First Place - Most Plausible
First Place - Most "RJ-esque"
(NOTE: This entry was unusually long, and has been broken up into several sections, because my HTML editor wouldn't allow me to present it as one piece)
(Continued From Part Three.)
Suroth's thoughts raced as her litter was carried through the packed streets of Ebou Dar. The citizens of this city had turned out in huge numbers to watch the spectacle beside the harbor. They stood cheek by jowl, and filling every street and alley and thronging the rooves and balconies. Still more leaned precariously out open windows, or even sat in the branches of the trees. As she progressed, she could hear a low roar as thousands of voices murmured at her passing.
Her beloved _lopar_, _Almarwhal_, clambered alongside, clawed feet making scraping sounds on the cobblestones, but she paid him no more mind than she did the armored Seanchan warriors who were shoving the crowd from her path with their lacquered shields, or prodding them with spear points. Her litter bearers were all tall, well muscled men, who looked alike enough to be brothers. Whether they were actually brothers in truth or merely selected to seem so, was not unimportant. Suroth cared only that they were trained enough so that despite their rapid pace, Suroth's ride was smooth and graceful. The gentle sway reminded her of the boat rides she and her Bloodfather used to enjoy on the quiet pond on their estates. On another occasion, their efficient handling and attractive countenences would have pleased Suroth. Yet, today she took no pleasure in anything at all. She frowned. Why has She come? Now? I was so close to fulfilling my task! It was I who managed to pull together the tatters that that fool Turak had left me. I was so close! Already the west is ours. Please let there not be a silken bag on the Tower of Ravens tailored to my measurements! Hawkwing's Fury! I pray that my modest successes are enough to satisfy Her. I have served my Empress well! She must see that! She winced. *Curse Turak and curse his house!* Oh, that she had never answered that acursed summons, she might be strolling amongst her beloved menagerie, instead of having to apologize for a failure not even hers. Willing such thoughts dormant, she resigned herself. Summonses from the Great Lord cannot be refused.
She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the litter had come to rest, the curtain held open by a plain-faced woman in green robes. One side of her head was shaved with the remaining hair in a plait down her left cheek. Her name was Thalandin, and she was a _so'jhin_, one of the hereditary upper servants of the Blood, a woman whose family had been in service to hers for generations. Thalindin stood high in Suroth's household, trusted with many important duties. But Thalandin was not her Voice. That title belonged to another _so'jhin_, Alwhin. However, she was also a _sul'dam_, and the first of her kind to rise so high. Given that priveledged station in return for her silence regarding a secret that could shatter the Crystal Throne, her promotion was not something she would like to explain. Oh, that she had the courage to do away with her! But Suroth knew not how may other sul'dam shared that secret, or what they might do if one of their kind was discovered in a canal with her veins opened. Pray that Alwhin was far enough away in that city of Amador. The eyes of the Empress saw as far and keenly as a hawk's, and her Seekers, they sought with zeal that.... Suroth suppressed a shudder. *Tsk*. You worry about the slinking vipers in the courtyard when the rock python is at the door. Whatever punishment she would receive for the _dark_ secrets the Seekers might pry out of her, they paled in comparison with her fate as a result of the Empress' displeasure. With a silent groan, she emerged from the litter into the bright sunlight.
She stood on a broad dock. The air was hot and moist, and scented with salt. The shining white expanse of Ebou Dar behind her went unnoticed. She had no more concern for the view than she did for the precise rows of soldiers in lacquered armor arrayed nearby. Still more soldiers lined the streets of this fetid city, all the way back to palace of the former queen, garish colors and all. But she had no interest for them today, any more than she did for the _s'redit_ bedecked with plumes and banners, or the _grolm_ crouching in clusters of three, or even the two _wy'veirn_, their enormous wings folded neatly, scales glittering in the harsh light, their riders at their shoulders. Unimportant, all.
She noticed the line of women in blue and red dresses, each linked to a woman in drab grey, lying prostrate before them. There in that gathering of women lay the secret that could crack the empire. Would that we could open all their veins and feed their bones to the _grolm_! Yet we dare not. Tearing her gaze from those accursed women, she allowed her eyes to rest on her true interest this day, the ship approaching the dock. And she feared.
