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nightdog_barksSome of the WIPs I'm letting go have names, some don't. This one did. Unless otherwise stated, they're all going to be House-Wilson (in some form or other). This is an AU way-distant-future thing. A few more present-day notes (including how it was supposed to end) are at the end; anyone who would like take anything from away from this (or any other Fly Free WIP I post) is more than welcome to do so. From December, 2007, this is 2,656 words.
The Kalandar Prince
The receiving hall was cool today, and for that the Kalandar Prince was eternally grateful. Even with the minimum of ceremonial Court robes he was required to wear, the hall was often uncomfortably warm, sometimes even warmer than his last posting as a Year-Prince. Since that posting had been in a sub-Equatorial jungle, the Kalandar figured he could count himself relatively lucky that he didn't have attendants surrounding him, penning him in with their long ostrick-feather fans.
The Kalandar Prince drew a weary sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose. It was a familiar gesture to his Ministers and courtiers, and so they ignored it.
"My lord?"
It was the Minister of the Royal Directories. The Kalandar Prince sighed again, and shifted in his plain wooden throne.
"Yes, Rustik?"
The Minister bowed smoothly, dipping low to the stone floor.
"My lord, you need to apply the Vice-Royal Stamp to this year's set of directories. Otherwise they will not be valid."
"I understand," the Kalandar said dryly. "Have them delivered to my chambers. Next, please?"
"I have a proposal for you, sir."
The Kalandar's eyes narrowed. "Many people have proposals for me, sir. What makes yours different from all the others?"
"It is different in that I ask nothing in return, royal prince."
At this, the Kalandar chuckled. "'Nothing' is certainly a relative term. And if you seek to curry favor by elevating my stature, it will not work." He pulled at his brown tunic a litte, smoothing out the silk. "As evinced by my sigil, I am a Kalandar Prince, not a Prince of the Blood." The grid-like pattern, so much like a checkerboard, stood out plainly against the soft russet.
The tall stranger bowed.
"My mistake," he admitted. "I am a stranger here, so the ways of this place are new to me. But I do assure you, 'nothing,' in this case, does mean 'nothing'." He straightened from his bow, and looked directly at the Kalandar. "Except, of course, for the small amount of bed and boarding I would require."
"And I would grant you this ... because?"
"Because you have a problem, Kalandar."
Out of the corner of his eye, the Kalandar saw the Captain of his Guard step forward; he lifted a forefinger and the man stopped. The Kalandar shook his head.
Let me hear what this visitor has to say. Then you may arrest him.
"And what would this problem be?" he asked, casually omitting the customary "sir."
"The chief export of this region are zaradi gems," the stranger said, seeming to take no notice of the slight. "And most recently there has been a strike, a discovery of a new deposit of the raw stones that dwarfs all others in recent memory."
"Thank you, but I do not need a complete recapitulation of the province's economic history."
"And also most recently," the visitor went on, as if the Kalandar had not spoken at all, "false gems have been appearing on the market, driving down the value of the real zaradis. Because there is no way to distinguish the true gems from counterfeits, merchants are becoming reluctant to buy."
The Kalandar frowned. "This is most recent," he said sharply. "So recent that I myself have only learned of it within the past few days." He leaned forward from his simple throne, fixing the stranger with a hard stare. "If you are a stranger here, how did you hear the news?"
The man stared back, and when he answered his voice was steady and betrayed no hint of fear.
"I listen," he said quietly, "and I watch, and in that way I hear and see things most men miss. Talk is beginning to spread in the markets."
After a long moment the Kalandar nodded. "Very well," he said. "What you have told me so far is nothing new. Is there some point to this audience?"
The stranger nodded. "I have devised a way to tell the false gems from the real ones."
"He lies!"
Startled, the Kalandar looked around. His adviser Maristo was the source of the accusation.
