H - 127: Those Who Keep Faith (Patreon)

Kaln returned to Boisverd the next day, on more circumspect business. Izayaroa was still occupied researching and making plans for their discreet intervention in Vale and particularly Verdi politics, which provided him an excellent cover to seek other transportation without offending her.

Tiavathyris was also a big-picture thinker, but as he’d hoped, the big picture of armies was smaller than that of governing entire societies; she still retained enough on-the-ground experience to have a better grasp of operational security.

She did teleport them directly into the city, but that was less of a risk as they were now on friendly terms with the local authorities. Also, while someone was no doubt monitoring the wards, Boisverd currently lacked a Court Mage.

She exercised a far greater degree of stealth, however. Kaln and Tiavathyris made their way up the winding street of the Roundabout under not only full invisibility, but effects that eliminated their scents and footprints. He almost thought that was too careful, but said nothing except to praise her spellwork; Kaln was particularly impressed by the attention-deflecting charm she had added, encouraging people to step around them without noticing their own avoidance of an apparently empty piece of space. It would have been less than discreet for two invisible people to have to shove bodily through a crowd, after all.

Tiavathyris was far less susceptible to flattery than Emeralaphine, but the small smile she gave him was genuine and warm. He understood, now, that praising her would not be taken amiss so long as it was sincere.

The tall structure at the very top of the street, the one whose destroyed tower had been turned into an open rooftop garden area, seemed to be a combination of multiple entertainment venues.

“It also goes quite deep,” Tiavathyris murmured to him as they slowly strolled around the broad foyer area which branched off into several different departments; a casino, a restaurant, and a brothel were immediately recognizable from their wide entries, as well as corridors deeper into the complex. “Not just carved into the hill below, but down into the bedrock. I surmise most of those areas are not for the public, husband—and the whole complex seems excessive, even for an entertainment venue of this size.”

“Then this is the place we’re looking for, as I guessed,” he replied. “Now to…politely but firmly announce ourselves.”

He led her into the restaurant area, where they sat at an unoccupied table against one wall. At his nod, she smiled, reached across to squeeze his fingers, and let their concealment drop.

Kaln could sense, as she cast it, how the termination of the spell was tied into its layers of discretion; to the eyes of those looking on, they did not simply pop into view from nowhere, but would have seemed as if they’d just gone unnoticed.

That should be enough to garner attention, even if he wasn’t recognized. No longer invisible, Tiavathyris had not disguised her form as Izayaroa had. Dragonborn were few enough in the Evervales to stand out. Given the events of the last few days, there might even be some who came to the conclusion that an actual dragon was sitting in a restaurant in the Nhiyah district.

The table had been laid out with menus, which they picked up and perused, waiting.

The wait was not long. Kaln was not particularly surprised when it wasn’t broken by the actual waitstaff.

“Hey thewe, handsome!” chirped a pretty Nhiyah girl with coppery hair and a beaming smile who sidled up to their table. “Good to see you out and about.”

“Good to be out,” he replied, “and since I didn’t get the opportunity previously, thank you kindly for the part you played in it.”

“Aww pawt of the sewvice, cutie,” she said airily. “Now, wet me see if I can guess what you’we owdewing today…”

He remembered her face, of course; the last time he’d seen it, she’d been covered in smudges and dirt from crawling through who knew what tunnels under the Palace, but she was still recognizable. And she was definitely not in the uniform of the waiters here, but wearing modest, practical clothing of cloth in sufficiently voluminous folds to obscure the movement of her limbs and potentially entangle a knife, and leather discreetly decorated to look enough like sturdy outdoor attire that a casual observer might not even notice it was thick enough to serve as armor.

“I hope it’s not too rude to go off menu,” he said, “but I have a real hankering for answers, today.”

“Weww, you’we in wuck—we have ‘em! But the, ah, speciaw wesewve isn’t to be sewved out hewe in pubwic.”

“I had a feeling,” Kaln said gravely. “Might we request a private room, then?”

“One is weady and waiting fow you,” the Nhiyah replied. Her eyes shifted to Tiavathyris and her smile faded, however. “This is the…awkwawd pawt. You have a cewtain…pwewogative to heaw about ouw wess-than-pubwic business. But onwy you, Aw-Kawn Zewekhiw.”