It was huge. Suroth's own galley might well fit inside its hold. Its enormous square rigged sails billowed with a strong wind that was felt no where else in the harbor, not on this still day. Pennants fluttered gaily from the masts, a festive sight that mocked that dread in Suroth's stomach. She sought them out, knowing what she would find. There was the golden hawk on a field of rich blue. And there, was the silhouette of the raven, black against a red trimmed banner of stark white. And there, higher than them all, flew a flag of shining _vi'aleth_, that color betwixt blue and red that was unseen on this side of the Arryth. Shimmering in thread-of-silver upon it were nine crescents arrayed in a circle, points inward. That magnificent banner drew all eyes, commanding attention away from the other dozen or so lesser banners that bore that marks of the Blood accompanying Her.
With the barest perceptible nod of her head, Suroth signaled, and several servants approached, some bearing paper screens. Silently, they arranged the screens around Suroth and a young maidservant, shielding them from view. The maid, all lithe grace and softly billowing robes, bowed to her and arranged Suroth's finest robe, pale yellow silk embroidered with golden seashells and fanciful fish worked in beads of multicolored jade, over a gown of impeccable pleats trimmed with seed pearls. She smoothed the High Lady's hair, a wide crest spilling black tresses down her back, adjusted the ribbons and jeweled pins, and backed away. The girl rapped on the screens, lightly and only once, and they were dismantled and whisked away. Suroth paid them all no more attention than the stone beneath her slippered feet or gulls swooning overhead. Her black eyes filled with the approaching vessel.
Closer now, she could make out the grim faces of the soldiers in black and gold armor, clutching tasseled spears, who lined the rails. Closer still, she could see three women in the blue and red dresses, standing astern, faces unreadable, pointing at the sails, and the three somber women in gray at their feet, with downcast eyes.
Paendrag's Talon! Her stomach quivered as the mammoth ship approached the dock, and the sails blew outwards, snapping the pennants backwards, until the ship skimmed to an incongruously graceful stop. As the ship came to a smooth halt, Suroth mused that you would never have known that it was careening toward the dock at great speed scant moments before. Such was one of the uses of _damane_. Oh, but the price! For a thousand years, we have embraced a lie! With a great dull *thud*, the ship came to a rest against the dock.
Sailors tossed and caught ropes, the sails were furled, and a wooden gangplank was lowered. Aboard the vessel, the Deathwatch Guards drained away from the rails, and poured down the gangplank in total silence. They arranged themselves in lines as straight as knife cuts on either side of the dock, their tasseled spears all held perfectly straight, their eyes flashing barely concealed contempt at the assembled legions. Then the three _sul'dam_ from the stern, joined by another trio who had been on the bow, hidden by the wall of soldiers, stalked down the gangway, _damane_ in tow. As they joined the cluster of other _sul'dam_, Suroth noted that all six wore the golden medallion in shape of a single feather upon their breasts, awarded for valor and obedience in the service of the Empress. One of them, a tiny woman with iron gray hair, actually wore two!
More people disembarked from the vessel. A dozen attractive youths in gauzy shirts, all of an age, huddled under together a silk canopy, to shield their milky skins from the harsh sun. The _da'covale_. Suroth looked them over appreciatively. Pity the Empress has not learned to appreciate the graces of the female form, as well.
Three women with their hair tonsured like Suroth's, in similarly styled gowns, stood off to the side, accompanied by four men with shaved heads in long colorful robes and pleated pants. They all glared at her like a nest of vicious _krak'diel_ hatchlings.
High Lord Matuan, tall and gaunt, wore a robe of deep green that was embroidered with white pond lillies and small yellow frogs. Matuan's rivalry with her was an old thing, tired and spent, and consisted mostly of social snubbings and unflattering gossip. He was speaking to High Lord Empak. Empak was a relatively handsome man with two enormously bushy eyebrows that more than compensated for his perfectly shaved pate. Empak and Suroth had both angled to be included with the Rhygelle, if for entirely different reasons, and Suroth had been chosen. Empak had sworn blood feud, but it was commonly known that like the butterflies worked on his pale blue robe, House Fanisan was delicate and harmless. She had nothing to fear from either man. Suroth did not know the other two men, but she knew the women all too well.