Of course, the Kalandar thought sourly. A puffed-up popinjay of a man, his rudeness was matched only by his arrogance, and his sycophancy outweighed them both. Unfortunately, he was the Adviser Royal, holding his post by pleasure of the King and not the Kalandar Prince.
"I assure you, this is a matter of simple science," the stranger replied calmly, his tone clearly indicating he thought Maristo was obviously incapable of understanding such a thing.
The Kalandar hid a smile even as his Adviser fumed beside him.
"Let us see a demonstration of this ... simple science, then," he said easily, and waved the stranger closer.
In an instant a small table was set before the throne, and two glittering zarida gems placed on it.
The very color of the stranger's eyes, the Kalandar thought, as the faceted stones twinkled and gleamed with a familiar blue glow in the sunlight. He dismissed the thought, and leaned forward, his attention intent on the visitor.
Whose attention, it was clear, was on the two gemstones in front of him. He studied them for a moment, then reached beneath his cloak. Instantly, the guards on either side of the Kalandar stepped up, their lances leveled at the stranger, their armored bodies forming a steely barrier. The stranger looked up, genuine surprise on his face.
"My lord Kalandar," he said. "Please be assured I mean no harm -- "
"This is an often lawless district," the Kalandar replied dryly. "There are many people trying to harm me, every day." He settled himself back on his plainly-carved throne. "I do not think, however, that you are one." He raised one hand, and the guards fell back, grounding the butts of their lances on the flagstone floor.
"Thank you, Lord Kalandar," the stranger nodded. Casting one more glance around at the now-quiet guards, he finally withdrew his hand from his cloak, revealing a small flask.
"Kalandar, it is poison!" Maristo hissed in his ear, but the Kalandar batted him away irritably.
"What is he going to do, toss it in the air and hope that I catch it, like a barking selkie in a mummer's fair? Let us see his little show. Perhaps there will be some amusement in it." The Kalandar rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots there. "And the gods know, I could use some levity these days." He directed his attention back to the stranger, who had removed what appeared to be an eyedropper from the flask and was holding it up.
"It is a simple test," he was saying, "using the most simple of components." He dipped the small glass tube back into the flask and squeezed the rubber bulb. Immediately, a clear liquid was drawn up into the tube.
"And what are these components?" the Kalandar asked. "So that we may test it for ourselves, later."
The stranger glanced up, and for just a moment there was the gleam of ... something in his eye. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.
"It is a combination of plant extracts, of certain herbs, both health-giving and deadly poison -- "
"I told you!" Maristo muttered.
" -- finely-ground spices, obtained in fair trade from the savages of New Denland, the pulverized root of the sandaway tree, and the true blood of that rarest of creatures, the hoofmouse!"
The Kalandar could not repress a smile -- the stranger did indeed sound like the ringmaster of some country fair.
"And -- put together -- what do all these exotic ingredients actually do?"
"I'm glad you asked," the stranger said, and the Kalandar laughed outright. The stranger positioned the eye of the dropper over one of the sparkling gemstones.
"It shows us the truth," he murmured, and squeezed the dropper's bulb so that a steady stream of the clear liquid washed over the beautiful zarida.
Instantly, a wisp of smoke rose from the gem. It was a tiny plume at first, but it quickly grew into a roiling, twisting chimney of grey and black.
The courtiers and minsters gasped -- the zarida stone itself was changing color, losing its characteristic sky-blue, fading to a dull chalk. The flow of liquid stopped -- the dropper was empty -- and the once-perfect gem sat transformed. All its clarity, its depth, its sparkle, was gone, and in its place was ... a rock. A rock shaped like a cut zarida, but a rock nonetheless.
With a gentle nudge, the stranger pushed it off the edge of the table, and it fell to the floor with a ponderous thud.
Maristo was the first to regain his voice.
"A trick," he growled. "All a trick! How do we know that was not the real zarida?"
"How indeed?" the stranger drawled, and plunged the dropper back into the flask. Quickly, he drew up another measure of liquid, and, just as quickly, emptied it over the second stone.
