Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

Pattron received all his guests within the hour. He had their dinner served in the dining room, whereas in the north the parties usually took place in the gardens, even in winter. And also unlike the in the northern cities, the partygoers of Ladis City were less likely to become drunken frolickers. These imbibed on tea and wine rather than the heavier liquors. They were also more likely to engage in brutal gossip and vain chatter over their sumptuous meal. Among his dinner guests were Sky Child merchants from Ladis and Harmas and as far north as Barnid Town.

When Key had seen the Barnid Town merchants through the crack in the door, he stiffened and backed away from it where he, Loid and Telerd had been waiting to give their ‘performance’. It took several minutes for Loid and Telerd to convince him that there was no way in the entire world that the men from Barnid would match him with the slave of General Gole. They listed a number of differences between the lost slave and his current grown self, including his well-covered skin to hide his scars, his broad build and height, and lastly that his hair was sufficiently covered with only the brown sticking out, the hat securely affixed to keep from falling off. Despite that, Key was practically shaking when the dinner had finished and Pattron had called for the entertainers from the lounge.

Pattron already had his servants clear a portion of his lounge. He had arranged the chairs and sofas so that there was just enough room for them to perform their ‘dance’. Loid led them in as Telerd and Key marched after with their chins high in proper Bekir style, though Key had to keep himself from giving into his instinct to run.

They took their places in front of the expectant faces of demon and human aristocrats, soldiers, and merchants. Gazing across them, the former terror Key felt was almost immediately replaced by a swelling fury—especially when he looked at these aristocrats sitting there calm-like, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Even if Pattron wasn’t a traitor, many of these humans were. And as Key looked to Pattron with an expressionless face to hide his anger, he met the sparkling and assured gaze of the swarthy man who nearly grinned as though he had presented them with a gift greater than anyone could provide them in that city. And perhaps he was. It was like Pattron was saying to them—these were the important figures they ought to be aware of.

Loid strummed his lyre, adjusting the strings only once. Then, plucking out a melody reminiscent to the start of a rainfall, he began the show.

Here it was their turn to impress the crowd. As practiced, Key and Telerd enacted the ‘sword dance’ they had been performing all along the way from Westerlund to Ladis City. Their bodies turned. Their arms and legs arched, pointed and stabbed. Each balanced sword stroke floated as an extension of their arms while they cut through the air. Normally, in a real practice Bekir sword fight, they would be meeting blade to blade. But Key had them keep apart in case the Sky Children got the impression that it really was a sword fight rather than a dance. Choreographed right with rhythmic misses, they appeared more like they were never meant to touch. And when they finished, the audience clapped with vigor.

“Encore!” Someone shouted.

“Play another one!” one of the soldiers called out.

Loid glanced to Key with a small nod. “Do you mind if I play Little Jug of Ale?”

Key gave him a slight smirk, knowing what he meant by that. When they were kids, long before the Sky Children had come to the peninsula, Key had danced to that tune during the spring thaw celebration, which was also at the start of his sword training. He had gotten both the sword lessons and the dance mixed up. From that time on his friends had teased him about it. However, Key had danced to that song the same way ever since, and he knew exactly what Loid wanted him to do.

Telerd stepped back to clear the dance floor.

Plucking out a lively jig, Loid also walked off to the side. Key, however, took center stage. With his sword, he looked like a crane on the water. The sword point dipped and bobbed like the crane’s head with his arm as the neck. The flaps of his embroidered white cotton suit made him look like a flying bird. And when the tune had finished, Key landed as if resting in the waters of the lake.

Everyone clapped, including Pattron who, on his usually shrewd face, seemed doubly amazed.

“One more,” an elegant woman called up with a deep sounding voice not unlike Sadena’s.

Those in the audience nodded, cheering, though their eyes had a wicked sparkle, challenging the performer’s authenticity. So far they had only proved a repertoire of two songs and dances.

Giving a placid bow, Loid turned to Key with a nod. “I’ll play and sing Cold Spring Wind. Do you or Telerd want to dance to it?”

Telerd cast Key an uneasy look, not really one for dancing or singing. Key sighed. He knew the task would be his anyway. There were plenty of swordplay exercises he could choose from that he had recently been practicing. The only difficulty was matching it to the song’s rhythm.

“The cold spring wind cuts through the moor

As I row in my boat with one hand on the oar

Through the thawing waters below me

Are cold and the winds do blow me.

I go out to the fishes once more.

And I gather, I gather as the wind blows

I gather, I gather on the waves and the throes

Of the water’s deep mercy as the spring rain falls

Tinkling drops in mist, sheets, and walls

Then hush as the rain patters on down

The rush in the grasses as wind blows around.

The rise of the hill and the dip to the shore

I go to the fishes and never come more.”

Key finished his dance and the crowd applauded. In fact several rose, nodding with true appreciation. But Loid started to pluck out another song, The Dancing Shrike, which Key had requested years ago in Kalsworth. It had been Key’s favorite song and one that was quick. With a grin, Key started the dance he had made up years ago to match the song. Telerd sang the words with a laugh.

