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Chapter Twenty-Eight



Druadaen stepped around a tall pyramid of crates being offloaded on one of the Tlulanxu’s protected docks…and almost dropped his sea chest.

Ahearn, Elweyr, S’ythreni, and Umkhira were lounging on stacks made of their weapons, gear, and packs, just beyond the boarding ramp of the ship that would soon carry him away from Dunarra. They grinned at his surprise. Raun rose up from behind the crates against which they had propped themselves, stretching long, stiff legs.

“Well!” Druadaen said.

“As eloquent as always,” Ahearn said in a loud voice as he rolled up to his feet. “Thinking we’d let you down, did you?”

Since Druadaen hadn’t been thinking about that—or them—at all, his answer was the simple truth: “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Well, here we are,” the bluff swordsman continued, “ready for another journey together.”

Druadaen put down his sea chest, glanced up at the tall masts of the outsized brig. “I really am quite…touched that you found your way here. But I was just given new orders today, and—”

“—and you’re leaving on this ship,” finished S’ythreni, tilting her head at the ship beside them. “Yes, we know.” She may have smiled.

For a moment, Druadaen’s head felt as though it was trying to split itself down the middle. Having just come from learning that his new mission was actually a way to get rid of him, and now discovering his recent companions decamped on a dock in the restricted part of the harbor…well, it was as if some god of mischief was taking delight in buffeting him with one awkward surprise after another.

So stick to simple questions as you find your feet. “When did you arrive?”

“Last night,” Elweyr muttered. “Had to promise not to get off the ship.” He jerked his head at the forty-foot packet docked at the end of the wharf.

Druadaen raised an eyebrow. “And why didn’t they drop you off at the trade quarter, first?”

“Well,” Ahearn temporized, “it’s not as if they knew they had to do so.”

Druadaen frowned…and then understanding arrived. “You told them you were Dunarrans? And they believed you?” He tried very hard not to glance at Umkhira.

Ahearn recoiled from his questions. “We most certainly did not tell them we were Dunarrans!” Finding himself the focus of Druadaen’s silent gaze, he shrugged one shoulder. “Of course, as we were traveling on your letter of recommendation, they may have come to the conclusion that we were your, eh, armsmen and confidential agents.”

Druadaen kept staring at him.

A larger shrug. “And we certainly weren’t about to ruffle their feathers by pointing out their mistake. Hardly a nice way to treat your hosts, as it were.”

Druadaen put one hand—actually, one fist—to his temple. “And you didn’t happen to say anything that would have led them to that conclusion?”

“Well, now, if I recall correctly—”

“I will not be party to this subterfuge,” Umkhira said, standing. “None of the words spoken were lies, but they were misleading. And I did not disavow them. So I share their guilt.”

Everything Druadaen had heard as a child had taught him to fear urzh; now, he had begun to consider Lightstriders to be an absolutely refreshing source of frankness and honor. “Well, now I know how you got here, and why you’ve remained on the wharf.” Because you wouldn’t have made it ten feet beyond the end of the pier before attracting some very keen attention and being asked some very pointed questions. “But how did you find me?”

“Luck was with us,” Umkhira affirmed with a nod. “An officer from this ship had been sent in search of some cargo on the packet. We heard the conversation between them. Apparently, this ship should have sailed two days ago, but was held. For you.”

“For me?”

“You did not know?”

“I did not.”

“Then our fortune is even greater than we supposed.”

S’ythreni sighed in bored exasperation. “It’s not ‘fortune’ at all. We were supposed to hear that conversation.” She shook her head. “Remember what I said about—?”

“Yes, yes: ‘It’s too coincidental.’” Ahearn offered a very poor imitation of her insouciant tone. “‘And they’re such bad actors.’” He straightened. “Well, however it’s come about that we are together again, I call it fine fortune. Now, where are we off to?”

Somehow Druadaen resisted the strong urge to shake his head, as if that might clear it of the surreal turn of events. “I am traveling to Far Amitryea.”

S’ythreni rolled her eyes. “Well, we know that.”

Druadaen considered how freely mariners’ tongues wag, particularly in the shadow of their own ship, and allowed that her comment, while snide, was valid. “Shadowmere.”

She looked triumphantly at the group. “As I predicted.”

“Well, now, that hardly required the gift of prophesy, did it?” Ahearn countered. “‘All great quests pass through Shadowmere.’ Or so goes the saying.”

Umkhira frowned, glanced at Druadaen. “But he is not on a quest. He is following orders.”

Elweyr shook his head. “Those orders are to keep him away from here. From making trouble.”

Druadaen straightened. “Master Elweyr, it sounds as though you may know more about my assignment than I do.”

The mantic shook his head again. “No, but I know how empires work. They get rid of their problems. The only difference between the bad empires and the worse ones is that the bad ones just send you off on errands or to isolated posts. The worse ones arrange for more, er, permanent absences.”

Druadaen kept his smile small. “I was also referring to your own experience with quests. About which: How goes the search for your parents?”

Elweyr’s gaze fell toward the space between his knees and the wharf planks beneath him. He shook his head.

S’ythreni looked sadly at him. “There are some hopeful clues.” Despite trying to sound encouraging, her remark only underscored how unpromising Elweyr’s search must have been.

But Druadaen wasn’t about to discourage her from displays of compassion. “If they can be followed successfully,” he said gently, “I am sure you shall do just that, Master Elweyr.” He glanced at S’ythreni. “And you as well, Alva S’ythreni.” She started and stared at him, surprised and possibly grateful. “I apologize for having forgotten the term, earlier. I confess that I had to look it up when I returned to the Archive.”

She murmured something inaudible, waved a hand that dismissed any notion that she might have taken offense.

