The journey through the mountain pass during the summer takes several days but is not arduous for Lauryn. She's getting used to long days in the saddle, and the drokar she's been given has a name that means 'Sweetie' in Laosian. The animal lives up to that sobriquet: a sweet-tempered creature with a gentle, rolling gait, and who shows more outward affection and devotion than any of the people Lauryn's met in Laos Enosi.
The landscape on the other side of the mountains is warmer, drier and dustier. The trees here are shorter and some of them browning in the sun, though one common species glows with vibrant purple and lavendar leaves. Trees give way to fields of tended crops; Lauryn recognizes one common grain, but many of the species are unfamiliar to her. Some of the crops look like they're withering, a suspicion that one of the diplomats, Afentis Befitha, confirms. "The Yemenos lands are not as fertile as ours even at the best of times," she tells Lauryn condescendingly. "But this summer they are getting even less rain than usual."
The Yemenos lands have travellers' shelter just as Laos Enosi does, but the shelters are cruder, nothing more than large pavilions with dirt floors and leather sides. The tents they brought with them are more comfortable.
They are almost to their destination -- less than two miles from town -- when the party stops to make camp at mid-afternoon. That strikes Lauryn as strange: why stop now when they could easily reach the city before nightfall? But no one asks her opinion. As the diplomats retire to the tents, the servants spend hours preparing for the next day. The wagons, carriages, harnesses and tack are scrubbed until they sparkle, and the drokar's scaly hides buffed clean of all dust and gleaming. The guards labor at polishing their chitin armor, while servants lay out the fine clothing of the diplomatic party to iron out every wrinkle and air them for the next day.
When they set out the next day, every member of the troupe is looking their best. Lauryn is dressed in red satin and white velvet, which feels too warm for the day. For this final leg of their procession, Kyria Orevo, the human woman who is the lead diplomat for this mission, instructed the convoymaster in how to arrange the convoy. The diplomats ride drokars now, and precede the carriage instead of being inside it, with the outrider soldiers a few dozen yards ahead, and flanking soldiers alongside them. Kyria Orevo is at the front of the line of diplomats; Lauryn brings up the rear of that group. All of them are impecabbly arranged down to the last detail: after they're mounted, servants on stepladders brush out hair and fur and smooth down the folds of their clothing.
They look too perfect to be real, as the gleaming drokars advance in slow lockstep, armored warriors flanking the artfully clothed and bejeweled diplomats. They certainly do not look like they belong to this dry landscape with its dirty feline peasants. The slow rate of progress kicks up little dust, so when they arrive at the city a half-hour later they are almost as immaculate as when they left camp.
Most of the skulls on the outer fortifications are of felines, many of them strangely deformed with loops or curls of white or pastel-colored bone dangling from jaws and cheekbones, a few even from the tops or backs of the head. Three of the bodies are recent enough to still be rotting, and they are placed not far from the road. Thick with flies, the clothing and shape of the bodies nonetheless clearly identify them as Laosians: two foxes and one human.
Lauryn takes special effort to not seem distracted, or even aware of, the sites and sounds around her. She does look, her veiled hat making a cursory glancer here or there relatively safe; and with her being at the end of the procession, all the more so. She believes she udnerstands why her party is so immaculately dressed: they are representing a god. Beyond that, the very essences of Laos and all it standands for. Which, she thinks, revolves around their god-princes anyway. They must seem beyond real, for the tyr is beyond real, and all must know it when looking upon his envoys.
The bones stand out in Lauryn's mind; did free Laosians attack the settlement? And if so, why? She can't see what there is to be had here except allies and simple resources, nothing that would warrant a frontal attack in her mind. Then again, she recognizes her bias, and suspects she may be undervaluing the city. Still, the young woman can't help but think this is a very poor place, hardly worth more than indirect effort, which is making it harder for ehr to hate these people than she suspected. Frowning behind her veil, she resolves to share her emergency plan with the Archon when they have a spare moment. For now, she watches the envoy proceed.
