Fluid - 32

Glad I’d returned to my female form at some point, I gather up the yet-unknown lady on my way to the head table. Looping my arm through hers causes her to tense up from surprise—I hope it isn’t because she’s taken offence. I don’t want to think about what gossip would swirl if I did that still while male. Some species' focus on fleshy bits is so strange.

“I believe you arrived with the King’s delegation. Perhaps I should have asked Lady Glingaerneth to introduce you all last night.”

“I’m honoured you took notice of me, Gailneth; my name is Ingolmiel,” Ingolmiel replies, gaining a blush that almost matches parts of her multi-hued auburn locks.

“Despite all the drama, it is a pleasure to meet you, Ingolmiel,” I say, feeling the tension easing from her arm and body. “Do you not loop arms like this?”

“It’s fine, Gailneth,” offers Ingolmiel. “Though it’s not how nobles normally walk with each other.”

Nodding happily, I give her a wink. “That’s good on two accounts since I’m not a noble. You mentioned your forebears being sages for the Tower of the Singers. Is your family still undertaking that work?”

Ingolmiel’s nod in reply is calm and severe, and her smile is pure politeness that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We do. I’m not a Spellsinger, so I almost didn’t contribute to the tradition.”

“Have your family members normally possessed the Spellsinger Class?”

“Yes, but I don’t possess a perfect pitch. I believe that is why I didn’t get offered the Class,” explains Ingolmiel.

There isn’t any sign of regret, but given controlled composure, there is too much space for assumptions. “Did it upset your family?”

“The gift has skipped generations in the past,” admits Ingolmiel, and her slight smile causes crinkles around her eyes this time. “I almost joined the School of the Arcane, but they focus only on magical learning, not history or matters of tradition. Is it true you can sense our classes?”

At Ingolmiel’s change in subject, I nod and continue when her brows lift enquiringly. “You’ve Wizard and Sage classes, from what I sense. Each Class possessed mingles a unique theme to a person’s harmony.”

“Do you know the ‘theme’ for every Class?” enquires Ingolmiel, and her tone gains a measure of life it's not possessed so far.

“That’s impossible, but even if I don’t know the Class name, I can tell its intent, though some are more obvious about their purpose than others. Do you have particular plans for your classes?”

“Plans, Gailneth?”

“Well, I picked three classes because I needed them, but one I picked because it felt like fun. Were yours picked from need or fun?” I ask as we continue to weave our way between tables.

“My family are historians, and I accompanied Lady Glingaerneth in part to record the events of the meeting. Most of my Wizard training is in spells for divination and work in the tower’s libraries. Seeing an event differs from reading another’s account,” offers Ingolmiel.

“That’s about your family or your training, not plans,” I note. “Did you avoid narrowing your focus from your preference or because of your family’s history?”

Ingolmiel starts to halt, but the slightest tug keeps her moving. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“If you’re unsure, perhaps it's something to consider. I only ask because of all the folks whose family history I tipped over; you were the only one to speak up,” I explain. “Want some work? I’d be happy to steal you from the tower.”

“Didn’t you just point out all the jobs we had with the Anar as if they were faults?”

“If that’s what you took from it, that wasn’t what I intended.”

“What did you intend then?”

“Too many folks like to claim that history, custom, or age will put them in the right. What puts someone in the right is doing the right thing,” I explain. “What I did wasn’t polite, but I also simply told the truth to anyone that put themselves forward.”

Ingolmiel's indigent snort almost has me giggling, but I let her continue. “Some of them didn’t say a word.”

“You gave me a curious look if you count yourself among that number,” I clarify. “Others looked too haughty. What do the historical works have regarding True Song?”

The question gets a blink from Ingolmiel before she timidly clears her throat. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I'm pretty sure there are other misunderstandings that the Andúnë have that I might need to head off.”

“Starting with the subject we know the least about?” enquires Ingolmiel. “Given what you showed us last night, I assume it's not normally a ritual magic involving groups.”

“Larger works involve choirs, but a singer can duplicate many effects, even solo,” I say, adjusting our path through the hall’s tables to intercept with Aerneth’s course. “

Seeing us veer between the tables toward her, Aerneth lets us catch up, but in doing so, she also allows Litthor to close the distance.

