The next morning was an unusually active one, for myself, my companions, and for the whole household. Chethe stood at the position of honor for an early morning court session, attended by a number of his fellow riders who had arrived through the front gate just after dawn (the commotion of their arrival and the hasty stabling of their dozen horses had awoken both Hester and Gena, though of course I had been awake for hours already).
The Yariagar, the nomads of the veld, are, in very broad strokes, a lively, boisterous people, fond of physical contact and wordplay, widely traveled and conscientious. Settled folk of the Ivian kingdoms frequently remark on how the nomads will greet each other with shoulder taps, forearm grips, embraces, and inexplicable meetings of elbows and knees, and seconds later turn to greet their Ivian counterparts with polite and measured hellos.
The Yariagar live and travel in bands of several hundred people, most of which travel great distances over the veld every year, pasturing their flocks on fresh grasses and exchanging trade goods and tales with their seasonal neighbors. Most bands are riots of color: nomads tend to have fewer physical possessions than settled folk, but everyone has clothes, and with good access to rich dyes and excellent craftsmanship from across the continent, the nomads have become masters of sartorial expression.
Nico greeted the gathered folk—the household, the riders, the guests, a few regular courtiers, and a handful of petitioners—in that great hall with a hearty “good morning!” and then Lorea gave a proper and refined speech about the joyous bond between the nomads of the valley and the settlers of the plateau. Nico and Chethe led a bouncy duet-jig in Yaria, traditional to the Windvalley Riders, I suppose, and then the morning wine got around and everyone got to business.
Our business that morning, of course, was taking our leave.
Lorea and Hester shared a tight embrace as Gena and I looked on.
“No forms?” I teased.
“Pffft.” Lorea said as she finally released Hester.
“By the grace of our guardian Ae we shall meet anon, Your Highne…” Hester began, before Lorea punched him in the shoulder.
“Not important this time?” I asked.
“Haha. No, rather, I would say not appropriate,” Lorea said. “What? You didn’t notice the song we all just sang? You joined in the chorus and everything.”
“I can follow a tune; don’t know a thing about what it meant.”
“Oh. Go find one of the riders and have them translate. Tell me you’re still going to put on airs after that,” Lorea said, grinning.
“Maybe I will,” I replied. “Thank you for everything. Seriou…”
“As I said before, there is no debt to repay. Go in the light of her wisdom!”
Lorea was promptly swallowed by the bustle of the courtly crowd, which was an excellent way to make an exit. I realized then that it must be a skill that her sort of people practice. At that same moment, Hester was greeting two people dressed in the nomadic style. There was a hand clasp and embrace, then some exchanged words as they parted.
“… And my companions, Horwendell of Ilianath and Sister Gena of the College of Apostles. Horwendell! Gena! Meet Ariké and Eidahn of the Windvalley Riders.”
He identified them with his gesturing right hand as he spoke, welcoming us (formally, I suppose) into their company with a graceful sweep of his left. Eidahn was the taller of the two, having a stern, observant face partially obscured under a mop of dark hair, itself barely restrained by a purple band across the forehead. Ariké was a hand shorter, seemed to prefer brighter colors in dress (vibrant yellow woolens and a lilac coif decorated with feathers), and had neatly braided hair.
“Greetings,” I said, pairing it with a stiff bow.
“Hi,” replied the nomad Hester had identified as Ariké. Even that one syllable was enough to reveal a thick Yariagar’s accent. “Our tent is yours for the journey east. It will be our honor to serve good Nico’s friends.” Eidahn said something in Yaria, which I knew to be a mild but earnest greeting, and Ariké translated. “‘Well met,’ he says. He knows more Ivian than he lets on, but he’s embarrassed to be caught speaking it.” That prompted a surly elbow from Eidahn, which Ariké laughed at. “He’s used to being good with words. Doesn’t much enjoy being bad with them,” they said with a wink.
