Skotonys has Lauryn work on other tasks for a couple of days, but eventually she returns to her experimentation on animals. This time, the animal test subjects are all ugly lizards and insects. It is easier than using cute creatures, but it's still difficult to deliberately torment them.
Being a servant of the tyr -- especially a good servant of the tyr -- is hard work. She's learned things about math she didn't even know existed, and would not have thought was math if she had. Her head swims with dates and times and places of famous Laosian battles. She's read one of Laos Enosi's most famous books, and written an essay on it, despite her painfully bad handling of the Laosian ink brush and her difficulty in remembering all the Laosian characters and how to form them into words. Reading and writing the language is even harder than speaking it.
Her tutor gives her time to work and seldom reprimands her, but it's clear the woman thinks she is slow and stupid, and that hurts too. Lauryn learns to love Kyriaki, that once-every-ten-days day of respite.
In the world around her, Laosian's spring has turned to summer. The seasons here seem mild; the spring was crisp and cool, the summer warm. Lauryn and the foxes have shed out their winter coats, while the humans trade heavy fabrics for lighter ones. The days aren't stiflingly hot, not yet anyway, though Lauryn finds herself panting more during her exercise periods.
She has been in Oseon for over thirty days before she receives her first real work -- an assignment that isn't just studying. "The tyr is sending a diplomatic envoy to the Yemenos next Asterias. We will be joining them. We leave on Deferas." Skotonys tells her, after receiving a message from the tyr. Deferas is the first day of the ten-day, and Asterias the fourth.
"If Ria is included, it seems to be a diplomacy backed by a show of force," Lauryn tells Skotonyns, sounding thoughtful. She tilts her head, then nods. "Yes, Ria isn't the sort to be sent for kind words and gentle hands. But none the less, Ria is happy and ready to serve." Not to mention an actual duty will get her away from math, which is always a cause for celebration.
The whiskers over one of Skotonys's eyes lift. "All diplomacy is backed by force. At its best, diplomacy can ensure that one does not need to use it. It can never ensure that one does not need to have it. The mission will also be accompanied by a company of thirty armed warriors." He bows slightly. "But yes, we may assume that your presence is meant to remind the Yemenos that the tyr has many weapons at his disposal, some of which the Yemenos cannot hope to match."
"It is strangely flattering to be called an unmatchable weapon, Archon. That may be one of the best compliments Ria has ever recieved -- though that may say something as to the state of Ria's early life." Lauryn smiles, amused. She bows back, then nods. "Should Ria attempt to dress in a more impressive manner, Archon? Ria doubts the giant Yemenos will greatly fear a small woman, even one who can summon their isityros and rout their vile armies. A show of force should be showy, should it not?"
"It should," Skotonys agrees. "The tyr will see to that."
Preparations on Lauryn's end are simple enough, at least to leave Osaon. She doesn't even have to pack: Kythis does that for her. Kythis is coming with them, though Lauryn's tutor Ria Wisa isn't. Ython is not either, although he begs Skotonys and Lauryn both to let him. He's recovered enough to be up and about, and is doing clerical work for the astikan at Osaon. But he is still too weak to travel or do manual labor. The chirurgeon is not sure that he will ever recover enough to be the warrior he had hoped to become.
They return to Theolisis to meet the rest of the mission. For all of them, preparations seem far more complex: managing food, water, arms, armaments, presentation, transportation, and shelter for everyone in a caravan of sixty-five, including servants, is no small feat. In Theolisis, Lauryn meets with a tailor to get yet more clothing: something suitable for her position.
Given that her position is unique, the tailor who takes her measurements seems at something of a loss as to how to outfit her.
One young human woman takes Lauryn's measurements as she stands on a pedestal, while an old fox woman takes notes on a slate with the habitually disapporiving look of the Laos Enosi. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head at her notes. "What is Ria Fylas supposed to do with this?" she mutters to herself.
Lauryn pays the fussy Laosian woman no mind. For one, she's quite used to fussy Laosians by now, and for another she knows both she, and the tailor, are doing their jobs for the tyr. In that sense, she sees all is in order woth the world, and there is no need for concern. These days, she tries to let little problems like disapproval and fussing over her oddity slide in the face of bigger concerns.
Looking over the assembled fabrics, and being quite impressed by them room itself, Lauryn nods her head as she thinks. "Ria Vetryos will assist, if you wish it, Ria Fylas," she offers. Another thing she's become used to: people not knowing quite what to do with her.