The tallest of the three, the ancient white-haired High Lady Alhuele, stood in robes of dark gray worked in clouds in silver and stars in gold, with each star centered upon a twinkling _dia'mate_. Rope upon rope of harshly glittering black pearls coiled around her neck like serpents. Suroth curled her lip in disgust. Tasteless of her to display her wealth so openly. Alhuele looked displeased. They called Alhuele "the Black Pearl," and her black eyes glinted no less harshly than her necklaces. Of a family that had been an enemy of hers for centuries, Alhuele probably acted surprised at being invited to witness Suroth's chastisement, all self-efficacy and prattling about being too unworthy to be part of the Imperial retinue. All the while rubbing her wizened hands gleefully.
At her shoulder, and coming no higher than her shoulder in truth, stood the High Lady Oshara. Her round face was smiling and cheery, yet Oshara's pale colorless eyes were unforgiving and malevolent. Oshara's robes of stark white were decorated with tufted egrets and ospreys, and shockingly, were also edged with thick bands of silver fur at cuffs and throat, whatever the heat. It was said that the High Ladies of snowy Jao Island had ice-water in their veins, and Oshara was no different. Oshara's house feuded with Suroth's only recently, a result of a series of failed assassinations and betrothals. Her eyes were like chips of ice and her bloodless lips were compressed in a tight line.
Lastly, she recognized the woman with sun-gold hair as the High Lady Espath, once her ally, now her bitterest rival at the Court of Nine Moons. She stood there in pale red robes exquisitely embroidered with flaring nightroses and scarlet dawning-gales, arms crossed beneath her breasts, a ruby the size of a small plum glistening on her visible hand. A look of smug satisfaction crossed her beautiful face, which was marred only by a lurid red scar under her left eye, put there by Suroth's own knife. No doubt she leaped at the chance to be present at Suroth's humiliation like the Old Emperor Jiaun had leaped at the chance to bed Yasmira's daughter. She hoped Espath acted as foolishly as Jiaun had. And as unseemly. While both Alhuele and Oshara's animosities toward her were no gentle things, Espath's bordered on the insane. Given that all three had the entire voyage to spew their venom in the Empress's ear, whatever slight possibility Suroth had to honey-tongue her way out of the silken bag, it had all but vanished.
Suroth scanned the gangway as more people disembarked. Two stunningly gorgeous young men, twins like mirrors, in transparent robes traced in scrolls, with hair so fair it was nearly white, sauntered down, each being lead by a lean hunting dog with long silky fur. Their leashes appeared to be gold, as did their jeweled collars. Undoubtedly her _asa_. Her favorites. Either the dogs or the youths. The twins joined the other youths under the canopy, the dogs sitting at their feet.
Still more people disembarked, lesser members of the Blood, servants, bearers, attendants, _da'covale_, musicians and soldiers. On and on, they emerged from the vessel, until there was only a narrow patch of dock unoccupied. Still, for the assembled crowd on the dock, Suroth marveled at the relatively small size of the entourage. A woman dressed in the colors of the Imperial Household proceeded down the gangplank and approached her. Although not in armor, she had a sword on her back, and a knife tucked behind her wide sash. She carried a tall staff of glossy nightwood carved with ravens and inlaid with moons in mother-of-pearl. It was topped by a gilded hawk in flight. Her fair hair was shaved and braided as a _so'jhin's_.
Suroth was perplexed. This was not Elewan! Yet this woman bore the staff of the Imperial Seneschal. That was unexpected. Elewan had served the ruling family for longer than Suroth breathed air. What had become of him? Perhaps the vain old peacock had died of old age, or perhaps the schemes at the Court of Nine Moons had overtaken him at last. Suroth would shed no tears for him. Elewan had fouled too many of Suroth's schemes at Court and in her circle.
