The False Martyr (38 page)

Still squinting, the
ambassador maneuvered around the table to the end farthest from the
women. Juhn, seemingly unaffected by the light, followed, closing
the door behind him and sitting directly in front of its, now
invisible, surface. The door seamlessly matched the panels of the
wall, leaving no break in the room beyond the windows. Those showed
only a few puffy clouds and the expanse of the plains in the
distance.

Curiosity piqued, Cary
searched for what was missing.
If the
passages were just for counselors, how had the women reached this
room?
The answer appeared only when one of
the women shifted enough to reveal a hole cut into the corner of
the floor. The first rung of a ladder was visible for a flash, but
the trapdoor looked barely large enough for Cary. No Morg man would
even try.

“
Welcome,” a voice at the
head of the table said. The word was not a greeting as much as a
command that every eye focus on the woman who had said it. Cary
complied and found the very model of female assurance. Her face was
calm, mouth a loose line, eyes clear but passive, breaths slow and
steady. An old woman, her former beauty was still clear beneath the
slight sag of her skin, the wrinkles framing her eyes, the spots
that blemished her pale skin. Gray hair was swept back from her
face, falling into a thick braid that ran nearly to her waist. Her
neck was long, the lines of tendon standing out like the supports
of a wooden tower rising from the snow of white fox that lined her
dress. Sitting on the floor, legs tucked under the table, her spine
was as straight as a plank of perfectly planed wood. Her thin arms
were bare where they arched in front of her to meet at the table in
clasped hands. They framed the golden chain running from her neck
to a pendant even larger and more extravagant than the King’s.
Crusted entirely with jewels, it depicted a standing bear in jet on
an emerald field and sapphire sky under a diamond moon. The pendant
stood in stark contrast to the simple undyed brown wool that made
the dress below the trim of white fox, like a thoroughbred in a
herd of donkeys.

“
My name is Nyel ut
Torswauk,” the woman said. Her voice was deep and rich, her accent
heavy, tone entirely neutral as were her mouth and eyes. She showed
them no warmth, but neither was their scorn. “I am Mother of
Torswauk Lodge. It is by my grace that you were allowed to enter.”
She allowed that to linger – a threat, a reminder, a simple
statement of fact? “This is my true sister, Aarta.” She gestured to
an even older woman on her right, then to the progressively younger
women on either side. “And these are my daughters, Sachi, Raia,
Moira, and Jalena. Please, be seated.” Cary shifted his glance to
the women as they were introduced, each nodding to acknowledge her
name but doing nothing further to betray her emotions.
Daughters?
Cary thought.
The oldest could have been the woman’s sister, the youngest her
granddaughter. And all of them were near copies of their mother,
their relative beauty defined more by the differences in their ages
than their features.

But they look like normal
women.
The thought caught Cary, and he
looked over the women again. They were sitting on the floor, legs
under the table, spines straight. But for their furs and wool
dresses, they could have been Liandrin. They were no larger than
their counterparts in any other part of the known world, and they
were beautiful: hair long and golden; features strong and sharp;
eyes clear, sparkling blue; skin pale, unblemished, and
soft.

Cary’s eyes passed over
the women again and stopped on the youngest, farthest from her
mother. She was the most beautiful, he decided. Slightly his
junior, she had the softest features, round cheeks, wide eyes, full
lips. She had a sweetness to her that the others seemed to lack. A
girl’s face with a woman’s body -- the tops of her white breasts
were nearly bursting from her dress resting on an expanse of
swollen belly that kept her from the table. She was with child and
due any day by the look of it. The middle daughter was similarly
situated, but whereas she made Cary think of a mother, the younger
left him thinking of the act that had gotten her there. He watched
her nervously as she rubbed her belly and smiled slightly at the
life inside. Nearly lost enough to imitate her, he barely diverted
his stare to keep her from seeing him as her eyes rose.

