They left Dtlag three days later, on another mission for the Old Man. They had conducted most of their necessary business by messenger or note but did manage a wary trip to Feriol’s, feeling safe only once inside its doors. As Aitonala remarked, it would be a suicidal attacker who made a disturbance in there. There was little of interest in the uniques, but Berzo’s Item fetched a gratifying price. Chrys felt strange walking out of Feriol’s richer than she had entered.
Harvest was in full swing, and the road east was populous with carts, wagons and travellers. As the harvest came in, merchants fanned out across the countryside with luxuries for the harvest festival and all those goods purchased in moments of prosperity. Groups of labourers trekked from farm to farm, reaping and gathering. Itinerant priests offered blessings, each with the distinctive emblem of their deity – Vorë’s rat-skull on a staff, Flink’s bright blue ribbons, Siura’s black parrot. It was with some relief that the party left the compact stone villages of the Haghar countryside behind for the climb into the Saka uplands.
Chrys looked back from the top of the first hill. A landscape in shades of green spread below – darker for patches of forest and along the numerous creeks and rivers, lighter for fields. Villages were grey smudges, and here and there mansion roofs showed dark red or slate black. She liked Dtlag, with its twisty streets and lively waterfront, and wondered when it would be safe to sit on a terrace above the harbour again.
Trees claimed more and more of the land as they went, until the vistas were of nearly unbroken forest. Traffic thinned, pack-trains replaced carts and the olive skin and dark hair of the Haghar first mixed with and then gave way to the copper and bronze tones of the Saka. The party kept a wary eye out for potential ambush sites, sometimes sending Chrys or Grymwer flying ahead, sometimes taking steep back trails in preference to the main road. More than once Saka travellers raised an eyebrow when they came across the group standing, bows strung, waiting for the signal all was clear.
Saka villages, with their ditch, palisade and roaming watch-boars, were at least secure places to spend the night. Each was dominated by a cluster of long-houses, with a scatter of lesser dwellings, storehouses and workshops about them. Kosohona would speak to the elders and offer a discreet glimpse of a talisman given them by the Old Man, whereupon they would be shown to a guest-house. These were comfortable enough, and certainly better than camping in the open. Chrys’ only complaint was when one proved to be adjacent to the youth house.
“How can you claim to be modest and temperate after spending time in one of them?” she asked Kosohona. At the time they were lying awake, kept that way by the sounds of a wild party. Kosohona bridled.
“Different clans have different customs. We did not do anything like that in my village. Well, not in the youth house. Well, some of us didn’t. And if they did you didn’t have to join in. I used to go for long walks, or to the weapon-house.”
Chrys cocked an ear. “Hmm, that girl - no, those girls - are certainly not missing out. My mother would be in there with earnest advice on the best ways to avoid muscle cramps while prolonging the experience.”
* * * *
A village whose name translated as Near Little Basket-Rush Lake was their destination. Kosohona provided the translation for Grymwer’s benefit, as Saka was not among his languages.
“Descriptive, if not imaginative,” was his comment.
“Better than Brahnak names,” was her reply. “Who would want to live in ‘Immaculate Thoughts’ or ‘Avoid All Sin’?”
There’s probably a town called ‘Take Your Hands Off It’,” chimed in Doryid.
“If that last place is any guide, there’s probably a Saka village called ‘Go All Night,’ added Chrys.
Near Little Basket-Rush Lake was indeed perched on a hill above a small reed-fringed lake. They were met here by a veteran of Kosohona’s order, her face tattoos cut across by old scars. She looked twice at Chrys’ glowing yellow face but did not comment and explained the situation over a meal of venison stew, dark bread and acorn beer.“There is an area two days north of here where something is awake. The animals are acting strangely there and two of our people have gone missing. The elders of this village and the villages around are reluctant to let people go south to the Brahnak marches with such a threat nearby. Perhaps the cursed Brahnaks did this for just that reason. I sent word to the High Councils and so they have sent you in the trust that you can deal with it.”
“We are certainly willing to try,” answered Rakt. “Can you tell us more about the area?”
“Certainly. It is mostly old forest. The remains of a road from the Long-Ago runs up the east side, but that vanishes a day further on. The tales tell of the Black King” - here she glanced at Rakt - “who built a city on the slopes of Mount Garness, but no-one has ever found a trace. Perhaps it was the same who left the Great Arch over the river. Anyway,” she resumed, “we pasture our swine a little south of there at some seasons, and hunt and gather plants for sale. The dwarves have a hold some way to the north and send a trading party through here twice a year. There has never been anything of this sort before now.”