Nothing happened. The gemstone still sparkled, its clarity undimmed by the mysterious liquid.
Maristo was undeterred. "I still say it is a trick! This could be the false zarida, this whole charade a ruse to put more false stones on the market."
"It could be," the stranger agreed. "But it is not." And in one swift motion, he swept the second stone off the table.
Everyone in the chamber leaned forward; the Kalandar half-rose from his wooden throne.
The stone hit the floor, and promptly split along its multitudinous facet lines into hundreds of tiny, glittering fragments.
It was as if the chamber room itself released a great exhale of breath.
"No!" The Kalandar was aware of Maristo beside him, hurling invectives and waving his hands.
"He has destroyed the King's property! Seize him!"
"Hold!" the Kalandar shouted, bolting to his feet. His sword jostled lightly against his right leg but he ignored it. "I said, hold!"
The guards, who had already begun to hustle the stranger away, stopped. The room quieted. The Kalandar looked around; none of the ministers or courtiers would meet his eye.
Except for the stranger, who met his gaze and held it.
"You overstep your authority, Maristo," the Kalandar said softly. "Or have you forgotten who is the Year-Prince in this room?" He nodded to the guards. "Release him."
The guards stepped back -- reluctantly, it seemed, and the stranger was left to pull at his tunic, straightening his now-wrinkled sleeves.
"Thank you," he said.
The Kalandar did not reply; instead, he raised his voice again.
"Guards! Clear the chamber! I wish to have a private audience with this man."
"My lord!" It was Maristo, so close he could feel the man's hot breath on his ear. "I must advise against this! The stranger is obviously a magus -- who else could perform tricks such as these? He seeks to bewitch you!"
The Kalandar sighed and rubbed lightly at the bridge of his nose. As much as he hated to admit it, Maristo might be right.
"Very well," he said. "Since it is a known fact that a magus cannot enchant two people at the same time, one other person shall stay."
The gleam of triumph was bright in the Adviser's eyes. "A wise decision," he purred. "I shall -- "
"The Captain of the Guard," the Kalandar said.
"I lied," the stranger said.
"I suspect you of many," the Kalandar replied easily. "Which one in particular?"
The chamber was empty except for the three men. The Kalandar still sat in his plain wooden throne, his Captain beside him.
"The elixir has no hoofmouse blood in it."
The Kalandar felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"And the others?" he asked.
"I will leave them for your discovery, Kalandar-Prince."
"Then I must keep you near me," the Kalandar said, "in order to determine the truth."
The stranger smiled. "And that is the nature of my proposal," he said. "The secret of the elixir, in exchange for being your ... shadow."
"But why?" The Kalandar blinked. "I assure you, I am the most singularly uninteresting man in this province."
The stranger's look was long and penetrating.
"You are the law in this wild place," he said, "appointed by the King for a year's service. When your term is up, another man, from another family of minor nobility, will assume the governorship, and you will be appointed Kalandar to another province. It is in this way the King breeds leadership through the ranks of his courtiers, and ascertains who best may serve him as Ministers." He placed both his hands on the small table and leaned forward. "This is your fourth appointment, and your most dangerous."
The Captain stiffened beside him, and the Kalandar laid a reassuring hand on the man's arm.
"Again, you have told me nothing that I do not already know. Why do you wish to stay near me, if it is such a risky place to be?"
"I am from a far-distant land," the stranger said. "My own Queen has given me and others like me a charge, to learn of other places and their customs. We report to her at the end of our journeys so that my people may hear of the ways of others, and perhaps use their knowledge to increase our own. Besides," he added, "if you are the target, that would mean I am not."
The Kalandar glanced at him sharply, but the stranger's face betrayed nothing but perfect innocence.
