And hills--hills stretching up endlessly, ridge after crumpled ridge, growing bluer and dimmer with distance, as far as the human eye could see into the sky. Beyond that stood the cobalt canopy of space, crenellated along its lower edge by faint icy peaks.
"Those are volcanoes, you know," Karaman remarked, making safely neutral conversation. "It is geothermal heat in this area which melts the ice of the High Rand, feeding springs and making Allaban so fertile." He was knowledgeable on almost any subject after a lifetime of studying the ancient lore. The conversation continued on impersonal topics.
The wind was a gentle torment, hot from its long fall off the High Rand, growing ever hotter as it sped past toward the deserts far below, but soon Shadow could see tiny specks drifting down that unlimited hillside--others coming to the meeting.
It took an hour or more for them all to assemble--farmers and merchants mostly, both women and men. Some of the men were enormous compared to Shadow and Karaman and Vindax, but the eagles could manage them in slings. There were introductions to "Citizen Vindax" and "Citizen Shadow," awkward attempts to shake hands with Vindax's stump, and courteous chat. Then they all settled into the chairs of the arc and waited.
NailBiter and IceFire were preening themselves on the roof; the birds had infinite patience. A few of the arrivals' mounts joined them, while the others returned to the sky. Shadow did not know whether that was a personal choice or whether juniors were not allowed to join in the meeting--the other half of the meeting, high in the air.
Finally the group was assembled.
An eagle swooped in across the reservoir, braked, then landed awkwardly on the fiat grass. It stalked forward a few paces and stopped, its great bulk seeming to complete the arc and turn it into a circle.
A full-face view of an eagle was still unnerving to Shadow, a sight he had rarely seen before he came to Allaban. This was an elderly female, brown with a few silver primaries, and on flat ground she stood twice as high as he would have done, glaring slowly around the circle. Her gaze finally settled on Karaman.
High above, not much more than spots in the sky, hung two or three dozen others. Far away beyond human sight there would be others watching, and others beyond them. The talk would be reported all across Allaban.
"Er...who speaks to the High Ones?" the president asked.
"Me!" Potro said eagerly, jumping forward into a circle of disapproving glances.
"All right," Karaman said, indulging him. "Sit here." The skinny form dropped cross-legged to the grass and faced toward the bird.
The president stood up. He was a lanky, bony, middle-aged spice merchant, shabby in his work clothes and smelling strongly of coffee and cinnamon.
"You want to do the talking, Ryl?" he asked hopefully.
Karaman shook his head. He had half twisted in his chair, as though not too much concerned in the affair at all, but he had stayed next to Vindax, which was a hopeful sign, worth many votes if there were to be voting. "You do fine, Jos," he said.
The president shuffled a toe at the ground, finally leaning back against the frame of the children's swing set and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Citizen Vindax," he mumbled. "When you arrived, we said that you were welcome to stay until you got better and then we'd send you back. With no conditions."
Porto's fingers were racing and the eagle's fierce glance was following them, her comb moving as she passed the speech up to the watchers in the sky. Karaman was unobtrusively watching the translation but seemed to be satisfied with it.
"Well, we meant that," the president said. "And that's still fine by us. But the death of...of your father...has made a bit of a difference. See, we got a letter from Ramo. Seems they still had a bird they took from Allaban, and they've sent this note to us and we've talked it over and it makes things a bit tricky, like."
He explained at length, but Shadow had been told earlier by Karaman. Jarkadon wanted "the pretender Vindax" turned over to him. In return, he would renew the truce his father had made, to last for the duration of his own reign.
"Well, we don't want a war," the president said apologetically.
That was obvious--it would be a rout, although perhaps Jarkadon did not know that. "But we don't fancy turning you over--under the circumstances."
He dried up for a while, looking around hopefully for volunteers and not finding any. "We thought if you wanted to stay, then maybe the king would settle for a letter from you," he said at last, uncomfortably. "Waiving any claims on his throne."
"And Allaban," someone muttered.
Vindax nodded and waited. Shadow wondered who would support him and feed him. The republic was not very good at raising taxes, even when the government voted them. Who would provide charity for a helpless cripple with no family?
But certainly these politicians would have thought about finance, and eventually the president glanced toward Shadow. "We think we could find a house and a bit of land for you and your friend," he said. "If that's what you want to do."
So Shadow would be peasant for two, would he? And also nurse. The damage to Vindax had been drastic, and nothing worked below his waist; he was not a pleasant patient to tend. Was this divine punishment for a failed bodyguard? A lifetime of exile and horrible drudgery?
"Well!" the president said. "That's what we wanted to suggest. Who speaks for the church?" Again he looked hopefully at Karaman, but again the old man shook his head, and it was a plump, matronly lady who rose. The president sat down quickly. Even this apparent formality of having the speaker stand was observed only so that the eagles could tell which one was talking.
Perhaps Potro was regretting his eagerness; he rubbed his fingers to ease them.
"The church would be much against turning over a refugee!" the woman said fiercely. "We would rather hope to have Citizen Vindax's help in overthrowing this Jarkadon and freeing all the birds in Rantorra, as we should have done eight kilodays ago! Would you agree to that, Citizen? If we can put you back on your throne, would you free the eagles?"
"Not the throne of Allaban!" two or three said together. Potro glanced around angrily.
She started a lecture about moral obligations, and eventually the president suggested that perhaps they should hear from Citizen Vindax.
Vindax raised one of his hand stumps, and the eagle's eyes flashed toward him.
"Explain that I cannot stand, please," he said. His voice had changed tone but not timbre. It was still deep and commanding, but the arrogance had gone.
"I did," Potro said. "I said your legs are broken."
"Then I ask the representative of the church:Canyou put me on my throne? Is your army capable of it?"
The woman rose again, looking pink. "We can probably persuade a lot of men to help. We would need the government to help us with money and weapons. But you would give up any claim on Allaban, wouldn't you? For yourself and your...successors?" She turned much pinker and sat down quickly; she had almost said "heirs."
"Good archers?" Vindax asked.
"They'd need practice," she admitted weakly.
"And the mounts?"
The president jumped up. "Let's hear from the eagles."
Potro's fingers flickered and went still. He translated. "She says that the eagles should be free. It would be an updraft...a good thing to free all the eagles. The birds of Allaban mourn their friends who are slaves." He signaled, probably telling her to go more slowly. "But she says that you would kill them, not free them. The men would ride out on them to fight, and they would all die. Many eagles of Allaban would die also in the fighting. That would be a big downdraft."