City in the Sky (9 page)

“Good things, I hope,” Rakeus replied. He gestured to the two youths still with him. “May I introduce my daughter, Deria and my nephew, Letir?”

Erik turned to the pair and inclined his head. “Deria, Letir,” he greeted them. “I may be able to aid you. Speak with me later,” he instructed.

The two youths shared a long meaningful look, and then both bowed in an eerie synchronicity before Deria met his eyes and spoke. “Thank you,” she said softly. “We will.”

Rakeus arched one eyebrow at Erik as the two youths drifted away, their eyes suddenly alive. “If you do as you say, Lord Erik,” he said softly, so no one else could hear him, “I will be indebted.”

“I seek no debtors,” Erik told him, just as softly. “Only friends and allies.”

“Those you shall have, if you make possible my heart's desire,” the
septon
told him. “I see the crowd gathers to speak with our newest
septon
,” he continued, causing Erik to glance around the Hall. “I will detain you no further.”

They exchanged bows, and Erik turned to the two youths, neither much younger then him. “Come to the Tarverro seat in the morning,” he murmured. “I will speak with you both then.”

As Hiri and his children drew away, Arien guided Erik away from the crowd for the moment. “Hiri is leader of only one of the three political factions in Newport,” she whispered. “He represents the merchants and the
sept
s that dabble in trade. There are two other major factions and their leaders are the only men you
must
meet tonight. I would not call the rest inconsequential, but those two you must meet, if no one else.”

Erik nodded wordlessly, and then the crowd caught up with them, and he was lost in a flood of carefully measured bows and even more carefully measured words and greetings.

Even through the swarm of hangers-on and in the middle of the conversations, he spotted the second of his grandmother's faction leaders at quite a distance. Where the vast majority of the men in the room wore
sept
uniform, he wore the blue on black of the Aeradi Sky Fleet, and was trailed by four men in odd yellow and white uniforms.

He nudged his grandmother slightly and pointed at the uniformed officer wending his way through the crowd towards them. “That is Bor
septon
Alraeis,” she whispered. “He's an admiral in Sky Fleet – he commands the Second Squadron – and heads what's often referred to as the paranoid faction. They believe war with the Draconans is inevitable, and they don't mean the little skirmishes over trading rights and basing stations that go on every few years.”

“Who are the men with him?” Erik asked.

“Wing-lancers,” Arien replied. “Your father wore that uniform once, long ago.” She paused. “Be careful, Erik. Politically, Alraeis wants to be allies with you. On a personal basis, however…”

“He doesn't like half-bloods,” Erik finished for her. “He isn't alone in that. I'll deal with it.”

He turned towards Alraeis, meeting the Aeraid's gaze. The Admiral increased his pace, pushing through the crowd with consummate ease. He broke through the crowd and Erik got his first look at him.

Alraeis was short, even for an Aeraid, easily a foot shorter than Erik. His hair was graying, but he was still quite trim. The two little golden ships on his collar marked him as a rear admiral of the fleet.

Erik bowed to him and Alraeis returned the bow, after a moment's hesitation. “
Septon
Tarverro,” he greeted Erik. “Welcome to Newport. I am Rear Admiral Bor
septon
Alraeis.”

“Well met Admiral,” Erik replied. “How fares the Second Squadron, my lord admiral?”

He'd meant the question as a courtesy, but from the way Alraeis jerked he realized he'd surprised the man. Clearly he hadn't thought that Erik would know what squadron he commanded, or care about its well-being.

“The Second fares well,
septon
,” Alraeis replied. From the small smile of a man pleased with his own work, Erik realized that his unthinking question had put him more on the officer's good side than anything else he could have done or said. “Any attack against our city will find us more than a handful to deal with.”

“Is such an attack likely?” Erik asked, trying to feel out just how strong the paranoia of the 'paranoids' stretched.

“Not really,” the admiral replied. “Even if the current round of negotiations falls through, the Draconans are unlikely to attack without warning.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but which negotiations?” Erik asked.

Alraeis shrugged. “The usual,” he answered. “The Draconans have been trying to open access for their traders to Sky Cities other than Newport for years. As long as we continue to deny it, the chances for war grow with each passing year.”

Erik was stunned. He'd known that trade with the Sky Cities was limited. He hadn't realized it was forbidden outside Newport. No wonder the 'paranoids' expected war!

“If they do attack, I am sure you and all of our soldiers are ready to do your duty,” Erik said softly.

“We do our best,
septon
Tarverro,” Alraeis replied. He bowed, giving Erik the full gradation due a
septon
. “If you will excuse me, I see Lord Beldar. There are matters I must speak with him about.” Rising from his bow, he met Erik's gaze. “It has been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,
septon
Alraeis,” Erik replied, returning the bow. He nodded to the four wing-lancers, who bowed in return before sweeping off after Alraeis.

“Det
septon
Beldar is the Councilor for the Treasury,” Arien said calmly. “Alraeis is lobbying him for increased Fleet funding.” Erik turned to her and found her regarding him oddly.

“Well done, by the way. You turned someone I hoped to make at most neutral into a favorable neutral and possible ally, with one simple question.”

“Is the trade as restricted as he implied?” Erik asked.

“Worse, actually,” Arien replied. “Only two Sky Cities other than Newport allow
any
traders into their environs, and they both limit them to the lower cities. One of
them
, to top it off, specifically forbids dragons on the grounds that the lower city is too flammable for them.”