Ahearn leaned in. “‘Alva’? That’s Old Iavan, right?” He grinned at her. “So, is that a title of nobility? Are you some high-born high-ear, and been holding out on us?”

Druadaen spoke slowly and calmly even as S’ythreni’s back stiffened. “No, it is a pronoun by which one should address all aeostu.”

“But when you met her at the tavern you used a different word…eh, sahn, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but that term is only to be used when first meeting an aeosti. Or if you are meeting them again after a rebirthing.”

“A what?”

“A rebirthing,” explained Elweyr with a curious look at S’ythreni, “occurs after Iavarain emerge from their womb-trees.”

“Their what?” Ahearn almost shouted in surprise. “I know the high-ears are fond of forests, but…by damn, are you saying she was whelped by a tree?”

Druadaen took care to keep his voice level. “Of course not. But there are certain trees that, eh, bond with individual Iavarain.” He glanced at her to check for any sign that his simplistic explanation might be giving offense.

Ahearn nodded at S’ythreni’s rigid spine. “I see.”

“I doubt it,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Well,” he answered testily, “I suppose that explains the legends of your long lifetimes. And your—well, your perverse coital habits.”

Elweyr looked up at his friend. “That’s enough,” he said.

“What?” Ahearn exclaimed indignantly. “It’s not as though the high-ears ever deign to share anything about themselves with us mere mortals. Maybe they all have trees for paramours!”

S’ythreni snorted. “If you ever stopped to listen to yourself, you’d realize why we avoid humans.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we do not like being judged by ignoramuses who think that our mothers and lovers are trees and talk about our ‘perverse coital habits.’”

Ahearn crossed his arms. “Well, that’s the nicest term I could come up with. Would you prefer ‘proven appetite for buggery’?”

The others flinched, but S’ythreni just laughed. “And clearly you are such an expert in discerning such things.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“I mean, your extraordinary skill at detecting ‘buggery.’ Apparently, it didn’t help you realize that Kaakhag and his ‘brother’ weren’t actually siblings.”

“What do you—?” Ahearn halted with his mouth open. “Oh,” he said.

“Yes, ‘oh.’”

He shrugged, glanced at Umkhira. “Did you know?”

She waved a hand. “I suspected. But it was not my place to ask. Nor is it polite to study the actions of others to gain insight into what is an entirely private matter. But they were, eh…very careful. Which is not unusual, when like-sex pairings occur among us. Most urzh frown upon such unions.”

“Well, in that way, our races are much alike, then,” Ahearn affirmed with a sharp nod before turning back toward S’ythreni. “It doesn’t seem to be the way among your people, though, High-Ears.”

She laughed. “You mean the guilt, the furtiveness, the secrecy? No, human: I first saw that while traveling among your kind.”

“Well, then how is it—the way of courtship and chapping—among you high-ears?”

“That might be something you’ll learn if you ever walk among us.”

“Well, maybe I’ll decide to do just that some day!”

She smiled unpleasantly. “You don’t decide to visit. That is by invitation, or not at all. And in your case, I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Her grin widened. “Or, on second thought, do hold your breath. Please.”

“I suspect I couldn’t breathe even if I was invited, given how rarified the air must be in Iavan society—despite being known amongst us lowly humans for its shameless depravity.”

“Because of what you perceive as our ‘buggery’?” she asked through a facetious grin.

“Well, it goes beyond what happens in your beds—or trees—doesn’t it? We can hardly tell what sex you are, most of the time…and maybe you have the same problem, since your women do every- and anything that your men do, blast them. It’s positively indecent. Seems Dunarra, too, is almost as perverted as your lot.”

“I believe you mean perverse,” Elweyr offered.

“Well, now, give me a moment to decide which I meant more.”

Umkhira frowned. “You consider the freedom of Dunarran women to be perverted?”

Ahearn shook his head. “That’s not the perversion I’m referring to.” When he was met by baffled stares, he added, “Well, what would you call it when so many Dunarrans take multiple wives?”

S’ythreni rolled her eyes. “Dunarrans have multiple spouses. It’s not just men, but women too.”

“And that makes it better?”

S’ythreni shrugged. “Of course.”

He turned toward Druadaen. “Maybe a Dunarran can explain it to me, then.”

Druadaen sighed. “Dunarrans have longer lives and nature apparently adapted to that; their women conceive much less frequently and do not bear multiple infants…”

“Oh, save me!” Ahearn interrupted with a histrionic clutch at his heart. “A nation of only children! Legions of well-bred, well-educated, and well-spoiled brats! So that’s why you take multiple wives—er, spouses? To increase how many children you have?”

“You misperceive. Dunarrans do take multiple spouses, but singly.”

“Er…what?”

S’ythreni grimaced. “Really? You don’t see it? In the course of a lifetime, they may have multiple unions, but only one at a time.”

“Ah, so serial adultery, then. So much more virtuous!”

“Or maybe it is so much better than the marital misery of your nations.” S’ythreni leaned toward Ahearn. “How many human couples still wish to be together after twenty years? Gods, how many can even stand the sight of each other after a second child?”

Ahearn’s frown was skeptical. “I still say the Dunarran arrangement is unnatural. I, for one, believe that love—true love—can endure. Can rise above all concerns of time and separation.” He almost blushed, then seemed desperate to leave the topic.

Elweyr coughed hard, once. When he had their attention, he said, “All this talk proves that all these groups have at least one thing in common.”

Ahearn smirked. “And that is?”

“They’re all convinced that their own dung doesn’t stink.”

“Now that,” said a familiar female voice, “is well and truly said.”

Druadaen smiled as he recognized it and the others craned their necks to discover who had spoken from behind him. As they saw, they began to look away as if they very much wished they were somewhere else.

Shaananca stepped forward to stand beside Druadaen. “Please continue your discussion,” she said with a broad smile. “It was just becoming interesting.”


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