No one in the party deigns to look shocked by the corpses -- or at least, not obviously shocked. When Lauryn makes one of her surreptitious glances to the right, she notes the expression on the soldier's face is angered: lip curled back, eyes narrowed. The soldier to her left looks a little nauseated.
Lauryn takes the soldiers reaction in to account and files it away in her mind; something has happened here, but she hasn't the details to make sense of it. Did a Laosian party attack this town? Were they associated with a tyr or bandits? Were they defending themselves? Were the bodies simply placed here as a warning, perhaps taken from the town and brought here as an example? Frowning more, Lauryn risks another place. She finds the veil a very handy thing, it allows her to survey and react without being observed, which to her mind is an advantage here and in Laos.
At the city entrance, the party is met by an old feline on a dromodon, flanked by guards on drokars. When he speaks, it's in a gutteral tongue that Lauryn didn't recognize. A fox man on foot at his right echoes his words. "The citizens and elders of Imvar Yskaj give welcome to the gracious envoys of Laos Enosi."
The outriders fell back as the group approached, to let the kyria take the lead. She's the one who answers now. Well ... it's sort of an answer: "You will take down the bodies of our people. Now." Afentis Pilis rides into position at Kyria Orevo's shoulders, and translates the words into the foreign Yemenos tongue.
A fox, here? The would-be Archon of Isityros shifts her gaze to the speaker and considers him a moment. A slave, perhaps? A member of an embassy stationed here? Simply a peasant fox who just happens to share territory with the Yemenos? No matter what the answer, Lauryn suspects it isn't a position the rest of the Laosians are likely to favor. She considers this until the kyria speaks. Blunt, yet forceful. Appropriate to the dignity of our people, but will it be diplomatic, wonders Lauryn. She isn't keen on a fight breaking out here and now, she knows enough of war by this point to know engaging with a small party before the entrance to a city is probably a bad idea. Unfortunately, she cannot frown any deeper for it. I must be becoming very Laosian, she decides when she realizes the fact.
The Yemenos's vulpine translator flattens his ears at this response, and looks relieved that he's not the one who has to translate it. The emene leader on the other side looks ... sad. The fox translates for him: "I am Jyskun Iskfia, third of Imvar Yskaj. We honor the envoys Laos Enosi. It is the custom of Imvar Yskaj to place the bodies of those who have attacked her as a warning to our enemies. Does Laos Enosi claim these attackers as her own?"
The kyria's eyes narrow. "I will not debate the question of who attacked whom upon the doorstep of your city, Third of Yskaj. It is the custom of my people to treat the bodies of the dead with respect, whether they belong to our enemies or our allies. I do not care who those people were or what they did to you. I will not stand to see their corpses desecrated. You will take them down. Now."
Lauryn thinks the emene either made a deft trick with his use of the bodies, or else there has been a serious misunderstanding of culture. Given the emene's expression, Lauryn suspects the latter, but reserves judgement; the people who attacked the Laosian town seemed quite capable of simple lies and trickery, when rape and murder seemed to casual to them. When the kyria speaks again, the situation resolves itself for Lauryn. It is just a matter of clashing customs. She notes this away in her mind, as one who preys upon the fears of others can never know when a custom might be useful.
Jyskun's eyes move over the ranks of Laosian soldiers, their armor and weapons gleaming as bright as new-forged. He looks at his own guard. They are of roughly equal numbers here at the gate, but the emene have fewer mounted warriors. Their equipment is notched and well-used, looking crude and barbaric in comparison. At last, his gaze returns to the kyria. "Imvar Yskaj will respect your request. Skiansk, send a detail to take down the enosi corpses." One of the catmen beside him nods, and moves out of position. "We have made welcome for you at the Great Hall, Envoys of Notios. Will you join us?"
The kyria waits two heartbeats, watching as Skiansk gathers a group of workers to take down the road. "We will. I am Kyria Dolesa Mara of Orevo. Lead on."