He nodded and managed not to wince—both that she knew his full name, and at its pronunciation, or lack thereof.

“One does not declare oneself before the royal court and expect to remain anonymous, it seems,” Tiavathyris mused. “This seems a surprising place to find people so up-to-date on the news.”

“But then again, perhaps it is not,” Kaln said, still holding the gaze of the young woman. She carried on smiling; one of her triangular ears twitched to the side, twice. “Are you adamant that my wife cannot accompany me? I have to warn you, I don’t keep secrets from my family. Especially since I’m not here to indulge idle curiosity, but to piece together a puzzle that will have a great impact on my…future decisions.”

“As expected,” she replied, still lightly. “That wiww of couwse have an effect on how much you awe towd. This…is a mattew that goes beyond the pwacticaw, Dwagonwowd. Pwivacy is a way of wife, hewe. It’s the cwosest thing we have to a wewigion.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” said Kaln. He shifted his gaze back to Tiavathyris.

“You trust them, husband?” she asked.

“Trust…is not exactly the word.” He returned his eyes to study the Nhiyah girl, who still smiled patiently, her tail waving slowly behind her. “That takes time to build. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to start that process today. But it doesn’t make a lot of sense for them to wish me harm, all things considered.”

“Smawt boy,” she said cheerfully. “Awso, if it hewps, we’we not siwwy enough to antagonize a chap whose wadyfwiend can be suddenwy five stowies taww and covewed in spikes. You shaww have the best we can sewve, deaw wady, on the house. It’s the weast we can do, to make up fow keeping you waiting.”

Kaln turned back to his wife, meeting her eyes. They gazed at one another in thoughtful silence for a moment, and then she inclined her head once, granting him a small smile.

It was true that the Nhiyah would absolutely not want to irritate the dragon in their headquarters. And if the unexpected happened, he could simply teleport back to her. It seemed unlikely that these folk had a magic-proof Timekeeper bottle in their basement.

“After you, then,” he said politely.

***

Deep in the complex below the Nhiyah’s headquarters, Kaln found himself seated on the floor in the traditional Rhiva fashion, surrounded by the traditional pile of mismatched pillows, with a low table between himself and his apparent hostess, while the young woman who’d snuck into the Palace and greeted him above poured cups of fragrant tea.

“Thank you, Kefni,” the girl across from him said, accepting a cup with a smile.

“Of couwse, Gwandmothew,” Kefni replied, pouring Kaln a cup and then retreating.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Grandmother? Is that…a nickname?”

“It is, from Kefni,” she said with a coy smile, lifting her cup to take a sip. “I’m not actuawwy hew gwandmothew, but they aww caww me that, these days. I encouwage it. Gets disheawtening, having to keep twack of how many ‘gweats’ should go in fwont.”

Kaln blinked, looking closer. She had silvery white hair, yes, flowing unbound around her shoulders, but her face could pass for a teenager’s. As could the large amount of cleavage she had on display. He had managed, thus far, not to overtly look, but the pull was powerful.

“My actuaw gwandchiwdewn awe owdew than you,” Grandmother said with a playful smirk. “Evew notice how you’ve nevew seen an ewdewwy Nhiyah?”

“Now that you mention it… Of course, you guys tend to keep to yourselves, at least back home in Rhivaak. I figured you weren’t much for other people getting into your business.”

“Twue! Vewy twue. Suffice it to say, we age gwacefuwwy.”

Kaln finally permitted himself to look her up and down, keeping it brief. “Gracefully is an understatement.”

“You’we a sweet boy,” she said smugly. “Sweetew if I wooked my age in human yeaws; it’s nice, nevew gwowing out of compwiments fwom peopwe wanting to get undew my taiw. Especiawwy now that I nevew have to deaw with the pushy ones anymowe.”

He had to grin at that, raising his cup for a sip of tea.

The flavor that burst across his tongue was nostalgic. This was a strong Rhiva blend—actually, it was usually used medicinally, bringing back the memory of childhood colds being tended to in the orphan barracks. The spicy earthiness of ginger and turmeric, the tart of lemon cut through by the sweetness of honey. It was miraculously soothing for sore throats.