“You said the animals are acting strangely,” put in Cardnial. “Can you tell me in what ways?”
“One hunter reported seeing a troop of earth-bears walking in single file along a path although they are, as you know, solitary creatures. Another pair had their camp invaded by badgers. They climbed into a tree and watched as the badgers turned things over. They said that the badgers ignored their food but left carrying tools in their mouths. A third report was of several moles dragging a stick, in daylight. When a hawk swooped, one mole glowed black-red and the hawk veered off.”
Cardnial thought a moment. “All creatures that live underground. Black-red you say? This is suggestive of an Earth Spirit, except that, first, the presence of one is usually known and, second, the behaviour reported is a little too … straightforward. Another possibility is a Shade. Or it might be that the animal behaviour is some local twist of the Wild and the disappearances due to another cause entirely. Has there been a murder or a battle or some such is the vicinity in recent years? And were either of the two missing young persons? Possibly virgins?”
“Both were of full age and, as for the last question, I cannot speak for certain. Neither was married, but one had a few liaisons that I know of and both spent the accustomed period in the youth house without remark. I do not recall any murders and there were certainly no battles.”
“I know of one or two precautions we might take,” Cardnial said.
“We’ll talk it over tonight and set off as soon as possible” decided Rakt.
“How is it you know so much about Spirits, Shades and such-like?” later asked Chrys of Cardnial.
“I was going to do further studies in that side of the art. Also, some of my father’s circle were somewhat deeper into such researches than is usual, and I picked a bit up from them. I wonder, from time to time,” he added “if my father was not involved more than he told me. That could explain his hasty departure from Frouan.”
“However you picked it up, I’m glad you did. Looks like it’s going to be handy.”
“We have Spirit Repellent, but I’m more worried about a Shade. If that’s the problem, it would help if some of us carried Symbols of Life, preferably made from silver. I can draw the design, and we have enough coins for material, but we’ll need a smith.”
Near Little Basket-Rush Lake proved to have a smith, who had no trouble converting Cardnial’s careful drawing into a complex of silver wires. They had enough coin to make two devices, so Cardnial carried one and Doryid another. With these, a guide for the first part of the trip and a map for the later part, they set out two days later. The guide, a leggy teenager named Berysoan, would be joining the village youth-house in another month. She had a lot of questions for Kosohona. Was life in the youth-house as wild as they said? What if people didn’t like you? Is it true about the initiation rituals? Is it fun? Kosohona gave short replies and finally directed her to Doryid or, for the more intimate questions, to Aitonala or Chrys. They made camp after a long day’s walk. The next morning Berysoan departed with at least some of her queries answered.
Another day brought them to a wooded upland, much cut up by small creeks into a maze of dips and hollows. While the old forest was clear enough, the canopy made it hard to pick out landmarks. Chrys and Grymwer preferred to husband their access to the ether rather than spend it on a flight above the treetops. In mid-afternoon Rakt declared that, while they were in the right area, he could not be sure of their exact position, so they might as well camp. Some places where disturbances of the ether were more likely were marked on the map, but they would not be able to investigate any that day.
Rakt puzzled over the map, tracing possibilities for the morrow. “There’s a crossroads on the old road somewhere north-east of here, a standing stone off to the north, a cave with a spring that I think is west and a bit south, and a stand of Whispering Oaks that shouldn’t be too far.”
At Cardnial’s advice, they camped in a small grove of runewoods. The trees, he said, were disliked by many of the darker manifestations and so offered some additional protection. He added to this by taking ink and a brush and marking designs on the smooth pale bark, murmuring softly as he did so.
“Is that a useful spell?” asked Chrys.
“It’s not a spell at all, in the usual sense. It wards off bark-beetles, and I suggested the trees be a little more vigilant in return. Indirectly, of course, as they hate the idea of being beholden.”