"All well and good," he said at last. "But why here? As you have said, this is a lawless place, poverty-stricken, except for a few extremely wealthy families riding on the backs of the poor, trying to make this their own private fiefdom. Only I stand between them and full power, and the King can spare no more troops for this province, due to the raiders that harry our southern borders. The zarida strike has done nothing but make the entire situation worse -- men are murdered every day for a pittance, and their wives and children must beg in the streets." He shook his head. "Why would you not choose one of the northern provinces, where you could observe the workings of government in peace?"
"Because," the stranger said quietly, "here, I can observe it most honestly." He stood back, leaning a little more heavily on his staff.
"I am not here to interfere, or to foment dissension. My only wish is to learn."
The chamber was silent. The Kalandar looked at his Captain, an unspoken question in his eyes.
The Captain's shoulders rose slightly, then fell, and he nodded.
"All right," the Kalandar said. "But know this -- if you try to harm me or this province in any way -- "
"My life is forfeit," the stranger interrupted. "Yes, that's usually the way it is."
The Kalandar laughed out loud then. Perhaps he had found someone at last that he could actually talk to.
"Welcome, then, shadow," he said. "Except I cannot call you 'shadow.' What is your name?"
There was the briefest of hesitations, and then the stranger was stepping forward.
"House," he said smoothly. "In my service I am Taisa House."
The Kalandar smiled.
"And I am James," he said. "Year-Prince for Rukmara Province."
Alone at last, House inspected every inch of his small room. The walls, like most of the interior chambers of the outpost, were of rough-hewn logs, and the pleasant scent of some cedar-like tree permeated the air. After a few moments, he stopped looking.
Who was he kidding? These people were way too primitive to have listening moles hidden anywhere. Still, he looked around once more before removing his own small device from a secret pocket deep in the folds of his cloak. Flicking up the tiny antenna on the sub-space transmitter, he spoke softly.
"This is House," he said. "I'm in."
~ tbc?
************
So, yeah. It's fun to write like this, but it can be hard to sustain over time. Plus I see my old problem of stopping the action to have characters make speeches.
How this was supposed to end: House and Wilson grow closer over time and there's a lot of worldbuilding asWilson the Kalandar Prince runs his Province and visits his subjects. It's revealed that there's a terrorist/criminal organization trying to assassinate the Prince; when they plant a bomb at some ceremonial event the Prince is critically injured, and House disobeys direct orders (yet another version of the Prime Directive) by transporting Wilson the Prince to his scout ship and saving him with his superior medical technology. The two then wander the stars together and hijinks ensue they live happily ever after. *g*
The Kalandar Prince
The receiving hall was cool today, and for that the Kalandar Prince was eternally grateful. Even with the minimum of ceremonial Court robes he was required to wear, the hall was often uncomfortably warm, sometimes even warmer than his last posting as a Year-Prince. Since that posting had been in a sub-Equatorial jungle, the Kalandar figured he could count himself relatively lucky that he didn't have attendants surrounding him, penning him in with their long ostrick-feather fans.
The Kalandar Prince drew a weary sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose. It was a familiar gesture to his Ministers and courtiers, and so they ignored it.
"My lord?"
It was the Minister of the Royal Directories. The Kalandar Prince sighed again, and shifted in his plain wooden throne.
"Yes, Rustik?"
The Minister bowed smoothly, dipping low to the stone floor.
"My lord, you need to apply the Vice-Royal Stamp to this year's set of directories. Otherwise they will not be valid."
"I understand," the Kalandar said dryly. "Have them delivered to my chambers. Next, please?"
"I have a proposal for you, sir."
The Kalandar's eyes narrowed. "Many people have proposals for me, sir. What makes yours different from all the others?"
"It is different in that I ask nothing in return, royal prince."
At this, the Kalandar chuckled. "'Nothing' is certainly a relative term. And if you seek to curry favor by elevating my stature, it will not work." He pulled at his brown tunic a litte, smoothing out the silk. "As evinced by my sigil, I am a Kalandar Prince, not a Prince of the Blood." The grid-like pattern, so much like a checkerboard, stood out plainly against the soft russet.
