stairs, aware that a certain silence targeted him as the children first noticed him, evaluated him and then carelessly returned to their play. Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned first into the large common room, the corners of his mouth turning up at Esper’s grunt of pleasure. Heat permeated the room from the two enormous hearths on either side of it. A horde of chairs, couches and tables filled the space, illuminated by the fires and a host of oil lamps and wall sconces. A few human ahalad-kaaslane snored in chairs. Brilliant disks of shining green, amber and red peered at Juhrnus as the animal ahalad-kaaslane blinked sleepily from their own beds on laps and couches.
On the other side of the heavy doors blocking the far end of the commons came the muted sounds of laughter, clinking dishes and rumbling discussions. More important were the mouthwatering smells of fresh-brewed kohv, roasted meats, yeasty breads and spiced vegetables. Juhrnus’s stomach growled, and he sped across the room.
There was a hush, and then he was surrounded by welcoming voices and thumping backslaps.
“Juhrnus! We’d thought you’d fallen into a swamp!”
“Should have known you’d arrive in time for dinner. Your timing is always perfect.”
“Did you run into anyone? Meriis? Olvaane?”
Other names were volleyed at him, and Juhrnus nodded or shook his head at each, finding himself pushed to one of the long tables, his saddlebags taken from his hands, his cloak whipped away. He sat down before a trencher piled high with roasted potatoes, thick roast pork, gravy, baked apples and fried onions. A mug of ale sloshed down in front of him followed by a basket of crusty rosemary bread and a crock of honey butter. Juhrnus helped Esper onto the table and set to with gusto as Esper began his own feast of greenhouse-grown lettuces. Later Juhrnus would grab a couple of fat mice or a rat from the rodent cages to fill the sisalik properly.
He talked around his food, answering questions, finding no entry to ask any of his own. Yes, he’d seen signs of the nokulas . No, he hadn’t seen any himself. Yes, he’d seen where the plague had hit, but long before his arrival. Yes, the drought had made for a bad harvest in the Karnane Valley. No, the people didn’t seem to blame the ahalad-kaaslane, feeding, housing and clothing him as usual. Yes, there were bandits prowling everywhere. No, he hadn’t been attacked. He was ahalad-kaaslane, after all. Untouchable. The questions went on, skipping from town to town, topic to topic. He answered as best he could, beginning to feel the weight of his long ride as the food and ale filled him warmly.
“Where’s Reisiltark? And Sodur?” he asked when the din around him lulled. His question was met with a peculiar silence.
“Sodur spends a lot of time in the palace these days. Trying to keep a cork on the court, specially the young Verit Aare. The Verit and the Lord Marshal are snapping at each other like dogs over a bone. Won’t be long before they dig in for a real fight. Sodur’ll want to know you’re back, though. We’ll send someone.” This was from a short, thin man—Vesil was his name. His ahalad-kaaslane was a red squirrel.
The conversation soon picked up again, this time centered on the Iisand and his strange withdrawal from the court after his wife’s death.
“Man of feeling. He’ll be back. Wait and see. He still sees Sodur, and that’s something. He’s still loyal to the ahalad-kaaslane .”
“Not like that whelp of his. Had his way we’d all be thrown to the sharks. Iisand better come to his senses soon or the young Verit will have his throne.”
“Lord Marshal isn’t much better. Have you seen the way he looks at us? Like ants in his sugar. The eyebrow, the sneer. You know what I’m saying. He’s more cautious about showing it is all. The court takes its cue from them. If it weren’t for that ganyik Upsakes. . . .”
“If the Mesilasema could have been saved, you
On the other side of the heavy doors blocking the far end of the commons came the muted sounds of laughter, clinking dishes and rumbling discussions. More important were the mouthwatering smells of fresh-brewed kohv, roasted meats, yeasty breads and spiced vegetables. Juhrnus’s stomach growled, and he sped across the room.
There was a hush, and then he was surrounded by welcoming voices and thumping backslaps.
“Juhrnus! We’d thought you’d fallen into a swamp!”
“Should have known you’d arrive in time for dinner. Your timing is always perfect.”
“Did you run into anyone? Meriis? Olvaane?”
Other names were volleyed at him, and Juhrnus nodded or shook his head at each, finding himself pushed to one of the long tables, his saddlebags taken from his hands, his cloak whipped away. He sat down before a trencher piled high with roasted potatoes, thick roast pork, gravy, baked apples and fried onions. A mug of ale sloshed down in front of him followed by a basket of crusty rosemary bread and a crock of honey butter. Juhrnus helped Esper onto the table and set to with gusto as Esper began his own feast of greenhouse-grown lettuces. Later Juhrnus would grab a couple of fat mice or a rat from the rodent cages to fill the sisalik properly.
He talked around his food, answering questions, finding no entry to ask any of his own. Yes, he’d seen signs of the nokulas . No, he hadn’t seen any himself. Yes, he’d seen where the plague had hit, but long before his arrival. Yes, the drought had made for a bad harvest in the Karnane Valley. No, the people didn’t seem to blame the ahalad-kaaslane, feeding, housing and clothing him as usual. Yes, there were bandits prowling everywhere. No, he hadn’t been attacked. He was ahalad-kaaslane, after all. Untouchable. The questions went on, skipping from town to town, topic to topic. He answered as best he could, beginning to feel the weight of his long ride as the food and ale filled him warmly.
“Where’s Reisiltark? And Sodur?” he asked when the din around him lulled. His question was met with a peculiar silence.
“Sodur spends a lot of time in the palace these days. Trying to keep a cork on the court, specially the young Verit Aare. The Verit and the Lord Marshal are snapping at each other like dogs over a bone. Won’t be long before they dig in for a real fight. Sodur’ll want to know you’re back, though. We’ll send someone.” This was from a short, thin man—Vesil was his name. His ahalad-kaaslane was a red squirrel.
The conversation soon picked up again, this time centered on the Iisand and his strange withdrawal from the court after his wife’s death.
“Man of feeling. He’ll be back. Wait and see. He still sees Sodur, and that’s something. He’s still loyal to the ahalad-kaaslane .”
“Not like that whelp of his. Had his way we’d all be thrown to the sharks. Iisand better come to his senses soon or the young Verit will have his throne.”
“Lord Marshal isn’t much better. Have you seen the way he looks at us? Like ants in his sugar. The eyebrow, the sneer. You know what I’m saying. He’s more cautious about showing it is all. The court takes its cue from them. If it weren’t for that ganyik Upsakes. . . .”
“If the Mesilasema could have been saved, you
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