Good, thinks Lauryn. She, of all people, can appreciate the uses of fear and terror, but she also finds it odd she had reacted somewhat less emotionally than even the trained soldiers. This worries her, she wonders if her basic humanity might be slipping away. A Archon of Isityros has little room for humanity, she decides, sighing inwardly. The isityros will not abide such weakness. With the kyria's final words she turns her attention forward and prepares to ride, thinking Laosian nobles are so very like their Rephidim counterparts. The self-assurednss of nobility never seems to change, it seems.
Jyskun turns his dromodon and his escort of warriors moves with him. They advance down the bark-strewn road and up the hill to the inner city. The streets here are narrower then the broad avenues of Laosian towns, and the single-story buildings look squatter and dirtier. When they pass through the inner walls, more two-story and even three-story buildings appear. Fewer are of logs, and more are clay or white stone.
It takes a little while to dispose of the mounts, wagons, servants, and so forth. But after a bit, the diplomatic party and their guards -- Lauryn included -- are led into the feast hall.
The table has been laid out with enough food to feed a party twice their size. Yemenos -- diplomats? leaders? Lauryn's not sure -- greet them, identified by name and as First, Fourth, and Fifth of Yskar. The diplomats, archons, and Lauryn are all seated at the feast table and invited to eat and talk. The rest of their guard remains standing and arrayed behind their chairs. The Yemenos have an even larger compliment of guards behind them, though not as impressively equipped. With so many weapons present, the air is tense.
As they move, Lauryn takes a moment to review what she's seen. Like Rephidim, the closer one gets to the heart of the city, the more important and richer the people seem to be. The Yemenos do not have the refinement of the Laosians, not by far, but they seem like they may have some cunning, courage, and maybe even a numbers superiority. But given the Third's reaction, they are also aware of their inferior training and weaponry. Upon entering the great hall, Lauryn notes the walls. Symbolism, or perhaps gods, she wonders. When asked to take a seat, she's glad the veil hides her surprise. Siting amidst all these warriors, city leaders, archons and kyris is daunting to Lauryn. In a moment of bizarre connection, she envies the tyrs their masks -- more substantial than the tier, one could hide an infinate variety of reactions behind them.
For her part, Lauryn tries to be present without being obtrusive. She sits, she folds her hands, she attempts to maintain her air of silent dignity. But mroe so, she watches and listens. She knows she's here as a weapon, so she tries to be a good weapon by preparing herself with whatever she can find. While warriors may look at armor and training, Lauryn seeks weakness of the mind, and of culture. It is fear she needs, and while she has ideas on how to expand such, she isn't yet ready to initiate such a plan -- not without the Archon's approval.
The Yemenos seem, in some ways, more normal than the Laosians. In addition to the numbered leaders, a dozen or so assistants and adjuncts make up their complement at the table. Lauryn notices that only three women are among the entire Yemenos contigent. All of the Yemenen people eat with appetite and evident enjoyment, eating mostly with their hands and only using knives to cut off chunks of meat from the serving platters, or serving forks to bring the food from platter to the long rectangular trenchers each shared between two eaters. The emene seem fairly casual and genial with each other, chatting, chuckling, and smiling. They try to engage their guests as well, with modest success. The Laosians are only a little more reserved than usual -- but even their usual level of reserve is difficult to penetrate.
In keeping appearance, Lauryn tries to remain difficult to approach as well -- not that she expects anyone to talk to her. After all, if the emene know of her from their attack, she, were she them, wouldn't want to talk to her either. If they don't know who she is, the ominious outfit she's wearing isn't exactly inviting, either. And while no one talks to her, something certainly does. All the smell of food makes her hungry, but she decides not to eat until the others do -- or not at all, if they do not. Lauryn suspects the Laosians may even wait to return to camp before eating.
The Laosians do, in fact, eat. The human women remove the veils covering their mouths so do so, though they do not take off their hats. No one from the Laosian party removes their headwear, a telling sign for a people that usually removes hats and hoods when indoors. Their reserved manners and meticulous use of cutlery makes them look refined and elegant beside the relatively uncouth felines. The Laosian use of cutlery in particular surprises Lauryn, because Laosians don't usually eat with forks: they have eating-crackers that they use to scoop up their foods.
