Domes of Fire Part 33

'Khalad?'

'Kurik trained him, and Kurik was better at close fighting than any man I've ever known.'

'He was indeed. Good idea, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk.'

'Must you?' Sparhawk asked him.

They reached the city of Atana twelve days later-at least it seemed like twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him a headache.

Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable.

'Everything in the kingdom's named Atan, isn't it?' Kalten observed as they rode down into the valley. 'The kingdom, its capital, the people-even the t.i.tles.'

'I think Atan's more in the nature of a concept than a name,' Ulath shrugged.

'What makes them all so tall?' Talen asked. 'They belong to the Tamul race, but other Tamuls don't loom over everybody else like trees.'

'Oscagne explained it to me,' Stragen told him. 'It seems that the Atans are the result of an experiment.'

'Magic?'

'I don't know all that much about it,' Stragen admitted, 'but I'd guess that what they did went beyond what magic's capable of. Back before there was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.'

'What happened to short children?' Talen objected.

'Probably the same thing that happens to ugly children in our society,' Stragen shrugged. 'They didn't get married.'

'That's not fair.'

Stragen smiled. 'When you get right down to it, Talen, it's not really very fair when we steal something somebody else has worked for, is it?'

'That's different.'

Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he went on. 'The Atans prized other characteristics as well-ability, strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It's strange how the combination worked out. If you stop and think about it, you'll realise that Mirtai's really a rather sweet girl. She's warm and affectionate, she really cares about her friends, and she's strikingly beautiful. She's got certain triggers built into her, though, and when somebody trips one of those triggers, she starts killing people. The Atan breeding programme finally went too far, I guess. The Atans became so aggressive that they started killing each other, and since such aggressiveness can't be restricted to one s.e.x, the women were as bad as the men. It got to the point that there was no such thing in Atan as a mild disagreement. They'd kill each other over weather predictions.' He smiled. 'Oscagne told me that the world discovered just how savage Atan women were in the twelfth century. A large band of Arjuni slavers attacked a training camp for adolescent Atan females-the s.e.xes are separated during training in order to avoid certain complications. Anyway, those half-grown Atan girls-most of them barely over six feet tall-slaughtered most of the Arjuni and then sold the rest to the Tamuls as eunuchs.'

'The slavers were eunuchs?' Kalten asked with some surprise.

'No, Kalten,' Stragen explained patiently. 'They weren't eunuchs until after the girls captured them.'

'Little girls did that?' Kalten's expression was one of horror.

'They weren't exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He saw that his people were on the verge of self-destruction. He made contact with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery-to save their lives.'

'A little extreme,' Ulath noted.

'There are several kinds of slavery, Ulath. Here in Atan, it's inst.i.tutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny pet.i.tions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That's about as far as it really goes. It's a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world.'

Talen was frowning. 'The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.'

'Well, it's one of the things that impresses them,' Stragen amended.

'Then why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring's a good warrior, but he's not much taller than I am, and I'm still growing.'

'It must be something else about him that impressed her so much,' Stragen shrugged.

'What do you think it is?'

'I haven't got the faintest idea, Talen.'

'He's a poet,' Sparhawk told them. 'Maybe that's it.'

'That wouldn't make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn't sound to me like the kind of girl who'd get all gushy about poetry.'

'Don't ask me, Talen,' Stragen laughed. 'I know a great deal about the world, but I wouldn't even try to make a guess about why any woman chooses any given man.

'Good thinking,' Ulath murmured.

The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa's messengers, and the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, ankle-length cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane expression.

'What are we supposed to do?' Kalten whispered to Oscagne.

'Act formal,' Oscagne advised. 'Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,' he said to the Tamul in the golden robe, 'so good to see you again. Fontan sends his best.'

'How is the old rascal?' Oscagne's colleague replied.

'Wrinkled, but he still hasn't lost his edge.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?'

'So that you can brief us all on local circ.u.mstances. How are things here?'

'Tense. Our children are a bit discontent. There's turmoil afoot. We send them to stamp it out, but it refuses to stay stamped. They resent that. You know how they are.'

'Oh my, yes. Has the emperor's sister forgiven you yet?'

Norkan sighed. 'Afraid not, old boy. I'm quite resigned to spending the rest of my career here.'

'You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed you to make that remark? I'll grant you that her Highness' feet are a bit oversized, but 'big-footed cow' was sort of indiscreet, wouldn't you say?'

'I was drunk and a little out of sorts. Better to be here in Atan than in Matherion trying to evade her attentions. I have no desire to become a member of the imperial family if it means that I'd have to trudge along behind her as she clumps about the palace.'

'Ah, well. What's on the agenda here?'

'Formality. Official greetings. Speeches. Ceremonies The usual nonsense.'

'Good. Our friends from the west are a bit unbridled at times. They're good at formality, though. It's when things become informal that they get into trouble. May I present the Queen of Elenia?'