“The dancing shrike upon the water

Sees a golden scale of light

Diving down into the water

He takes a stab and drops from flight

Plunging down, he sees he’s wrong

It is no fish but just the sun

And the dancing shrike comes up again

To wait once more for another one.”

By this time the applause turned jovial, and the audience waited for yet another song, hoping for another dance. If anyone had any doubts that they were real lake men performers they were now completely wiped away.

Loid plucked out another tune, and this time Key set down his sword, listening to it. It was a lullaby, a sad one, and one that made him think of his mother. Loid sang the words. When Loid had finished, several in the room were in tears, including a few of the Sky Children.

“One more, please,” Pattron said when he noticed Loid starting to put away his lyre.

Glancing to Key, Loid said, “That would be Kemdin’s choice then.”

Wiping away his own damp eyes, Key drew in a breath and nodded. “Just a song? Or a dance?”

“Can you sing?” one of the Barnid Sky Children merchants asked.

Key hardly looked to him, avoiding a direct gaze. “I can.”

Pattron was pleased. He led out for Key to do so.

“I’ll play Warm Wood,” Loid said, knowing it was song that would match Key’s warm tenor. Adjusting the lyre strings, he then strummed out the melody. Key sang harmony to it.

“Warm wood heats the hearth

As the winter cold over the lake blows

Warm wood heats my home

During the frigid winter snows

Warm wood bakes the catch

Of fish on the shore after the spring thaw

Warm wood dries the reeds

Woven into baskets from lake straw.

Warm wood on the summer deck

Keeps my bare feet from feeling cold

Warm wood in the summer eve

Is best when the light of the sky grows old.

Warm wood in the autumn boughs

Fall down as color changes in the trees

Warm wood in the cook fire

Bakes warm bread, meat and neas.

Warm wood is the life of every season there

Without warm wood the fire would disappear.”

Key then bowed.

The applause was deafening.

When he lifted his head, Key noticed Pattron sighing as one doubly impressed—though Key did not see any reason for it. All of his people knew those songs. It was Loid’s skill at the lyre that was truly impressive. He and Telerd merely had done what any lake man could have done. However, the guests didn’t seem to know the difference. When the three Bekir men were finally given leave to depart the lounge, most of the gossip among the guests were in marvel over their talent.

“Amazing,” one of the Barnid men murmured aloud. “To think that northern culture had remained so hidden. Is it true that many of those lake people had migrated south?”

“Very true,” a Harmas Sky Child replied.

“I wonder why they migrated south,” a woman aristocrat mused. “Their songs seem to show a love for the lakes.”

“Perhaps the fishing has gone bad,” another suggested.

The threesome ignored it all, ushered into the kitchen to take a meal. There they found Rainold and Soin both scrubbing pots and wearing servants’ clothes. Bredin was out in the back with Lanona gathering and splitting logs that were to go into the lounge fire place, while Bredin’s men were cleaning up chicken feathers. The only person they did not see was Luis—but then he would have stood out in a merchant’s kitchen anyway. Tiler entered with a bucket of coals, dusting off his hands when he set them down.

“I heard your performance,” Tiler said with a smile. A twinkle in his eye showed his amusement. “Too bad we couldn’t go in to see it?”

“Where are all the others?” Key asked, looking around.

“In the stables cleaning up the carriages,” Rainold said. He handed Soin another sudsy plate to rinse and dry.

Rubbing his hand against his forehead, Key sighed with relief. He found a chair around the table, one offered by the head cook. She had cast the dishwashers a glare to tell them hurry up.

“What are you all? Temporary staff?” Telerd asked.

Soin nodded, shaking off the excess water from the rinsed place and then wrapped a towel around it, drying it off. “Only for the party though.”

With a slow nod, Key glanced back out the door into the main house. Of course. That was why Pattron held the party. He had to have a good reason for bringing in so many outsiders. It was clear they only had that evening to be together before they split off again. Ladis was obviously a securely watched city. Even Pattron was not above suspicion, no matter how influential he was in the society. General Winstrong’s influence in the area had not gone away.

“Alright then,” Key looked out into the garden where Lanona was stacking the split wood, “Uh, I guess we just ought to have dinner and wait for our host.”

Loid and Telerd nodded. It was the best thing to do.

*

“And you suspect this dangerous human is coming here?” Captain Tousen said.

Both Captain Lugan and General Wintrong had been talking to Captain Tousen for an hour, making their requests known him. Most of the time the captain just stared with incredulity. Not that he didn’t believe what they had said, but that the idea of dangerous men coming to Stiltson to cause his otherwise peaceful port city trouble seemed to come entirely out from nowhere.

“Are you sure? There is nothing of value in Stiltson,” the captain said.

Gailert frowned as his thoughts fell back to the other attacked locations. “They are not going after things of value. But things of