“Good morning, Aerneth. If you’d sit on my right again with Ingolmiel and Litthor.”

“It would be my honour Gail,” Aerneth replies, and Litthor nods politely.

“Why doesn’t your dress bear a house crest, Aerneth?” I ask, causing her to jerk slightly.

“Whoever is in the High Singer position should keep their focus away from a single house and act for the good of the realm. If I wore my family’s crest, aren’t I proclaiming them above all other parties?” enquired Aerneth. “Unfortunately, I only caught part of the discussion about crests.”

Giving a smile, I don’t call out her deception. After all, it might technically be the truth—I don’t know if she heard every word from where she scried the hall.

“I would suggest it would be healthy for the Andúnë people to let go of their past with the Anar and Lómë, and focus on improving from where they are now.”

“Perhaps so, but it's been a touchstone to guide us for millennia,” replies Aerneth

“Was your chief concern how we viewed the Anar and Lómë?” asks Litthor.

“Why did only Ingolmiel argue about what her family has done? Yes, you had all these jobs, and the meaning of the symbols are that in our written tongue, but so what? You should value your accomplishments more instead of tying your worth to the ancient past.”

“You pierced Glorchon’s arguments about his family's noble lineage,” observes Litthor.

“Because of his claimed connection to the Lómë,” I correct. “If he had argued about their efforts for the Andúnë people since the scourge, our conversation today would have gone differently.”

“Really? How would you have deflated him then?”

“I’m not showing all my cards; I might need that for another time,” I laugh and motion towards my table. “Shall we get started with lunch?”

“Perhaps, instead of presenting requests this evening, we might use the time to share some of our people’s accomplishments since the Andúnë realm’s establishment?” suggests Litthor, and he ignores the look that Aerneth shoots him.

Giving him a smile and a nod of thanks, I cut Aerneth’s protest off. “That sounds like a splendid idea. After all, how can I understand the impact of granting any requests if I don’t know the current situation of your realm?”

I’ll need to find time to make some field trips and verify their truths. Maybe there will be a Hill Dwarf merchant in town to sell some goods and see what is in short supply.

“Isn’t it most efficient for other representatives to provide context to another’s requests?”

“It would be if Gail didn’t have us simply tying each other in knots last night,” counters Litthor.

“That’s an interesting idea,” I say, catching Aerneth's regarding us both suspiciously, I give him a beaming smile. “Are you paying me back for explaining the crests?”

“Perhaps I’m shifting the battlefield to safer ground,” deflects Litthor.

“You want the chance to present your family’s accomplishments?” I ask.

Litthor returns my smile. “I’d willingly learn more if you could enlighten me about the royal crest.”

“The royal crest is a house quartermaster, and your family once tended an armoury, ensuring the Isil guardians’ equipment remained well maintained.”

Litthor doesn’t react to the royal crest’s meaning, but he gains crinkles around his eyes at the news about his family’s crest. “At least they had a useful job. It might be why they focused on the realm’s protection at its founding.”

“It might indeed,” I agree.

Before he can say more, I slip past Aerneth and take the lead down the hall. The shape of the head table again annoys me; its straight lines cut me off, whereas the round table in the smaller dining area makes me feel part of the group. Though it's tempting to restructure things to have someone sitting across from me, there is the whole etiquette thing.

When I sit, plates of carved jade and platters of food appear, providing my guests with various meal options. The platters in the middle of the head table let me put together a light second lunch.

“Not eating much,” notes Sarah.

“This is my second lunch. I ate with my team, as I was ravenous earlier from Mana depletion. Stupid Dragon Turtle drove hundreds of giant crabs towards the coast,” I huff. “I had to teleport up and down the coastline to herd them together. He would have been better off killing them and getting stronger with the mass of experience he dumped in our laps.”

Sarah nods and gives me a concerned look. “How are the team?”

“Nikias and Myrto are resting after their levelling surges. We’ll have to devise a training routine to align their skills with their extra levels.”

“I can put together some constructs to beat them into shape,” offers Sarah.

“What?”

Sarah shrugs. “It won’t take much to enchant some wooden constructs that will beat them into shape. I mean that literally; they'll get knocked out if they don’t focus on their skills. Or I could get the songs of a variation of the Maze constructs you can create.”

