Turn 116

    "Ah." He does not seem altogether surprised. "And yet singled out you have been. And it seems that we are to have war once again, and that whatever is to unfold in this year, you must have a part to play." He looks at Lynden with seeming compassion. "You are young, yet your faith is strong...." He trails off thoughtfully.
    Privately Lynden suspects that he has a fairly good idea why he is the subject of this unprecedented attention but that is one suspicion he is not about to share.
    "We will speak again upon our return to the city. In the meantime, should any further revelations occur as to the meaning of what you have seen, please inform me at once."
    "As you wish Master." Is his dutiful response as he wonders where his belief will lead him and under what circumstances his faith will be tested, for he is sure that tested it will be.

    * * *

    His claim to have needlework skills prompts a gasp of astonishment from Lynden. "The men here wouldn't recognize a needle let alone know how to use one but as for your other plans I'm sure you know best," he adds.
    "'Know how to repair your own tools.' That's an obvious one. If I don't know how to work with leather, how'm I supposed to maintain this?" Emmett pulls down his heavy shirt, revealing the pliable armor that replaces the skin along his left side, admittedly hoping to draw a reaction. For some reason he enjoys pushing the young cleric.
    A moments hesitation is all it takes before his curiosity overwhelms his apprehension at what was about to be revealed and Lynden leans forward exclaiming over both the quality of the leather and the disfigurement it conceals. "Does it cause you discomfort? Where it touches your flesh I mean?" he asks.
    "Nope. The burned areas pretty much don't have any skin feeling anyway, but my muscles like the tightness of the skin. Makes me feel like I'm not about to fall apart."
    "It must have been disconcerting for you at first though," is the sympathetic response.
    "Well...right around here," He indicates the point of transition with the knife blade that is currently on the end of his stump, "there was some chafing when I first got this, and that itched like you wouldn't believe. But once I built my second skin that went away. Gond could have had the clerics make it perfect the first time, 'course, but I think this was his way of reinforcing to me that I needed to earn the skills for him to work through me directly."
    Lynden nods. "Gerik also influences in a similar way and it is not wise to take such things for granted. Dutiful behavior is expected throughout."
    "I think he did some pretty good work, too." Emmett takes the young clerics hand and lays the palm against his skin, no doubt surprising the young man, but the move is quick, almost wholly unexpected and Lynden barely has time to feel the strength inside the half-man's grip.
    A gasp escapes him as the half-man draws his hand forwards against his volition. "Please, don't do that," Lynden whispers in consternation as Emmett's superior strength overwhelms his reflexive resistance. A flicker of what could be fear is momentarily visible behind his eyelashes.
    The half man, who is busy looking down at the point of contact with just a little pride in his god's work, continues unaware."Feel how supple that is? I can only get that degree of strength and flexibility when working on myself. Have to keep trying, though, and I'm hoping that the bearskin might be a good bet. The bear is an avatar for one of your gods, right, and this was a sanctified hunt."
    He looks upwards from where his hand is touching Emmett's skin, forcing himself to meet Emmett's gaze. "I am sorry, it was foolish of me to react so." Emmett can feel the butterfly wings of Lynden's pulse belying his word as he tries to mask his agitation. It is almost as if the cleric makes a conscious effort to distance himself emotionally as he continues, "The hide you have earnt may well be what you are looking for. I hope so."
    "Oh. Sorry. Hey, no offense meant. I just wanted to..." Emmett realizes that he is still holding the young priest's arm and lets go. "I just don't meet many other deeply religious people. I'm just showing off."
    "I have met no-one like you and very few who give credence to what I do," is the hesitant response. "I too meant no offence and I do not wish you to believe that I find your past injuries distasteful. You just..." and Emmett can sense the young man searching for words, "... surprised me." Feeling somewhat self-conscious Lynden looks again at how the leather has been worked. "As for showing off, your pride in your skills is merited, I would not know how to approach such a task myself."