Meeting the sly eyes of the apparently old woman before him, he had to wonder what the significance of this choice was. It seemed improbable that there was none.

“So,” he said aloud, since she didn’t seem about to speak again, “despite the extremely wrong foot on which we got off, it appears I am now formally allied with the von Holtzman regime in Boisverd. I have to consider that I may have an obligation to let them know people can just…sneak into the secret chamber in which they keep their giant Timekeeper artifact.”

“And what did hew Majesty say to this wevewation?” Grandmother asked, her knowing smile not altering by a whisker.

“I am still mulling my obligations, here. The one thing of which I am certain is that I do not understand what’s going on. Seems a bit reckless to go blurting barely-understood half-facts to someone I only sort of conditionally trust in the middle of an already-complex situation, don’t you think?”

“Ah, you do have a sense of…nuance. We got the impwession, fwom youw pwevious visit, that you did not come fwom a backgwound in which scheming was…wewevant.”

“There’s nothing like getting dumped in the deep end to make you learn quickly,” Kaln said gravely. “I gather that you folks are very jealous of your privacy. And yet…here I am. Since you not only helped me out of a jam but welcomed me all the way down here… Actually, I still don’t even know where that sentence should go. What is it about me that’s special to you, in particular.”

Grandmother sighed softly, and then took a slow sip of her tea, her blue eyes never leaving his.

“With no diswespect intended, young man…and acknowwedging that this is something the new mastew of Dwagonvawe has pwobabwy become unaccustomed to heawing… This is not about you.”

Kaln gently set down his teacup, and leaned forward. “I’m all years, and my time is all yours.”

“This is the end of a wong chain of awkwawd necessities. You awe hewe, being offewed secwets of ouw peopwe, because aftew we intewvened in the Pawace itsewf, you obviouswy wequiwe some expwanations, if onwy to keep you fwom digging into ouw business on youw own. We hewped get you out of that bottwe because, aftew youw fiwst appeawance hewe, we went to a wot of twoubwe to figuwe out just who and what you awe. And that was not because of anything you did, but who you wewe with.”

Kaln nodded once, slowly. “Izayaroa.” That both explained matters, and raised more questions.

Grandmother took another sip of her tea, the sleek fluff of her white tail waving slowly behind her as she seemingly considered her next words. Kefni hovered silently off to the side, just within Kaln’s field of view, making herself unobtrusive.

“The whowe Woundabout isn’t set up fow one pewson in pawticuwaw,” she finally said, “but…just a bit. Mostwy ouw offewings catew to Vewdi tastes—we have to make a wiving, aftew aww. But we awways make suwe to have a few stands sewwing hew favowite stweet snacks, a few musicians pwaying music she wikes fwom the owd countwy. It’s easy enough to disguise ouw intewest; evewybody knows the Nhiyah come fwom Whivaak, and peopwe come hewe specificawwy to sampwe Whiva entewtainments. Even the spies and the Secwet Societies have no weason to think anything of it. It’s not to tempt hew back, you undewstand, onwy to do a wittwe something fow hew on hew visits. She wikes to check up on us, once in a whiwe.”

“She mentioned that,” Kaln said. “Although she framed it as…professional curiosity. She said that how Nhiyah are treated is a reliable barometer of how competent and benevolent a government is. With you folks being easy targets for scapegoating, and all. My, ah, apologies for bringing it up. I’m sure that’s not a comfortable topic.”

“The wind in the weaves,” she said lightly, her ears twitching. “A fact of wife; we’we used to it. But yes, she’s wight about that. Henwietta’s a good egg, as queens go. We’d be sowwy to see hew depawt, though aftew that debacwe she caused, it may be just a mattew of time.”

“Maybe,” Kaln agreed neutrally. He did not miss the tiny lift of one corner of her mouth, but she didn’t press the subject.

“But,” Grandmother continued in as even a tone, “we wewe speaking of chains. Ouw intewest in you comes fwom ouw intewest in the bwack dwagon… And to expwain that…”

She trailed off, lowering her eyes for a moment, then took another long sip of her tea, seeming to hold it upon her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing. Only then did she once again meet Kaln’s gaze, and continue.

“To explain that, I must recount to you the history of our people. This is not a thing we do lightly, or commonly, Master Zelekhir. As you have observed, the Nhiyah are private folk. There are not many we trust.”