“You spend a lot of time around Anteianum?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” Ariké said. “We come in the winter and graze the flocks here. Better grass up here, even in the cold, somehow… the wet fall winds you get, I think. I like the city, the people. Strange foods and strange lives. Eid doesn’t.” Eid muttered something. “It’s true, you have to be off the saddle far too long when you’re in a city.”
Suddenly I was keenly and ruefully aware of my new riding breeches, fit snugly at my calves in a way that was completely foreign to me.
“Uh, I, ah…” I said, eloquently.
Eidahn smiled for the first time I had seen. I swear there was a gleam in his eyes. He said something, and Ariké translated: “you have not ridden, have you?”
I am not proud to admit that I briefly considered lying. If I had, it would have been one of the dumbest things I had ever done1. Fortunately, I thought better of it.
“Once. On a pony. Led by my father.”
Eidahn gave a magnanimous shrug. “So it is with most riders.”
“Will we be riding… everywhere?” I asked. I had been dreading this morning for fear that the answer would be yes. I tried my damndest not to betray my anxiety in my expression, diction, or tone of voice, but I’m fairly sure I failed. Eidahn laughed. Hester stifled a giggle. Gena was trying not to be noticed near me.
“No,” the tall nomad replied in translation. “Most of the finest things in life are done on horseback. You should learn; I will teach. But you may walk on your own two feet. A band travels the plateau at a walk, not a gallop.”
“Oh,” I said. I tried, again, to conceal my relief, wondering if it would be unfair if, having failed to hide my anxiety, I successfully hid my return to ease. I probably didn’t, anyway.
“But we will make fun of you,” Ariké said. “True men and women of the veld ride everywhere.”
“Oh,” I said.
“No they won’t,” Hester interjected, grinning. “They travel with too many dignitaries and merchant caravans. They have manners, you know.”
“Oh, don’t spoil our fun,” Ariké replied. There was a perceptible crescendo in the commotion in the great hall. “We will be going soon. You have your things, I hope?”
I was leaving Castle Anteianum just like I had arrived at Castle Anteianum: carrying my robe balled up under my arm and wishing I was wearing it.
There were no further farewells; Lorea and Nico left our lives as suddenly as either of them had entered them. We went with Ariké and Eidahn out to the courtyard, retrieved their horses2, and joined in the great and noisy procession out the gate and down the road.
We were fortunate that the chosen day was bright and clear, though of course the spring highland wind was cold and insistent, and our faces would be numb and our voices hoarse by the middle of the afternoon. We cast long shadows ahead of us as we descended the road to the west, south around the castle town and on a gentle slope toward the trails. We followed that for an hour, then took a rocky trail south, at which point the city disappeared from view—only granite and highland pine now. This involved some annoying climbing, which was difficult for the horses and drew no small amount of frustrated oath-swearing out of the Yariagar, whom I realized now had already done this once today in the darkness. Then, with that mercifully behind us, we turned east, over the great, broad, grassy plateau.
The veld was, and is, a sight to behold. From up on the ridge, from Anteianum and the college, the view of these grasslands was sweeping and impressive. But being down on the infinite grasses, watching them sweep and roll in waves under the breeze, admiring the titanic clouds and the grand patchwork of shadows that drifted across them, the word that comes to mind is gargantuan. The enormity of the earth and its verdant cover seems to dwarf you from beneath your very feet. Even a proud caravan of hundreds of riders and thousands of herd animals is simply tiny atop its majesty.
And you walk, and across every new horizon, there is ever more.
All this time, I walked with Gena in relative silence, save for some small talk. Hester and our two nomad friends were nearby most of the time. Of course, I had much I needed to talk about… and something about Gena’s demeanor suggested that she did as well. But not here, we decided, agreeing in our silence. Not around two dozen perfect strangers.
Not long after noon, as the sun reappeared from behind a bank of tremendous clouds, we spotted a thin, colorful crest on the horizon, reflecting the sun’s light in a little array of reds, yellows, and blues. That was the Windvalley Riders’ camp, and as it grew closer, we began to see its movement and bustle. Those little spots of color were tents—quite a bit more comfortable than what passes for tents among settled folk, Ariké assured us—and one-by-one they folded up and disappeared into packs and wagons.