The fox woman grunts and squints at Lauryn, looking offended by the very suggestion that she would need help from a prodotis. When the young woman finishes the measurments, Fylas has her bring in an array of sketches, hand-beaded trim, lace, and other fabrics. This and that article is held up to Lauryn or draped over her while Fylas considers it. After quite a while of this, Fylas finally responds to the offer Lauryn made an hour ago. "Does Ria Vetyros have a preference on how she is attired for this mission?"
"Intimidating," responds Lauryn, simply. The prodotis has no desire to seem delicate or resplendent to the Yemenos, nor does she feel the barbarians would appreciate what such a dress might suggest of the civilization that produced it. No, she remembers the rape and the slaughterl wild men with axes and bloodlust in their eyes. From her experiments she has learned her powers draw, in a way she hasn't fully narrowed down, upon fear and other dark emotions. Her clothes shall help her with this, she thinks. Like the tyr, she must make her clothing another weapon.
Fylas looks Lauryn up and down; her small, black-furred frame does not lend itself to 'intimidating'. She sniffs loudly. "Ria Fylas shall see what she can do. Diabaino." It seems strange to Lauryn for the tailor to be dismissing her.
Lauryn's brow raises, and for a moment she does not move. "Ria will leave a suggestion before she leaves: there is much intimidation is dark fabrics and a concealed face. It is often as much what one does not see that brings fear, as what one does. Ria Vetryos knows this," she says, tapping a finger against her head. She then bows slightly, and begins for the door.
The day before they leave, Lauryn is fitted with five different outfits. She won't be wearing these while traveling, of course, but only for official functions in Yemen. None of the garments are quite what she had in mind. It's customary among the Laos Enosi human women to wear veils and hats with draping cloth that cover all but their eyes, and the tailor has adapted this design for Lauryn's face. But the colors are vibrant rather than dark. One outfit is of satin as red as blood, with patterns worked on it in tear-drop beads of deep maroon, and wide bands of velvet trim of a white so stark its almost luminscent, highlighting the black of Lauryn's hands and the fur around her eyes.
As she looks at herself in it in the mirror, though, she has to admit the overal effect is pretty intimidating. It is resplendent, but it is the stark resplendence of the tyr, not the delicate foppery of a Rephidim poodle noble.
Lauryn takes herself in, and nods. It's the glory of a dark and powerful figure, right out of the books she read when she was younger. While it's not what she would ahve designed -- her own idea had been to go for dark and nebulous, like nightmare itself -- but she has to admit this will do just as well. And as she looks at herself, she wonders how she missed being the princess of legend and ended up the evil sorceress. At least, she must admit, the sorceress always had style.
"Perhaps a highlight around the eyes might assist the matching colors ..," she muses out loud, turning in place and looking at herself. It really is quite stunning, and it makes her a little giddy. After two rotations, she turns a glare upon the mirror, leaning back imperiously and scowling. "Insolent cur," she rummbles menacingly at the mirror,, "you know not what terror you face!" Then, she throws her head back, a measured angle of her head, and does her best contemptous laugh. "Ha ha ha!"
The two assistants who are helping with the fitting stand back, giving each other alarmed looks. Fylas merely sniffs, and gestures them to move on to the next garment to be fitted.
When the clothing is brought by the next day to be packed, the headpiece has had white satin trimmed around the eyes, and red tear drop beads added below, like tears of blood, and a starburst design of little beads just above the hat brim.
At last, the assembly is ready to travel. Lauryn notices that considerable care has been paid to shelter, especially. When she's traveled with Skotonys before, they haven't brought more than the Laosian "bedroll" with them -- a thin sleeping mat with a blanket attached and a pillow at one end. They've never slept under the stars, however, but always stopped at one of the traveler's shelters that dot the Laosian landscape every mile or two. But this caravan is packing wooden supports, tile panels, and thick leather to make shelters (she assumes). It seems excessive for the mild weather.
Watching the travel supplies be readied, Lauryn can't help but think this is yet another show of the tyr's power -- and maybe fortifications in case the Yemenos decide to simply attack them. An ouright attack wouldn't surprise her in the least, but she can't help but think the tyr must see more to these people than she does, and she trusts his judgement. She also recalls that the Yemenos have had a history of peace with the Laosians, so maybe the barbarians have some redeeming qualities she has yet to see. Frowning at the idea, Lauryn turns her attentions away from the supplies and approaches the Archon. "Tell me Archon, the Yemenos were once at peace with us, were they not? Are they usually given to such seemingly random attacks, or is this quite unprecidented?"
