Page 46 of Valdemar

Isla and Father Deskain spoke up at the same time; they grinned sheepishly at each other, and Isla gestured to the father to speak.

“Our robes are white, and we have several tricks, some of which are purely physical and one which uses just a bit of magic, which we’ll be happy to share with the laundresses,” he said, and deferred to Isla.

“We have stocks of that canvas that was used to make the Dolls. You couldn’t stain that if you tried, and the canvas will certainly do for trews, outer tunics, and the outer layer of a cloak. Anything fancier can wait until we can all have the sort of dress we used to use.”

“Oh, that will be very good,” Lady Pellian said. “Make the uniforms identical except for the King and the Crown Prince, and even then, make the difference purely in extra ornamentation in blue and silver, the Valdemar colors. Make the uniforms otherwise all plain, utilitarian. So no one can accuse anyone of being ‘jumped up’ or taking advantage of the royal patronage. Look here, what do you say to using the stablemens’ trews as the pattern for the bottoms—”

Isla got up and went to Lady Pellian’s side; everyone else reshuffled their seats so the two of them, joined by Jonaton, put their heads together over the design that Lady Pellian sketched. Kordas noted with amusement that essentially all Isla had done was to move to her ladyship so it was obvious Pellian had royal approval, then let Pellian and Jonaton work out the least little details. He was very glad he was not expected to be part of that discussion. Strange terms like “gusset” and “armscye” and “flat-felled” were being tossed about, and he felt just as lost as he had when he first spoke with the shipbuilders.

:Don’t look to me to help. I’m as baffled as you are.:

He almost laughed out loud to hear his Companion admit that.

Restil glanced at Beltran and his father to see both of them suppressing sniggers. Apparently their Companions felt the same.

Meanwhile the rest of the Council was deeply involved in working out what he considered to be meaningless trivia. Should the Heralds all be quartered together? It would have to be the Palace, obviously, but where? Should they be paid, as the guards were? Where were they supposed to eat?

:This doesn’t matter!:he complained to Darshay. :None of this matters!:

:Well, not to you. You already have good quarters and you eat with the Court. But some of our fellow Heralds . . . don’t.:

He nearly kicked himself for being oblivious. Because of course only the highborn enjoyed that kind of privilege.

:Besides, right now, they are very shaken. I don’t believe anyone in the Empire—even a priest—has ever encountered anything like us in fifty generations or more. It is easier for them to think about trivialities than about what we are, what we represent, and what else we might portend aside from the reason you asked for help.:

Well, they were certainly neck-deep in trivialities. And right now he envied all the new Heralds, who had, for lack of anyone giving orders, had been sent to get their morning meal with the rest of the Court, and were now doing what he would very much like to do . . . rest and let some of that vast dump of information he’d gotten sort itself out in his head. The best way to rest would be to settle somewhere with Darshay for a few marks.

That was probably exactly what his father and mother were thinking right now, too.

:Why don’t you go talk to the religious guests? They’ll be the first ones who tell the people about us, after all. I expect they all plan to go right back to their temples and churches and all, and make this the center of whatever worship ceremony they have today. They’ll probably continue to do so, off and on, for the next moon. So why don’t you let them ask you questions we can answer?:

He felt a little less useless and a lot less—well—bored. He was used to doing things. He wasn’t used to sitting there and listening to people trying to avoid the warhorse in the room by chattering about uniform tunics and what part of the wall to put the new Heralds in.

So he stood up, picked up his chair, and moved it over to the gaggle of prelates. Are they a “gaggle”? What was the term for a group of holy people?

:Perhaps a pontification of priests?: Darshay suggested.

:I didn’t think I could love you more,:he replied, as the learned gentlemen and ladies seemed to anticipate what he intended and made a space for him and his chair in the midst of them.

“Now,” he said, settling in. “The King and the Queen can handle the Council. I expect you are all alive with curiosity. Ask me anything.”

As they peppered him with questions, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Beltran was similarly surrounded by the mages.

:He’s doing the same thing you are,:Darshay told him. :Better him than you, because the Old Men are too used to seeing you as a magic apprentice and may not take what you say as seriously as if he says it.:

The pontification of priests had regained some of their composure, and given the opportunity to cross-examine the Crown Prince themselves, with no competition from any other group, they managed to slow themselves down a little and not interrupt each other.

Restil really did not know any of them well enough to have put a name to them—to tell the truth he had been a bit hit and miss in his own religious pursuits, such as they were, and he’d mostly kept to the casual worship of Epona. As long “things” didn’t interfere. Things such as monstrous beasts, Council meetings, helping manage the family horse herds, helping to save knowledge and skills from back in the Empire and make sure they didn’t disappear, helping to organize the new schools and getting them the materials they needed to teach basic reading, writing and numbers, and running his own court of appeals. That last was what took up the most time: settling what he could, determining what needed to be brought before the King, and throwing out chronic complainers.

So he sat patiently and answered all the questions put to him, which ranged from the sublime—“Should we be giving the Companions some form of worship?” (:No,: said Darshay. :Please not. We are as much servants as your prelates are.:)—tothe ridiculous—“Should we . . . put something down in case of ‘accidents’ if one of them wants to come to the Temple?” That had been the priest of Epona. (:No,: laughed Darshay. :Tell him we’re better behaved than some of his followers.:) Another temple type asked, “But if they do, isn’t it meant to be, and not an “accident?” Would it be blasphemous to just throw it out?”

:I am about to pee myself laughing, inside,:Darshay interjected.

“Should they bottle that as a relic?” Restil said out loud, keeping his face agonizingly straight. “She says no, the residue of earthly bodies is simply ordinary, and Companions are superior to horses in retention.”

:I am so glad we came,:Darshay dryly commented. :Please tell them that being respectful, even reverent, to us is fine, but we aren’t to be worshipped. Neither should Heralds.:

At least they were all secure in their faith, and absolutely certain that since their various deities were behind this manifestation, there could not possibly be anything sinister about it. The same was not necessarily true for the members of the Council, some of whom were looking anxious and pelting the King with tentatively phrased questions that essentially amounted to, But what if these creatures turn against us? Will we be ground underhoof?