    * * *

    "I am greatly relieved to hear you say so," Pham sighs. "For I fear that I at least _must_ go." He sinks back into silence, looking unhappy. Emmett looks over at Inez, checking for her reaction; she is clearly displeased by the idea of going anywhere near anything to do with the Victors, but also sees that the wind is blowing against her, and mutters something that sounds like, "Guess we may as well," though there's a few other words sprinkled in there.
    The vote taken, the (acting) captain goes off to inform the chancellor that the crew has agreed to his request; the man is obviously pleased, and promises that they will discuss the matter again in Narain.
    Later, ibn Fadil asks Mihal, "Do you want to stay in Narain, or come along?"
    He's clearly been thinking about it. "I'll tag along, I guess. As long as nobody takes any stupid chances." He grins a little bit at that.
    Pleased, the Zakharan says, "Only if it seems really necessary."
    "What, uh... if you don't mind my asking," he adds, "what kind of approach is this going to be, do you think?"

    * * *

    The journey back to Narain is without incident, though the company as a whole is subdued. Only one odd thing happens, and ibn Fadil is the only one who notices because it happens to him; one night half-way through the journey, he wakes up a couple of hours into the night feeling entirely rested as if it were morning. And by the time the sun comes up, he's not hungry--nor still by the time it sets again, and again a bare few hours of sleep seem to suffice as if a whole night's worth.
    Upon waking, he eyes Tesfaye's ring with speculation, and takes it off to see what happens.
    He promptly feels hungry as he normally would upon getting up in the morning; putting it back on does not seem to have any immediate effect.
    In the morning, he consults Master Alais on the matter.
    "Intriguing," the mage remarks. "Some sort of transformation of etheric energy, no doubt, enables it to provide the wearer with the things required for life."

    * * *

    Putting thought to action, the half man wakes early upon their return to the capital, seeking out the tradesmen Lynden suggested with a large bundle under his arm. While the fellows are unhappy about the hour their curiosity at seeing the offworlder (as well as the promise of good payment for work on the bear skin, and his impossible tale about lifting and throwing the animal during their two hour wrestling match) diffuses their ire, and Emmett leaves satisfied that when he returns the bearskin will be properly cured for his purposes. He also purchases a finely worked spearhead to go with the shaft of hard local wood.
    That being done he makes his way as unobtrusively as he can to his arranged breaking of fast with the Dwarfish ambassador. "It never hurts to find out what the competition has to offer, and what they might themselves need," he thinks. He then remembers who said that - Valarin, when discussing what his mentor taught him - and the half man takes a quick moment to knock wood and hope that his friend and captain is doing well on this strange world.
    The ambassador has a rather nice suite of his own. Servants (human) come and go, laying things out.
    "Friend Emmett, good morning to you."
    "Same to you, sir. Will we be trying your native dishes or one of the local delicacies this morning?"
    "The latter this morn, although if you have interest, perhaps upon your return one of my aides will prepare you some dishes from our home. Though I should warn you," he chuckles, "that one thing my people are *not* known for is our cooking. There is little variety to be found underground, and that is one thing we are upon occasion pleased to supplement from the world above."
    "I'm glad you were able to see me s soon after our return. I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something." Emmett sits and accepts a cup of whatever's offered--it seems to be water, but with an odd flavor that refreshes. "But I don't know whether your culture finds it crass to trade horses while eating, so it can wait if you prefer."
    Diplomat, Emmett ain't.
    "I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can," answers the dwarf, who is.