Kaln straightened up; it wasn’t just in response to the change in her delivery, but the way Kefni’s ears flattened back even though her expression remained neutral.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but isn’t it…difficult, to speak that way?”

“Pff.” Grandmother made a languidly dismissive gesture with one hand. “Skills are improved through practice. At my age, anything that’s still difficult for me is something I don’t care to bother doing. It starts to hurt after a while, that’s all.”

“Then please, don’t feel any need to accommodate me,” Kaln said earnestly. “The last thing I want is to be responsible for—”

“Young man,” the white-haired woman interrupted sternly, and he found himself instinctively shutting up in a way that dragons and royalty and gods had not been able to make him. Countless heavens, the skill and force of personality it must take to run this whole tribe… “I appreciate your kindness, and all the more because I’ve learned long ago to tell it apart from brown-nosing and bullshitting. You really are a kind young man, aren’t you? That makes it a particularly fascinating question how you ended up in the position you did…but that’s another tale for another time. Here and now, we Nhiyah know exactly the effect our pattern of speech has on people.”

She smirked at him, and paused to take another long sip of her tea. Kefni started forward, picking up the pot, but Grandmother waved her off before continuing.

“It makes a difference, knowing who is kind enough to suppress the reaction and treat us with respect anyway. But believe me, we are all well aware that a reaction is being suppressed. You hear a Nhiyah talk, and no matter how courteous or compassionate you want to be, you’re equal parts annoyed and amused. What I am about to tell you, Ar-Kaln Zelekhir, is the most serious matter we can discuss. I expect you to take it seriously, and I will therefore not preemptively hamstring your ability to do so.”

“Very well,” Kaln said solemnly. “By all means, then. I’m all yours.”

She smiled again—smirked, really—and nodded once, then her expression sobered once more.

“It was the black dragon who first gave us a home, and that meant far more to our people than just having one. Until then, the Nhiyah were welcomed nowhere, driven out and attacked on sight as often as not. Because we cannot use magic, because no god answers our prayers, it was widely thought among all nations that we were a cursed people, and would bring curses wherever we went. Izayaroa was the first to risk it. And yes, I am not blind to the historical tension she has with the Nine, and the fact that she was at least partly motivated to get under their skin. But we were not the only ones; she extended similar protection to the Hiiri, the Raithe, to small and weak people of all kinds.”

Grandmother inhaled deeply, took another sip of tea, and held it in her mouth for a moment, her eyes closed. Kefni shuffled forward again, and this time the old woman held out her cup for a refill.

Ah, now he understood why the medicinal tea. She’d planned on hurting her mouth for his sake. Kaln, knowing the value of pride to those who had little else, suppressed his solicitous instincts and waited for her to continue.

“Before that…no one else dared to show us kindness. They were afraid to—afraid to anger the gods. Izayaroa did not merely give us a home, she set an example; it is only thanks to her that anyone else has ever thought it possible, let alone safe, to risk offering a hand of friendship to the Nhiyah. And once the example was set, others followed. We remember well who has harmed us, and who has helped us. We keep long grudges, and it is precisely because of it that we know how much kindness there is in this world, from all those who are not afraid to offer it.

“The value of the black dragon’s sheltering wing cannot be overstated. And it did not end there; she gave us the dignity of purpose, bringing plants and animals and insects of every kind from every desert the world over, charging us with spreading and cultivating them around our home, with making the arid wastes of Rhivaak hospitable.”

Grandmother paused to sip her refreshed tea, and smiled wryly.

“Of course, that in itself caused a minor disaster—deserts are not empty spaces, and you can’t inflict that kind of change on the ecology of a place without causing an upheaval. It took us decades of careful tending to stabilize the region around the mountain she gave us; only after that was done did we begin expanding our influence outward. Now, the wastes of Rhivaak are the gentlest, kindest deserts in the world, a place where there is always food and shelter and water for those who respect the harsh land and know how to find them. Of course, even a kind and gentle desert has no mercy for the arrogant and stupid. Nor do the Nhiyah. It’s a good land. It suits us.”

Kaln nodded once, smiling. Some of this history he knew, but there was something exciting to the academic in him about hearing it from the perspective of the Nhiyah. He’d never heard of them sharing their thoughts like this with outsiders, before.