By the time we were there, the camp was no more. The band was ready for travel, and indeed, at a first glance one might mistake it for having already been traveling today. The marked and worn earth beneath our feet, however, told the tale of a semi-permanent winter settlement, the heart of a circulating little swarm of sheep and goats.
Some of the riders who had traveled with us broke off on horseback to ride south, away from the massive peaks that dominated the horizon to our north. I supposed they would be off to find the shepherds and establish a rendezvous… somewhere, somehow. Everyone seemed busy and I wasn’t in a mood to interrupt with questions.
When the herds and their minders met us an hour’s travel to the east, the the band numbered about three hundred, just as many horses (both juvenile and mature), many goats and cattle, and an uncountable number of sheep. Ten times as many? I was in awe. Ariké confirmed for me that this was more or less the entirety of the Windvalley Riders and further explained that they were frequently—more often than not, actually—dispersed over a wide distance to better graze the flocks. Winter, however, called for a gathering, for safety and for trade. Toward the end of our upcoming journey, as we neared the late summer pastures, we would be parting ways with parts of the band every day, until Gena, Hester, and I left the band for the far east.
Gena and I journeyed on foot. Hester rode (a horse on loan from whom, I was unsure). We were not, to my knowledge, made fun of. We were, however, surrounded by the chatter of families. Friends talking about their last visit to the city, little kids running amok and falling asleep on their parents’ shoulders, slightly older kids learning on patient steeds, and the tall, watchful warriors riding a perimeter in the distance.
This went on, with little change, until nightfall.
The sun had but grazed the green horizon when the commotion built up again and the sudden flow of the humans and mammals around us broke into a confusion of eddies and countercurrents.
“Most days we travel further, longer. Maybe three more hours before the horses tire. But we started late and we respect the nights here,” Ariké explained.
“I see,” I said, yawning. “It can’t be that hard to find one’s way at night, though.”
“If pressed, you are right. Quite easy in weather like this,” the rider said, with a glance at the sky3. “But the predators and spirits, you see.”
“Well, we don’t,” Gena elaborated. “Not well, anyway. The dracobovis has keen vision and hearing at night. As fast as it moves, you want to see it well before it sees you, which is difficult on any but the brightest nights.”
“The… dragon-cow? Seriously? You’re pulling my leg,” I said.
“Perhaps ‘dragon-bull’ sounds more menacing. Silly apprentice, mistaking the name for the referent,” Gena teased.
“Fine. But…”
“No, she is not… pulling your leg, my friend,” Ariké said. “We call them the horned kings and horned queens. The largest are three times the weight of a draft horse and nearly as fast as a fine riding horse. Very dangerous to outriders, who you have seen must ride far apart to keep a good watch.”
“And spirits?”
Ariké chose their words carefully. “Spirits are borne on the wind and are best left in peace if you chance a meeting,” they said. The tone of voice warned me off of further questions.
Eidahn and Hester pulled up on their horses and dismounted, sharing a few quick words in Yaria with Ariké.
“Help put up the tent,” they translated with a grin. “We shall get you used to the life here.”
My first lesson on life in the veld was that it is as ceaseless as the grasses and the skies. You wake, work, travel, work, and sleep in great, ever-turning cycles.
The tent—Ariké and Eidahn’s home, and our lodging for now—was poorly served by the name “tent.” Thin highland pine went up for columns, about which we fastened a set of latticed panels, which held up the wooly covering that ultimately held out the wind and rain. This was hard work after a hard day’s journey: the overall construction may have been lighter and thinner than your typical Orlan hamlet hovel, but it was still a huge stack of lumber that needed to be hauled about and driven firmly into the earth. Hester led Gena and myself at the effort, freeing up our hosts to some miscellaneous duties about the flocks or the rest of the band.
Inside (once there was an inside to speak of), Hester laid out a set of beds that looked partly like cots, partly like sleeping sacks, and entirely like a gaggle of overfed sheep, and then he ducked out, promising to fetch dinner.
