Fortress Draconis (52 page)

Crow groaned as he stretched out on the woven straw mat that covered the stone sleeping ledge. “Warm, not wet, slightly softer than the ground last night. It will do.”

“You’re going to sleep?”

“As opposed to?”

“Go exploring.” Will pointed back out in the general direction he thought the fire was. “Did you see all that stuff? This place is huge, the whole mountain is hollowed out. And the Gyrkyme, did you see them? There’s the ones that are like hawks, then the raven that guided us here. There have to be more and …”

“Will, this might not have occurred to you, but we can’t just go exploring.”

“Sure we can. It’s easy. I didn’t see any guards posted about or anything.” He interlaced his fingers and bridged them. “The decorative columns will be easy enough to climb….”

Crow rolled up on an elbow and narrowed his eyes. “I have two points to make. First, given your early career, it might have escaped you that if people want you to look around in their domain, they will offer an invitation and take you on a tour.”

Will wrinkled up his nose. “I know that, but they might have forgotten.”

“You know better. The second, and far more important, is this: you arethe Norrington. The Gyrkyme are our allies. They want to help us. Their inviting us here is extraordinary, and as their guests, we will be on our best behavior.”

“Okay, is this just because you’re old?”

Crow rolled onto his back and laughed aloud. “Oh, ouch, Will.” The man continued to laugh, then wiped tears from his eyes. “That was funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I know,, which made it even more so.” Crow looked over at him. “There are times I think you grasp the gravity of our situation, and others, like now, when I know you’ve forgotten it.”

“I haven’t forgotten it.” Will sat down on his bunk, facing Crow. “It’s just that there are times it’s boring.”

“Like the battle on Vilwan?”

“No, that was very exciting.” The thief smiled quickly, then let the smile die as a shiver shook him. “And it was pretty horrible, too.”

“That’s the way of these things, Will. You can listen to countless campaigns reduced to song, but they only touch on the parts that excite or horrify. If songs are sung of our mission, theymight mention our visit here, but they’ll certainly forget rain-soaked camps, cold meals, roads churned to mud by thousands of hooves.”

Crow smiled. “So, I choose to sleep right now. When we’re needed, they’ll come for us and we’ll be rested.”

“Well, I can’t sleep.”

“Then if you must go running off, at least pull on some dry socks. Your squishing around in those boots will give you away.”

Will grumbled, but pulled his boots off, then peeled off his socks. He rung them out and draped them in one of the niches. He rummaged around in his saddlebags for dry socks, pulled them on, then decided to lie down for a moment. He refused to groan aloud as Crow had, but his back ached as the muscles eased themselves.

He shifted his shoulders a bit, then closed his eyes.Just until my back stops hurting. He thought about what the dark, shadowed reaches of Gyrvirgul’s upper levels might hide. Before avarice could blossom full into a fantasy, the darkness he contemplated smothered him with sleep.

Will had nothing but the complaints of his belly to suggest how long he’d slept. A small, brown-colored Gyrkyme had come for Crow and him. In rather subdued monotones the envoy told them the time of the feast had come. Each of them was handed a diaphanous silken strip of cloth that would have served as a scarf or loincloth, and their guide said he would return once they were ready.

The young thief looked at Crow. “I’ve almost gotten used to dressing for feasts, but I don’t have any of those good clothes.”

Crow smiled. “I’m not sure this is my size either.” He tugged off his doeskin tunic, revealing a trio of parallel scars running from collarbone to hip through a thick thatch of white hair. Various other scars decorated his body here and there, but nothing could come close to matching the long ones for size or age.

“The Gyrkyme don’t use much in the way of clothes, so they don’t really care if we dress or not.”

“So you’ll make that into one of their loincloths?”

The old man shook his head and looped the silver cloth into a sash running from right shoulder to left hip. He knotted it at his hip and tucked the tails beneath his belt. “Not that I’m expecting it to be cold around that fire, and the food should be hot, too, but why take the risk?”

Will raised an eyebrow at him as he rolled the cloth and tied it around his head in a headband that passed just above his mask. He tied it off neatly and left it with long flowing tails hanging down his back. “So you’re not trying to hide your scars? Three long ones like that could have come from a Gyrkyme hand.”