“Oh, I want to make them! They’re complex melodies. I can make hundreds to help myself level and provide them to the guild’s training halls.”

Humming happily, I put together a sandwich, ignoring the odd looks from others about the hall.

“Hundreds? You’ll have to ramp up to compete with Am,” mutters Sarah.

“Now you’re being silly,” I counter before focusing on spreading cold cuts across the pickled vegetables I’ve loaded on my flatbread.

“That’s an interesting approach,” says Aerneth.

“I make weird sandwiches,” I caution. “The idea is to load them up with things you like together. In some cultures, it's a meal for labourers; in others, it's just a general approach to a quick lunchtime meal or snack.”

“A snack to keep us company since you’ve already eaten,” reiterates Aerneth,

“Precisely.”

“Should I be sending all the King’s delegates back as well?” enquires Aerneth, carefully slicing some marinated vegetables she’d added to her plate.

“I invited you and a small entourage,” I counter. “How many would you have brought with you?”

“Six.”

“Do you still need six with me providing memory crystals of our discussions?” I ask and take a bite of my sandwich.

“The King should be significantly better represented than any other faction,” demurs Aerneth.

Enjoying the mix of textures and tastes, I don’t reply immediately. And it's just as well, taking my time also lets me bury my fatigue-created snark.

“How many factions don’t have representatives in our discussions?”

“Three.”

Litthor coughs from his spot beyond Aerneth. “Four. The southern lords aren’t part of the border faction. Though many of their concerns likely have overlap with Calinion’s alliance.”

“You can keep seven of your delegation if Ingolmiel is one of the seven, but I’ll give fair warning: I’m going to entice her off with interesting work,” I say and almost laugh at the shocked look I get from the lady in question. “Decide what you want to do, Ingolmiel, not what your family wants, or what others expect of you. I’ve got many things I need good people to look at, some might align with your plans.”

“First the Royal Guard, now Ingolmiel. Is there anyone else you’ve got in mind to recruit?” Aerneth asks.

“You missed Ellother, but not as yet. Don’t worry, Aerneth, I told you I need staff to train others so you’ll have plenty of chances to insert spies to learn more about me. How much time does the tower spend keeping the capital’s wards in place?” I ask.

The statement or the question freezes Aerneth, but I can see the considerations racing behind her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“I was curious, and it might be something I can help improve indirectly. I punched through them fairly easily when I dropped that fellow with the disc off,” I explain.

Aerneth frowns, the expression adding the slightest of elegant furrows to her brow. “Did you use Mana to shift him into position or True Song?”

“There are ways to protect against dimensional shifts regardless of the energy source. The indirect help I can offer is seeing if a Celestial I know with a lot of arcane knowledge will discuss improvements with you.”

“Any insights to help secure the capital would be appreciated,” admits Aerneth.

With that, the conversation over lunch turns into small talk, including planning the departure of most of my guests. Dispatching messages to Alfarr and Yngvarr, I let them know their nobles' departure will be soon. Unlike the others I’d sent on their way, Arodion had been paying attention last night. The bowers used by the guards are all cleared of gear, with what they brought between them stashed close to the foyer.

“You’ll also need to meet with Grand Master Hasusar of the Adventurers’ Guild from time to time while you’re here,” I state when lunch wraps up. “Of course, everyone staying needs to avoid mentioning my species; don’t lie, just don’t mention it.”

Litthor nods noncommittally. “I’ll be happy to meet with him, though we don’t share a common border with the Human lands. Our exposed northern borders are beyond where the humans have reached.”

His attitude is strange, and I stop myself from shaking my head.

“You’ve never offered jobs through the Adventurers’ Guild looking for help?”

“We’ve always defended our borders; the humans defend their lands,” asserts Litthor.

“Human adventurers go where the challenges and the pay take them—for example, taking on jobs into territories you’ve had to relinquish. Some would undoubtedly be interested in learning your winter survival skills for those northern reaches or learning where Frost Giant encampments might be found,” I explain.

“What?”

“You had to withdraw from your northern border. Aunt Sarah told me a story about Frost Giant forces hitting a Snow Elf community and rescuing a trio of girls from ice trolls. So it’s easy to put together what species are involved in driving you south,” I explain. “There are Human rangers in the north that specialise in hunting giants. Lessening their numbers in any location means less of their predations. They don’t care if they’re eating Elf, Human, or beast. To them, we’re on par with livestock, unworthy of consideration.”