The woman bearing the Seneschal's staff came to rest scant feet from Suroth, so close that her blue slippers almost tread upon her yellow hem. She was tall as any man, possibly even taller, but so well proportioned that you would not realize it until she was upon you, looming over you like a rearing snow bear. The woman regarded Suroth in silence, her sneer indicating her disgust. Cold dark eyes ran over Suroth's raiment which contrasted sharply with this woman's simple blue robe. She turned her head dismissively, and nodded to someone still aboard. A gong sounded, rich and sonorous. The assembly of Seanchan knelt as one, foreheads to the ground. Suroth gathered her robes, and acted likewise. As a High Lady, she was granted the honor of kneeling without having to soil her forehead, so she merely inclined her head and stared at the dock. The other members of the Blood knelt in a similar fashion.
Suroth could see little from her limited perspective, but she could hear the sounds of rope creaking. Turning her head ever so slightly, she could just see a pierced-work booth, lined with _via'leth_ drapes and lacquered black, being slowly lowered from the side of the great ship. Slowly. Very slowly. Suroth thought the sun would set and rise again before that infernal creaking would cease.
After what seemed like an eternity, it set on the dock with a soft *thunk*. She heard a *whisk* of curtains being opened, followed by a faint clink of metal on metal. Suroth listened with building terror as she heard what sounded like booted feet approach where she knelt. The boots came into her view, glossy black and heavily chased with gold. From where the woman with the staff had knelt, she heard a soft "Rise, Suroth of Cal Sanshun." Steeling herself she rose steadily to meet the face of the Empress of Seanchan, Most Favored of the Light, Bringer of the Rising Sun, Ruler of the Endless Empire, Direct Descendant of the Great Hawkwing. Suroth righted herself and stared.
Only years of harsh schooling at Court prevented her from reeling. This was not the Empress! The Empress, may she live a thousand years, was a woman in her middle years, with golden hair streaked heavily with white. Before her stood a mere girl, barely past twenty! Amusement flickered in her eyes of icy blue as Suroth regarded her discreetly. She was tall, this girl, and well shaped. Her light yellow hair was styled like any other woman of the Blood, except hers was gathered and pulled over her shoulder, laced with ribbon. She wore armor lacquered in Imperial blue and gold and it was highly polished. More than polished. As she actually looked at it, she saw it was covered in thousands of tiny medallions of gold and lapis lazuli somehow fashioned to the plates of armor, and layered like the scales of a fish. The effect was breath-taking. It sparkled and threw off flecks of light like the finest opal. Suroth had never seen anything like it. The girl's sword was slung across her back, the silken tassel swinging from the pommel, and her helmet was tucked in the crook of her arm, tall plumes of blue and gold and white. Like all Seanchan armor, it was worked to resemble the head of some monstrous insect. One of the Imperial daughters? She must be. But which? And if the Empress, may she rule forever, had dispatched one of her daughters in her stead, that did not bode well of her health.
Despite her youth, she radiated an implacable air of command. The girl spoke. Her voice was clear and icy as a wind off Hua Senchai. "Suroth of House Nishuma, why have you requested my presence? As you have pleaded, so I come"
This was madness. She certainly had done no such thing!. "I beg pardon, Blood of Hawkwing, but I have not requested your presence." Without knowing who this girl was, she could only address her as she would any member of the Imperial House.
The girl's fair brows lowered. "Suroth of House Nishuma, know this. My Imperial Bloodmother, the Empress, she grows more than impatient. The _Corenne_ should have been fulfilled long since past. By your failure to entreat the Empress to take possession of her birthright, you have begged assistance. By your lapse, you have requested me. I am Tuon, Daughter of the Nine Moons, and I have come to relieve the burdens of the _Correne_ from your enfeebled shoulders."
"Imperial Daughter Tuon," Suroth began. Tuon? She was the second daughter. So the succession is made official. What became of Sianse? Probably languishing beneath the Towers of Midnight. "I am not without some small measure of success. The lands of Tarabon and Arad Doman obey the Empress as if they knew other way. This city bows in subservience, and the rest of Altara shall soon follow. To the north, the Ever Victorious Army breaks the will of Amadicia as we speak. I have rich prizes, and have acquired many new _damane_. These three," pointing to three prostrate damane,"once dared call themselves Aes Sedai..."