* * * *
Kosohona had the midnight watch. She sat quietly against a tree, keeping her mind clear of everything except the sounds of the night. The leaves above did not let starlight through, and the faint moon had set soon after the sun went down. The wind through the branches was a steady, if varying, background noise, punctuated by bird calls and the occasional rustle or scurry of some small creature. Open as she was, it took a minute for the change in the tree-noise to register. What had been a soft swish was now more agitated, with added creaking of boughs. She squinted – was the night even darker? Kosohona reached for the Symbol of Life and held it out before her. The silver wires were first a faint glint, then a glowing tracery. She nudged the sleeping Cardnial with a foot, he stirred, his eyes focused on the Symbol and he came awake in a rush.
“Something’s approaching. Hold the Symbol steady, while I wake the others.” He scrambled about and soon they were all clustered between Cardnial and Doryid. The two Symbols cast a low white light, pressed upon by the thick darkness. Kosohona had drawn her silver steel dagger but the others kept their weapons sheathed. “If this is a Shade or a Night-Haunt, steel will do nothing against it, while we could hurt each other by accident striking at shadows,” Cardnial had warned.
Kosohona saw a black tendril dart towards Chrys. She thrust her dagger at it and it swerved away to come back two pronged. One thread reached Chrys’ head and she gave a low cry. Kosohona’s dagger parted it and Doryid swung the Symbol around, pushing the darkness away. The black threads probed here and there, swift as snakes, always withdrawing before the Symbols or the silver dagger, scoring a touch here and a touch there, each draining energy. The branches tossed angrily above.
“If we want to last the night, we’ll have to do something else,” called Rakt. Cardnial thought furiously.
“Chrys, you have the Lesser Barrier. How long can you keep it up?”
“An hour at least, maybe close to two.”
“I have that in Salko’s rod,” Grymwer said.
“Cast it now. Aitonala, Doryid, hold the Symbols high when it forms.”
A bright blue cylinder sprang into being around the group. The surrounding black was thrust away, and the open top warded by the upheld Symbols.
“Now to keep the Barrier up until dawn,” Cardnial said. I can manage one casting, Chrys three.”
“I can extend this one twice,” Grymwer said.
“We can only hope it’s enough,” said Cardnial grimly. “I’ll cast Clock; we’ll need to keep the changes fast and smooth.”
“I’ll take a turn with the Symbols,” put in Rakt. “Keeping those above the head will be tiring.”
The darkness swirled about overhead, made visible by the blue glow. It would reach into the field, but could find no angle the Symbols did not face and roiled in frustration. There was a heart-stopping moment when Grymwer’s command of the Barrier lapsed just before Chrys’ threw it up again, and a touch nearly brought Doryid to his knees. Chrys extended the spell twice, three times and then, face drawn, a fourth, before yielding to Cardnial. First light came as he watched the time-sense given by Clock mark off the minutes remaining before their last protection lapsed.
Cardnial laid out their options over reviving mugs of tea sweetened with honey.
“Definitely a Shade, and a strong one. They cannot manifest further than two and one-third leagues from their burial site, and are weakest at noon. If we are to survive another night we must either retreat far enough that it cannot reach us, or find the burial site and destroy it while the sun is overhead.”
“We could look for the site today, then move away and come back tomorrow, then repeat until we have found it,” suggested Chrys. “What sort of thing are we looking for?”
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“It’s not likely to be the crossroads, or the cave Rakt mentioned, as they don’t like running water. Standing stones are a possibility, but it could be anything from a small patch of bare ground up to a pyramid with guardian stone snakes. Probably something not too noticeable. Hmm, let me look at that map.” Cardnial pored over the map with Rakt, tracing their choices with a slim finger.
At Cardnial’s suggestion, they moved along the watershed, swinging around a small swamp and up along a rise that meandered away to the north-east. At mid-morning Kosohona held up a hand.
“Look at the growth along to our right. There’s a line where the trees are smaller, with denser brush to one side. It follows the easiest path to that gap over there. It could mark an old road.”
Doryid agreed. “If it’s coming from the old way we were told of, then it would meet the rise a bit ahead of us, and either bridge the river down there or follow the rise.”
They climbed ahead, to where the sunlight lay stronger on the leaves, then further up the rise to where it gave on to a small plateau. Again, it was Kosohona who noticed a too-regular line of stones amid the undergrowth.
“This looks recent, but I don’t know what the builder thought they were making,” observed Doryid. “It looks more like something done by children, only the rocks are too heavy for that.” They scratched their heads over uneven stone walls, small pyramids and rough cubes of stacked stone. Kosohona cast about to discover a half-built small stone hut of amateurish construction, then climbed an adjacent knoll. Her call drew the others. They clambered up the slope to see her standing beside a stone pillar, half sunk in the earth, aslant, but still too square to be natural. Chrys rubbed lichen off one surface to uncover a worn inscription.