Erik winced. “I begin to understand the 'paranoids' viewpoint.”

“There's a reason I call them the war hawks personally,” Arien admitted. “Really, all they are is realists. They have a major bone to pick with the purists, obviously, and are in close alliance with the merchants. Unfortunately, that's only in Newport. The purists and their allies seem to dominate every Royal Council
except
Newport.”

“The purists?” Erik asked.

Arien didn't reply for a moment, and then hissed: “Men like
him
.”

Erik followed her gaze and found the man he thought she referred to. He was so perfectly Aeraid it was hard to see him as anything else.
Sept
uniform in perfect condition, hair cropped short in the traditional Aeraid seaman's style. If there'd been any doubt, Kels
septi
Rakeus followed in his wake as he headed for Erik.

“Korand
septon
Jaras,” Arien said softly. “He hated your father and, if that wasn't enough, you're an affront to everything he believes in. Watch your step.”

She had no time for any further words as Jaras had reached them. Erik carefully gave the man the proper gradation of
septon
to
septon
. There was, after all, no point in giving the Aeraid unnecessary insult.

Jaras did not return the bow at all, merely giving Erik a sneer as perfect and practiced as the rest of his appearance. “And just what do
you
think you are doing, aping the manners of your betters in this city?” he snapped. “You should return to your hovel in the fishing slum from where you came.”

Erik rose from the bow, carefully controlling his features. “It seems,” he said quietly, “that even among the Aeradi there are those who chose pigs for their role models instead of men.”

“You
dare
insult me, you insolent filth?” Jaras demanded.

“I merely return favor for favor,” Erik replied. “Aping, as you say, the manner of my supposed betters. I would guess that it's the smell of your own bullshit that keeps your nose turned up so high,” he added.

“I suppose we should suspect no better from the child of a madman and a human whore,” Jaras snarled.

The growing anger with which Erik had replied to the man's insults vanished, to be replaced with pure rage. Only Arien's fingers, driving hard into his bicep before he could do anything foolish, prevented him from drawing his sword and running the smirking fop through in the middle of the King's Hall.

Jaras clearly realized he'd hit a nerve, but the Aeraid had also clearly seen Erik's hand drop onto the hilt of his sword before Arien stopped him. His smirk was tinged with a degree of worry, and he'd changed his stance. With one step he would now be behind Kels, whose hand was also on his sword hilt.

“You're making a grave mistake,” Erik told Jaras flatly. Before the man could reply, he drove on. “I am not your enemy, but you seem bound and determined to make yourself mine.”

He locked eyes with the Aeraid. “Because I am not your enemy, I will make this offer,
once
. Walk away,” he said softly. “Walk away and never bother me again, and I will return the favor.

“But,” Erik continued, releasing his sword and raising a finger on his sword hand, “if you touch me or mine, I will challenge you and take you out onto the field with a sword in my hand. And on that field,
I will break you
!” he finished in a snarl.

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jaras to stand, stunned and deprived of his prey, in the center of the hall.

Erik headed directly for the door, dragging his grandmother in his wake. Finally, nearly at the exit from the hall, he turned back to the older woman, his anger over Jaras' comments still raging. From his grandmother's expression, it showed on his face as well.

“Can we go now?” he demanded. “Or must I stay and listen to more men insult my parents?”

“Erik, believe me, Jaras is the worst we have to offer,” Arien told him. “Most of those who knew your father respected him, and even those who didn't will mostly give you the benefit of the doubt. It's merely a few with more earth than water in their brains who'll cause you problems.”

Erik's face was a mask as he tried to control his anger. “Be that as it may, I believe I have been insulted enough for one night,
grandmother
,” he replied.

The old Aeraid woman sighed. “Very well,” she said quietly. “I'll have them bring the carriage around.”

The carriage ride back to the Tarverro seat was quiet, both Erik and his grandmother lost in their own thoughts. The horses drew the vehicle down the lamp-lit concourses of the city towar the docks, then up the cul-de-sac to the house.

Exiting the carriage, Arien took Erik's arm and guided him, not to the small guesthouse where she'd lived, but to the massive mansion that had been dark and cold for years upon years.

“I thought you'd only opened up the house for the meeting this morning,” Erik said as they approached the now brightly lit building.

“With a
septon
Tarverro finally here,” his grandmother replied, “we need to have the seat fully open and ready to receive visitors. Unless you object, of course,” she added.

Erik shook his head. The mansion was far more house than he really needed, but he was a stranger in a strange land, suddenly thrust into a position of authority. He'd listen to his grandmother and cling, almost, to her advice. She was his only guide and advisor among these his father's people. Without her, he would quickly find himself lost and confused among a strange people. When she advised, he'd listen.

The next morning, Erik discovered that telling young lovers to meet him in the morning was a bad idea. He was in the middle of his breakfast when Shel came in and looked at him.

“There's a young couple at the door, milord,” she told him, seeming uncomfortable to be reporting to him and not to his grandmother, who shared the table with him. “They say that you invited them.”

“Did they give their names?” Erik asked, lowering his full fork to his plate. He was pretty sure he knew who they were, but he figured he should still check.

“Letir and Deria, milord,” Shel replied.

“Let them in,” he instructed. “For that matter, tell Meria to set two more places for breakfast. I'm not going to stop my breakfast for this, and if they're here this early, I doubt they ate first.”

His grandmother smiled at him as Shel left the room. “They're young yet,” she said quietly.

“So am I,” he reminded her. “Letir is
older
than I am.”