The tall stranger bowed.
"My mistake," he admitted. "I am a stranger here, so the ways of this place are new to me. But I do assure you, 'nothing,' in this case, does mean 'nothing'." He straightened from his bow, and looked directly at the Kalandar. "Except, of course, for the small amount of bed and boarding I would require."
"And I would grant you this ... because?"
"Because you have a problem, Kalandar."
Out of the corner of his eye, the Kalandar saw the Captain of his Guard step forward; he lifted a forefinger and the man stopped. The Kalandar shook his head.
Let me hear what this visitor has to say. Then you may arrest him.
"And what would this problem be?" he asked, casually omitting the customary "sir."
"The chief export of this region are zaradi gems," the stranger said, seeming to take no notice of the slight. "And most recently there has been a strike, a discovery of a new deposit of the raw stones that dwarfs all others in recent memory."
"Thank you, but I do not need a complete recapitulation of the province's economic history."
"And also most recently," the visitor went on, as if the Kalandar had not spoken at all, "false gems have been appearing on the market, driving down the value of the real zaradis. Because there is no way to distinguish the true gems from counterfeits, merchants are becoming reluctant to buy."
The Kalandar frowned. "This is most recent," he said sharply. "So recent that I myself have only learned of it within the past few days." He leaned forward from his simple throne, fixing the stranger with a hard stare. "If you are a stranger here, how did you hear the news?"
The man stared back, and when he answered his voice was steady and betrayed no hint of fear.
"I listen," he said quietly, "and I watch, and in that way I hear and see things most men miss. Talk is beginning to spread in the markets."
After a long moment the Kalandar nodded. "Very well," he said. "What you have told me so far is nothing new. Is there some point to this audience?"
The stranger nodded. "I have devised a way to tell the false gems from the real ones."
"He lies!"
Startled, the Kalandar looked around. His adviser Maristo was the source of the accusation.
Of course, the Kalandar thought sourly. A puffed-up popinjay of a man, his rudeness was matched only by his arrogance, and his sycophancy outweighed them both. Unfortunately, he was the Adviser Royal, holding his post by pleasure of the King and not the Kalandar Prince.
"I assure you, this is a matter of simple science," the stranger replied calmly, his tone clearly indicating he thought Maristo was obviously incapable of understanding such a thing.
The Kalandar hid a smile even as his Adviser fumed beside him.
"Let us see a demonstration of this ... simple science, then," he said easily, and waved the stranger closer.
In an instant a small table was set before the throne, and two glittering zarida gems placed on it.
The very color of the stranger's eyes, the Kalandar thought, as the faceted stones twinkled and gleamed with a familiar blue glow in the sunlight. He dismissed the thought, and leaned forward, his attention intent on the visitor.
Whose attention, it was clear, was on the two gemstones in front of him. He studied them for a moment, then reached beneath his cloak. Instantly, the guards on either side of the Kalandar stepped up, their lances leveled at the stranger, their armored bodies forming a steely barrier. The stranger looked up, genuine surprise on his face.
"My lord Kalandar," he said. "Please be assured I mean no harm -- "
"This is an often lawless district," the Kalandar replied dryly. "There are many people trying to harm me, every day." He settled himself back on his plainly-carved throne. "I do not think, however, that you are one." He raised one hand, and the guards fell back, grounding the butts of their lances on the flagstone floor.
"Thank you, Lord Kalandar," the stranger nodded. Casting one more glance around at the now-quiet guards, he finally withdrew his hand from his cloak, revealing a small flask.
"Kalandar, it is poison!" Maristo hissed in his ear, but the Kalandar batted him away irritably.
"What is he going to do, toss it in the air and hope that I catch it, like a barking selkie in a mummer's fair? Let us see his little show. Perhaps there will be some amusement in it." The Kalandar rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots there. "And the gods know, I could use some levity these days." He directed his attention back to the stranger, who had removed what appeared to be an eyedropper from the flask and was holding it up.