“They’re called mountain elves in this world,” corrects Sarah.

“Sorry, my bad, they’ve got the same reflective white skin as a Snow Elf,” I offer.

Litthor ignores our exchange and gains a speculative air. “It’s not just the frost giants, but they are a potent force in the north.”

“The guild’s been around for years in different forms before this current one. You’ve got people in it as members and you’ve never considered hiring them?” I ask, restraining my disbelief. “It seems you’re more stuck on historical trends than I had believed.”

Sarah snorts behind me. “You’re much more flexible in your thinking than even some humans, Gail.”

“Fine, I won’t argue that point. Litthor, I assume you’re taking advantage of my negotiator clause so a second person for your faction can stay?”

My wording gets a casual shrug from Litthor. “A second member was staying.”

“When the others leave, I’ll introduce you to Grand Master Hasusar,” I state. “If you reach a concord with him, I’ll add an exit to the northern domains for a few years. That will enable adventurer teams to reach and return from the northern domains quickly.”

“You said his title before,” notes Litthor dryly.

His amusement warrants a smack on the nose, so I give him one. “He has more levels and Prestige classes than you do, Litthor. I want to make sure you’re respectful. Even the former Guild Master here had more levels than you, all in combat classes.”

Aerneth clears her throat. “The King’s advisors said that is merely speculation.”

“It’s not; I can hear them. You may or may not have higher-levelled skills, but he has more levels, and three Tier 5 Prestige classes. If he declares you need to leave the territory the Adventurers’ Guild control, Demi-Plane or not, I’ll withdraw my welcome.”

“I’ll ensure those that meet with him treat him with all honours,” reassures Litthor.

“Good, I hassle him enough,” I say with a grin. “But then, I have things he wants, where you could use the help of Human adventurers.”

Turning to address the hall, I project my voice to ensure everyone hears. “You’ve half an hour to decide who stays, and everyone else is leaving. If you adopt the cause of a new faction to stay, I’ll know and come up with a fine. Perhaps teaching humans to speak every language you know—if you’ve nothing better to offer them.”

Sending another Message to Alfarr to ask for a future meeting between Hasusar and Litthor, I go to my area to avoid the energetic discussion. Settling down with my memory crystal and containing auntie Am’s composition lessons is likely a mistake as Sarah has to enquire if I’m seeing them off.

Teleporting to the foyer, I find the Royal Guard assembled in ranks with the various nobles arrayed as if for a receiving line. When I lead the assembled elves out the front door, I find not only a village delegation waiting but, near Sanctuary’s buildings, groups of adventurers and children are there for afternoon lessons looking on.

Not all the council: Alfarr, Priestess Irene, Georgius—the brewer not the innkeeper—and ‌Selene, though she looks particularly displeased at being here. Last but not least is Grand Master Hasusar, dressed in armour and making me wonder if he ever takes it off. It wouldn’t be impossible to sleep in the reinforced Dracolisk hide and cleaning spells to keep the smell at bay.

Captain Arodion leads the way as the Royal Guard files out, politely nodding to the village elders. A Wizard follows on his heels and moves ahead to open a Portal targeted to a sunlit glade. Around the glade, the buildings blend in between massive redwoods that reach upwards, far out of the Portal’s perspective.

The Captain steps aside while the first half of his unit march through; the second half follows once the last of the nobles leave. With the Portal still open, Arodion steps towards the elders, accompanying Aerneth and Litthor, who’d come out to see the others off.

“Captain Arodion, Lord Litthor, and High Singer Glingaerneth. I’d like to introduce you to Grand Master Hasusar and some local council members. Selene, Georgius, Priestess Irene of Hestia, and a recent addition, Guild Master Alfarr.”

I motioned toward each‌ so everyone could put a name to a face. I’m relieved when Selene says nothing unpleasant, but she certainly gives a surly enough nod.

“We learnt our unexpected arrival in such numbers caused some concerns. Please accept a token of apology and permit us to leave a small group to continue discussions with Gailneth,” states Aerneth.

“We don’t want your bribe, just leave us in peace,” snaps Selene, bristly with indignant pride.