Or of outsiders wanting to listen to them, for that matter. Grandmother wasn’t wrong; even with the kindest intentions, their speech got grating pretty quickly.

She had paused again, once more sipping her tea, but now her expression grew more distant, and more grave. She gazed absently at the wall past his shoulder before her eyes sharpened once more, fixing upon his.

“And then came the Lost Century.”

Kaln nodded again, and that short, heavy sentence sat between them, much as that century did upon history itself.

“I think,” Grandmother mused, “we may have been the least affected people in the world. The rivers ran black, the jungles died, the Dread was burning Valereld to its foundations…and the desert was still the desert. None of these disasters touched us directly. We only felt them as the civilizations around us collapsed, and what had been ordinary people were spread into the wilderness in all directions as desperate, ravening monsters. Deprivation and shock do terrible things to mortal minds, when they have no safe place to turn. Even there, however, we suffered the least. Most scattered into what’s now the Hiiri Reaches, which was the smarter choice; there was grass and game there, and the Hiiri have always been gentle folk.”

She took another sip, her eyes glinting above the cup at him, white ears angling subtly backward.

“The Nhiyah are many things, but not gentle. Those who scattered into the desert wanted only to take from it, to take from us. Deserts kill the greedy, inept, and unprepared. For the most part, we simply let it. Not…always, though. Not entirely. The Lost Century taught another great lesson to the Nhiyah: that this unkind world is unkindest of all to those who put unkindness out into it. In the end, the world always cuts them down. And sometimes…it is best to quietly, gently, discreetly…help it to do so.”

Kefni’s ears had begun twitching in a regular pattern that looked oddly deliberate; as soon as Kaln glanced over at her, they stilled. Grandmother did not look at all, simply flicking her left ear twice in Kefni’s direction.

And Kaln, finding himself suddenly recalling Shadrach’s offhand warning not to underestimate or provoke the Nhiyah while he held Grandmother’s cold gaze, kept his own silence.

“All the small people Izayaroa had gathered were the first she abandoned,” the old woman continued quietly after another soothing sip of tea. “The Hiiri seem to have made out all right in the end; they got a whole goddess out of it! Nobody even knows what ultimately happened to the Raithe. I don’t think anyone’s seen one in centuries. We, like they, were abandoned to our fate in the wilderness.”

Finally, Kaln leaned forward, opening his mouth, but he subsided when Grandmother held up a hand with her palm out toward him.

“I know, son. No one appreciates being abandoned…but it is not as if we didn’t understand. We, of all people. The widely-hated, often-abused survivors of the harshest parts of the Empire. Every Nhiyah knows the agony of having to choose which of our people to save, and which to let die. The black dragon flexed every iota of her might and, by a bare clawhold, kept civilization from dying. She could not save everyone.

“And we…well, as I said, life for us continued with less change than it did for most people. The desert was not generous, but there was enough, usually, for us. Those who tried to intrude didn’t know how to live from it, to find the food and water and shelter we had so lovingly cultivated. It’s there, but not just lying around as it is in a soft country like this one; you have to know how to survive in a desert, and if you don’t…”

She shrugged nonchalantly.

“You don’t,” Kaln finished.

Grandmother smiled grimly and nodded. “And they didn’t. Meanwhile… We were still able to feed our own families. There was no trade or coin to be had from going into the towns anymore, but we didn’t starve; we were among the few. And…though the tax assessors had vanished along with the rangers and every other agent of Rhivaak’s control, we upheld our end of the bargain. We had nothing else, you see; we would not relinquish our pride. Even if her wing no longer sheltered us, the black dragon had still given us everything, every chance we had to survive in this world. Every spring and autumn, during what would have been tax season, we gathered up the quota. All the excess from our harvests of the wild fruits and dried meat we were able to save. It was never enough—probably not even worth counting for the assessors. But it mattered to us that the Nhiyah did our part. We gathered our pittance, put it in the hands of our most skilled scouts and trackers to go through the most hidden paths of the deserts where no thieving bandits would intercept them, through the half-abandoned ruins of Rhivkabat, to lay it upon the desks of the bemused clerks. It was just…a little ritual we kept up, something to tie us back to better times.”