I had spent the entire day anxious for time alone to speak with my companions. But I had also spent the entire day awake and on my feet, and that has a way to crowding its way to the front of one’s mind.
Someone came by to ask after Ariké and Eidahn, and Gena stepped out to try to point them in the right direction. I was alone in the tent. I collapsed onto the bed in the far corner.
“Mmh. Where did we leave off?”
I caught myself with one hand around her waist and another on her cheek.
“Shhhhh.” Lady Iltara tapped an index finger to my lips. “Just relax.”
It happened pretty quickly. I began to stammer out a denial (or an incantation, or both), and the next moment she had pushed me back onto a downy bed and lay astraddle me, her hands pressed onto my shoulders.
“Shhhhhhhh shh shhh. Don’t go anywhere.”
The suddenness of the motion and the breathless thrill brought by the new arrangement of our bodies had their desired effect. I froze.
“Good man,” she said. “I offer only what you desire.”
“I… don’t,” I croaked. “Every night?”
Lady Iltara’s lips shifted in disappointment. “I am a generous lady, and every night is mine to give. But that’s not what you mean, is it?”
“No. Do we need to do this every single night?”
She released my shoulders, drawing herself upright. To look upon her was to regret, on a primal level, that I could not feel her heat.
“I have returned because we left last night’s business woefully unfinished. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
“I… maybe. But first, let’s…”
“Ask nicely,” she said.
“Okay. Please, let’s stand up. I’d be much more comfortable.”
So the dream proceeded and we were standing.
“If you say so,” she said. “But I think you’re lying.”
I shook my head as if to banish the thought. “And please, no funny business.”
Lady Iltara sighed. “I am a lady and you dishonor me. I will forgive you this once.”
The implied rebuke stung, so I avoided it. “So, you say we have much to discuss. I fear there is not.”
“You worry that I will order my soldiers to stop you.”
“You know that I accompany a capable warrior whose intention is to seize something from you.”
“Of course.”
“So…?” I said.
“So of course I shall not merely hand it to you. But I do not enjoy bloodshed. I would prefer to persuade you that the book belongs with me. It would be much more pleasant.”
“Like you persuaded Theodric?”
“Theodric… well,” she frowned. “He was a danger to myself and my men.”
“And Hester isn’t?”
“Fine, Horwendell.” Lady Iltara said. “If you and yours turn your arms upon me, I shall prevail. Is that all you want to talk about; swords and mortal combat? Isn’t this just so tiresome?”
“I told you we didn’t have much to talk about. We’re enemies.”
“We needn’t be.”
“Can’t see how.”
Lady Iltara, her legs crossed, tapped her index finger on her cheek. Her gaze strolled casually across my face as she thought.
“Perhaps you are not in the mood tonight. We should speak again. Before you go, there’s something I would like you to think about. The good sister in your company, even now, dreams of inquisitors. For now, they are sour dreams, of censure and expulsion. But they will soon become nightmares of stakes and pitch.
“I killed Theodric for the good of my realm. the Lightbringer’s own would kill their wayward sister merely to make an example of her. Whose company would you prefer?”
She reclined, watching and waiting for a reply, inaudibly but expressively tap-tap-tapping her cheek.
I met her gaze with a certain petulant anger, and this time, I cast a spell to vanish in a gout of smoke4.
For the sake of the clarity and good chronology of this account I cannot yet tell you about the dumbest thing I have ever done. ↩
I wondered, then, if this was the real reason for the enormity of the courtyard: the ability to garrison an impressive host of cavalry. Nico and the many Kings Lotreas before him surely treasured that as a valuable asset, one that could even be the deciding factor in a war for their kingdom. What would they think of the rest of the old league, we starry-eyed provincials who thought it was simply a feature of “classical architecture?” ↩
That was the idea, anyway. The smoke would have erupted at my feet, but when someone leaves their own dream, do others present perceive them to vanish, or…? ↩