The Mountain Dancer

Chapter 13: Sila & Minyel

The huge Stateguard transport resembled an elongated horned beetle that had decided to grow a larger, pointier head out of its rear end. Bulbous and insectile at the same time, the arrival of ruby red troop carrier was something of an event for the people of Tomecliff Pass.

Sila sat at an ugly squat table on the balcony of one the endless Massese feast houses. Her eyes tracked the wide, winding road that snaked up and out of the academy spire, through the town, and into a cleft in the nearby mountainside.

It seemed that half the population had come to watch. It was nearly High Sun on one of the frequent off-days, so pupils and sunworkers alike were spending their leisure time attending wonderments, feasting, pairing up or, as it seemed, watching the arrival of the big red bug. The balcony was crowded, the neighboring balconies were crowded and the walkways on the shoulders of the big road were crowded.

The buzzing drone of the mob had risen as the carrier cleared the cleft and sparkled in the sun. From this distance, it wasn’t much more than a crimson kernel for those not using Farsight. Though it was a little ridiculous, Sila was grateful for the commotion. In fact, she was depending on it.

The old man seated across from her was less appreciative. “You would think they’ve never seen Roythan conveyance before,” Minyel complained. “Yet we see at least a thousand movers to and from Pinedeck every single day.”

“But how many Stateguard carriers, hmm?” said another woman, who had not really been invited to their meeting, but had made herself part of their group anyway. A tutor from the academy, she had been enjoying a few breakfast drinks.

Minyel scowled at the impromptu guest. “Stateguards will move through on patrol at least twice a season,” he lectured.

“Yeah, but they usually come through under the mooncycle. And not in carriers,” the tutor pointed out.

“Tutor Stoneworth, carriers exhibit the same design principle of the lighter transports. I see no reason to fuss about it.” Minyel clearly wasn’t one to brook an argument. The tutor disguised an eye roll by taking another sip of her beer.

“Why did they bring a carrier this time?” Sila asked, playing dumb.

“The Falsesparker needs a heavy duty mobile prison, no doubt,” answered Stoneworth.

“The fugitive?” Sila said.

Taking her question for criticism, Minyel huffed and said, “another notion that I find immoderate. The man is dangerous, that is of little doubt, but to warrant such force is a waste of resources.”

Sila leaned closer. “So dangerous that he could be overtaken by a boy six years past his birthright?”

Stoneworth smirked and Minyel’s permanent scowl deepened. He settled a fist firmly on the table and said, “when we first sat and feasted I made it perfectly clear to you that I would answer your questions about the academy’s history and architecture. I also made it clear that there would be no discussion on the details of any of the pupils who are eligible for the Mountain Dance. This is the third time you’ve tried to toe into that avenue Lady KeerKaraCona. I grow weary of it.”

This time Stoneworth did not bother to hide her look of exasperation. Luckily for her, Minyel was fixed on Sila.

“Forgive me,” Sila appealed, “I am curious by nature, and simply let my words fall as they form. But surely you cannot be forbidden from all conversation concerning the pupils? What if I was a family friend, inquiring after the boy’s health?”

Stoneworth piped up: “while recruiting season isn’t going to fully kick in for at least another six weeks, tradition...” she glanced sidelong at Minyel, “dictates that all tutors and advisors at the academy refrain from public conversation about graduating pupils. And Minyel here, well, no one honors tradition quite so... reliably... as he.”