She stopped again, outright grimacing, and indulging in a deep sip of tea. Kefni and Kaln both leaned forward with identical expressions of worry, glanced at each other, and subsided in unison.

Ears twitching, Grandmother cleared her throat and held out her cup again. Only once she had enjoyed another sip of renewed tea did she carry on.

“And then, eventually, times changed once again, as times always do. The spring came when the rivers ran clear once more; the floodplain yielded a harvest of rice for the first time in a decade. The great jungles of the south began to regrow as the poison dissipated. The proud Valeri were becoming the shrewd Valefolk, learning how to survive in their new situation, and in Rhivaak, civilization began to rebuild.

During the next pause, she did not touch her tea, but only held his gaze with a new intensity.

“And that next spring, black wings approached our lonely mountain from the horizon. The Empress herself came to visit us, alone. She landed and took her smaller form, and asked us to gather our families, that she might address us all.

“The black dragon told us something we had not known; that despite everything, the surviving staff of what remained of Rhivaak’s government had looked forward to the traditional tax season twice a year, even though for most of those they hadn’t the ability to even try collecting taxes, because that was when the Nhiyah would come. And for a few days, they would get to enjoy a treat of dried desert fruits and meats. It was humble stuff, but for them in those times, it was a treat. It helped keep up their spirits through the worst.”

Her eyes were shining now, her expression intent almost to the point of pain; when she continued, her voice was heavy with emotion.

“And then she knelt.

“The immortal Empress, the great dragon, went to one knee and lowered her golden head before a rabble of desert scavengers, and spoke the words we have remembered as scripture ever since that day. ‘There is no greater loyalty than that of those who keep faith when nothing holds them to it. There is no greater generosity than that of those who have nothing, but still find something to share. You, the most faithful of my subjects, have more than repaid any kindness I ever did you. So long as I have the power, you shall be protected in my domain.’”

She halted, closing her eyes once more. Kaln felt the weight of her emotion in his own throat; he took a belated sip of tea, giving her the moment to regather herself.

“And with that, Kaln, we moved beyond any keeping of debts,” Grandmother continued at last, opening her eyes and smiling wanly but warmly. “We are loyal to the black dragon. My tribe came to Boisverd because it is the closest city to Dragonvale. We understood what she was sacrificing, keeping the Dread pacified, and there was not a single thing any of us could do for her…except have one little place where she could always come for a snack and a song, and remember the old country. It’s such a small thing, but small things are all we can do for our Empress—she who, more than anyone else, values small people. We kept alert, though, for any chance to serve if something changed. And then, well…”

She raised her teacup at him in an ironic little toast. “Something did.”

Grandmother sipped again, now falling silent in truth. Her eyes closed once more, and Kaln could see she was struggling to keep the pain off her face. Kefni was staring at the old woman with less expertly concealed worry, but wisely kept her peace.

He, occupied with his thoughts, allowed her a long span of uninterrupted seconds in which to recover. Only once she stilled her features back to smug aloofness did he speak.

“Now that I think of it,” Kaln said casually, “it’s…a tumultuous period. Henrietta’s got a lot on her plate at the moment. This probably isn’t a good time to distract her with the concerns of…a rabble of desert scavengers.”

Kefni grinned outright at him. Grandmother’s smile was more restrained, but also knowing and smug, as if this was precisely the outcome she had expected.

“Viowence is a cycwe…but so is kindness. We siwwy kitties know vewy weww the powew of both. The Nhiyah are not monowithic,” she added, setting down her teacup and picking up the long-stemmed pipe that had been set aside on the table. Kaln had noticed it when he first arrived, but he smelled no burning leaf and it didn’t appear to be lit. “No peopwe awe. We awe each of us individuaws, with ouw own concewns and desiwes. Awso, not evewy twibe is as twaditionaw as mine. Many awe, but not aww. You shouwd not assume any given Nhiyah you happen to meet wiww be a fwiend, ow awwy, ow anything in pawticuwaw untiw you know, specificawwy, what they awe up to.”

Grandmother lifted the pipe stem to her lips and puffed. Soap bubbles began to rise from its bowl, drifting toward the ceiling.

“But so wong as she cwaims you as hew own, you shaww have fwiends in wow pwaces.”