The council hall was a fine little piece of art, equal parts feathers and floral petals, humming with psionic resonance. It was brightly lit and every single part of it was at least QL 34, including the air circulation vents.

King Rargyle’s face wasn’t moving, but we were commenting on stuff to one another even as I was talking to the Sunhawk about everything, and he was getting splendidly sarcastic about his forebears. The Envoy behind us was getting huffy, I laughed at his jokes, and Rargyle ignored everything magnanimously.

I pretended not to see the Elvar flowing into the place from other directions as we closed in on it, noting that our speed had dropped down so that some might have time to arrive. Sunhawk used the opportunity to tell me more tales of humans and Elvar double-dealing one another, not trusting one another, and everything coming to grief, mostly on our end. I have to admit he conveyed the emotions of everything involved so well I was snorting with laughter. He was still eagerly hoping the Corunsuns would try something so he could enact various schemes to get even...

Alas, he’d have to settle for information on the exchanges continually getting leaked to our enemies, who kept running into the ambushes prepared for them...

But at last we descended to a polite entry point atop many sweeping heights of stairs, only hundreds of steps high so that elves could leisurely enjoy the sprawling, splendid view down, appreciate the artwork of every overlapping tile and display of geometry, and the psionic power trembling beneath their feet.

They did notice I basically wasn’t really walking, which was befuddling them, as they couldn’t sense any psi or tech at work, and it shouldn’t have worked here, anyway. They hid their confusion admirably however, and anyways I wasn’t moving that fast, keeping precisely to King Rargyle’s pace... which could also have been jet-assisted and much faster, and he was just exerting due decorum and patience.

Through the singing walls and halls, past the honor guards who hadn’t been there a half-hour ago, up and down a couple grand flights of stairs precisely placed to give first-timers an appreciative view of the interior crystalworks above and around, the sweeping sculptures, the aesthetic perfection of form, balance, and color, blended with mental serenity and proper scenting and texturing of surfaces visible and tactile.

A normal human would have found it rather overwhelming, assaulted with artistic QL at this level of refinement, which ranged all the way up to a 40 here and there. I was vidcasting for a few zillion people on multiple levels, some of whom were indeed overwhelmed trying to process the profundity of so much of this stuff, how much I was noticing, and the level of detail I was doing it at, and all the good stuff.

While they didn’t really understand much of what was going on, even the Ruk admitted the Elvar knew their stuff in their specialties.

---

The doors to the Council chambers were sixty feet high and carved from the same giant tree’s heartwood. I could see individual hairs in my reflection in them as they opened grandiosely for us.

Beyond was a seething aura of quiet power.

Fully convinced I couldn’t overhear, there were psionic conversations going on all over the place, the place was like a psionic beehive.

I let Rargyle listen to it, and with him all the Ruk. He had to fight the temptation to smirk into his beard, and keep the hues of it under control.

The aisle I was on was a hovering path of stones, close enough together that Rargyle didn’t have to step from one to the next, and to the left and right were packed a whole lot of Elvar in all sorts of colorful outfits. It was a fashion extravaganza in flowers, feathers, furs, gossamer weaves, crystals, and metals, with energy fields and lights, psitech, and some holographic accents adding to the mix.

They were gossiping, commenting, wheeling, dealing, and critiquing everything with the habits of millennium-old Tens who’d seen it all twice over, and trying to hide how very interested they were that a Ruk had chosen to come here and now.

A human leading the way, eh.

Sunhawk waved away the honor guards and the envoy, cheekily said that he would kindly alert me to any breaches of protocols I made after the fact, and accompanied me on my walk.

Perhaps it was supposed to be humbling, walking towards the post-Fifteen Oracles at the far end of this path, dressed in solid colors and robes here, a rather jarring contrast to the multi-colored layers and aesthetics causing waves and ripples throughout the great chamber ranging up and down to either side of us.

That very play of colors, of fans and helms and glittering necklaces and posture of hands and eyes and everything was a courtier language of fascinating complexity, one that took a lifetime of study for most humans to understand, and even many Elvar didn’t understand it too well. Without saying a word mentally or otherwise, Elvar could talk to one another across the chambers, entire factions could have shouting wars, deals could be struck and terminated, opinions presented and withdrawn, and votes on all sorts of topics relevant and not made clear, rippling and vanishing in plays of motion, color, and position.

Leave it to the Elvar to invent a language just for politicking...

It was pretty much the first time anyone in Markspace, including the Ruk, had ever seen the Floral Language of the Elvar Court on display, let alone with someone who could decode it able to make sense of everything for them. Markspace behind me was exploding with commentary and dissection of what I was seeing as multiple Ranthas with Polyglot hooked in and began their own breakdowns of everything for everyone, amazing everyone with the complexity and depth of what the Elvar were discussing around us.

Not much of it was flattering, of course, but we didn’t expect much.

