image [https://i.imgur.com/fbfIPnE.png]

Tinkling of bells from my anteroom roused me from a state of near comatose sleep. I lifted my head; the bedroom door framed by invading sunlight as a warm bit of silk bed sheet stuck to my cheek until the drool gluing it there released it.

"Come in," I croaked.

The door swung open, the curtains beyond had been carefully drawn so that the midmorning sun was softened to a golden hue as Percy bowed before entering. He placed the bell tree down and padded on his bare pawed feet into my room. My thoughts still struggled to move as I rolled onto the pillows he propped up for me. "I'm not late, am I Percy?"

"Never, Master. If the Fate Weaver arrives late then surely it was meant to be. Court shall not be held until after our holy Mane has completed his morning calisthenics — noon, or thereabouts."

He vanished, only to return with a tray bearing a sliced breakfast cake moled over with raisins, and a steaming teacup besides. I thanked him, discomfort hot as sunburn on my cheeks; having servants again would take some getting used. I had declined to take Percy on at first, but in the rush to get me settled into the palace the day prior, deviator Berry had been insistent I have some form of caretaker as I acclimated to palace life. In the light of morning I was grateful for his insistence.

I ate so voraciously that I was slightly winded as I wiped crumbs from my freshly trimmed beard. We had decided I would keep the man-fur to better distinguish the two of us, but it still felt unfamiliar, a foreign bush prickling against my face. Next the tea, which was simply honey dissolved in hot water, and vanished nearly as quickly. As Percy laid out my clothing options on the foot of the bed — like my pajamas they were all donations from the other Berry. I chose a hooded sorcerer's robe the color of burnt amber.

"An inimitable selection, my master," said Percy, and there was something in his voice — a tone you might say — that made me doubt his sincerity for the very first time. I let it slide for the moment.

Dressed, I passed through my empty living room which was of a similar layout to my deviator's (I was in the same tower, only a few stories above him), but was mercifully free of mirrors. I took up a pile of scrolls from the kitchen counter and went to the balcony to read, and lacking any chairs I simply squatted on the hard stone. The heat had not come yet, and a steady breeze blew just strong enough lick pages back over one's hand — just often enough to break my concentration.

It was no great loss as the reading was a dry business, consisting of agreements between the Mane of Dune and the various chieftains, nobles, and clan mothers of western Jo desert. I would have preferred to read more Eophicles’ treatise, but time would not allow it so it remained safely tucked away in my satchel under the bed.

My musings were also broken by Percy's head through the curtains, asking for my preferences regarding apartment furnishings. He assured me he would travel to the bazaar and have my home in good order by day's end, so we spent the better part of an hour debating everything from candles to cutlery — money, he assured me, was no object.

He had me stand and took some quick body measurements for my new wardrobe as well. I smiled to myself. "Quite the transition, Percy. In a day I have gone from sun blanched tramp to living carte blanche."

"You are the spirit of wit as always, my master."

I took the compliment to heart. I should confess here also that Percy's given name was some unintelligible back-throated growl impossible for man to manage — but as a kindness to outsiders he had allowed my deviator and I to use ‘Percy’ as an imperialised pet name.

“Percy, you’ve been here for a long time I assume. What should I expect from the Mane?”

He glanced up from the measuring tape about my wrist. “A great Mane. Like all Mane’s this one supposes.”

“But what does that mean? Everyone’s said he is great, revolutionary, enlightened! But what does any of this nonsense really mean? How should I talk with him?”

“Perhaps that depends, master, on what should the Mane expect from you? This is a troubled land, and as such is led by troubled people. What does this one, the Fate Weaver, offer?”

He busied himself quickly, a flicker of embarrassment on his old face. I just shook my head. “I don’t entirely know. I just genuinely do want the best for this place. Not even for the Mane if I am being honest, but for them, out there.” I gestured towards the city.

I thought I saw Percy smile, a glimmer of one perhaps, but it was gone. “That seems enough.”

I dismissed him to resume his work while I enjoyed a few solitary moments. The city walls of Dune surrounding me like the rim of a bowl as I reflected on the journey that had brought me there. I had fallen all the way to the top, and was about to make my debut in the Mane's court.

* * *

Downstairs I was immediately recognized by the long whiskered bailiff who inserted me at the front of a line of petitioners before the court's grand front door which was as tall as three grown men and easily twenty children wide. I rehearsed my introductions beside the bailiff for several minutes, struggling to keep my breakfast at the bottom of my stomach as the chamber within began to rumble with roars, growls, and howling laughter. It sounded more like a menagerie than any court I knew of.

Finally the chattering howls within quieted. I wiped wetness from my palms and swallowed back a honeyed burp. Perhaps my charm appears effortless as it leaps off the page at you, but I must confess that growing up I was always the reluctant bookish type, more prone to hide in the alcoves any provincial dance my mother dragged me to. Thanks to my curious nature, I have some ability to connect one-on-one, but struggle with a particular anxiety with introductions — especially so when meeting a metaphysically bifurcated catman with the legal authority to have me executed.