“
Thank you, Your
Highness,” Ambassador Chulters brought Cary back to the matter at
hand. He bowed low. “My name is Sir Regis Chulters of Hensall,
honorable representative of His August Majesty King Elpert Risbourg
de Nardes, lord and ruler of the most esteemed under the Order
nation of Liandria. I am greatly pleased to have received your
invitation and stand ready to speak on behalf of the sovereign
people of Liandria.” He kept his head low until the introduction
was complete then for an uncomfortable moment longer before coming
cautiously back to his full height. He tried to smile, but it
faltered at a frown from their hostess. He shifted uncomfortably
but did not sit. Feeling the ambassadors unease, Cary tried to
disappear into his corner. At their side, Juhn had long ago knelt
to the table and tucked his crossed legs beneath. He watched the
outsiders now with a slightly amused expression, elbows resting on
the table before him, bald head reflecting the sun.

“
Be seated,” Nyel said
again with clear annoyance.

Still Ambassador Chulters
hesitated, diplomatic protocols fighting for control of his body.
He was not of sufficient rank to sit as an equal with a queen even
when asked, but there was no way for him to maintain a position
below Nyel without laying on the floor.

“
You must sit,” Juhn broke
the stalemate. “The table creates separation between you and the
women. Your unwillingness to place it between yourself and them can
be seen as a lack of respect or even aggression.”

The ambassador looked like
he’d been hit between the eyes. A further downturn in the corners
of Nyel’s mouth and hardening of her eyes did not help. “My
sincerest apologies.” He just barely managed to keep from
stammering as he dropped somewhat awkwardly into a crouch and
struggled to get his long legs beneath the table. “I meant no
offence. In my country, it would be an insult for me to sit in the
presence of someone so esteemed.” The ambassador shot a hard look
at Cary, but he was already falling to his knees, though he
remained in the corner, away from the table.

Nyel looked confused and
turned to Juhn. He spoke to her in their native tongue, a few
sentences said with respect by not reverence. The Mother only
nodded when he finished. “Within a lodge, we are a family,” Juhn
explained. “Nyel is the mother of this family, so you should treat
her with the same formality that you would treat your mother. No
more, no less.”

Ambassador Chulters smiled
at this, puffing up like a child complimented on a drawing. “I am
greatly honored,” he said with an awkward cross-legged bow. “We the
people of Liandria have often thought of ourselves as one family
with the Morgs.”

The Mother frowned deeply
at this. Her hands locked before her, and she turned again to Juhn.
The counselor took a deep breath, glared at the ambassador, then
spoke again in the Morg language. The conversation was longer this
time. Nyel said a few words – a question? The old woman at her side
added a remark. Juhn became increasingly exasperated and Ambassador
Chulters’ slowly deflated as he realized that he had misstepped.
Finally, Nyel ended the discussion with a wave of her
hand.

She glanced at Cary then
Juhn with a meaningful scowl that made Cary’s stomach flip –
why’s she looking at me?
– then turned her attention fully to Ambassador
Chulters.

Cary thought she would
speak, but it was Juhn that filled the silence. “Nyel has forgiven
your insult. You should understand that you are a guest here and
thus allowed to enter and eat, but you are not a part of Torswauk
Lodge nor will you ever become one. Morg Mothers take great pride
in being able to pick the strongest, most able men to join their
daughters and thus become part of the lodge. This is one of the
oldest and most important of Morg traditions. To even imply that
Nyel would select a non-Morg to join Torswauk is an insult to her
and the lodge. Please, remember that the lodge is everything to us
and there is fierce pride associated with every aspect of it. Do
not mistake your status as guests with the great honor of being
part of Torswauk.”

Ambassador Chulters turned
slightly green at this. He took a deep breath and placed his
shaking hands on the table before him. “Again I apologize, Nyel ut
Torswauk. I meant only to express the common feeling and cause that
my people feel with yours. I beg that you forgive my outsiders’
ignorance.” He bowed again almost to the table.

