1629, Fire Season, late in Truth Week
Context
Maalira and Berra have been sent to make peace in Sartar… Session 5.N-20.
Events
It is night by now, in the Yalmoring. The party that followed the group’s visit to the White Horse is dying down. Berra turned in a few minutes ago, and there are occasional little movements under the boarhide she uses for a Groundsheet and cover combined. Sometimes she makes little kitten-like twitches as she settles down. That might be happening.
Maalira has spread out her bedding adjacent enough to Berra’s that one might even call it “next to” hers. However she is still sitting up on top of her blankets, fidgeting with her yarn spindle in the low light.1Critical Scan. She is keeping an eye on Berra, obviously.
The movements settle into steady breathing, as the light becomes too poor for spinning. Black smoke, like that which makes up the Wyter in his physical form, begins to trickle out from under the hide, at the end that probably has Berra’s head, and therefore at least two swords.
Maalira puts down the spindle. “Uh, Berra?” she whispers.
There comes no answer from her, but the smoke begins to form into the shape of a man, sitting on the ground.
“Berra?” Maalira asks, more urgently and a lot less quietly.
“Hmm?” Berra looks blearily out, and then rolls to her feet, the scabbard of Wind Tooth held in her hand.
The dark, smoky figure sitting where she was pinches the bridge of its nose.
“Sup?” Berra is looking for threats, but does not seem to have noticed the darkness taking form.
“There’s a… smoke figure. It came from your bed.” Maalira waves her hand urgently. “I thought you should know.”
“Oh, Lord Raven?” Berra looks at the figure, who shrugs. With its hand away from its face, the fiery scar that mars its right eye can be seen. “What are you doing here?”
In the high-bred tones of someone who is intimately acquainted with being Lord Eril, the reply comes, “I had hoped for a private conversation with the White Lady.”
“You could have said,” Maalira says grumpily.
She reflects for a moment then straightens up. “What can I do for you?”
“I was still forming my ability to speak outwardly,” points out the Wyter, mildly. “Priest, please do go for a walk.” He gestures Berra away.
“Uh…” The Humakti sighs, belting on her sword and shoving her feet into her boots. Lord Raven winces just to watch her.
Maalira watches, her eyes flicking warily between Lord Raven and Berra. She clears her throat. “Don’t go too far?” she asks Berra.
“She will be safe. And so will you.” Lord Raven’s smile is almost reassuring. It is the part where he is made of smoke and fire that is most offputting.
Berra says, “I don’t … yeah, I’ll be close.”
After she is at least likely to be out of earshot, Lord Raven asks, “Do you have to sleep so close? She dreams of you.”
“That…” Maalira coughs. “That’s why I sleep so close.”
There is a despairing look, up towards the sky. “Still, I wished to ask what your plan was, for the County negotiations.”
“We’re hoping to come to a compromise,” Maalira says. “We hope to convince Sun County that the horse was not aimed at them, and persuade both parties to agree not to shout at each other over it, especially with swords.”
“Oh, that is a hope, not a plan. What do you know of his personality?” Lord Raven looks attentive.
“The horse’s? Um, I got the impression that there was a lot of determination there.”
“No, no. The Count’s. The man you are going to see. I can tell you that the horse is young, ancient, powerful, and as naive and even helpless as a newborn. Horses are, and this one has Truth within it, and I think cannot aver what is not true.”
“Oh. No, I do not know the Count.”
“Oh, you do not have to. But surely one finds out everything about such a person, beforehand, hm?”
“Of course,” Maalira says. “I am grateful for the opportunity.” The corner of her mouth twitches slightly.
“My honoured High Sword has met him,” the man of smoke says with a casual air.
“I will gladly hear anything you can tell me.”
“He is punctilious about rank. He has risen from a lofty perch to an even higher one, and considers that the trappings of rank are of great import. Thus, if he leaves them for a while, it is a sign of respect and warmth, but not a sign that he is necessarily alongside; only that he is not rejecting a message entirely.”
Maalira nods thoughtfully. “I have no particular rank, other than being a White Lady. I will need to be careful.”
“Oh, you have the rank of speaking for the King of Sartar, right now. If there are guides to etiquette to be found in the gold-domed city, they are likely to be worth the price. Similarly, asking to be sure of which marks of respect to present, beforehand, will serve you well.”
Maalira touches the bracelet which is still on her arm. “I forgot, yes.” She sighs. “I’m still not sure I’m the right person to be doing this, but I will take your advice.”
“The right person is whoever is there at the time, and able to act. You can truthfully say you are not of her army. Wear all of the silver jewellery you have, to match it, and I think you have a silk dress, from Koraki of Alda Chur?” Lord Raven is probably certain that Maalira does, but technically what he is saying is true.
“I do. I will find somewhere to launder it before we go to the Count.”
