Young, the old woman thought, on his first posting for the Order and wondering if there was any part of the Empire more distant from all he wanted than this one.
The woman struggled forward, her staff dragging against the stone of the platform. The day was pleasantly cool. She could smell the breeze coming off the bay beyond the mud and stone walls of the town below. There was music rolling over the walls, and she could hear happy shouts and laughter punctuating the music drifting up the slope.
The Occuran Foldmaster did not bother to stand. He only turned to see who had come through and, seeing no one of importance, turned back to his idle consideration of his own importance.
The old woman would not be put off, however.
“Young Foldmaster,” she said in a quavering voice. “What town is this?”
“Yurani Keep,” the youth replied, though the effort seemed to pain him. “That stack of mud buildings is the capital city of this region.”
“They seem to be celebrating,” the woman noted. “Do you know the cause? Is it a holiday?”
“I do not know the cause. . nor do I care.” The youth stretched at the aching in his limbs. “They have given us three days of rest and peace from their constant trafficking of their wares through this fold, and that is as good a cause as any to celebrate so far as I am concerned.”
The old woman smiled and nodded as she hobbled down off the platform and wound her way toward the city gates. The Foldmaster was typical of elven youth: spoiled, proud, lazy, whining, and lost in his self-importance.
She silently put him on her list.
In time she arrived at the gates through the city walls, finding them both open and unattended. The narrow, winding avenues with their cobblestone streets were filled with short, rust-brown gnome men, women, and children laughing and chattering at one another. Wherever there were small bands of drummers, lute players, trumpeters or other musicians playing together, they were surrounded by other gnomes who were invariably dancing and cavorting through the streets.
She came at last to the large, paved plaza of the city and climbed with stiff and pained strides the wide stairs up to the Great House Hall of the Caliphate of the Dje’kaarin. Several gnome guards stood before the great doorway that led into the hall. The Captain of the Guard stepped out from their number and held his hand up.
“Stop!”
“Yes?” the woman asked weakly.
“You wish to see the Caliph?”
“That is why I have come.”
The captain’s hand flipped palm up. “Ten Imperial decella for ten minutes. Hard coin only-no paper!”
“Could the Captain of the Guard manage to give me a private audience. . undisturbed. . for, say, twenty decella?”
The captain considered for a moment, then nodded. “He’s all yours. . for twenty.”
The woman sighed, then produced the coins for the captain. He stepped aside and motioned the rest of the guards to do likewise. She passed through the large doors and turned her stooped form back to close the doors behind her.
As the doors rang shut, the old elf woman turned, gripping her staff firmly with both her hands. She took in the disgusting room with practiced eyes. Bent over and with shuffling steps, she moved slowly toward the throne of the Caliph.
Ch’drei was in no hurry; she knew how to play a part well.