Mercedes Lackey: Owlknight

“Asss it ssshould be,” Kel rumbled.

“I take it, then, that he’s to be stationed within the Vale?” Starfall asked.

Breon nodded. “See what I’m working at, here? It’s an honor, oh my yes, but I don’t want a bunch of city-bred softheads thinking that they can make up for all their neglect by sending us a Herald, or even a Herald-Mage.”

“And if he is expecting to be stationed in the Vale. . . .” Starfall ruminated on that for a bit. “If Darian is his equal, then it is clear that he is in the Vale as our guest, and not as anyone who has any real authority over us.”

Breon looked satisfied, but said nothing. He didn’t have to. So far as he is concerned, the Joint Council is the only body with any right to make decisions around here, Darian reflected. He doesn’t intend to give up the tiniest speck of his authority and autonomy to Haven bureaucrats, and he figures Starfall and Vordon feel the same way.

He was probably right - definitely right, so far as Starfall was concerned. Vordon would side with what benefited his clan.

And as far as I’m concerned, that is right too. Darian understood completely what Lord Breon meant, when he’d spoken of the neglect that this part of the country had suffered. Granted, there had been an excuse for it - the war with Hardorn had drained Valdemar of every able-bodied fighter, putting them out on the front lines - but excuses didn’t make things right, and one Herald-in-residence wasn’t going to make up for it.

“Then I would very much like to accept the offer, Lord Breon,” he replied firmly. Breon smiled broadly.

“Hah!” the Shaman said, getting their attention. “If you make this Knight-business, we will make Darian-of-the-Owl a Clan-brother! Yes, and at the same celebration!”

“An excellent idea!” Snowfire said with enthusiasm. “A very good idea! Let Herald Anda be on the right footing with all of us from the moment he arrives!”

Now Darian was more than surprised, he was stunned. “But - ” he began. Isn’t this an awful lot of commitments to make? Can I honestly honor them all?

Snowfire chuckled, and made a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring. “It’s all right, Darian; Clan-brother is the equivalent of Wingbrother. The ceremony is a bit different, but you’ll enjoy it.”

Darian gulped down his protests. If Snowfire, who had spent more time with the Ghost Cat Shaman than all of the rest of them combined, said it was all right, then he would have to take his word for it.

:While we are at it, perhaps my herd ought to hold the rite that makes him the king stag’s prime doe,: Tyrsell said into their minds, his tone as dry as old papers. :Then again - perhaps he wouldn’t enjoy that particular ceremony.:

Darian blushed a furious scarlet. Lord Breon, Val, Barda, and Harrod, who had no idea what Tyrsell meant, looked blank. But the Tayledras and the Ghost Cat representatives, who had an altogether too healthy taste for the bawdy, laughed themselves into exhaustion. Even Kel howled with laughter.

And Darian was not about to offer the confused ones any kind of explanation. Not then. Not ever.

As soon as the meeting was over, Darian was co-opted by Starfall and Ayshen. He’d expected it; the burden of planning for this celebration would fall on Ayshen’s shoulders, with Starfall handling the rest of the details. Ayshen had no more notion of what would serve to “honor” a Herald than a fish would know how to honor a bird. Starfall had worked with Heralds, but had only a sketchy grasp of what one would expect socially.

Darian was used to the appearance of the hertasi after all these years, but he took a moment to consider what the Herald’s reaction might be. Ayshen was a typical specimen of his race; he came to just about chest-high on a human; his blunt, lizardlike head boasted a formidable set of teeth, a rounded cranium, and eyes set so that he had binocular vision, like an owl or a human. His tough hide, covered with pebble-scales, was a healthy blue-gray. His stubby hands and feet had talons that he had used to good effect in the past. What would Herald Anda make of all that - when the owner of these attributes was also the chief cook for k’Valdemar?

Shandi will have warned him, he reminded himself. Besides, anybody who partners with a talking horse shouldn’t look crosswise at a talking lizard - especially if he wants second helpings.

So Darian allowed himself to be dragged off to Ayshen’s little “den” - a quasi-office space behind the main kitchens, from which he ruled over all things domestic in k’Valdemar. He had maps and models of the entire Vale, with a complex of hertasi tunnels marked out in pale blue - for, like a good general, Ayshen kept careful track of the terrain. His offices had been built, along with the rest of the kitchens, from rock dug from the cliffs. Those who live intimately with forests are uniquely conscious of the devouring power of fire, and there was as little that was flammable in the kitchens as was possible. Water, flour, and sand were near at hand in the event they would be needed to smother any errant flame. The chief piece of furniture was Ayshen’s desk; low, and suited to his size. Besides Ayshen’s desk chair, there were three adjustable stools with hinged seat backs; Starfall and Darian each took one, revolving it until it was comfortable for them to use.

Not that it was any hardship to be ensconced in the hertasi den. Though the aromas of the evening’s supper offerings mingled into a single mouthwatering perfume that would have driven a hungry man mad, Starfall and Darian were not left for a moment to suffer that particular torture. They hadn’t even sat down before hertasi came out of the kitchen bearing platters of their particular favorites, all the tastier for being fresh from the cookstove and oven.

It’s a good thing that Tayledras live in trees, Darian thought, as he juggled a hot filled pastry from hand to hand until it cooled. Otherwise we’d all be as fat as geese ready for market!

Starfall did not look as if he had ever lived on anything more substantial than air, but Darian knew that beneath his fancifully embroidered and cut robes, that body wasn’t thin - it was lean, lean and hard, and superbly conditioned. It took great physical conditioning to handle node-magic; a mage that was flabby in body was likely to be flabby of mind as well. Starfall’s silver hair wasn’t the result of age, it was the result of handling and using node-magic, and the slightly tamer magic of Tayledras Heartstones, all of his life. Starfall would find it no great task to run up the stairs to the highest ekele in the Vale, and run back down again within moments.

“We’ll have a feast, of course,” Ayshen stated, shoving aside recipe books and menus. “You can’t have a celebration without a feast. But should we have high tables and all that? I’m not certain there’s anywhere central that we could set up that many tables.”

“Have the usual sort of Tayledras feast, with food set out all over the Vale, Ayshen,” Darian recommended soothingly. “One thing, though; have a set of our clothing done up in white - Herald’s Whites for inside the Vale. Leave them out in the guest lodge for him.”

“Good notion,” Starfall seconded, nodding, with the customary soft clattering of his hair beads. “Welcoming ceremony first, then we take him to the lodge to get settled. He won’t feel as out of place if he has time to change into clothing of our style.”

“He’ll like our sort of feast, I think; he’ll expect something different, and I think he’d be disappointed if he didn’t get it,” Darian told the hertasi. “Besides, I’m sure Breon will have his own welcoming feast after ours, and he’ll get all the etiquette and high tables he wants there.”