A howl from within; a tap on the door.

"You're up," said the bailiff as a massive door creaked open just enough for me to sidle through. "Right foot first."

“Thanks.”

It was a cathedralesque chamber. A crimson rug ran its length like a seam, cutting uninterrupted through a hundred or so of the Khajiit elite which it parted into two crescents at the foot of a dias. The crowd emanated twisting clouds, cataracts of gray rosewood incense which swirled and obscured the white-stone throne and the figure seated upon it. Beyond it all were ivory delegue columns between which the midday sun projected a beaming portrait of Dune’s curving cityscape upon us, temple towers, slums, and the grand bazaar in a seeming still life.

All eyes were on me as I walked.

High priests paced the chamber's length in muttering prayers, bangles jingling, and swinging incense burners that streamed off long tails of gray ash; too sweet to be any flower, and the way it lingered in the bridge of my nose. To my right the murmur of females behind a tall screen, through joint-cracks I saw they reclined on great cushions wide as tide pools — the clan mothers. A menagerie of catfolk nobles watched me, merchants in high collars, dark faced tribal chiefs bearing wickedly curved sabers, sworn warriors, honor guards, and noble-born on two legs and four. Not one smiled.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

My legs were stiff, making my gait unnaturally bouncy as I walked the carpet's length. Despite the warmth a cold sweat dewed my pits as I reached the dias base where my deviator stood before his liege, an arm still held out theatrically towards me. He came to stand beside me as I stopped short of the bottommost step. As I bowed so deep my stomach gurgled in protest, he spoke on my behalf.

"Your Perfection, may I present to you my brother, the Fate Weaver, returned to me after his long sojourn to the edge of all known timelines. I can only but commend his services to you, should you be so inclined."

I raised my head, forcing myself to look up at the throne. The Mane had risen. He was a head taller than most men I would say, and dressed in the tribal way — many beads and charms hanging from loose cloth strategically parted in places so that the chiseled definition of his chest was visible. Without a sound he dropped down the steps one at a time towards me, and I became acutely aware that this beastman was honed to such physical perfection he could likely have, with a single hand, crushed my head as if it were a rotten apple.

He stopped before me, sniffing the air. I caught a glance of Vizier Ro'kash peering out from behind the throne, his eyes looking primed to explode from his face — I supposed he had received no warning of my coming since our initial confused encounter in the temple courtyard.

The Mane's golden eyes stared into mine — a lion's eyes. His mane was luscious.

"More fur on you, and more sun marked than your brother-uh!"

He spoke man's tongue with natural rhythm, marked by a curious (and disproportionately loud) grunt at the end. We were already off my limited script now and my heart was pounding.

"My journey was long, your Perfection. And I made my way alone through the wastes and became lost along the way which gave me occasion to acquire a fine tan."

"Not a single porter or guide for a master wizard of your caliber? Why not-uh?"

"I knew through what tides of fate I must navigate, but not where they led me. And of course physical wealth means nothing to me, Your Perfection. It is only my wish to serve a just master and bring about a brighter destiny to this world than it currently drifts towards."

He cast back to Ro'kash "A penniless wizard is a rare sight. Yes-uh, my guards tell me you even arrived shoeless in the Khajiit way, burnt for your lack of footpads."

"Your Perfection, I was only just telling my servant, I arrived to you sun blanched only to be cared for carte blanche.

He stared at me. The court dead silent.

Suddenly the black corners of his lips drew back. "Ha! Ha‐haha — uhhhhh!" laughter bared his fangs and his courtiers rushed to match him until the hall rang with short barks of overeager laughter. "So like your brother! Ro'kash, see that the Fate Weaver has a place on your small council."

Ro'kash stepped forward onto the dais, a trio of his dark robed flunkies shadowing him. "As the predestined one says, although the council is already quite full—"

"Make space. With both a Fate Binder and a Fate Weaver we shall navigate the lunar tides with perfect precision-uh!"

Vizier Ro'kash bowed before slithering back.

The Mane turned to me once again, a massive hand thudding onto my shoulder with the weight of a hurled ham-hock. "Stand by me, Fate Weaver. Your meticulous craft cannot error, and so you must belong in this here and in this now — both you and your brother-UH. He recommends you, and his word is second only to my own in this land," he looked towards the bank of scribes furiously scribbling beside, "you got all of that?”

There was a chorus of agreement as my deviator, now brother in the eyes of the Elsweyr, guided me by hand up the dias so that we flanked the throne, he in a robe of sky blue and I in burnt amber. The Master of Ceremony, a quadrupedal jaguar whose shoulders bore a spiked silver mantle, prowled out from the crowd once more and let out a wild shriek to summon the next petitioner.

Elevated above the crowd now, a warm desert breeze blowing against my back, I felt the eyes fall from me as I became just another piece of furnishing besides His Perfection. My heart was still thundering as some merchant came in to petition for justice after some local guild had sold him wool weighted with sand (the same High Elf I’d caused to crash into Senche on at the Crawling Gate, although he showed no sign of recognizing me). It all got resolved pretty quickly and he was nosed towards the door by the Master of Ceremony while singing praises to the Mane. The next applicant was then summoned with an ear splitting roar, and then the next, and the next.