"It is a simple test," he was saying, "using the most simple of components." He dipped the small glass tube back into the flask and squeezed the rubber bulb. Immediately, a clear liquid was drawn up into the tube.
"And what are these components?" the Kalandar asked. "So that we may test it for ourselves, later."
The stranger glanced up, and for just a moment there was the gleam of ... something in his eye. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.
"It is a combination of plant extracts, of certain herbs, both health-giving and deadly poison -- "
"I told you!" Maristo muttered.
" -- finely-ground spices, obtained in fair trade from the savages of New Denland, the pulverized root of the sandaway tree, and the true blood of that rarest of creatures, the hoofmouse!"
The Kalandar could not repress a smile -- the stranger did indeed sound like the ringmaster of some country fair.
"And -- put together -- what do all these exotic ingredients actually do?"
"I'm glad you asked," the stranger said, and the Kalandar laughed outright. The stranger positioned the eye of the dropper over one of the sparkling gemstones.
"It shows us the truth," he murmured, and squeezed the dropper's bulb so that a steady stream of the clear liquid washed over the beautiful zarida.
Instantly, a wisp of smoke rose from the gem. It was a tiny plume at first, but it quickly grew into a roiling, twisting chimney of grey and black.
The courtiers and minsters gasped -- the zarida stone itself was changing color, losing its characteristic sky-blue, fading to a dull chalk. The flow of liquid stopped -- the dropper was empty -- and the once-perfect gem sat transformed. All its clarity, its depth, its sparkle, was gone, and in its place was ... a rock. A rock shaped like a cut zarida, but a rock nonetheless.
With a gentle nudge, the stranger pushed it off the edge of the table, and it fell to the floor with a ponderous thud.
Maristo was the first to regain his voice.
"A trick," he growled. "All a trick! How do we know that was not the real zarida?"
"How indeed?" the stranger drawled, and plunged the dropper back into the flask. Quickly, he drew up another measure of liquid, and, just as quickly, emptied it over the second stone.
Nothing happened. The gemstone still sparkled, its clarity undimmed by the mysterious liquid.
Maristo was undeterred. "I still say it is a trick! This could be the false zarida, this whole charade a ruse to put more false stones on the market."
"It could be," the stranger agreed. "But it is not." And in one swift motion, he swept the second stone off the table.
Everyone in the chamber leaned forward; the Kalandar half-rose from his wooden throne.
The stone hit the floor, and promptly split along its multitudinous facet lines into hundreds of tiny, glittering fragments.
It was as if the chamber room itself released a great exhale of breath.
"No!" The Kalandar was aware of Maristo beside him, hurling invectives and waving his hands.
"He has destroyed the King's property! Seize him!"
"Hold!" the Kalandar shouted, bolting to his feet. His sword jostled lightly against his right leg but he ignored it. "I said, hold!"
The guards, who had already begun to hustle the stranger away, stopped. The room quieted. The Kalandar looked around; none of the ministers or courtiers would meet his eye.
Except for the stranger, who met his gaze and held it.
"You overstep your authority, Maristo," the Kalandar said softly. "Or have you forgotten who is the Year-Prince in this room?" He nodded to the guards. "Release him."
The guards stepped back -- reluctantly, it seemed, and the stranger was left to pull at his tunic, straightening his now-wrinkled sleeves.
"Thank you," he said.
The Kalandar did not reply; instead, he raised his voice again.
"Guards! Clear the chamber! I wish to have a private audience with this man."
"My lord!" It was Maristo, so close he could feel the man's hot breath on his ear. "I must advise against this! The stranger is obviously a magus -- who else could perform tricks such as these? He seeks to bewitch you!"
The Kalandar sighed and rubbed lightly at the bridge of his nose. As much as he hated to admit it, Maristo might be right.
"Very well," he said. "Since it is a known fact that a magus cannot enchant two people at the same time, one other person shall stay."