"It is not without precedent," Archon Skotonys answers. He is in armor like the warriors of their escort, and mounted on a drokar; the animal shifts restlessly and strains at the reins, ready to be going already. "Prodotis are always violent and prone to senseless acts. But the Yemenos are not as warlike as their kindred among the Neyemen. We have been at peace with the Yemenos for twenty years without incident. For that to change is troubling."
"Do you suspect Ria of sudden and senseless violence, Archon," Lauryn asks innocently, smiling up at the man with her best face of innocent. She then winks, and bows slightly. "It seems something must ahve changed somewhere, but of course that is obvious. Would that Ria knew the Yemenos better so the she might be of more use to the tyr here. Ria feels her one encounter with significant Yemenos has probably colored her opinion."
"Always," Skotonys replies to her question. His face is hidden by the mask of a helmet, but she imagines it would be just as sober and expressionless as his voice. "Ria Vetyros will have ample time to study the Yemenos in the coming ten-days, she may be assured. There is more to them than her first encounter would indicate. Do not trust to first impressions, or second ones, either. If the tyr felt war to be inevitable, he would not be sending us."
"Wise words, Archon. Ria Vetryos will take them to heart." Lauryn is sure the Archon expects violence of her, but not of the sort the Yemenos produce. She is surely capable of great and terrible violence, but it is the violence of the isityros who lash out against her will, and she, too, must always be on guard against her own power. "Then, Ria will ride with her eyes open and ears alert, and learn what there is to learn."
After a moment, he asks, "Did Ria Wisa not teach you of the Yemenos?" Like Skotonys and the warriors, Lauryn is to ride on one of the armored war drokars. The diplomatic party rides in well-sprung covered vehicles drawn by a Laosian breed of dromodon. The servants -- Kythis among them -- are on foot. As the convoy forms up, Lauryn realizes how much she stands out: she is the only unarmored person who is riding on a drokar, rather than in a vehicle or on foot.
Lauryn frowns at the realization she is the only one without armor, and for a moment has to slowly look around and check again. She wonders, just briefly, if she might be being set up as a target for arrows. While she doesn't seriously think that might be the case, that she stands out and that it just might be true interupts her concentration long enough that she's slow to respond to the Archon. She blinks at him, then bows in apoligy and says, "Ria Wisa spoke of the Yemenos in much the fashion as Ria Vetyros knows them: violent prodotis. Mostly, Ria learned of battles between Laosians and Yemenos." Then, in a lower voice, Lauryn simply has to ask, "Archon, it seems strange to Ria that she is both mounted and unarmored. Is this an unusual occurence? Ria assures the Archon she has no particular influence or draw upon arrows."
The archon nods. "It is unusual. You are unusual. You ride with the warriors because you serve as a weapon for the tyr, as do the other riders. You are unarmored because you do not fight with sword or bow. Would you prefer to be armored? It would not make you safer."
"Ria will go as she is," answers the Gallah, soberly.
"Diabaino." The archon nods as the convoymaster orders Skotonys and Lauryn into place. They're flanking the first carriage on its left. Another pair of riders flank on the right, and four more flank the second carriage on either side. Four outriders go on ahead by a couple hundred yards, and four at the rear; the remainder of the military escort rides ahead of the carriages. The servants walk behind the carriages, and just ahead of the supply train. It's a little while before everyone is in position. Skotonys tells Lauryn as they wait, "One thing you should understand about the Yemenos is that, although they are emene like the Neyemen, they bear no more love for the Neyemen than we do. The Neyemen fight with the Yemenos as often as with us. More often, in fact, for the mountains that lend us some shield do not protect the Yemenos."
"Curious. Ria can certainly understand when culture means more than a similiar face, or blood. But Ria did not know this, and as such, has learned her first thing about the Yemenos on her journey." Lauryn can't help but feel a bit grand as part of the convoy; she has never before been apart of something so big. Or have been apart of anything really, if she must be honest with herself. Now, she has a people that willingly claim her, even parade her before their enemies. Now, she has a place in the world and a purpose. It is a good feeling, she thinks fondly. "Archon, Ria has a unrelated question: what is her status within society? When Ria was fitted, she was dismissed by the tailor. It struck Ria she did not know if this was proper or not. Indeed, Ria is not sure where she stands exactly. It would be good for Ria to know."
Skotonys does not answer for a moment. "Which tailor did this?" he says at last.
"Ria Fylas; Ria belives she is the 'high tailor' if her chambers are any indication," answers the Gallah woman.
