Auraya suppressed a sigh. There were zealots and fanatics in any race. It looked as if the gods had found one among the Siyee.
The buzz of thoughts at the edge of her mind suddenly grew louder. Other Siyee had found water - a great pool of it deep within another hall like this one. She let her light die and called to Mischief. A little shadow bounded out of the darkness into her arms and climbed up onto her shoulders. Auraya walked past the priest into the sunlight.
“Let’s see how the others have fared, shall we?” she tossed over her shoulder.
Rising from his seat, Danjin walked to the narrow window and looked out at what served as Dunwayan cosmopolitan life. Below him servants and traders hurried to finish their tasks before the night curfew, while warriors strode about with the confidence and arrogance of men who considered their position of power in society as their natural right. The stone houses they lived among were built in an orderly pattern between rings of high walls. Beyond the last wall he could see the Dey River winding away toward the distant ocean.
Chon was a fortress, but as the largest fortress in Dunway it also had the role of administrative capital. To get there, Danjin and Ella had sailed to the mouth of the Dey River where they were transported by barge to the fortress. Reaching Chon, they had been greeted with typical Dunwayan formality - brief and efficient - and were taken to the quarters the White always occupied during visits: a wing of the innermost part of the fortress.
The rooms were small and the walls bare stone. Furniture was simple and heavy, yet the rugs on the floors and walls were colorful and finely made, if a bit crude in design. Most depicted famous battles and Dunwayan leaders and warriors, always watched over by the god Lore.
I-Portak, the Dunwayan ruler, was neither hereditary king or elected counsellor. Danjin had never met anyone who knew all the complexities of the Dunwayan method of selecting their ruler. It seemed that anyone could declare themselves ruler, but holding the position depended on the agreement of important warrior clans. The claimant could be challenged by a warrior willing to fight for the position, yet if the challenger won and the warrior clans didn’t approve of him, he could not keep the position.
Despite this, when the last ruler had died the process of selecting a replacement had been free of challenge or argument. I-Orm’s son had taken his father’s place without a murmur of dissent from his people. At least, Danjin hadn’t heard of any. The Dunwayans were not ones to complain loudly. When the likely response to rebellion was a challenge to the death, one tended to keep one’s opinions to oneself unless sure of winning.
“The light is dimming,” Ella said. He turned to see her sigh and reluctantly put her spindle aside. “Another day gone and still no progress. How long do you think it will take before they let me do my job?”
“Subtract their respect for the gods and the White from the depth of their pride, add their eagerness for us to leave, and take some lingering resentment for the White’s attempt to dissolve the sorcerer Scalar over a decade ago, and you’ll have the moment they offer their reluctant cooperation.”
Ella chuckled ruefully. “You told me they were a straightforward and economical people.”
“Compared to other Northern Ithanian peoples, they are. You have to let the clans try to find the culprits for you. It’s a matter of honor.” Danjin moved away from the window. The air was quickly growing chilly. The Dunwayans believed heating and window coverings made one weak, that sickness was caused by too little action, food, sex, or either sleeping too much or too little.
“Well, at least I’m getting something done,” Ella murmured, looking at the basket beside her. Most of the fleece was gone, and the thread she had produced had been twisted together into yarn and wound into neat balls. Danjin had found the deft movements of her spinning and twirling a little hypnotic to watch. He had no idea what she would do with it next.
During the day they were mostly left to themselves, but every night they visited local clan leaders or dignitaries of other countries. Ella took the opportunity to read the minds of everyone she encountered, including the servants.
“They’re more like slaves than servants,” she had told Danjin. “All they get for their work is food and a roof over their heads. They can’t marry and raise a family without their master’s approval, and their children work from the moment they can be put to use. Nobody taught me about this when I learned about Dunway as a priestess.”
He had to agree about the servants’ lives, but reminded her that the Dunwayans had lived this way since the god Lore had adopted them as his own people. “And how servants live is hardly a subject likely to capture the attention of a class of young initiates,” he had added.
She had shaken her head at that. “Injustice always captures the attention of the young,” she said. “But as we get older we discover how difficult it is to change the world, and we learn to turn our eyes away from what we can’t fix until we no longer see injustice at all.”
“Not all of us,” he told her. “Some of us still look for ways to make improvements.”
Ella rose and moved to the window. “The man we’ll be seeing tonight is well known for his cruelty toward his servants.”
She stared out silently, her eyebrows knitted together. He suspected she was scanning the minds of those below and said nothing, not wanting to distract her.
A knock came at the door.
“Gillen Shieldarm, Ambassador of Hania, has come to fetch Ellareen of the White and Danjin Spear, Adviser to Ellareen of the White, and take them to the house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” a voice bellowed.
Danjin smiled and walked to the door. The habit of yelling such a greeting from behind a door was Dunwayan, but the greeting had been spoken in Hanian. He opened the door to find Gillen grinning widely.
“You can just knock,” Danjin said. “We won’t think less of you.”
“Ah, but that wouldn’t be as amusing,” the ambassador replied. He looked over Danjin’s shoulder. “Good evening, Ellareen of the White.”
“Good evening, Fa-Shieldarm,” she replied. “We have been waiting for you.”
He gestured to the corridor behind him. “I would be most honored to guide you to the abode of our guest.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped past Danjin. Closing the door, Danjin followed as she and Gillen started down the corridor.
Soon they had left the wing and emerged into the chill evening air. Each section of the city was separated by a well-guarded gate. Each time they reached one of these Gillen produced an amulet which the guards examined before they ordered muscular servants to haul open the gates. After passing through three gates, they arrived at a stone house distinguished from its neighbors by a large shield carved into the door, painted in bright colors.
“The house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” Gillen told them. He knocked, then bellowed their names and purpose.
The door creaked open. A servant bowed then silently gestured into the room. Ella stepped inside, followed by Danjin and Gillen.
They entered a large hall furnished with a huge wooden table already crowded with men, women and children. If it were not for their smiles and laughter, the tattooed faces might have made it a ghoulish scene. The patterns accentuated their expressions, so that a frown looked like a scowl, and a smile a grin.
Danjin recognized a few of the people and guessed that most present were of Gim’s clan. The servant hurried away to speak to a large Dunwayan man at the head of the table. This was Gim, a proud and arrogant man even by Dunwayan standards.
The man stood and beckoned to them with expansive gestures.
“Ellareen of the White. Welcome to my home. Come join me.”
Gim waved at the people sitting around him. At once they shuffled along the bench seats to make room. Ella sat down with dignity and accepted a goblet of fwa, the local liquor. Danjin squeezed in beside her.
Danjin sipped his own drink only enough to, hopefully, satisfy his host. He listened as Ella and Gim talked,