The gleam of triumph was bright in the Adviser's eyes. "A wise decision," he purred. "I shall -- "
"The Captain of the Guard," the Kalandar said.
"I lied," the stranger said.
"I suspect you of many," the Kalandar replied easily. "Which one in particular?"
The chamber was empty except for the three men. The Kalandar still sat in his plain wooden throne, his Captain beside him.
"The elixir has no hoofmouse blood in it."
The Kalandar felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"And the others?" he asked.
"I will leave them for your discovery, Kalandar-Prince."
"Then I must keep you near me," the Kalandar said, "in order to determine the truth."
The stranger smiled. "And that is the nature of my proposal," he said. "The secret of the elixir, in exchange for being your ... shadow."
"But why?" The Kalandar blinked. "I assure you, I am the most singularly uninteresting man in this province."
The stranger's look was long and penetrating.
"You are the law in this wild place," he said, "appointed by the King for a year's service. When your term is up, another man, from another family of minor nobility, will assume the governorship, and you will be appointed Kalandar to another province. It is in this way the King breeds leadership through the ranks of his courtiers, and ascertains who best may serve him as Ministers." He placed both his hands on the small table and leaned forward. "This is your fourth appointment, and your most dangerous."
The Captain stiffened beside him, and the Kalandar laid a reassuring hand on the man's arm.
"Again, you have told me nothing that I do not already know. Why do you wish to stay near me, if it is such a risky place to be?"
"I am from a far-distant land," the stranger said. "My own Queen has given me and others like me a charge, to learn of other places and their customs. We report to her at the end of our journeys so that my people may hear of the ways of others, and perhaps use their knowledge to increase our own. Besides," he added, "if you are the target, that would mean I am not."
The Kalandar glanced at him sharply, but the stranger's face betrayed nothing but perfect innocence.
"All well and good," he said at last. "But why here? As you have said, this is a lawless place, poverty-stricken, except for a few extremely wealthy families riding on the backs of the poor, trying to make this their own private fiefdom. Only I stand between them and full power, and the King can spare no more troops for this province, due to the raiders that harry our southern borders. The zarida strike has done nothing but make the entire situation worse -- men are murdered every day for a pittance, and their wives and children must beg in the streets." He shook his head. "Why would you not choose one of the northern provinces, where you could observe the workings of government in peace?"
"Because," the stranger said quietly, "here, I can observe it most honestly." He stood back, leaning a little more heavily on his staff.
"I am not here to interfere, or to foment dissension. My only wish is to learn."
The chamber was silent. The Kalandar looked at his Captain, an unspoken question in his eyes.
The Captain's shoulders rose slightly, then fell, and he nodded.
"All right," the Kalandar said. "But know this -- if you try to harm me or this province in any way -- "
"My life is forfeit," the stranger interrupted. "Yes, that's usually the way it is."
The Kalandar laughed out loud then. Perhaps he had found someone at last that he could actually talk to.
"Welcome, then, shadow," he said. "Except I cannot call you 'shadow.' What is your name?"
There was the briefest of hesitations, and then the stranger was stepping forward.
"House," he said smoothly. "In my service I am Taisa House."
The Kalandar smiled.
"And I am James," he said. "Year-Prince for Rukmara Province."
Alone at last, House inspected every inch of his small room. The walls, like most of the interior chambers of the outpost, were of rough-hewn logs, and the pleasant scent of some cedar-like tree permeated the air. After a few moments, he stopped looking.
Who was he kidding? These people were way too primitive to have listening moles hidden anywhere. Still, he looked around once more before removing his own small device from a secret pocket deep in the folds of his cloak. Flicking up the tiny antenna on the sub-space transmitter, he spoke softly.
"This is House," he said. "I'm in."
~ tbc?
So, yeah. It's fun to write like this, but it can be hard to sustain over time. Plus I see my old problem of stopping the action to have characters make speeches.
How this was supposed to end: House and Wilson grow closer over time and there's a lot of worldbuilding as