Skotonys considers again. "You are titled as a ria, a free woman. It is your place to defer to any afentis or archon, for all of them are your superiors. Ria Fylas is also a free woman, like you, but she has been in service to the tyr far longer, which normally would give her certain precedence before you."
Lauryn inclines her head. "Ria Vetyros bows to the tyr's order," she says, without fuss. Then, she smiles a little and adds, "Ria could sense a degree of pride in Ria Fylas, and not wholly undeserved at that. But Ria Vetyros has been gifted a name and place by the tyr. Ria feels that she must also uphold her place and name, for herself, in honor of the gift given, and to uphold the order of things. Does the Archon agree, or has Ria erred?"
The archon nods. "There are other factors here than seniority. You are a prodotis. That, too, places you below an enosi." Enosi means, literally, 'a native of Laos Enosi'. But the people of Laos Enosi don't use it like the word 'native'. They use it like the word 'person'. "However, you were given a name by the tyr, which shows that you are a citizen of Laos Enosi now. That offsets, to a degree, your heritage. You have a gift that is unique to you, and which you have used effectively in battle for the tyr. Both of those raise your status. It is not appropriate for one such as Ria Fylas, in these circumstances, to treat Ria Vetyros as an inferior. You are ... " he pauses here, as if thinking about his next words carefully " ... her superior."
Lauryn begins to grin widely, but quickly quashes it in to mask of indifference. "Yes, I see," she begins in an equally, carefully neutral tone. "Thank you Archon. Ria Vetyros will do her best to be worthy of her station, and continue to strive to be better before the tyr."
As the trip progresses, Lauryn appreciates the uniqueness of her position more keenly. She is set apart from everyone else. She rides with the warriors and takes orders from the archon who leads them as convoymaster, but she doesn't belong with them. They have a camaraderie she doesn't share. The servants treat her with the deference due her status, but save for Kythis they avoid her as much as possible. At dinner, she dines with the senior diplomats: one kyria, two afentis, and one archon, as well as Archon Skotonys and the convoymaster. That makes her, according to the reckoning Skotonys gave her, the lowest-ranking person at the table. No one speaks to her except for Skotonys. The warriors and lower-ranked diplomats eat separately, and the servants eat after everyone else has.
The taint that clings to her seems to contaminate Skotonys and Kythis as well; Lauryn notices that the others of the convoy seem distant from them as well, although not to the same degree that the rest of the convoy avoids Lauryn.
Camp is an elaborate affair. The senior members of the party stay at the traveller's house they've stopped at, but it's not big enough for everyone. The servants erect structures that are more like temporary buildings than tents, complete with big interlocking ceramic panels that serve to roof the structures, and heavy leather walls set in the lee of the tiles, so that each 'tent' has its own shaded area without, just like the buildings of Theolisis or Osaon.
Off apart from the others, Lauryn approaches the Archon as he prepares. "Archon," she greets him, a question lingering in her tone. "Archon, there is something Ria Vetyros would ask, even if she knows part of the answer: does she burden you, Archon? Does tending to the prodotis bring down your status, even as it raises hers?" Lauryn stands in the darkness of the combination of shade and setting sun, almost a shadow herself except for the whites of her eyes that watch the fox from the inky blackness. Before the man can answer, she raises a hand to forestall it. ""Archon Skotonys serves the will of the tyr," you will say, which is both just and true. It is not what Ria would know. Tell Ria the whole of it, if the Archon would?" Her ears rotate to face him, showing he has her full attention.
The Archon looks up from the scroll he had been examining at her approach. His servants have taken his armor already, and she can see his eyebrow whiskers lift and spread when she speaks. "I serve the will of the tyr," he says. "Nothing done by the will of the tyr may diminish me." He looks around, at the people of the camp. " ... others may not be as aware of this as I am."
"They ae not so worthy as you, Archon, I think." Lauryn watches the man for several seconds, her eyes intent and, perhaps, a bit unsettling. "The Archon is a good man." Another pause, full of intent watching. "Ria had come to apologize for the burden she has brought the Archon," she finally says, at length, "but she has changed her mind. Ria does not apologize. It is not Ria's place to do so; it is not her fault this time. It is theirs." The woman takes a step back, which only shadows her more. "Ria will keep this lesson in mind, and ... " Her voice, which had remained neutral, almost detached shifts; she can't quite conceal her affection for the man, but tries to maintain her apparent distance irregardless, even though they are alone. "And, Ria Vetyros will always think well of the Archon." The whites of her eyes vanish as the woman drops in to a low bow.