Frays In The Weave 19 Arrivals: 2

She sighed and involuntarily shuddered. Too close this time. The outworlder taleweaver had been a gift from the G.o.ds. She corrected herself. The Khanati, Khar Escha, had been a gift. If he hadn't jumped Arthur from Belgera the outworlder wouldn't have been here to tell his side of the events in Braka, and the questions had become a little bit too suspicious lately. Now, with people remembering that Arthur had in fact given testimony they were less p.r.o.ne to recall exactly what he had testified about. Especially as the meeting had deteriorated so wonderfully into a shouting contest no one was likely to remember the contents of anyway. For a while at least she could stave off questions about exactly how she came into the knowledge she had, and Keen needed that knowledge, and she, she winced at the thought, didn't need eight crossbow quarrels from close distance the way Magehunting dispensed with anyone found to collaborate with unholy users of forbidden knowledge.

It was not that she was afraid to die; more that she liked living. She was fond of waking up each morning, even if it promised a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a day. She loved the challenge, the intricate dance of her profession and the occasional opportunity to wield the official powers that went with her t.i.tle, if not with her real work. An execution would take all that away, and she simply hated losing in games. It didn't matter that this was one she was bound to eventually lose. Not today, and not tomorrow.

The rhythm of the steps, and the very power behind them announced Olvar's arrival.

Mairild rose and greeted him.

He waved back and spat a demeaning comment about gaudy tapestries and other trappings of her official role ostentatiously displayed all over her private quarters.

She growled and equally impolite retort about his probable birth, upbringing and education, and then they both laughed.

"I would walk with you to the Tree," Olvar said.

Mairild studied her huge colleague. Of course he knew about the Tree. Everyone who was anyone did, but as far as she knew he'd never developed a taste for the exquisite food served there. So he wanted privacy, or the secrecy privacy allowed. "But of course," she answered.

They left through meandering corridors and reception halls. Neither spoke much. That would have made the entire exercise rather useless after all. Only when they arrived on the grand square did Olvar voice concerns that must have weighted on his mind.

"Tenanrild didn't take it too well. She's still in a rage, but I think she's mostly angry with herself." He walked on straight across the square. So tall Mairild had to run every so often to keep up, and he never veered aside. Those in his way did. A small building would have if it could grow legs.

For all his huge size he was deceptively mild when you got to know him better, but Mairild knew that was only a second sh.e.l.l. He was every bit the killer he looked at a first glance.

"Not that she could have known. She spent the last eightdays at the outworlder sky port overseeing the increase in traffic, and that is exactly what she should have been doing," he interrupted her thoughts. "She's blaming herself anyway."

Mairild didn't really listen. Olvar was more thinking aloud than giving her any information he suspected she didn't already have firmly in hand. He never thought aloud when he planned his work. The extermination of vermin as Makarin so pointedly had described it. At any other time he would have been an embarra.s.sment to the council. At any other time he would have helped Glarien with his inane plans for annexing western Vimarin. The farmers there almost screamed for Keen to protect them, and at any other time Keen wouldn't have been under a direct military threat.

She pa.s.sed a couple of outworlders in their drab clothes. They gawked and she stared back in return. Arrivals from the sky ships landing the last eightday. A new kind of arrivals. Not traders. Tourists, a new word she had better take to heart. They released several buzzing birds into the air. Birds of metal and gla.s.s. Devices that made living art, and no magecrafter had ever been involved in building those things. Outworlder technology. Holo cams. Another foreign expression.

Now it was the outworlders who had become the target of gawking, or rather their flying toys. Mairild saw half a squadron of inquisition soldiers running closer from across the square. She waved them back before they had a chance to create a diplomatic incident. Killing outworlder visitors in plain view would const.i.tute a diplomatic incident, wouldn't it?

The outworlders had never noticed what had almost happened. They were too occupied with their game of recording the wonders of Verd. Too occupied with their own importance.

She sighed. It would take time to accept visitors who considered Verd quaint and primitive.

"Doesn't make Glarien's idiocy any more forgivable I need those troops to the south, not babysitting some overweight merchants all the way to Braka."

Olvar's last outburst had Mairild's thoughts return on their former track. From a military point of view, he was right, but his was an easy world. She had information, and the responsibility to distribute it piecewise to those in need. That left her stuck with a wider picture she sometimes wished they didn't understand. A few outlying provinces were already showing signs of unrest, and a few client states on the northern tip of the Ming peninsula had outright refused to pay their taxes. She could have sent Colonel de Laiden there to convince those rulers how unwise it was to refuse Keen, but he was not available, and expertly trained as his command was it was simply too small. The last time she had sent him there they had to make a running fight all the way to Verd, and he had not been happy when he reported back.

Keen needed a convincing show of strength. That was the very reason they had spent the money to protect the first caravan. The second one was even more important, even if she wouldn't mind if several of the partic.i.p.ating merchants met with untimely accidents on the way. Unlikely with an army for escort. And there was the need to uphold the law. Taleweavers were inviolate. Anyone, any city, kingdom or empire failing to fully grasp that had to be put down. Else Dragonwrath. Golden emissaries and visiting taleweavers kept the memory of World War alive. Dragons never explained why taleweavers were sacrosanct. She didn't care. When dragons set down a law you obeyed. Dragons didn't argue—they didn't need to.

"Olvar, you want and you need, but you'll have to do."

"I know. I don't have to be happy about it."

"I never implied..."

"Stop that! I'm not as educated as you, but I understand well enough anyway. Now, if I can't have my trained regiments then I have to look elsewhere."

Mairild stopped dead in her tracks and watched his back as he continued. "You can't possibly mean..."

"I can and I will," he answered and turned. "I'm already building sail barges in Mintosa. Protecting coastal fishing we call it."

Mairild stared. Washed out uniform, silken details or not, in his yellow and black he looked every bit the killer he was. She wanted to scream at him. She hadn't known he'd already gone ahead, but he was right, and for that she wanted to yell at herself.

"Give me a pretext, any pretext, and we're sailing. They're training battlemages in Chach! I don't give a demon sp.a.w.ned gherin about their cavalry, not even about their holy warriors, but battlemages! Mairild, they'll wipe us clean! So I'm sailing at first chance, and I will have those troops even if I have to dig to the bottom of every money trader's vaults to get them."