"And how may more _marath'damane_ roam unfettered, Suroth?" Tuon replied quickly and calmly. Too calmly. She was outwardly placid, yet a dangerous glint appeared in her eyes. "You speak glibly of your conquests, yet I know that they were nations easily taken, turned in on themselves. The White Tower still stands, and a '_Black Tower_' sprouts." Suroth opened her mouth in defense, but Tuon's words raged over her like a flood. "When the Empress comes to claim the inheritance that is hers, all of the nations must be broken and sworn. Every _marath'damane_ shall be collared and those that served them must be impaled. Tar Valon must be razed, and the ground on which it stood salted. Trade must flow, and the countryside must be free of brigands. Kings must bow and clean her slippers. Queens must curtsy and bring her kaf. Lords and ladies will tend her gardens and polish her floors. All will serve. Her justice must be proclaimed on every hill, and her name on every tongue. Every soul on this side of the Arryth must look to the sky and praise Pantasoth for the warmth of the sun." She took a deep breath and set her eyes directly at Suroth's. "This you should have done. This _I_ will do."
Tuon looked Suroth up and down, and said, quite sadly. "You have disappointed my Bloodmother, Suroth." Suroth steeled herself for what she thought would be next. "As a measure of her displeasure, the Empress sends you this trifle."
Tuon gave the tall _so'jhin_ a look, and she in turn nodded at someone still on the ship. A servant in one of those sheer robes emerged carrying an object on a tray covered in a red cloth. He moved as if it was heavy. Suroth's stomach rioted with foreboding.
The servant slipped down the gangway and knelt beside Tuon, offering his tray up high. Without acknowledging him, she whipped off the cloth. There in a large glass jar, suspended in brine, was the severed head of a great black mountain cat, one luminous green eye pressed against the glass. It glared at her accusingly. It had been the favorite of her collection. "You missed a memorable banquet." She picked up a scroll of paper bound by a golden ribbon, also on the tray. She extended it to Suroth. "Here is the invitation. Pity it you receive it too late to attend."
Numbly, Suroth cracked the seal and unrolled the scroll. An invitation, undoubtedly in the Empress' own hand, to attend a feast celebrating the successful completion of the Return. As she read of the unusual entertainment to be enjoyed and exotic dishes to be served, Tuon continued. "Your menagerie has been slaughtered and given to the canal dredgers working outside your palace. As meat. They enjoyed a feast like no other, served right in your very dining hall. As I said, you missed a memorable banquet. Your own sister played the _shi'san_, while your sons sang and danced the _shea_. Think on it. All those peasants, Suroth, toiling all day in the filth and muck, smelling of offal and sweat, spending their night in your palace, sitting on your fine cushions, fingering your delicate tapestries, dining on your rare pets. All the while, offering up showers of praises for this beneficence. They were particularly thankful for the snow-headed eagles. They were exceedingly rare, were they not? In gratitude, they even offered me a portion." The pale haired young woman seemed genuinely amused by the notion.
"But the Empress, she wished to gift you with this," gesturing to the cat's head, "since it was your most cherished. And to demonstrate the cost of displeasing her." Canal dredgers _ate_ her menagerie? Filthy reeking peasants in her dining hall? Roaming and despoiling _her_ palace ? And what of her sons? No, not even the Empress would _dare_... Suroth knew that her face must have betrayed her thoughts because Tuon continued with "fear not, High Lady. You can be grateful that your sons do not dangle from the Tower of Ravens. Be thankful that your palace still stands, Suroth. The Empress can be merciful, even when presented with incompetence such as yours."
"Oh, but the High Lady can perform one last service in the name of the Empress. You will show me where your bungling leaves matters, and then you will go home to your ..... menagerie. Attend." The girl strode off to where servants in blue and gold held the reins of a tall leggy mount.
Though her failures had been announced for all to hear, and her humiliation shared with the world, Suroth felt like dancing. I live!! There is no death sentence! Surely, once she had a chance to speak with this girl, she might better present her cause. Already she plotted to regain her status. She had survived and now she will flourish. And flay Espath or Alhuele or anyone who thought her defeated! She followed the Daughter of the Nine Moons back to the palace, with a small secret smile.
(Return to Part Three; Return to Part One)