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The tribe of Shinar flee for their lives from the Eloin. Where do you fit in? |
| [Introduction]
I'm trying to keep this brief. Rules: 1. Please, no magic! 2. No explixit sex scenes, no profanity, other than made up(by Kyda!...or something like that) These are the four classes, or races. Dragonian: Tall, dark hair and eyes and both nomadic and tribal.They despise the Eloin, or Others as they often call them. The Eloin frequently massacres entire tribes of Dragonians. The name Dragonians comes from a legend about dragons possibly existing beyond the Rim. (The truth or falsehood of this legend is up to you!) Fierce fighters known for their well-trained war stallions and longbow skills. Because of the constant battles, they are also known for their knowledge of herbs. (Celtic roots) [main tribe is Shinar] Aquila: An offshoot of the Dragonians. Lighter-colored hair is more common. Live on the sea shore. Friendly to the Dragonian people. Neutral in regards to the war between the Eloin and the Dragonians. Has the only warriors who use a double-headed lance. Eloin, sometimes called Others: Have very light hair and often blue eyes, though not always. Ruled by a king, but many smaller groups function alone. Consider all other races inferior. They build castles, make swords...(medieval time) [main castle is Blackmoor Castle] Hybrid: Half-breeds between any of the factions. Rejected by most of the races, those who cannot hide their bloodline create their own small settlements. [main settlement is Pennywick] Once you've chosen one, feel free to insert your character into the story. My only request, do follow the culture for these races. (i.e. A Dragonian will not like an Eloin unless there is a good reason to do so.) Obviously, don't kill or fall in love with a character without permission. |
| Name: Jin Age: 26 Class: Dragonian Appearance: 6' 5, jet black hair down to his shoulders, emerald eyes. Personality: Stubborn, quiet, likes to get his own way. A natural leader. Special Talents/Abilities: Decent at the longbow, excells with the lance. Good horseman. Past: His betrothed died in childbirth after being ravished by an Other. The child, (Elam) was adopted by him. Because of this, he does not look down on Hybrids. Jin's brother was also killed during the same Other attack. This has made it difficult for him to trust, or love, anyone. It was automatic. Jin's eyes snapped open and in one smooth motion, he was on his feet. One hand held his dagger, while the other hid the crystal medallion dangling from his neck. Its flash could easily alert an enemy to his presence. He eyed the dim plains around him. Something had awakened him, but what? Both of the moons had waned to pale, thin crescents that shed little light. What light there was only revealed the usual things. Horses tossing their heads, a few trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and what was left of his tribe, still sleeping, circled the dying campfire. Elam muttered in his sleep. His blonde hair gleamed in the moonlight like a beacon. Jin flicked a glance down at his son, and then tugged the fleece over Elam's head, before slinking around the small camp. With the Other attack force dogging his heels, he knew from hard experience to be suspicious of everything. A whisper of footsteps snapped his head up. He melted into the shadows and waited. A dark figure crossed where he had been a moment before. Silently, Jin slunk behind him. |
| Name: Daliah Age: 22 Appearance: 5’ 10, curly brown hair that falls halfway down her back, deep blue eyes, well muscled Personality: Outspoken(this usually gets her into trouble), a loner, takes no nonsense, but proud Special Talents/Abilities: swordplay, archery, and can nearly communicate with her horse Past: Abandoned at birth, she was raised by a soldier who taught her swordplay and archery. Often she is haunted by memories of her parents and the death of her guardian. Daliah crept through the trees, her light feet making little noise upon the ground. A shaft of moonlight fell upon her and she stiffened, fear driving a stake through her heart. She shook her head to clear the emotions away and quickly darted beneath the shade of a large elm. She did not much care for people in these times, since they had left Gaharis to die. She closed her eyes and, ashamed, wiped the tears from her cheek. |