“I can’t make out anything,” Cardnial said after some minutes of study. “Not only is it mostly worn away, but the script is not one I know. Let’s look further.”
They skirted a leaning trunk, pushed aside some bushes, stepped over the roots of another tree and Doryid pulled up short.
“I think we have found our burial site.” A dark hole opened in the soil, too recent for the grasses to have grown over the edges. Doryid tested a creeper, then leaned over.
“I can see broken stone below, and a pile of dirt on the floor below that. It’s some kind of stone chamber. We must be standing on the barrow-mound.”
Kosohona looked about. “If someone dug down into the grave, why is there no spoil up here? They would have to have brought up quite a lot of dirt before they reached the capstones. Why throw it down the hole?”
They puzzled over this briefly. Grymwer had gone further, down the face of the barrow, and now came back to report an entrance, blocked in times past with heavy stones.
“There is some disturbance around the entrance, and what looks like old blood on the stone. Also, someone cut the word ‘Beware’ into the lintel, not too long ago, in Dzai.”
“How recent is ‘not too long ago’” inquired Chrys. Grymwer shrugged.
“I’m not an expert on tombs. Recent enough that the edges are still fairly sharp, old enough that dust and lichen have partly filled it in. So some time between ten years and two centuries, I guess.”
“Do we go in?” Rakt asked Cardnial. He glanced at the sun, now a little past its zenith.
“Tomorrow would be better. We have little access to the ether and we all need more rest after last night. We can be out of its reach tonight and back here by late morning.”
* * * *
“What is a Shade?” asked Aitonala that evening. Cardnial answered.
“The remnant of a person. Sometimes the result of long possession by a spirit, more often where some overmastering passion connects with some twist in the ether to maintain a semblance of life. They can last a long time in the dark, and revive when the living come within reach.”
“The one touch I felt weakened me. Do they feed off the living?”
“Partly. They also seek to weaken you to the point where their will dominates. Then you serve their passion, whatever that may be.”
“Why would someone dig one up? Or knowingly come within reach?”
“There are ways to bind a Shade, and then turn its abilities to other purposes. Most of them involve sacrifice, usually of a virgin.”
“Virgins again,” grumbled Kosohona. “I’m doing something about that as soon as we get back to a village.”
“Gender is not important,” Cardnial blandly informed her. “A man is as good as a woman in these matters.”
“Then why is it you never hear of boys tied to the altar?”
“Because the ones doing the sacrifice are mostly men?” ventured Aitonala.
“The Rai still tell of Batthri the Bloody, who bought her victories with powers gained from cutting the hearts out of young men,” observed Chrys. “Mind you, she’s as much admired as reviled, at least by Rai women.”
* * * *
They stood around the dark hole in the barrow a little before noon the next day. After some debate, they had agreed that Doryid and Kosohona would stay on guard outside. A rope around a tree and one by one the others dropped down. Their glowstones illuminated a large chamber with walls of rough-dressed stone slabs. More slabs made up the roof. Cardnial swept his light along all four walls, then over the floor.
“That pile below the hole has stone on the bottom, earth above. I think Kosohona was right. This chamber was opened up from below, from within. Also, the wall at that end nearest the entrance above is the same as the others. Either the entrance is false (which sometimes happens) or it led to another chamber, probably below this one.”
Chrys skirted the pile to look at a jumble against the end wall. More rubble was strewn here, but mixed with it was rotten wood with scraps of paint in faded colours, verdigrised pieces of copper and ancient bones, so brittle they turned to powder at a touch. Grymwer gave a low call from the other end of the chamber and she turned back. The others stood behind a rough pillar, lights shining down on a square stone slab lying beside a shaft vanishing downwards.
“There are old bones down the other end, and the remains of what looks to have been furniture.”
Cardnial nodded. “This chamber held the sacrifices that placed the final seals on the tomb. Most of the markings are strange to me, but that is an archaic form of the Barrier Sigil, and this one looks something like a Holdfast Mark.”
Grymwer looked around. “There are some very old ghosts here, much faded.”
Rakt tilted his head to bring his helmet light to bear on the shaft.