Lauryn appreciates the show as another form of intimidation, and decides she'd best play along, lest she stand out. And while standing out is important in for wartime use of her powers, she's also here as a diplomatic accessory, so she thinks a balance must be maintained. She removes her veil as the others do, selecting foods that don't seem likely to surprise her with spicey or otherwise painfully exotic new flavors. As she eats, she thinks of the Yemenos. She might almost like them if she hadn't seen what they're capable of. And while their amiable interaction tugs at her, she learned a long time ago that she's apart from such things. At least with the Laosians she can aim for respect, if not comraderie.
The food is, in fact, excellent though quite unlike Laosian cooking. Laosian foods are minced fine and strongly flavored with different spices. The Yemenos food is largely served whole and only lightly spiced, but it all of it is very fresh food and perfectly cooked, with no parts either burned or underdone. Lauryn is at the end of the table on the Laosian side, with Skotonys to her right, and an emene flunky at the foot of the table. The Yemenen seated there is one of the few women on their side, and she leans forward to speak to Lauryn. "Hejjo," she says, in a heavily-accented version of the Laosian greeting. "Being Liskaj Aanjask, if you missing it in t' rush. You being somvun special, yes? Never seeing somvun vit Laosians who being not Laosian."
"Ria Vetyros, by the will of the Tyr," Lauryn answers, with a tone she hopes comes off both mysterious and important. She isn't sure the woman will understand she is Laosian by decree, but she isn't about to explain and make it look like she's trying to justify herself as a 'real' Laosian. Laying her fork and knife aside in a very delibrate manner, she turns her attention to the woman and says, "Neither does Ria see many women among the Yemenos leadership. The Yemenos do not value women to represent them?"
As Lauryn waits, she realizes something about her life: she has become the odd stranger most who know better do not speak of. She is, or at least is becoming, the sinister sorceress, the dark figure, the black knight of gatherings, well aware that the woman before her would never have even talked to her if she knew what she was. She wonders if the emene will some day recount this meeting, in fear and in worry, perhaps being berated by her fellows for her poor choice. It is an odd thing, to suddenly be that dark stranger. She isn't sure when it happened, but rather that it snuck up on her. She longed to be the white princess, and ended up the black sorceress. If she wasn't trying so hard to maintain her composure, she might laught out loud.
The yemenen woman shakes her head and laughs. "No no, never. Vomen not being good for leaders, no. Good for making babies, for growing tings, for many tings, but not for leaders." She lowers her voice. "Not understanding vy y' teer -- " she says 'tyr' so badly Lauryn takes a moment to identify the word " -- using vomen to send. He not needing t'em to making babies?"
Lauryn senses motion on her right; next to her, Skotonys has turned his head slightly and pivoted an ear towards their conversation. His eyebrow whiskers lift on one side.
Lauryn takes a moment to look properly offended, a kind of belittling disappointed expression she learned from her tutor. Once she feels she has properly applied the expression, she explains, slowly. "The Laos Enosi value ability, Liskaj Aanjask. Each woman present has proven her worth before the Tyr, in ability and loyalty. Most women may produce a child; but that is not all they may produce. It is most becoming to aspire to great accomplishment before the Tyr." She resists glancing at the Archon to see his reaction, as much as she migth want to.
The emene sits back a little, blinking. She makes a little noise, a kind of "vijch" sound. "Y' teer doing vat he tink good, yah," she says in an unconvinced tone that's trying to be inoffensive. "But Ria Vetcheeros, how you being in dis group? Y' not varrior or speaker, are y'?"
"Yes," Lauryn answers, "and no." She lets that sit a moment, watching the woman carefully. Lauryn realizes she isn't entirely pleased to have to do this; treating this friendly woman with contempt and mystery seems wrong somehow, but as the Archon told her once, serving the Tyr is not always pleasant. She steels herself thinking about his resolve, and continues on unshaken. "Ria Vetyros will not speak of Ria's works; now is not the time or place. Liskaj Aanjask will know them when and if the time arrives, and shall count herself lucky to never know them." There, Lauryn thinks that sounds suitably ominous. Planting a little fear in people is a investment in the future, or so she believes. The more people fear her before confrontation, the more advantage she has.
