Bahzell could easily make out the crossed battleaxe and warhammer of Frahmahn flying from the stumpy flagstaff on the vessel’s stern. It was a lengthy haul from Nachfalas to Sothofalas, but he didn’t doubt Cassan was going to show a tidy profit on the barge’s cargo.
For now, at least, he told himself with grim satisfaction, and let his eyes sweep back across the steeply pitched, brightly colored roofs of Sothofalas. They built in stone or brick, the Sothoii, and they burned coal in winter. There wasn’t that much wood here on the Wind Plain, and what there was of it was far too precious to be used as a mere building material or fuel. In that respect, they really did have quite a bit in common with the subterranean cities of Dwarvenhame, he reflected. And, even more than his own people, they built thick walls, too, fit to stand the blasts of the far northern winter even at the Wind Plain’s altitude and thick enough to shed the sometimes fierce heat of the brief northern summer, as well. There were few exterior windows, however, and all of the larger, more prosperous homes clustered around his present vantage point had obviously been designed with an eye towards defense, even here in the very heart of the Kingdom’s capital. It was a reminder that feuds between the great Sothoii clans could be just as bloody as among Bahzell’s own people, but it was more than that, as well. Without handy terrain features, the Sothoii had deliberately constructed defensive strong points within their city. At least two thirds of Sothofalas’ present area lay beyond the old city walls, which had last been extended more than two generations ago…and whose maintenance was scarcely the first charge on the Exchequer. That faintly offended Bahzell’s sense of the way things ought to be, but stone walls had never been the Sothoii idea of a proper defense, and the capital was far from unguarded. Indeed, if a hostile army ever managed to reach it at all-an almost insuperable challenge, given what Sothoii light cavalry and wind riders would do to any invader here on their home ground-those fortified villas would make Sothofalas a tougher nut to crack than it might expect, he thought.
Not that the city was any sort of grim, gray fortress. Its streets were as clean and well kept as any Axeman town might boast, and streamers, pennants, and wind-tube banners flew from the towers of Sothokarnas. The great royal standard which indicated the King was in residence snapped and cracked above its central keep, and every manor in the city appeared to sport the brave banners of whatever noble house had built them, as well. Nor was that the city’s only color. The Sothoii didn’t favor the bas relief sculptures and intricate mosaics Axeman architects incorporated into their public buildings, but the walls of Sothofalas’ buildings were bright with painted frescoes and murals. Those on more public buildngs tended to reflect each structure’s function, but the competiton between private homes was often fierce, and mural painters were both highly prized and lucratively paid. From where he stood, he could see artisans touching up at a dozen or so of those murals, apparently repairing the last of the winter’s ravages. And the streets themselves were full of pedestrians, carts, and-inevitably-mounted riders. The clatter of hooves, the rattle of cart wheels, the buzz of conversation, the cries of vendors and shouts of children…all the vibrant, living noises of the city came to his ears like the music of life.
He’d considered stepping out onto the balcony proper, the better to enjoy its bustling life, but he’d decided against it. He wasn’t the hardest person in the Kingdom for people to recognize, and he and his fellow hradani remained less than fully welcome in the eyes of all too many Sothoii. There was no point calling unnecessary attention to his presence here in the city…and especially not to the fact that he was an honored guest in this particular house. That was why he’d been careful to remain well back, where-hopefully-none of those who continued to cherish less than warm and welcoming thoughts might spy him.
He’d been careful when he first opened the balcony’s glass doors and propped himself here, as well, since the diamond-paned panels looked suspiciously fragile, and he’d had entirely too much experience with furnishings-and buildings-which hadn’t really been intended for a hradani who stood nine inches over seven feet to go about leaning on them. He’d tested the strength of the frame with a thoughtful expression before satisfying himself it was truly up to his weight, studiously ignoring the obvious amusement of his two companions while he did so.
‹ They’re only jealous of your noble stature,› Walsharno assured him in the back of his brain, speaking from the enormous, spotless stable appended to the mansion. ‹ We coursers get that sort of thing from the lesser cousins all the time. And, of course, I understand that some of us actually get it from our…less well grown fellow coursers upon occasion, as well.›
‹ Do they now? › Bahzell responded silently, continuing to whistle. ‹ And who might it be as hears such a thing from such as, say, Gayrhalan?›
‹ I’m sure I wouldn’t know, › Walsharno replied primly, and Bahzell chuckled.
