The Marann by Sky Warrior Book Publishing Read Free Book Online

He loosed
his grip on the flutter’s senses and it flew off, scolding. His
guest laughed, her remarkable eyes following its progress through
the garden. He withdrew back into himself, reflecting. She could
not read him, he reminded himself. Humans were unaware of the world
outside their own senses.
    A guard behind her flickered,
reminding him of the time.
    “It is time for the evening meal,
proctor,” he said, turning to head for the refectory’s garden
entrance.
    “What was that word?” she asked as she
fell in step beside him. “You used it before, in the audience
room.”
    “A title we give to private tutors. Proctor. ” He hid a smile. To educate his daughter, this new
tutor needed to communicate well with him. That she felt
comfortable enough to ask him a trivial question made a promising
start.
    She mouthed the word, and then uttered
it under her breath, running through all its intonations and
inflections. She spoke with a pleasing accent, but although she
could understand him and make herself understood, she would need to
learn a great deal more of his language if she was to be his
daughter’s tutor.
    He could think of no reason to disturb
the family tutor with such a short-term venture—a linguist with a
fair grasp of his language and an eidetic memory could become
fluent before the end of the season. He would teach her
himself.
    “Well done,” he said as they reached
the refectory.
    He led her into the large room, filled
with round wooden tables surrounded by elegant but simple wooden
chairs. Stronghold staff occupied many of the round tables, wearing
robes in the colors of their castes, from black to dark brown to
pale yellow to dark indigo. Their quiet conversation created a
pleasant background murmuring.
    In the center of the refectory, on a
low dais, the long, rectangular high table stood. At one end sat
his heavy, elaborately-carved chair, with simpler chairs lining the
long sides. Tables laden with food trays populated one end of the
room, where swinging doors led to the kitchens. The new tutor
frowned a little.
    “High one,” she said, “I need to
return to my quarters.”
    He raised both eyebrows at her. “Is
there a difficulty?”
    “My food scanner,” she said. “I need
it to tell me what I can eat.”
    He nodded and signaled a servant.
“Bring it,” he ordered.
    “Yes, high one,” said the black-robed
servant, disappearing. Since the refectory occupied the guest wing,
he reappeared only a short time later, holding the small,
thumb-sized scanner.
    She accepted the device and tapped one
end to activate it. Engrossed in checking its settings, she failed
to notice that the Sural and every Tolari nearby winced. It seemed
human hearing could not detect the grating whine the device
emitted. The Sural made a casual gesture for tolerance and led her
toward the food, sensing the relief behind him when the irritating
sound moved away.
    Trays covered the tables near the
kitchens, loaded with fruit, greens, individual bowls of a thick
soup, and grain rolls. Steaming carafes and empty mugs sat to one
side.
    “This is tea,” he said, indicating the
carafes. “From a flower we grow in cool river valleys. Suralia has
many tea flower plantations.”
    She passed her scanner over a carafe,
and a light on the device blinked green. This seemed to be a
positive finding, for with a smile, she poured herself a mug and
sipped at it.
    “Wonderful!” she exclaimed.
    He ventured a smile of satisfaction,
which elicited no anxiety from her, and moved along the rest of the
trays in turn. She scanned them all, finding a grain roll and a
piece of fruit that the device proclaimed safe. The soup, he
explained, consisted of vegetables and roots. The scanner flashed
red—toxic.
    She juggled the food and the scanner,
but he took the tea from her to free up a hand. With a grateful
smile, she bowed her thanks. Then she turned her attention to the
scanner and, much to his relief and that of everyone in the
refectory,