Aanjask blinks some more, and another "vijch" escapes her. She stares at Lauryn for a moment, then gnaws at more of the food on her trencher. The man next to her asks her something in their native tongue, and she lets that distract her from talking to Lauryn.
Seeing she no longer has the woman's focus, Lauryn picks up her utensils -- again with delibrate motion -- and resumes eating. She wonders if this is her lot in life, to make people afraid her her, to seem ominous and powerful when really she's just lonely and haunted. It's a grim outlook, which she tries to force down with food. Free from scrutiny, she risks a glance at the Archon between bites.
Skotonys is eating in silence; like most Laosians, he doesn't feel a need for conversation to fill in the gaps between bites. When he catches her looking at him, he gives her a little nod of approval, a gesture so small she might have missed it were she not accustomed to the minimal body language of the Laosians.
Small, but enough for Lauryn. It makes the whole conversation with the emene seem worth it. Returning to her meal, Lauryn realizes she must really be two Lauryns. The Lauryn that is the dire conjurer of isityros, bane of the tyr's enemies, sower of terror and misery to those that oppose His will, and then the Lauryn behind the mask, afraid, lonely, and trying her best to fit in where best she can. The woman thinks it's important she remembers these are seperate faces, as confusing them seems like it'll be most painful and personal. And that, she cannot afford.
After the meal, as the dishes are cleared away, the First and Fourth make their excuses, while the Third and Fifth lead the diplomatic party to something the fox translates as "The Chamber of Conversation". Both Yemenos and Laosians leave their guards outside, with the exception of Skotonys and Lauryn -- technically, they're part of the guard but the kyria has them treated as part of the diplomatic party here.
Feline servants, or perhaps slaves, stand by the windows holding big reed fans. They have the same strange deformities that the skulls outside the gates did: loops of bone that hang from their jaws or cheeks. As the group enters, they begin to fan the room, making the temperature inside feel quite comfortable. The Third and Fifth stretch out comfortably on the cushions, as do their assistants, and they invite the Laosians to do the same. "Please, make yourselves comfortable, that we may concentrate on these serious things."
Lauryn waits to see how the others arrange themselves, and then follows accordingly. She assumes she won't be speaking much, if at all, and as such her presence will be the most important contribution -- thus she must present herself properly.
The kyria and Afentis Befitha attempt to seat themselves decorously, kneeling on top of the pillows. The pillows don't lend themselves to kneeling as well as the Laosian matts, because they're fluffy and the women sink into them. Skotonys and the other Archon pile up a couple into a kind of approximation of a chair, which works even less well than kneeling. Afentis Pilis sprawls on several pillows, just like the emene. Only she and the emene actually look comfortable.
If this wasn't such a serious situation, and if Lauryn weren't trying to be more likethe Laos, she might laugh at the awkward attempt of the Laosians to sit properly. For her part, she finds a large pillow and kneels on it. Given she's fairly small, she hopes she'll have better luck at making the arrangement comfortable. She also can't help but feel like some sort of ring or centerpiece, sitting atop a giant pillow as she is.
The pillows are, in of themselves, delightfully comfortable: the softest, squishiest things Lauryn's ever had the pleasure of touching. They feel like one ought to sink into a pile of them and go to sleep. The Yemenos are not sleeping in them, however. They're bright-eyed and alert, watching their guests. Once everyone's settled, the talks begin.
As Lauryn expected, she doesn't have much of a part to play in the conversation. The Laosians want to know why the Yemenos attacked them. The Yemenos explain that they have no desire for war and want to know why the Laosians have attacked several of the outlying farms of Yskar. The kyria denies that the Laosians attacked. The Yemenos counter with the bodies of the raiders, so recently cut down. The kyria asks for proof that the bodies were not taken during the Yemenos's own raid.
Lauryn can see how the pillows might be an effective tool against the unprepared. Their softness and awkwardness forces the other party to become over comfortable or uncomfortable, depending on how they arrange themselves, without appearing to to either. Lauryn thinks it's quite ingenious, though she suspects she may be overthinking the matter. If she ever gets her own meeting room, she might try something like this.