Cary watched Nyel. Her
mouth turned down, and her eyes darted to Juhn. Her daughters did
their best to imitate their mother, but their eyes were wary,
confused even.
This isn’t their
meeting
, Cary realized as he interpreted
the expressions.
Nyel has agreed to it but
is reluctant. Her daughters have little if any idea why they are
here. This is the doing of the counselor.

“
You are not here for
diplomatic pleasantries,” Juhn corrected the ambassador again,
voice getting sharper –
did he misread how
this would go?
“I should have explained
this more clearly. The Mother of a lodge has no role in the world
outside her lodge. She could not and would not negotiate with
outsiders. Liandria, hundreds of miles away, is of no interest to
her. She cares not about the position you hold or what your people
have to offer. It is you, not your country that interest her. The
only reason you have been invited here is because she believes. . .
.”

Nyel hissed.

Juhn stopped, nodded
toward her, and rephrased. “Rather, because,
I
have convinced her that you, you
personally, may have a role to play in protecting this and every
other lodge. The central desire of any Mother is to maintain the
safety of her lodge, to protect it, keep it strong, and ensure it
grows. It is for that reason alone that you have been allowed to
see her. At the same time, you should understand what this means.
No outsider has met with the Mother of Torswauk in generations.
Your being here is the result of extraordinary circumstances. If
Nyel did not . . . .“ another hiss cut the counselor off. “If I saw
any other way, you would not be here.”

“
I see,” Ambassador
Chulters answered slowly, eyes moving from counselor to Mother. He
paused, licked his lips, considering his words carefully. “I . . .
we . . . .“ he gestured back to Cary without taking his eyes from
Nyel, “. . . are honored beyond words. Anything within my power
will be done. However, you must realize that as an ambassador I am
bound to represent the King and people of Liandria. I am an
extension of them and can act only in their interest. My personal
actions and those of my delegation cannot be separated from that
obligation. That said, I can see no greater interest of the
Liandrin people than a strong and lasting relationship with
Torswauk.”

Nyel just grunted and said
a few, probably snide, words to her sister. “Thank you,” Juhn said
with fading patience and a sharp look at Nyel. She seemed not to
notice. “We would never seek to compromise your obligations to your
people.”

“
Listen to the order
master,” Nyel commanded –
master not
keeper
, Cary noted. “We have heard enough
of your pretty words that mean nothing. Here we speak plainly as a
family should, so I tell you plainly that I have agreed to this,
but it is not of my making. I seek only the defeat of the Lost
Sons. Juhn believes you have a role to play in this. He is the
order master now, so I must listen when he tells me the Order’s
dictates, but that does not mean I agree.” She glanced at Cary as
she finished. Her daughters stared at him. If that didn’t make him
nervous enough, he caught the eye of the youngest and couldn’t seem
to escape it.

“
Lost Sons?” Ambassador
Chulters started then clearly thought better. “I hope we can . . .
.”

“
Enough,” Nyel snapped.
“Juhn, explain.”

Juhn nodded to Nyel, drew
a deep breath, and gathered himself. “The invaders are Morgs,” he
said but did not wait for his guests to process that revelation.
“In the time before even the most ancient songs, our ancestors came
to this land from across the ice. Soon after, they split and became
two people, the Morgs and the Thurs. The Morgs remained in the
North. We built lodges and disciplined communities to survive the
hard winters. The Thurs continued south to the plains. They were
nomads, roaming and splintered, lawless but of our people
nonetheless. When the Lawbreakers rose, the Thurs became their
allies and the split widened. We, the Morgs, had no choice but to
stand against our brothers. We sided with Valatarian and accepted
his laws. As you know, the Order eventually prevailed. The
Lawbreakers and their allies, including the Thurs, were cast into
exile.”

“
They have returned,” Nyel
interrupted. Cary had been so captivated that he jumped. “As
before, they are allied to chaos, but Valatarian is long gone, and
his church is weak. Our only hope is to meet them now as one
people.”