Jonaton here.

Hakkon was doing a remarkably good job of not glowering dangerously over Jonaton’s shoulder, as Kordas had known him to do in the past.

The birds were already on their perches, some asleep, the rest fluffed up and blinking at the fire. They had all positioned themselves facing the fire with their tails to the wall, which was probably a good thing, if Kordas’s memory of just how far they could “squirt” was correct. There was a correct falconry term for that particular function, he was pretty sure, but he had never been much of a bird person and the word escaped him. They were magnificent, though, even in their relaxed state.

“Ah, welcome back, Baron,” Silvermoon said, his voice just loud enough to carry over the murmurs of conversation—some animated, some subdued, but all sounding quite cordial. “And welcome to our temporary hearth, Baroness Isla.”

I’ll tell you one thing, diplomacy with these Tayledras is so relaxed, I feel like I’m resting. There are secrets and intimations, but no guile in play. I hadn’t realized how stilted and aggressive Empire discussions were until I just found myself getting more done in the same amount of time by just talking with these people.

Isla inclined her head graciously. “We brought drink,” she said, holding up her baskets. “Dinner will be arriving shortly—no, Sai, you don’t need to get up, we’re using our cooks.”

Sai settled back onto his cushion. “It will be nice to eat someone else’s cooking for a change,” he admitted, then plunged back into conversation again.

Isla took it on herself to distribute the pottery bottles as equally as she could, reserving one for herself, Kordas, and Silvermoon.

They all sat down under one of the lights on what presumably would become Silvermoon’s bed. Isla pried the cork out of the bottle and poured portions into three ill-assorted vessels, and tilted her head at Kordas, indicating he should open the conversation.

Kordas took a deep breath, and shook his head at Silvermoon while exhaling. “Why?” he asked, simply. “The whole story. We have time.”

Silvermoon chuckled, tasted the mead, gave it an approving nod, and licked his lips. “I will give you the shortest story I can,” he replied. “I take it that although you are far distant from these lands, you were aware of the great wars among mages five hundred years ago?”