Crown of Renewal(19)

“I would understand more … more how you live, what tasks are appointed, and to whom. Not because I want to interfere but to find out so if the prince needs to aid, aid will be given in Law.”

Dattur nodded. “My prince asks about the paths of power. It is … like your army. For each task, one in command and those who obey commands.”

Arcolin opened his mouth to explain that the Company wasn’t organized like that but then listened instead.

“When a princedom is large enough, tasks change with seasons above: on the year turnings, the tasks change. When yet small, a princedom must assign several tasks to each. The kapristinya delve—”

“But—they have childer—” Surely working rock was not compatible with bearing children.

“Kapristinya strong in rock … All have rock-power, but kapristinya have most. Though now no elder kapristin, so work goes more slowly.” Dattur paused; Arcolin said nothing, his mind stuck on the image of a grandmother gnome cutting rock. “Estvin as you say is local … captain. Those he tells do or tell others to do. Most spend time seeding new delvings with misiljit and making cloth. All now but childer have proper cloth. Until child speaks Law, no matter. And my prince named me hesktak, teacher of Law to prince.”

Dattur ate dinner that night with Arcolin, his family, and the resident captains before retiring to the cellar guest room. In the morning, he walked on top of the snow while Arcolin rode, and they reached the gnomes’ new home by midmorning.

Arcolin already knew gnomes worked hard and tirelessly—but the change to the hall entrance amazed him. Now the entire entrance bore an elaborate interlacing design of gnomish writing; he paused to read it, and Dattur murmured a translation he now scarcely needed:

Here Arcolinfulk dwell. Law is Law. Lord gives Law. Enter in Law, Dwell in Law, Depart in Law.



His estvin and four other gnomes came into the light to greet him. The four carried a roll of cloth. The estvin bowed, then came forward to kiss Arcolin’s boots. “Lord Prince, welcome to your hall. We bring at last a prince’s robe for our prince, grown here for you. Will you accept it?”

“I will accept it,” he said. “It is in Law.”

Unrolled, the robe resembled in style, though not in size, the one worn by Lord Prince Aldon. The tribal name, Arcolinfulk, ran around the neck and down the front; on the back, the weavers had worked in his blazon, a foxhead, in a lighter, more silvery gray. Arcolin put off his winter cloak and thick tunic, then put on the robe. It felt more comfortable than he expected, cutting the chill wind better than his heavy cloak, though much lighter.

“It is very good,” he said, bowing to the estvin. He pulled his stole out from under the robe and laid it around his shoulders. “Your prince is pleased and honored by this gift.”

The estvin led the way into the entrance hall and then to what would be, Arcolin learned, the hall of judgment, where the prince might receive visitors and give judgment on cases of Law. Arcolin could see that it had the same shape and style as that in the Aldonfulk hall: a carved screen, a dais with a throne in front of it, a broad floor on which visitors could wait and chairs might (or might not) be placed.

“Beyond the screen?” he asked.

The estvin bowed and led him onward through an entrance invisible until he was only a few paces away. Behind the screen was a shape like the inside of a shell, curved and arched, and facing it was a dais matching that on the other side, with another seat.

“So prince’s voice is heard,” the estvin said. “The prince would hear?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said.

“My prince will sit in his seat and speak Law. Any true Law.”

Arcolin climbed up and sat in the stone seat; it fit him perfectly. “The Lord spoke Law,” he said in gnomish, no louder than he would have said it to one beside him at a meal in a quiet place. His voice rang out, much louder, it seemed to him.

“Good work,” the estvin said. He did not smile in the human sense, but Arcolin could tell he was pleased. “We were not sure of height of human mouth.”

“Why this way?”

“Always this way. Prince speaks Law, not seen, as High Lord not seen speaks Law to prince.”

By the time Arcolin returned to the stronghold, he knew a lot more about gnome society, enough to know he was the most ignorant prince a gnome tribe ever had. He had met the gnome women—only they weren’t like any women he’d ever known, even leaving aside the gray skin and black beady eyes. They came to be introduced, to kiss not his boots, like the male gnomes, but his forehead. The ritual kiss was dry, almost like the touch of a stick or, more likely, a rock.