Others were ripping apart the buzz of converpsation I was overhearing, heaping that onto the breakdown of the Floral display, and with a speed that would have utterly astonished the Elvar, we were chopping the whole place into factions and bloks, identifying and marking all the major players, and even picking up their names from the pstatic.

Yeah, they would have been pretty alarmed that we got all their faces and names without being introduced, I’m sure.

I mentally /glanced at King Rargyle, who harrumphed loudly.

The acoustics of the place were perfect. Everyone heard him.

“If the 2,473 of you who are currently mindspeaking could kindly pshut up, you are annoying.”

Psionic activity between the Elvar cut off like a knife. Sweeping waves of subtle colors flashed around in consternation.

“Yes,” he replied to that, barely acknowledging them, and the colors froze too. He didn’t say anything else, but he had effectively paralyzed a huge section of the whole hall.

Chided and embarrassed, the Elvar moved to their seats and positions.

Around the eleven High Oracles were various Warmasters, Champions, and the like, the leaders of the martial arms of the Elvar. In subordinate positions below and to the sides of them were the various Envoys and representatives of the other Starhomes, some of them looking decidedly not up to proper rank and stature to be meeting with a King of the Ruk.

From there, nobles of various ranks contested with lesser champions, ship captains and corsairs, guildmasters, artisans, lesser oracles and psions, and similar Elvar of various stations and power. The powerful were the closest, and their subordinates flowed away from them in colorful shows and displays of influence.

The further you were from the front, the more of a spectator you were, scrabbling for power and influence among those like yourself until you could move ahead by forming a bloc of influence, like a spear aiming ahead at those before you.

The Elvar took their symbology pretty seriously, and politics was pretty bloody, why not have it represented that way? Factions were called ‘Spears’ among the Elvar, with powerful factions called ‘Lances’.

There were at least one hundred and twenty Spears here, but only twelve Lances. Some held their positions by Levels/Power, such as the Oracles and the Champions; some by numbers and power, such as the naval and marine forces; and some by pure numbers, such as the artisans and workforce representatives.

If you knew what you were looking at, the different factions were very clear, and alliances visible as plays of colors that merged into one another harmoniously. Opposing factions somehow managed to clash even as the play rippled slowly back and forth.

It was very impressive in its own way. Being a player among the Elvar Courtiers was something requiring tremendous skill. No wonder they found human scheming and politicians dull and boring.

I leaned over to the Sunhawk and pitched my voice so it wouldn’t carry at all, “So, how often do the colors go out and blood take over?”

His golden eyes danced in delight. “Such things are not for outsiders to see, so they must indeed never happen, Your Grace.” He was lying so blatantly I just chuckled softly.

-----

At last the interminable walk under so many brilliant eyes that was supposed to overawe us and put us in our place was over, and we were standing before the Council of the High Oracles of Lishiree... and two other High Oracles that other Starhomes had sent over, probably congratulating themselves on being prescient... or more likely, wondering who the fuck had missed the fact that there was a Ruk King coming.

“My Esteemed Elders and Respected Ancestors,” Sunhawk drawled with all the sincerity of a kid with his hand still in the cookie jar, “I present to you the Contessa Sama Rantha, the personal representative of the Duke Corunsun of the Human Empire. In Witness upon her is His Royal Majesty, King Rargyle Rittercrun of the Citadel Unforgotten.”

His introduction of me was sorrow, laughter, and personal smugness. His introduction of Rargyle was neutrality, pomposity, and reservation, all at once.

Rargyle stepped forward, saluted the Elders with fist to chest; a metallic bang, clean and sharp; and stepped back.

He did not speak, nor did he expect to be spoken to. He was here to stand Witness. He had already cowed the whole Hall with a few words.

It was now my turn. “I stand before the Elvar,” I said smoothly in their own language, bowing courteously to those ancient psions and psy-warriors all gathered before me. I turned and bowed to King Rargyle, startling all of them. “I stand before the Ruk.”

His eyes lit up, and if there was surprise before, their shock as his eyes burned with crystal light from within would go down in history.

The Avatar materialized behind him, a construct of psionic force, easy to see through, roughly faceless, or perhaps having endless faces. The only constant was the eyes, burning with the stars of distant suns, and conveying a sudden and very, very real presence.

I was standing before the Ruk, indeed, and so were they!

The utter shock that a Ruk was exhibiting psionics at Twelve was rocking its way through the Court, and if the colors were a ship, it was foundering in a very, very rough sea.

The Ruk did not use psionics; this had been known for uncounted millennia. Indeed, their anti-psionic tech was some of the best in the galaxy. Their priests had once been truly mighty, but no longer.

An older Elvar with harsh blue highlights about him was the first to speak. Iaeldium the Reader and the Star Prophet, considered the most powerful psion and Oracle among the Elvar, a real celebrity. Amazing he was here.

Then again, his total inability to read anything that I might be doing here might have inspired him to come from his own Starhome of war-torn Endymayr. The fact he was speaking before the native Oracles could was rather amusing, too...