Jack chuckled to himself.
“When he concentrates like that,” Gaston told me, “if you are really quiet, you can hear the gears in his head turning. Sometimes you smell a faint puff of smoke coming out of his ears…”
The air above the grass tore like a transparent plastic curtain, showing a deep purple void for a fraction of a second. The void blinked its purple eye and a group of otrokar appeared on the grass. One, two, three… twelve. As expected.
The otrokar in the front started toward us. Huge, at least six five, and muscular judging by the powerful arms and legs, he was wrapped in the traditional otrokar half-cloak, which was more of a really wide long scarf designed to shield your arms and face from the sun. While worn, it covered their head, shoulder, and torso to mid-thigh. The handle of a giant sword wrapped in leather rose above the otrokar’s shoulder. The second ortokar followed the first’s footsteps. He was slender and shorter than the leader by about four inches. The difference between the two was so pronounced, they almost didn’t look like the belonged to the same species.
The others followed.
The leader reached the porch and pulled the cloak off in a single fluid move. An enormous otrokar woman stood before me, clad in leather and wearing the traditional half-kilt. Her skin was a deep, rich bronze with a hint of orange. Muscles corded her frame. Her hair was French-braided on her temples, the braids running toward the back of her head. The remaining wealth of hair was brushed back into a long mane. At the root, the hair was so dark, it seemed black, but it gradually lightened and at the tips, the color turned to deep ruby, as if her hair had been carefully dipped in fresh blood. Her dark violet eyes under black eyebrows examined us, assessing. Her posture shifted slightly. In the split second she glanced at us, she had seen everything: Jack, George, me, Gaston in the doorway and Orro in the kitchen, and she formulated a battle plan.
George bowed. “Greetings, Khanum. I’m sorry we have to keep our voices down. Local law enforcement is nearby. I trust the trip went well?”
“We survived.” Her voice was deep for a woman. The kind of voice that could roar. “I hate void travel. It feels like my stomach is turned inside out.” Khanum grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to do the formal entrance once everyone is here.”
“That is the custom,” George said.
The otrokar at her side pulled off his cloak. He didn’t wear armor, only the kilt, and his torso was exposed. He was lean and hard, his muscles light but crisply defined under the bronze skin tinted with green, as if life had chiseled all softness off him. If he was human, I would put him in his thirties, but with the otrokar age was difficult to tell. His hair, long and so black, it shone with purple highlights, fell on his back. Thin leather belts and chains wrapped his waist and dozens of charms, pouches, and bottles hung from them. The Khanum looked like a powerful predatory cat. Next to her he looked like a weathered tree, or perhaps a serpent: nothing but dry muscle. His face matched him: harsh, chiseled with rough strokes, with green eyes so light they seemed to glow with some eerie radiance. If he wasn’t a shaman, I’d eat my broom.
He surveyed the inn. “Is there a fire pit?”
“There is a room set out specifically for spirits,” I told him. “With the fire ring.”
His eyes widened a fraction. “Good. I will ask the spirits to show me the omens for these peace talks.”
“The omens better be good,” Khanum said quietly, her voice laced with steel.
The shaman didn’t even blink. “The omens will be what the omens will be.”
The Khanum took a deep breath. “I suppose I have to get on with it.” She raised her voice slightly. “Greetings, Arbiter. Greetings, Innkeeper.”
“Gertrude Hunt welcomes you, Khanum,” I bowed my head. “Winter sun to you and your warriors. My water is your water. My fire is your fire. My beds are soft and my knives are sharp. Spit on my hospitality and I’ll slit your throat.” There. Nice and traditional.
Next to me Jack became very still. He didn’t tense; he just became utterly at peace.
Khanum smiled. “I feel at home already. Winter sun to you. We will honor this house and those who own it. Our knives are sharp and our sleep is light. Betray the honor of your fire, and I’ll carve out your heart.”
The door swung open, obeying the push of my magic. I stepped through. “Please follow me, Khanum.”