As for the diplomatic mission, Lauryn finds the whole matter stinking of deception. She isn't sure who is doing it, or even if the real culprit is represented, but she is sure someone is playing a very dangerous game. While she doesn't dismiss the possibility the Yemenos are entirely responsible, she wonders if a third party might gains something from this. A War between her Tyr and the Yemenos would weaken both, making them vulnerable to ... whom? It is a mystery that begs investigation.
This goes on for quite a while, with a lot of formalities and politenesses involved. THe Yemenos strike Lauryn as having no real idea how to be formal, so they're not. They use the Laosian titles and they try to be polite, or at least friendly and inoffensive. The Laosians, by contrast, are exceedingly formal and coldly polite. Politeness isn't a way for them to be friendly, but simply a method of communicating that doesn't involve swords. Every now and then, people from both groups will murmur comments to one another in their own language that no one translates for the benefit of the other.
Lauryn listens, and listens. It's really all she can do, until she notices a bit of whispering is allowed. This grants her the chance to voice her own concerns, and so she leans towards Archon Skotonys and asks in hushed tones, "Besides the Yemenos, who else would benefit from conflict between the Tyr and the Yemenos?"
Skotonys murmurs back, "The Neyemen might." He pauses, then adds in an even lower voice, barely audible to Lauryn, "As might certain others among the tyrs. It is not yet clear how much support Notios will receive from the rest of Laos Enosi, should this escalate to war. Or what the price to Notios will be."
Lauryn nods to the reply, having suspected a little of the answer. Perhaps as an outsider she is more willing to suspected other tyrs of aggression, having watched her homeland nobility, and even the Captain Astromancer, fall to plots. The news is sobering; Lauryn would be concerned enough with facing emene, but a conflict with other Laosians seems far more dire. The emene she is confident she can be useful against, but how can she face warriors like Archon Skotonys? Or at the far extreme, a tyr? She hopes the god-princes do not take to the battlefield, and tries to assure herself that she is getting carried away. "A sobering thought, Archon. Ria would discuss this at length later, if it pleases you," she whispers.
Kyria Orevo doesn't look convinced by the evidence that the Yemenos produce that the Laosian victims had attacked the Yemenos. She promises to look into the matter. She wants reparataions for the damage the raid did, which the Third says he cannot give since the raid was in retaliation for the Laosian attack, and they still want reparations for the animals lost in that raid. He points to clauses in an old treaty that supposedly justify retaliatory strikes as well as entitle him to reparations. The "reparations" clause is the same on the Kyria indicates. The kyria is quite angry about their attempt to justify the raid. "The treaty is quite clear! Suspected violations call for immediate notification and the opportunity to right, not retaliation!"
"The messenger party we sent to notify you never returned." The Third looks sad again. "We thought the meaning of that response clear."
Kyria Orevo rises to her feet at that. "You dare?" The rest of the Laosian group looks visibly offended as well, or shocked, and they soon follow suit. "The Laos Enosi would not harm a diplomatic envoy!"
"The love of your people for strangers is well-known." The Third rises as well.
"Enough." Orevo snarls. "We have heard enough of your slanders and insinuations for one day. We will retire to our encampment now."
Lauryn frowns at that. Certainly, the messenger party could have met a bad end in a neutral manner, but she isn't so sure. It all points at a grander scheme, or else someone is lying. Given the state of the emene, Lauryn can't see them wanting to pick a fight with the Tyr -- they'd lose, she thinks. And as for the Tyr, she can see no reason He would wish to destroy the emene. If He wished to, He doesn't seem inclined to such insidious tactics when he could simply and directly do so. Not unless His hands are tied by the other tyrs, a possibility. It all stinks to Lauryn, but she hasn't the place nor the power to do much about it. She thinks on this long and hard, until the sudden breakdown of the talks jars her from her thoughts. Suspecting what she does, this turn of events would only play in to a third party's hand. Of that party is watching, or at least aware, then ... Lauryn frowns. She must speak with the Archon later.