    * * *

    Lynden is having a breakfast meeting of his own, with Father Ziven.
    "Good morning," the older priest says, a bit too heartily. "I hope you are well this day?"
    "I know that you were sent here for what should be only a short time, to reassure your lord and superiors as to the trust we may place in these visitors. Loathe though I am to deprive them of your service, the omens seem to me--indeed to everyone--most distressingly clear. War is coming this year, and there is no better candidate than Durrell to be its instigator. His Majesty is deeply concerned, as indeed we are all. You may not know that the visitors are being sent to discover what they can of his readiness, his plans--this is not to be generally known," he adds, "lest his agents become aware of our intent and through devilish means advise their master. It is my thought that you should accompany them once more--of course we will inform Myrr of events."
    He gets up and begins pacing. "The distance from here to Highfort, and the difficulties of the terrain, have always made it difficult to maintain knowledge of. What little we have heard this past year and more has not reassured. The rumors they repeat in the streets are not far from true. He has used every means to delay the escape of knowledge about his offworld dealings, and his intentions now seem clear. And it has been long since we had *any* word from our brethren there. If he is working with these evil priests of a foreign god, it becomes imperative that a representative of the true gods be there to determine the truth of what is happening there."

    * * *

    Again the crew of the _Distraction_ are summoned to the imposing audience chamber. There are no heralds today, however, and far fewer people in attendance; the king, Lord Fynn, Father Ziven and Lynden, and General Brosh are the only ones present.
    "Greetings once again," King Roald says. It's possible to fancy that he looks a bit tired, and today he's all business. "My chancellor informs me that you have agreed to his suggestion; permit me to express my appreciation, nay gratitude for this deed. If you find what is suspected, I assure you that upon your return, your ship will have all the custom it can bear." He smiles humorlessly.
    "I regret that I cannot be specific in my charge to you. You are not my subjects, and I cannot command you, but say only that any information you recover will be useful. In this season it is unlikely he will have many men at hand, but there may be other preparations visible, though the terrain may make it difficult to determine. Highfort is strong and surrounded by mountains; there are caves and mines in which any manner of thing might be concealed; General Brosh will brief you on what you may expect. Knowledge of his strategy would of course be most valuable of all, if you can find a means to determine it.
    "Brother Lynden, who has so often well acquitted himself in service, will accompany you as before. If there are any preparations you wish to make, inform Lord Fynn. When will you depart?"

    * * *

    At last crew, gear, and supplies are stowed, and the TTS _Distraction_ is ready to lift off. They've acquired a set of navigation charts, which contain little detail about the continental interiors but from which Alais' knowledge of cartography allows him to extrapolate a heading.
    The lands of Lord Gustave Durrell lie almost the radius of the planet away, in the high mountain range that forms the spine of Rigol's other inhabited continent. His domain is a wide valley in their midst, his seat a fortress guarding the sole roadworthy pass into the lowlands.
    The hours of the journey pass slowly. First land, then the water of the channel pass below, and then land again, dotted by distant villages and wreathed by frozen rivers. In the afternoon a storm comes up with strong winds, forcing the ship down until it abates in the wee hours of the morning. Inez scowls at all and sundry. Nyala paces the decks and polishes her bow. Brother Pham spends most of the time deep in prayer. Even Cog seems a bit worried.
    In his off-duty hours, it occurs to Yestin to examine the gift he received from Tesfaye. It is an oddly delicate item to give one such as himself, the ivory bird in its ivory box, so perfect carved that it seems it should breathe. Turning the figure over gingerly, he realizes for the first time that something is carved on the bottom of the box's interior. Having grown familiar over the past weeks with the local dialect and writing, he sounds out the syllables slowly, then together, and then jumps at least a foot as the bird on his palm suddenly grows. He's seen a couple of real ravens in his brief visits to planets; it certainly seems to be life-sized now. It sits quietly, gripping gently with its feet.
    The second day of the journey is uneventful under clear, cold skies. They have grown used to being chilled, the memory of a sun that warms as well as lights a distant thing. By the end of that day they have come upon the mountains, and decide to halt for the night rather than continue when they are not fully certain of their bearings.
    Midway through the morning of the third day, the sharp peaks below suddenly open out into two wide arms enclosing a gentler ground, though one broken by still deeper valleys and at times by chasms into which rivers fall thunderously, going away to gods know where. They see vast herds of animals moving, and smoke drifts up, marking settlements in the sheltered valleys. Birds of prey drift on currents, seemingly unmoving compared to the ship's greater speed.
    

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