Crow frowned for a moment, then shook his head. “I thought you’d seen these before. I guess not. They’re not Gyrkyme.”

“What, then?” Will frowned and thought. “Frostclaw tracks?”

His companion nodded. “It was a long time ago. A frostclaw decided to play with its food before it ate.”

“I don’t remember a song about that being sung of Kedyn’s Crow.”

“There isn’t any. Dull tale anyway. Headband looks good.” Crow threw Will a wink, then stood and ducked his head to follow their guide. “I’m sure you’ll find the feast far more entertaining.”

Will wanted to maintain a respectable amount of disdain, but the Gyrkyme made that difficult. It seemed as if the entire expeditionary force and population of Gyrvirgul had been gathered around the balefire for the night’s feast. The outer ring of attendees weren’t actually down on the floor, but sat and stood on the ledges all around the central chamber. They seemed, to Will’s eyes, to be young, without fully developed wings, and roughly grouped by type as the rings ascended from brownfolk to very colorful and larger Gyrkyme.

On the floor, however, things became very interesting. The visitors had been arranged by company in seven ranks, starting with one man, then two, then three, and so on until the seventh rank of seven. The remaining two members of the company—usually the senior officer and most decorated soldier—were pulled off into a separate mixed group of special guests. The visiting triangles pointed in at the fire, then inserted on either side of them were triangles of Gyrkyme, seven ranks deep, that pointed away from the fire. It took two rings to take up all the human guests, then a third ring made entirely of Gyrkyme handled the rest.

Only the expedition’s special guests had been given the sashes and individual taste dictated how they would be worn. Resolute wore his as a breechclout and was nothing short of magnificent. Muscles rippled beneath flesh adorned by twisting tattoos. While the Gyrkyme with their brilliant plumage were breathtaking, Resolute matched them for splendor in his own way.

Kerrigan had likewise decided to observe Gyrkyme custom, which was pretty much the last thing Will needed to see. He figured that Kerrigan and Dranae massed about the same, but Dranae had it all arranged better and chose, as had Crow, to employ his cloth as a sash. A few others made it into a headband or armbands. Orla went the armband route, but instead of letting the ends hang free, she braided them down her left arm and knotted them off at her wrist. Qwc tied his around his waist, letting it trail after him like silver smoke as he flew, and Lombo had used his as a neckerchief, tying it with a big floppy bow that looked ridiculous, but Will felt no inclination to point that out.

Ultimately, though, it fell to Alexia to put all others to shame. She actually wore three sashes, the other two being black and gold in addition to the silver. The black one, silken and not sheer, she wore as a loincloth with the ends hanging down to her knees. The gold cloth, likewise opaque, circled around her neck and then crossed down to cover her breasts before being knotted at the back. The silver cloth circled her waist, holding the loincloth in place, with the loose ends hanging at her left hip.

When she appeared a gasp melted into murmurs amid the assembly. Will found her to be beautiful well beyond imagining. She’d always been pretty, and had haunted a dream or two of his, but her selection of gowns and her war kit had never displayed her charms so clearly. More impressive than just her physical beauty, however, was the regal bearing with which she moved beside the Tirigo. She’d always been graceful when Will had seen her at receptions, but never so free and fluid. Here, home, among those who raised her, she felt completely at ease and able to relax, which made her yet more alluring and attractive.

Her noble presence also somehow elevated her above and beyond the position where Will had seen her before. As always he had thought of people in relation to his legend as Will the Nimble. Watching her move to the place of honor next to the leader of the Gyrkyme, he realized that she was a heroine of her own cycle of songs. Just as Kedyn’s Crow and the Azure Spider were sung of in the Dimandowns, she would entertain the world’s nobility. If Will the Nimble were ever to be sung of in one of her songs, he would play the fool, of this he had no doubt.

He laughed to himself.And if she were sung of in any of my songs, I’d play the fool. An accident of birth had thrust him into a position where he could be a hero, but she’d clearly been meant for this through generations. He knew, no matter the prophecies and portents, that she would be more important to the world than he ever would be. Though he could feel a little piece of his dream dying, he made a silent and solemn pledge that he’d make any effort needed to help her succeed.