“There are holds cut in the side. So down we go.”
“Should we rope up?”
Rakt considered, then shook his head. “If there’s something down there to fight, I don’t want to be hampered. Let the two up top know what’s happening and then we’ll go down.”
Rakt went first, then Chrys. Grymwer slung his halberd on his back to follow. Aitonala and Cardnial would come last. She was careful to leave Rakt some room. Her boots scraped across the stone as they sought the rough outcrops and pocks in the wall. Rakt’s light bobbed below, then left her in shadow as he looked down. He paused, then shifted holds and drew his sword.
“We have company below.”“Can I help?”
“Come a bit further down and see what you can do.”
She let herself down cautiously, then joined Rakt in looking down. Bronze staples in a wall below gave access to the shaft. Beside them, dead eyes in parchment white faces looked up from under helmet rims. She glimpsed brown teeth, straggles of limp hair, thin hands grasping weapons. Chrys reached awkwardly for Salko’s rod and spoke a Word. There was a crack as an ancient helmet caved in and the wearer collapsed. Rakt twisted, dropped straight down, to bear another to the floor with a crunching impact. His shield deflected a blow, he stamped down hard then set his back to the wall beside the rungs, shield up and sword to his front.
Chrys scrambled down, the Invisible Defence blocking thrusts and cuts, drew on the rod again to launch a flying dagger at another figure looming out of the dark. Those they fought gave no cries but were not undead. She heard gasps for breath, a grunt as Rakt landed a hit. Rakt’s foe went down and then Grymwer landed in a crouch beside her, halberd angled to strike, pushing away from the wall to clear room for Aitonala. He was confronted by two short square-set warriors wielding hammers. Chrys intercepted one with the Defence; the other deftly turned the halberd aside and brought the hammer around in a blow that would have staved in Grymwer’s ribs had it not met his own Defence. Aitonala had leapt cat-like from the top rung to land well clear of the fight. Now she circled, darted in, touched a dagger-point to an exposed calf. It was not a fatal, or even a disabling wound, but the dagger pulled from her hand, the enemy stiffened, fell and shrivelled. Set on by Rakt and Grymwer, penned by Chrys’ Defence, the other went down quickly. A sweep of their lights showed no more standing, only a last opponent lying a few paces away, dagger in its neck.
Only Rakt had wounds, and those slight. Aitonala waited a minute and then gingerly pulled the leech knife from its victim and returned it to its sheath.
“This one is a dwarf, and that one there is too.”
Chrys made a face. “Drat. Does that mean we face a choice of crippling were-gilds or a feud?”
“Maybe neither. These were slaves to the Shade – look how this one had so little vitality the body has shrunk in. Maybe we get a reward,” Aitonala said.
“From dwarves?” Chrys was sceptical.
“Never mind that,” came from Cardnial. “We have a coffin here. Have the Symbols ready. Aitonala, your silver dagger will be needed. Chrys, be ready with the Barrier.”Chrys looked around. Their lights were enough to show a large chamber, plastered walls covered with drawings and a massive stone coffin set on a large stone block in the middle of the floor. They positioned themselves around this, took nervous breaths and then Grymwer and Cardnial grasped the stone lid and slid it grating aside. Aitonala brought the silver dagger down before any black tendrils could rise, to meet only air. She leaned forward. The coffin was empty except for some rolled parchments tied neatly with black ribbon.
Chrys stepped back and looked further on. Beyond the coffin the chamber went only a little way before it ended in a rising passage. A scratched slab sealed this ten paces up. She circled the walls, light playing over the drawings. Here were not figures, but plans, perspectives and sections of houses, temples, palaces, mansions, triumphal arches. Niches in the walls were empty aside from one where the tools of the mason’s trade were neatly stacked. At the other end, a low coping circled another shaft. As the others came over she dared a look down, to see smooth walls.
Cardnial spoke. “It must be noon outside and we still have some time before it gains strength, but we need to move quickly.”
Chrys had a plan ready. “I will use Flight, and cast Null-Weight on another. I will still have some access and can draw on the rod for the Barrier. We’ll take one Symbol and leave the other with you here.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Rakt immediately. “Can I borrow your dagger, Aitonala?”
It made obvious sense, and there was no argument. Chrys uttered Words, touched Rakt, spoke again and rose from the floor. Rakt floated behind, holding to her belt. They descended in a slow spiral, slick walls sliding past.