It was a bizarre experience as over the next three hours we saw petitioner after petitioner. The crowd grew increasingly bored, many drifting off down side passages or taking to the pipe to pass the time. At one point I listened to a death sentence appeal case while watching a turbanned tribal chief by the name of Do'Qanar and a house-cat struggle to light a payload of moon sugar in their pipe at the dias base. Eventually I went over and lit it with a snap of my fingers and was repaid with a purred thanks and less distraction as they sucked away in peace.

For each petition the same deliberation played out as the Mane asked either Vizier Ro'kash, the clan mothers, Do'Qanar, or us (the brothers Berry) for opinions. The Mane listened intently and used each conversation as a teachable moment to expound upon his philosophical outlook, such that it was, and checked constantly that the scribes had captured his words accurately for public signage which would be posted in the coming days to instruct the general populace on how they ought to comport themselves.

For my part I made up my answers on the spot, but no more than anyone else it seemed, and more soberly than most as I partook only in a few candied meatballs offered on silvered tongs by servants whose passage rang with jingling sleeves riveted with bells of good fortune.

It is truly shocking how fast the novel can become routine. Time dragged to a crawl as my feet swelled within my slippers from standing in place. Additionally, something kept getting into my eyes making them feel as dry as a desert stone and itch something terrible — and the more I rubbed the dryer they grew. I had to respect the Mane's endurance if nothing else; he still sat rigid and alert to every word long after I had given up the cognitive field.

Finally, the sun fell low enough to cook my back and cast over-sized black reliefs of the throne, other Berry, and myself across the pale stone floor which was now made cream colored by its yellowing light. The Master of Ceremony roared out a long close to all petitions, which I think was supposed to be a song. Despite this the doors creaked open once more as Ro'kash reappeared on the dias.

"Perfection, forgive any presumption, but this one's Lion Head Priests found some agents entering the city just now that we believe should be seen."

"Agents? Spies of the lunar priests or dogs of the empire?”

“They say neither, holy one, but I believe your judgment would be superior.”

“Then of course, bring them in-uh."

Ro'kash signaled to the Master of Ceremony, who bellowed out his warcry once more. I immediately recognized Sorvild's bald pate approaching through the smokey shroud, sunlight dancing on his silver sword hilt as he swaggered more out of the biomechanical leverage of his gut than any attempt at panache. He was flanked by Benezia, now a dusted desert flower. Abbard was nowhere to be seen.

Ro'kash fluttered past me to whisper something to the Mane, who for his part merely shrugged. My former companions stumbled a bit halfway on their long march up the aisle as, even sunblind as they must have been walking into the glare, the brothers Berry must have become visible to them. They caught themselves admirably however and gave no other outward appearance of our secret. They knelt at the foot of our dias, and after an uncomfortable silence Sorvild cleared his throat.

“Great Mane, I am Captain Sorvild and it is the main hope of myself and the company I keep that we may sell the services, as sellswords mainly, of the Silversword Company — my company — at the mere cost of maintenance and a small profit for risks incurred."

The Mane gave a noncommittal nod and asked Ro'kash if he'd heard of the Silversword company, when Ro'kash confessed he had not His Perfection turned to the other Berry. "And you Fate Binder, do you know of these outsiders?"

My deviator stuttered, allowing me to butt in. ”I know them well—" I looked to see Benezia's eyes on me, red slits stabbing me through feigned impassivity, by Azura how I wondered how her little heart trembled in that moment, "— by reputation that is. Stolid northern mercenaries, veterans against the barbarous Reachmen."

"Interesting," mused the Mane, obviously impressed by my worldliness on display. "Well then, Captain Sorvild I accept you gratefully into my court and I shall ask my Small Council to see to the details of negotiating your contract. Now if you will excuse me I am quite late for my strength training routine."

And with that the holy Mane of Elsweyr simply rose and walked away down a side passage. The Master of Ceremony raised an incredible yowl but the crowd seemed nonplussed, as if the deliberations of court were incidental to their good time as they lingered on for the most part, blowing smoke, calling servants, and generally coming to life with conversation once more.

My eyes were really becoming unbearable, and I had to rub them again before strolling down the dias steps with my deviator to meet my old companions. The crimson carpet was blessedly soft after hours standing on stone. Sorvilds eyes darted like an ornery dog's as we approached but he held his tongue and let my deviator lead us through formal introductions and scheduling time for formal negotiations in a few days time. I was entertained to hear Benezia had assumed the title of Benez, and rather impressed by her faux roughneck voice.

For my part I only asked where they would be staying, pretending it was out of idle curiosity. Surely this sounded odd to other Berry who had to realize that I knew less than nothing of Dune’s hostelry, but he played along perfectly before closing us out with the graceful formality of a veteran minister. Berry and I watched the trio depart, pursuing their own long shadows.