“Dathgar says you and Walsharno are being full of yourselves again,” Tellian Bowmaster remarked from behind him. Bahzell stopped whistling and glanced over his shoulder at the baron, ears cocked interrogatively, and Tellian chuckled. “Walsharno’s mind voice is a little stronger than other coursers’, you know. And, ah, Dathgar’s been around longer than he has and developed a bit better ‘hearing.’ If you two really don’t want him eavesdropping, Walsharno’s going to have to learn not to shout when the two of you aren’t nose-to-nose.”
‹Shout, is it?› Walsharno demanded indignantly. ‹ It’s no more than a…firmly voiced discussion!› There was a brief pause. Then: ‹ And I don’t recall asking for your opinion, either, Dathgar!›
Tellian’s eyes twinkled, and he shook his head.
“Dathgar just suggested that perhaps Walsharno thinks it’s only a ‘firmly voiced discussion’ because of the volume you two normally need to get through one another’s thick skulls.”
“I’m thinking you and your four-footed friend need to be finding yourselves another insult,” Bahzell said genially. “Mind, I’ll not say as how either of us are after having the very thinnest skulls in the whole wide world, but it’s in my mind as how someone who’s of a truly inventive turn of phrase could be coming up with something a mite fresher.”
“We can only do our humble best in Brandark’s absence,” Tellian replied with an apologetic air.
“Besides,” Vaijon put in, looking up from his book in the chair he’d tilted back against one of the handsomely decorated chamber’s walls, “we’ve found the simplest insults are best. You seem to miss the more complicated ones every so often.”
“Oh! That was a clean hit!” Tellian congratulated, and Vaijon nodded in acknowledgment with a suitably modest expression.
“Aye, so it was,” Bahzell agreed, glancing at the younger champion.
Vaijon grinned at him, and the hradani shook his head. His human friend had reverted-partly, at least-to the Vaijon he’d first met in Belhadan. He was never going to attain such heights of magnificence again, thank Tomanak, but he’d definitely turned his regular attire up a notch for the occasion. The plain woolen surcoat he’d adopted for normal wear had been replaced with one of green silk, glittering with genuine gold bullion, and the spurs on the glistening black boots stretched out before him as he lounged inelegantly on the base of his spine in the comfortable (and expensive) chair gleamed with silver inlay.
“Of course,” Bahzell continued, “while I’ve no choice but to admit it’s true as death hradani can be a mite slow noticing as how someone’s trying to get through to them, I’m thinking someone as lives in a glass house might be a mite careful how he lobs cobblestones about. It’s in my mind as how I recall a young Axeman popinjay as was a bit behind hand himself when it came time to be listening to others.”
“Ouch!” Tellian’s smile turned into a huge grin, and he shook his head wryly. “I’d say you’re playing with fire today, Vaijon!”
“ If I were minded to be bringing up people who deliberately did their dead level best to shove their fingers into their long, hairy ears to avoid hearing someone rather than simply being…too preoccupied to notice someone trying to get their attention, I would undoubtedly respond in kind,” Vaijon observed, then sighed. “That would be conduct unbecoming a champion of Tomanak, however. Besides, it would be taking unfair advantage of someone whose more ancient-uh, excuse me, I meant more senior — mental processes have reduced him to bringing up something that happened seven years ago in an effort to divert attention from the sad decay of his own acuity in his declining years.”
“Oh ho!” Bahzell laughed. “That’s cost you an ally or two, I’m thinking!” He twitched his ears impudently in Tellian’s direction, and Vaijon glanced at the baron, who was regarding him with a distinctly beady eye.
“‘ Declining years’?” Tellian repeated. “Are you sure that’s the way you want to describe someone all of three months older than I am? And a hradani, to boot? Unless I’m mistaken, Bahzell is actually considerably younger for his people than you are for ours.”
“Perhaps I should re-think that particular, possibly unfortunate choice of words,” Vaijon replied. “It does seem to imply I was ascribing Bahzell’s less than blindingly fast thought processes to the inevitable deterioration of age, which couldn’t have been farther from my intent. After all, it would have been disrespectful for someone as youthful as myself to make such an…indelicate observation about one of my elders. Either of my elders.”