Lord Raven nods, considering. “I will have a little advice for my Priest as well, for her High Sword might be expected to pass on such. Do not be surprised if she knows more than she tells you. The trick in her case is causing her to remember it at the right moments and not the wrong ones.”
Maalira giggles. “She generally does a fairly good job of it.”
“I shall not argue with a White Lady.” Lord Raven seems amused. “So, how does the ideal conversation with the Count go, to you? You have hopes; what do you think those look like to the Count? What is his current likely personality?”
Maalira considers. “I think he wants to know that the King of Sartar respects his position. He wants to feel that he and his people and their concerns are important and being given due attention and consideration. He will want to leave knowing that he has prevailed, in some way.”
There is a pleased nod. “This is why you are the right person for the job. It is an awkward needle to thread, but you have learned to triage feelings. The soothing of bruised pride is important among warriors.”
Maalira straightens a little and her lips quirk up. “Thank you.”
Lord Raven nods his head. “I think that I should go find your friend now. She may already be in trouble.” He makes no attempt to move.
“In trouble? Why? How?” Maalira scrambles to her feet and starts looking around.
“I believe you have met her,” Lord Raven says drily. He too gets to his feet, looking a little seethrough.
“Which way, please?” Maalira asks, sounding resigned.
He gestures after a moment. “As far as I can tell, she is lying on the grass over there. No alarm.”
Maalira shoots him a cranky look, then walks carefully in the direction he has indicated.
Berra is indeed lying on the grass, one hand behind her head. Her left hand holds Wind Tooth on her chest, like some little guardian statue that has fallen over. She gives Maalira a smile. “Hello. The ground’s hard, but the grass is dry.”
Maalira sinks down cross-legged next to her. “Lord Raven told me he thought you might already be in trouble,” she says.
“Oh?” Berra looks puzzled. “Does he know something I don’t?”
“I think perhaps he was winding me up,” Maalira says.
“Oh, yeah. He does that. He likes to… he doesn’t get much chance to make people react. He’s locked up all the time.” Berra sits up. “He gets maybe a quarter of an hour to be out of the sword, and it’s mostly in the dark.”
“I think he wants to talk to you as well,” Maalira says. “We should probably go and see before he runs out of time.”
“Oh, he can talk to me any time. If I’m touching the sword.” Berra gets up anyhow. “But we should check. Sometimes he likes to be alone, though.”
“He did mention it.” Maalira looks up at the sky. “He also said something about your dreams.”
“I’ll go see him.” Berra pats herself down for clumps of grass. “I don’t really remember my dreams.”
“He does, apparently. Should I come with you, or wait?”
Berra gestures back towards her bedroll. “You can always go away again.” She steps that way. “Why, do I need to ask him about them?”
“No, no.” Maalira says, following. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Fine. Only if they’re about anything… well, they can’t be dangerous.” She paces back to her bedroll, where Lord Raven has almost faded away. He looks to Berra, strengthening once more. “Ah, Wyter Priest. I have a briefing for you, and you are more than usually scattered today. You will be supporting King Kallyr’s voice, and I am unsure that you work together well in a formal setting.”
Maalira catches up and raises her eyebrows at Berra. “We don’t?”
“Informally, you do. In a court, however, how does one brief a superior in the heat of the moment? How does Berra in particular tell you to be quiet, or hint she wishes to be called on?”
Berra scowls a little, thoughtfully.
“That’s a fair point,” Maalira says.
“In general, it should be conveyable by a glance.” Lord Raven shrugs. “Of course, these things take practice. Easy gestures are possible. A little obvious, but still.” He looks to Maalira as if he is certain she gets this.
Maalira nods thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should talk about some sort of system.”
“Priest Berra is an inveterate fidgeter. Perhaps if she remains still…” The wyter chooses that moment to fade entirely.
Maalira snorts. “That would certainly let me know that something is up,” she says.
“Oh yeah. He likes having the last word.” Berra hard-stares at where he was. “Anyhow. I think he’s wrong. You need to decide if you’re asking if I want to say anything.”
“I certainly want you to speak up if there’s something that needs to be said and you have the saying of it,” Maalira says.
Berra screws up her nose in That Way while thinking. “I reckon he’s saying I should seem more like you’re the one talking to me. But it’s a good thing to talk about. And think about.”
Maalira nods vigorously. “Tomorrow we can make some plans about how we’re going to do that.”
“Yeah. Sleep now. I’ll see what I recall about … no, wait, dreams are not a worry. Sleep now.” She ducks down to get back under her hide.
Maalira gives a tiny little snort, and starts fidgeting her way under her own covers. “Goodnight, Berra.”
“Night.” Berra is already buried, and there are the little movements of her taking off her boots by hooking them with her toes.
- 1Critical Scan. She is keeping an eye on Berra, obviously.
