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 the head, shoulder, and torso to midthigh. The handle of a giant sword wrapped in leather rose above the otrokar’s shoulder. The second otrokar 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 they 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 at her temples, the braids running toward the back of her head. The remaining wealth of hair was brushed back into a long mane, so dark at the root it seemed black. The mane 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’d 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 bronze skin tinted with green, as if life had chiseled all softness off him. If he were 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 down 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, Arbitrator. 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.”
Ten minutes later I was back at my post on the porch. The inn had sealed the entrance behind the last otrokar. The only way they could exit would be through the main ballroom.
At seven thirty the area above the field shimmered as if a ring of hot air suddenly rose above the grass. The shimmer solidified into a giant ship with sleek, curving lines that made you think of a manta ray gliding through the water. The elegant craft sank to the ground, landing like a feather, a hatch opened, and Nuan Cee stepped out. Four feet tall, he resembled a fox with the eyes of a cat and ears of a lynx. Soft, luxurious fur, silver blue and perfectly combed, sheathed him from head to toe, turning white on his stomach and darkening to an almost turquoise dappled with golden rosettes on his back. He wore a beautiful, silky apron and a necklace studded with blue jewels.
Nuan Cee saw me, waved, and called over his shoulder. “This is the right place. Bring all the things.”
He started toward me. Four foxes emerged, carrying a palanquin with rose curtains. Behind them five other foxes, their fur ranging from white to deepest blue, walked, hopping lightly over the grass, all five adorned with silks and jewelry. A low braying sound came out of the belly of the ship. A moment later and a small fox emerged, tugging on the reins of what looked like a furry cross between a camel and a donkey. A precarious stack of bags, packs, and chests sat on top of the beast, piled almost twice as tall as the creature itself. The fox tugged on the reins again, and the donkey-camel stepped into the grass. Behind him another beast appeared, led by a different fox.
“So let me get this straight,” Jack murmured. “They fly around on spaceships, but they load donkeys in them?”
“They like donkeys,” George told him.
The fifth donkey made its way out of the ship, loaded like all the others. My parents had hosted Nuan Cee before. I mentally patted myself on the back for assigning them enough rooms to house a party three times their number and for pulling the stables out of storage.
“How long do they expect this to last?” Gaston whistled. “A year?”
“They love their luxuries,” I explained. “The worst thing you can do to one of them is to force them to go without. Once we get them all inside, would you mind showing them to their rooms?” I would follow behind to make sure nobody wandered off the beaten path, and then I’d settle all the donkeys into the stables.
“No problem,” Gaston said.
Nuan Cee finally reached us. Jack studied the tufts on the little fox’s ears with more than just curiosity. Maybe he turned into a lynx.
“Diiina!” The Merchant stretched the word.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “Honorable Nuan Cee, we have a policeman watching the house outside.”
“Oh.” Nuan Cee lowered his voice. “Right. I am so happy to visit your inn, so happy. Allow me to present to you my family.” He waved his hand-paw, and the foxes lined up, with the palanquin in the lead. “My grandmother, Nuan Re.” The palanquin passed by us. “My sister, Nuan Kuo. My sister’s cousin by marriage, Nuan Oler. My second brother-in-law …”
Five minutes later, the final fox finally stepped onto my porch. “Nuan Couki, my thrice-removed cousin’s seventh son!” Nuan Cee triumphantly announced. “This is his first trip.”
The seventh son looked at us. He was barely three and a half feet tall, with pale, sandy fur and huge blue eyes. He waved his paw at us, squeaked “Hi!” in a tiny voice, and dashed after the procession of Nuan Cee’s relatives and into the inn.
“Phew.” Nuan Cee wiped imaginary sweat off his brow. “I work too hard. Let us see our rooms.”
He disappeared into the inn, and I followed him.
“Cookie?” Jack said behind me.
“Just go with it,” George told him.
I made it back to the porch right at eight o’clock. Dealing with Nuan Cee’s clan had taken longer than expected. I barely had a minute to spare. At least they didn’t make that much noise. If all went well with the vampires, we’d dodge the bullet.