Grand Master Hasusar almost says something sharp but bites his tongue before he speaks. “Elder Selene, it would be rude to offer such a rejection to a peaceful offer.”

“It's an apology for any unintentional distress we caused, and if we don’t have your permission, we’ll leave and organise to meet Gailneth elsewhere. We’d happily host her, but she can easily Teleport to meet us,” announces Aerneth, and I wonder if that’s a standard diplomatic play. “We’ve commissioned Gailneth to provide whatever improvement the village council agrees to, be it better roads or further improvement to the village defences.”

“You going to charge them coppers like you did Androkles for the cove?” huffs Selene.

“No, the fee I’m applying is substantial, even for most noble houses,” I clarify, though I’m unsure how much the training of the Royal Guard would cost.

Selene looks mollified at that news but shifts in irritation when Aerneth speaks again. “The choice is yours, to accept, decline, or even leave unused until later if Gailneth has time then,” asserts Aerneth.

“That’s most gracious of you. How big was the group planning to stay on?” asks Hasusar before Selene can snap again.

“Myself, Lord Litthor, and some representatives from various concerns to negotiate with Gailneth. Some twenty-four altogether, though she requests we stay within her tower to avoid disturbing the village.”

“How’d you all fit in there?” grumbles Selene.

“I can give you a bit of a tour if you’d like after Captain Arodion departs,” I offer, and Selene nods sharply.

“That sounds more than fair; twenty-four is smaller than most caravans that come through,” states Hasusar, his tone firm. “As for a tour, I’d be interested in seeing inside your tower myself, Gailneth.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I say. With that, Arodion nods politely again, his Wizard heads through the Portal, and it soon closes.

Aerneth and Litthor lead the way back through the silver-paned doorways, and the village council follows on my heels.

Selene gawps at the woods all around and blinks in disbelief. “I thought those wagering you had an underground room were right. How can this fit?”

“We’re not near the village anymore; the tower supports the doorways to reach this place,” I explain, avoiding all mention of planes. “It's impossible to get lost. If you seek to return to the exit or the hall ahead, the wards will respond and guide your intuition to determine the route.”

Hasusar strides ahead, his gaze already taking in the blue sky above the hall, so I join him. Fortunately, the delegations have retired from the banquet area, so it stands empty.

“We’re not somewhere in our world, are we?” asks Hasusar. “The sky is too blue.”

“A Demi-Plane; my aunt made it and the wards for my discussion with the Andúnë elves,” I explain. “The sunlight is from a Radiant orb on a larger scale than what I used for the lighthouse.”

“Who exactly are you, Gailneth? No one just makes a Demi-Plane overnight,” enquires Hasusar, his tone suddenly careful. “I’ve never even seen the details about how to make one at all.”

“Then how can you be sure you can’t make them overnight? My aunt Am does,” I argue and wave about us. “Technically, you’re correct; you can’t make them overnight. The Demi-Plane has been growing since the tower went up, and it's not complete yet. However, setting up the seed only took her about an hour. This is the banquet hall, and I’d be happy to host some celebrations if the village would like—the enchantments can feed everyone.”

“I don’t see any Mana about supporting wards or providing food,” argues Hasusar.

“I’m sure my aunt Am could explain it, but she’s a little busy right now,” I say, waving at the foliage again. “After she took the time to create this, I don’t want to disturb her without a good reason. It's based on the construction used for a Demi-Plane called The Exchange. Have you heard of it?”

“She copied another Demi-Plane?”

“Yep, it's far easier than making it from scratch yourself. Have you ever been to The Exchange?” I repeated the question since Hasusar seems to have missed it gawking at the hall.

“I’ve never heard of it,” admits Hasusar.

“Well, if you want to feel like a small fish, let me know—it's daunting,” I say, giving him a grin. “The first time my father stumbled upon it, he found it humbling.”

“Who is your father?” enquires Hasusar. “I’ve dealt with a lot of powerful Taurë.”

“Oh, he’s not a Taurë; technically, I’m a half-breed.”

“You look like a full-blood Taurë Elf,” states Hasusar, staring curiously at me.

“No, I’m half Celestial.”

Hasusar's jaw drops open, and I walk away while he’s recovering.