'I thought you'd never ask.'

'Your Majesty,' Oscagne said, 'this is my old friend, Norkan. He's the imperial representative here in Atan, an able man who's fallen on hard times.'

Norkan bowed. 'Your Majesty,' he greeted Ehlana.

'Your Excellency,' she responded. Then she smiled. 'Are her Highness' feet really that big?' she asked him slyly.

'She skis with only the equipment G.o.d gave her, your Majesty. I could bear that, I suppose, but she's given to temper tantrums when she doesn't get her own way, and that sort of grates on my nerves.'

He glanced at the huge, dark-cloaked Atans surrounding the carriage. 'Might I suggest that we proceed to what my children here refer to as the palace? The king and queen await us there. Is your Majesty comfortable speaking in public? A few remarks might be in order.'

'I'm afraid I don't speak Tamul, your Excellency.'

'Perfectly all right, your Majesty. I'll translate for you. You can say anything that pops into your head. I'll tidy it up for you as we go along.'

'How very kind of you.' There was only the faintest edge to her voice.

'I live but to serve, your Majesty.'

'Remarkable, Norkan,' Oscagne murmured. 'How do you manage to put both feet in your mouth at the same time?'

'It's a gift,' Norkan shrugged.

King Androl of Atan was seven feet tall, and his wife, Queen Betuana was only slightly shorter. They were very imposing. They wore golden helmets instead of crowns, and their deep blue silk robes were open at the front, revealing the fact that they were both heavily armed. They met the Queen of Elenia and her entourage in the square outside the royal palace of Atan, which was in actuality nothing more than their private dwelling. Atan ceremonies, it appeared, were conducted out of doors.

With the queen's carriage in the lead and her armed escort formed up behind, the visitors rode at a slow and stately pace into the square. There were no cheers, no fanfares, none of the artificial enthusiasm normally contrived for state visitors. Atans showed respect by silence and immobility. Stragen skillfully wheeled the carriage to a spot in front of the slightly raised stone platform before the royal dwelling, and Sparhawk dismounted to offer his queen a steel-encased forearm. Ehlana's face was radiantly regal, and her pleasure was clearly unfeigned. Though she occasionally spoke slightingly of ceremonial functions, pretending to view them as tedious, she truly loved ceremony. She took a deep satisfaction in formality.

Amba.s.sador Oscagne approached the royal family of Atan, bowed and spoke at some length in the flowing, musical language of all Tamuls. Mirtai stood behind Ehlana, murmuring a running translation of his Excellency's words.

Ehlana's eyes were very bright, and there were two spots of heightened colour on her alabaster cheeks, signs that said louder than words that she was composing a speech. King Androl then spoke a rather brief greeting, and Queen Betuana added her somewhat lengthier agreement. Sparhawk could not hear Mirtai's translation, so for all he knew the Atan king and queen were discussing weather-conditions on the moon.

Then Ehlana stepped forward, paused for dramatic effect, and began to speak in a clear voice that could be heard throughout the square. Amba.s.sador Norkan stood at the side of the stone platform and translated her words.

'My dear brother and sister of Atan,' she began, 'words cannot express my heartfelt joy at this meeting.'

Sparhawk knew his wife, and he knew that disclaimer to be fraudulent. Words could express her feelings, and she would tell everybody in the square all about them.

'I come to this happy meeting from the world's far end,' she went on, 'and my heart was filled with anxiety as I sailed across the wine-dark sea toward a foreign land peopled with strangers, but your gracious words of friendly-even affectionate-greeting have erased my childish fears, and I have learned here a lesson which I will carry all the days of my life. There are no strangers in this world, my dear brother and sister. There are only friends we have not yet met.'

'She's plagiarizing,' Stragen murmured to Sparhawk.

'She does that now and then. When she finds a phrase she really likes, she sees no reason not to expropriate it.'

'My journey to Atan has been, of course, for state reasons. We of the royal houses of the world are not free to do things for personal reasons as others are.' She gave the Atan king and queen a rueful little smile. 'We cannot even yawn without its being subjected to extensive diplomatic a.n.a.lysis. No one ever considers the possibility that we might just be sleepy.' After Norkan translated that, King Androl actually smiled.

'My visit to Atan, however, does have a personal reason as well as an official one,' Ehlana continued. 'I chanced some time ago upon a precious thing which belongs to the Atan people, and I have come half-round the world to return this treasure to you, though it is more dear to me than I can ever say. Many, many years ago, an Atan child was lost. That child is the treasure of which I spoke.' She reached out and took Mirtai's hand. 'She is my dear, dear friend, and I love her. The journey I have made here is as nothing. Gladly would I have travelled twice as far-ten times as far for the joy I now feel in re-uniting this precious Atan child with her people.'