“There’s a side-tunnel ahead. Shall we look?”
“I think we should.”
Chrys straightened her back, twisted her shoulders to the left and brought her legs forward. They drifted into a passage where the walls were rough stone, the floor uneven. A little way along this opened into a single room, most of it taken up with crude clay models of buildings. A circuit showed nothing else of interest and they returned to the shaft.
“Plans, drawings, models, stacks of stone above, dwarves. Do you see a common thread here?” she murmured to Rakt.
“You think the passion here is building?”
“Yep. So we succeed, or spend eternity as builders’ labourers, or maybe foundation material.”
The slow spiral resumed, until dark water gleamed below. Rakt played his light on the shaft wall, to discover a small aperture. A check showed this pierced a thin wall separating the shaft from some larger space.
“Can you demolish this with magic?”
“Not without losing more access to the ether than I want to.”
“I’ll try brute strength. It looks like the mortar has rotted in the damp.” Rakt braced his shoulders on the shaft wall and thrust with his legs. Ancient bricks and mouldy mortar gave way around the hole. He shifted, pushed again, to achieve a space large enough to admit them. Half flying, half crawling, they eased through into the entry to another subterranean hall. Black mould disfigured frescoes showing pleased rulers honouring a tall man as he showed them completed buildings or models of monuments to their glory. Others showed the same man directing gangs of labourers, or poring over a drafting table, compass in hand. A low stone bench running half the length of the hall held squares, sight-tubes, bearing circles and similar tools, and also a set of exquisite silver replicas of buildings.
Rakt had the silver dagger out. “Mad architect it is, apparently. Do you see a coffin?”
They circled the room again, looking for sealed entrances. Chrys thought of the way the black fog had circled over their heads and shone her light on the ceiling. There, amid more depictions of the honour due to a great architect, was a round black hole. She rose up and looked closely.
“Rakt, there’s a space beyond this hole. The ceiling seems to be plaster over thin wood.”
She flew down and hoisted him up. An attempt to wrench the laths away only banged his helmet on the ceiling, but his sword was able to lever away the thin covering. Chrys towed Rakt upwards, into a barrel-vaulted room. Here was what they sought, a finely polished block of basalt which rose in steps to an ornately-carved sarcophagus.
“Quick. The sun is past noon.”
Chrys held the Symbol of Life poised as Rakt heaved the lid off the sarcophagus. As it opened she thrust the Symbol forward. A thin voice, heard more in the mind than the ears, cried out.
“Life again! I shall build great things, and on all my name shall be carved, to stand for all time.” Rakt brought the dagger down, lifted it, brought it down again and again. There was silence.
* * * *
The corpse was well-preserved for something so ancient. It lay on its back, a thin cloth over the eyes, teeth bared where the flesh had pulled away. On its breast rested a silver level. Neither Rakt nor Chrys could read the inscriptions on the sarcophagus lid and around the basalt block, but Chrys copied them as carefully as she could. Some scholar somewhere would be interested. The level they took.
It took some time, and considerable effort in labour and spell-craft, to haul the tomb’s treasures up into the sun. Once there, they made a fine show, silver shining from the models and tools laid out below the barrow.
“I can only see two problems,” Kosohona said. “One, how do we get it all back? A model of a many-spired temple half my height is a fine thing, but awkward to carry. And, two, where do we find a collector with a passion for the architecture of the millennium before last?”
“As for the first,” replied Doryid, “I am sure the elders of Near Little Basket-Rush Lake will be happy to provide a few porters. For the second, are not the effete gentry of the Haghar lands known for their obsessions?”
After some discussion, they lowered the larger and more awkward items into a small swamp below the plateau. There they would be safely out of sight, yet easily retrieved. Aitonala insisted they retain the armour and weapons of the two dwarves, despitethe burden.
“See here,” she said, pointing to the head of a war-hammer. "Dwarf-writing. I can’t read it, but it will give the full name of the owner – family, clan, hold. The dwarves will want to know what became of them.”
Chrys gave her a curious look. “How do you know?”
“We get some training in diplomacy, including in how not to offend other races, and in what they value.”
“Useful. Life among the Rai is mostly a training in how to offend other races, while life in the Flower Quarter of Tsitiev is about how to suck up to them.”
“I can see why you’re confused,” Aitonala grinned.