allow them to dry in the cold air. Mike and Alks rode ahead, large and stolid as hruss themselves. The Magister followed. Sira and Rollie brought up the rear, their hoods pulled well forward to hold in warmth. Snow fell intermittently all day, frosting their furs with white, freezing on the open bedfurs in lacy patterns. Ogre Pass was cruelly cold, even in daylight. The hruss ’s big hooves made little sound as they plodded through the soft powder.
They stopped just before dark to make their second camp. The season was one of long days and short nights, and they had ridden far. They were so close to Lamdon they could see the glow of its quiru on the mountain slope ahead, a distance of about four hours’ ride. The snow-bleached sky and the pale peaks melded into one indistinguishable landscape at this hour, and the circle of Lamdon’s warm light seemed to float in the air, as if suspended above the ground. As their own quiru grew around them, the larger one sparkled vividly beyond and through it like the first star of evening.
Alks’s wine flask had been emptied the night before, and the camp was quiet this night. Sira lay on her furs wondering what Lamdon would be like, and listening to the Magister reminisce with Alks and Mike about their boyhood years. Several stories included Shen’s father, usually with Shen on the receiving end of some rough joke.
Sira thought of her own father, the familiar smell of him when she was tiny, the odors of softwood smoke and snow that clung to his furs. She fell asleep trying to remember his face, and woke in the morning grateful there had been no more night terrors.
It was the following midday when the travelers rode into the great courtyard of the capital House. The hruss’ s hooves clattered on clean-swept paving stones, a startling sound after three days of snow-muffled hoofbeats. Sira sat straight in her saddle, trying to see everything at once. Lamdon was even larger than Conservatory, perhaps twice again as big. Its great doors looked as if four people would be required to open them. Its lavish quiru sparkled and gleamed, coruscating in the snowy setting.
Their approach had been noted, and a formal welcoming party was assembled on the broad front steps. Hruss and saddlepacks neatly disappeared into the hands of several Housemen, and a bewildering variety of people were introduced. Sira was grateful when a small man with a merry expression bowed, and seemed ready to take charge of her.
“Greetings, Cantrix,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for a person of small stature. “I am Cantor Rico. Welcome to Lamdon.”
Sira bowed in return, a deeper bow to honor a senior Cantor. Rico gestured to the enormous doors. “Please come in and meet the other Singers who have gathered. They are all in our senior Cantrix’s apartment at the moment, talking Conservatory, I should think.”
“Thank you, Cantor Rico,” Sira said. The riders were going off toward the back of the House. Magister Shen had been formally received by some Committee official. Sira followed Rico, stumbling once on the steps as she gazed up in wonder at this largest House on the Continent. Its quiru was so warm that people were wearing sleeveless tunics, and no fur at all indoors, not even on their feet. Sira had never seen a sleeveless tunic before. The unaccustomed heat made her feel breathless.
As Rico led her down a long hall, she caught a glimpse of the great room to her left, and the Cantoris to her right. It was much, much larger than any she had ever seen, and she had to tear her eyes away from it in order not to lose sight of Cantor Rico. He led her to the north wing, and down another long corridor to a large apartment.
There were eight Singers for Lamdon’s Cantoris, Sira knew. The senior Cantrix was a person of significant influence, second only on the Continent to the Magister of Conservatory, or so Sira had been taught. The senior Cantrix at Lamdon served as advisor to the Magistral
They stopped just before dark to make their second camp. The season was one of long days and short nights, and they had ridden far. They were so close to Lamdon they could see the glow of its quiru on the mountain slope ahead, a distance of about four hours’ ride. The snow-bleached sky and the pale peaks melded into one indistinguishable landscape at this hour, and the circle of Lamdon’s warm light seemed to float in the air, as if suspended above the ground. As their own quiru grew around them, the larger one sparkled vividly beyond and through it like the first star of evening.
Alks’s wine flask had been emptied the night before, and the camp was quiet this night. Sira lay on her furs wondering what Lamdon would be like, and listening to the Magister reminisce with Alks and Mike about their boyhood years. Several stories included Shen’s father, usually with Shen on the receiving end of some rough joke.
Sira thought of her own father, the familiar smell of him when she was tiny, the odors of softwood smoke and snow that clung to his furs. She fell asleep trying to remember his face, and woke in the morning grateful there had been no more night terrors.
It was the following midday when the travelers rode into the great courtyard of the capital House. The hruss’ s hooves clattered on clean-swept paving stones, a startling sound after three days of snow-muffled hoofbeats. Sira sat straight in her saddle, trying to see everything at once. Lamdon was even larger than Conservatory, perhaps twice again as big. Its great doors looked as if four people would be required to open them. Its lavish quiru sparkled and gleamed, coruscating in the snowy setting.
Their approach had been noted, and a formal welcoming party was assembled on the broad front steps. Hruss and saddlepacks neatly disappeared into the hands of several Housemen, and a bewildering variety of people were introduced. Sira was grateful when a small man with a merry expression bowed, and seemed ready to take charge of her.
“Greetings, Cantrix,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for a person of small stature. “I am Cantor Rico. Welcome to Lamdon.”
Sira bowed in return, a deeper bow to honor a senior Cantor. Rico gestured to the enormous doors. “Please come in and meet the other Singers who have gathered. They are all in our senior Cantrix’s apartment at the moment, talking Conservatory, I should think.”
“Thank you, Cantor Rico,” Sira said. The riders were going off toward the back of the House. Magister Shen had been formally received by some Committee official. Sira followed Rico, stumbling once on the steps as she gazed up in wonder at this largest House on the Continent. Its quiru was so warm that people were wearing sleeveless tunics, and no fur at all indoors, not even on their feet. Sira had never seen a sleeveless tunic before. The unaccustomed heat made her feel breathless.
As Rico led her down a long hall, she caught a glimpse of the great room to her left, and the Cantoris to her right. It was much, much larger than any she had ever seen, and she had to tear her eyes away from it in order not to lose sight of Cantor Rico. He led her to the north wing, and down another long corridor to a large apartment.
There were eight Singers for Lamdon’s Cantoris, Sira knew. The senior Cantrix was a person of significant influence, second only on the Continent to the Magister of Conservatory, or so Sira had been taught. The senior Cantrix at Lamdon served as advisor to the Magistral
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