Stragen wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'She does it to me every time, Sparhawk,' he laughed, 'every single time. I think she could make rocks cry if she wanted to, and it always seems so simple.'

'That's part of her secret, Stragen.'

Ehlana was moving right along. 'As many of you may know, the Elene people have some faults-many faults, though I blush to confess it. We have not treated your dear child well. An Elene bought her from the soulless Arjuni who had stolen her from you. The Elene bought her in order to satisfy his unwholesome desires. This child of ours-for she is now as much my child as she is yours-taught him that an Atana may not be used so. It was a hard lesson for him. He died in the learning of it.' A rumble of approval greeted the translation of that. 'Our child has pa.s.sed through the hands of several Elenes-most with the worst of motives-and came at last to me. At first she frightened me.' Ehlana smiled her most winsome smile. 'You may have noticed that I am not a very tall person.' A small chuckle ran through the crowd. 'I thought you might have noticed that,' she said, joining in their laughter. 'It's one of the failings of our culture that our menfolk are stubborn and short-sighted. I am not permitted to be trained in the use of weapons.

'I know it sounds ridiculous, but I've not even been allowed to kill my enemies personally. I was not accustomed to women who could see to their own defence, and so I was foolishly afraid of my Atan child. That has pa.s.sed, however. I have found her to be steadfast and true, gentle and affectionate and very, very wise. We have come to Atan so that this dear child of ours may lay aside the silver of childhood and a.s.sume the gold that is her just due in the Rite of Pa.s.sage. Let us join our hands and our hearts, Elene and Atan, Styric and Tamul, in the ceremony which will raise our child to adulthood, and in that ceremony, may our hearts be united, for in this child, we are all made as one.'

As Norkan translated, an approving murmur went through the crowd of Atans, a murmur that swelled to a roar, and Queen Betuana, her eyes filled with tears, stepped down from the dais and embraced the pale blonde queen of Elenia. Then she spoke very briefly to the crowd.

'What did she say?' Stragen asked Oscagne.

'She advised her people that anyone who offered your queen any impertinence would answer to her personally. It's no idle threat, either. Queen Betuana's one of the finest warriors in all of Atan. I hope you appreciate your wife, Sparhawk. She's just scored a diplomatic coup of the highest order. How the deuce did she learn that the Atans are sentimentalists? If she'd talked for another three minutes, the whole square would have been awash with tears.'

'Our queen's a perceptive young woman,' Stragen said rather proudly. 'A good speech is always drawn on a community of interest. Our Ehlana's a genius when it comes to finding things she has in common with her audience.'

'So it would seem. She's ensured one thing, let me tell you.'

'Oh?'

'The Atans will give Atana Mirtai a Rite of Pa.s.sage such as comes along only once or twice in a generation. She'll be a national heroine after an introduction like that. The singing will be tumultuous.'

'That's probably more or less what my wife had in mind,' Sparhawk told him. 'She loves to do nice things for her friends.'

'And not so nice things to her enemies,' Stragen added. 'I remember some of the plans she had for primate Annias.'

'That's as it should be, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne smiled. 'The only real reason for accepting the inconveniences of power is to reward our friends and punish our enemies.'

'I couldn't agree more, your Excellency.'

Engessa conferred with King Androl, and Ehlana with Queen Betuana. No one was particularly surprised when Sephrenia served as translator for the queens. The small Styric woman, it appeared, spoke most of the languages in the known world. Norkan explained to Sparhawk and the others that the child's parents were much involved in the Rite of Pa.s.sage. Engessa would serve as Mirtai's father, and Mirtai had rather shyly asked Ehlana to be her mother. The request had occasioned an emotional display of affection between the two of them.

'It's a rather touching ceremony, actually,' Norkan told them. 'The parents are obliged to a.s.sert that their child is fit and ready to a.s.sume the responsibilities of adulthood. They then offer to fight anyone who disagrees. Not to worry, Sparhawk,' he added with a chuckle. 'It's a formality. The challenge is almost never taken up.'

'Almost never?'

'I'm teasing, of course. No one's going to fight your wife. That speech of hers totally disarmed them. They adore her. I hope she's quick of study, however. She'll have to speak in Tamul.'

'Learning a foreign language takes a long time,' Kalten said dubiously. 'I studied Styric for ten years and never did get the hang of it.'

'You have no apt.i.tude for languages, Kalten,' Vanion told him. 'Even Elenic confuses you sometimes.'

'You don't have to be insulting, Lord Vanion.'

'I imagine Sephrenia will cheat a little,' Sparhawk added. 'She and Aphrael taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds in Ghwerig's cave.' He looked at Norkan. 'When will the ceremony take place?' he asked.

'At midnight. The child pa.s.ses into adulthood as one day pa.s.ses into the next.'

'There's an exquisite kind of logic there,' Stragen noted.

'The hand of G.o.d,' Bevier murmured piously.

'I beg your pardon?'