He came to himself with a shudder. Those crouched before him pretended not to notice his abstraction, though he glared at them for a long moment, daring them to speak.
“Tell me of disturbance among the sloosil,” he asked at last. “I hear there is disorder among humans, near Black Talons, in places called Thou-ne and Alter.”
“It is same person as before,” murmured Slooshasill. “Up-lifted One sought same person in year past. Human called Pamra Don.”
So. Human called Pamra Don. Human who emptied pits in Bans. “Rivermen!” Sliffisunda hissed. It took him a time to recognize that the three before him had not replied. Contradiction? “Talkers do not agree?”
“Pits are full,” ventured Shimmipas. “Full. Fliers gorge.”
“Not Rivermen.” Sliffisunda almost crouched in amazement, catching himself only just in time. “Tell!”
“Procession.” The Talker shrugged. “Many humans walking. At sunset Pamra Don speaks to them.”
“Words?”
“Tells of Holy Sorters in sky. Tells of Protector of Man. Says humans must know truth. Says will tell Protector of Man.”
“ Shimness,’’ snorted Sliffisunda. It was the name of a legendary Thraish flier, one who had always accomplished the opposite of what he tried. In common parlance it meant “crazy” or “inept,” and it was in this sense Sliffisunda used it now.
“Pits are full,” Shimmipas repeated stubbornly. “If procession goes on, more pits will be full.”
Sliffisunda looked narrowly at the others. They dropped their eyes, appropriately wary.
“See with eyes,” Sliffisunda said at last. It was all he could do. In the room behind him the chains in the meat trough rattled, reminding him of hunger. He drooled, dismissing the delegation, and returned to his own place. They had brought him a young one this time. Soft little breasts, tasty. Tasty rump. The Tears had softened it nicely, and the mindless eyes rolled wildly as he tore at the flesh. It screamed, and he shut his eyes, imagining a weehar in his claws. It, too, would scream. Why, then, did these human cries always annoy him? He tore the throat out, cutting off the sound, irritated beyond measure, no longer enjoying the taste.
He went to his spy hole and looked out upon the sky. The delegation was just leaving, three Talkers and three ordinary fliers, flying east along the River against a sky of lowering storm. Foolish to fly in this weather. They could be blown out over water. Sliffisunda postulated, not for the first time, where the fear had come from that prevented the Thraish from flying over water at all. Survival, he told himself. During Thraish-human wars, many Thraish ate fish. Other Thraish killed them. Only Thraish who did not eat fish survived. Perhaps reason some Thraish did not eat fish then was fear of water.
It was possible. Anything was possible. Even this thing in Thou-ne and Alter was possible. He would go to Black Talons. He would see for himself.
The Council of Seven was gathered in the audience hall of the Chancery, the round council table set just outside the curtained niche where Lees Obol lay. By an exercise of willful delusion, one could imagine the Protector of Man as part of the gathering. The chair nearest the niche was empty. Perhaps the Protector occupied it spiritually. Or so, at least, Shavian Bossit amused himself by thinking.
As for the other six, they were present in reality. Tharius Don, fidgeting in his chair as though bitten by fleas. Gendra Mitiar, driving invisible creatures from the crevasses of her face with raking fingers. General Jondrigar, his pitted gray skin twitching in the jellied light. Koma Nepor, Ezasper Jom. And, of course, Shavian himself. A second ring of chairs enclosed the first, occupied by functionaries and supporting members of the Chancery staff. So, Tharius had invited Bormas Tyle to attend, though Bormas was a supporter of Bossit’s and Tharius knew it. Gendra had her majordomo, three district supervisors, and her Noor slave to lend her importance, though Jhilt squatted on the floor behind the second ring of chairs, conscious of her inferiority in this exalted gathering.
Koma Nepor and Ezasper Jorn supported one another. And Chiles Medman, the governor general of the Jarb Mendicants, was there—supporting whom? Shavian wondered. The Jarb Mendicants were tolerated by the Chancery, even used by the Chancery from time to time, but they could not be considered a part of the hierarchy. So what was Medman here for? Supporting some faction? There were three factions, at least. Tharius, the enigma, who would do the gods knew what if he were in power.