Alexia had been given the place of honor at the Tirigo’s right hand. The Tirogia, the leader’s primary queen, sat at his left and to her left came General Adrogans. The Jeranese military leader opted to wear his strip of cloth as a loincloth. Though softer than Resolute, with fewer scars and no tattoos that Will could see, his flesh didn’t sag and pool as Kerrigan’s did. Adrogans maintained a sense of dignity despite being nearly naked.

The Tirigo managed to put everyone to shame regardless of dress. He’d donned a silver breechcloth, with black and gold ribbons edging it. He bade his guests seat themselves while he yet stood, then spread his wings in a most incredible display of plumage. His crest rose, flashing iridescent green feathers that spiked two feet above his head. Scintillating blue feathers covered him all over, save for shiny black on his face and breast, but the design worked into his wings made him yet more impressive. There, with hints of red and green surrounded by blue, two eyes looked out at the assembly. The gasps that had greeted Alexia rose again, then sank into a hushed and reverent silence.

“Honored guests, a prouder day has never dawned in Gyrvirgul. Before this, our pride had been marked by Alexia’s arrival as an infant. Now, her return as a powerful and storied general makes our breasts swell with admiration. Likewise, our awe at your campaign to destroy Chytrine is limitless, and this feast is but a small representation of our gratitude for your efforts on behalf of the world.”

With that he furled his wings and sat, then nodded to a blackwinged Gyrkyme. That figure clapped once and motion returned to the room.

Gyrkyme youths began to serve, passing through the ranks to hand out large bowls the size of washbasins Will had seen in the private chambers of rich households. Others moved around after that, with small wheeled carts dishing up rice and all manner of foods, both hot and cold. If there was a pattern to the delivery, Will could not figure it out. He just rotated his bowl to get each new offering in an empty spot.

The vast majority of food Will had consumed in his lifetime had consisted of crusts and scraps, moldy cheese, weak broths, and fruits or vegetables easily stolen or scavenged from garbage heaps. While the fine foods offered at the various receptions had greatly expanded the universe of his culinary experience, it in no way prepared him for the sweet, savory, and spicy fare served to him that night.

To eat, they’d been given small wooden paddles, shaped much like a spoon, but flatter and very flexible. A small dollop of rice would be teased from the center of the bowl, mixed with meat in a sauce, pressed together into a little disk, then scraped up and popped into the mouth. Sometimes the food just gushed sweetness over his tongue. Yet others exploded with a head-clearing aroma that set the area behind his face afire. To start he’d gobbled quickly, but the first big gulp of spicy food had set his nose to running and made him slow down. Henceforth he attacked things more modestly.

Sweat gathered on his forehead and ran down the back of his head. He glanced at Crow, who likewise sweated, and Resolute, who shaped his little food patties with great deliberation and precision. Both of them seemed to be enjoying the meal and a quick inventory of what had disappeared from their bowls indicated Will’s tastes ran closer to Resolute’s than Crow’s.

The Tirigo waved away service after a point, and the servants withdrew from the area. When the last of them had left, the soft tones of flutes and horns began to drift down from the vaults of the great chamber. Will looked up, as did everyone else, and caught a quick glimpse of something plummeting freely from the room’s highest point.

The item resolved itself into a huge long banner of black fabric, unrolling as it fell. Gold letters in all manner of scripts decorated its entire length. Will had no idea what they said, but the way they flashed in the firelight gave them a majesty and power. The banner’s tail snapped audibly as it finished, then a tongue of flame from the balefire licked at it.

In an instant the entire banner exploded into a white-fire ribbon. Its brilliance stole Will’s night sight, but as his vision cleared more swirling descended from the darkness above. Gyrkyme, black save for the red on shoulders and wings, wove their way in an intricate aerial dance. Some dove toward the ground, then swooped low, while others tightly circled, wingtips all but touching. Gyrkyme chased one another, reaching for the trailing ends of gold loincloths, banking and arcing, diving and then climbing with powerful wingstrokes.

The clash of cymbals underscored the music that accompanied the winged ballet. It changed pace from slow to frenetic, shifting from coldly cultured to barbaric. Will couldn’t take his eyes off the dancers and envied them their freedom. Their cries, which came in unison at breaks in the music, rang with pure pleasure that summoned a wide grin to the little thief’s face.