Name: Eppie Age: 23 Race: Hybrid (Aquila/Eloin) Appearance: An unusual young lady, Eppie’s locks are an almost white blonde that fall in a curly cascade down to her hip. Her pale green almond-shaped eyes complement her fair freckled complexion, and are most of the time gleaming in a amused light. Personality: A bright and happy girl who is a natural entertainer with a knack for being able to weasel a smile out of almost anyone. She is a hard worker and not easy to anger, except when people talk about/make fun of her Eloin lineage. Special Talents: Knows quiet a bit about medicinal herbs, and can hold her own with a light weight rapier. History: Eppie was born into the settlement of Pennywick, and lived there for sixteen years before striking out to forge a life of her own. It didn’t take her long to find out just how obvious her Eloin bloodlines were to people and how bad it was to be called an “Other”. After a vicious beating outside a tavern, she learned how to handle a rapier and to hide her parentage by stuffing her hair under a wide brimmed straw hat. After trying to make a home with the Eloin people and being cast out because she was of ‘impure blood’, she wanders from town to town, looking for a place to make her own. ---------------------------------- Eppie was beginning to wonder if she would ever find home again. Of course, she probably should have never left Pennywick to start with, but she had been so bound and determined to ‘find her own way,’ as she had told her mother, that she had never taken into consideration just how unaccepting some people could be. The truth was, no one was as nice as the people from Pennywick. The Dragonians were overly bitter towards anyone who even resembled an ‘Other’, and the Eloins were so stuck up that they didn’t accept anyone into their society that was not of pure blood. She sighed and went back to poking at her fire, a futile attempt at keeping it alive. She heard a rustling and her green eyes snapped up, searching for the source. Her gaze settled on the camp not very far from hers, the one of Dragonian refugees that she could only assume were running from the Eloin. ‘Strange,’ she thought to herself, eyeing the seemingly sleepy settlement with a newfound curiosity. ‘I thought they had all gone to sleep a while ago.” Briefly Eppie pondered what she should do before reaching a conclusion and grabbing her hat and rapier. She piled all of her hair up on the top of head and placed her hat on top of it, before shimmying up a nearby tree to get a closer look. Once she reached the fourth branch, she turned to watch the encampment, pale green eyes searching for movement. |
| Name: Niamh Age: 23 Gender: Female Class: Hybrid Appearance: She has dark brown hair and light blue eyes, 5'8", skinny yet strong. Personality: Speaks only when spoken to or when it vital that she says something. She prefers to be alone. She is often haunted by terrible nightmares of a figure in black. Special talents/abilities: She is skilled with a longbow. She is excels on a horse. She is also very skilled with a sword but she prefers not to use that skill. History: Niamh was found in the dead of night, in Pennywick, at the age of three years old. The woman, Lida, that found Niamh took her in as her own and Niamh has forever known her as 'mother'. She grew up, very sheltered and shunned even amoung other half-breeds. Some suspect she is half Dragonian and half Eloin, though how she became to be so often escapes them. ---------------------------------- Niamh kept her eyes low on the ground as she tagged along behind her mother. She loathed to leave the house, she hated the curious stares and whisperings. She even hated the people who pretended not to notice her difference. She knew to stay away from the men, they were the worst of all. All through her life she had been beaten in the field on the outskirts of Pennywick. The people who beat her were always three men, and each time they had left her to die. One of her first memories was of a beating. She remembered being taken to a field , something that her mother would never know about, when she was three and beaten by three figures in black. They retreated out of the field, leaving the small bleeding child to die. She remembered laying bloody and broken. It was then that Lida found her. She felt eyes on her. She snapped out of memory and a man was staring at her. She shuddered. |
| Name: Roth Age: 25 Class: Eloin Appearance: 6' 2”, muscular and broad shouldered. Has shaved head w/ blonde stubble and large intelligent blue eyes. Permanent five o’clock shadow on his square jaw, and a cleft chin. Dresses in dark reds and grays in an almost flamboyant fashion. Personality: Very arrogant. Intelligent and tactically-minded, has a way of reading people and if oftentimes prejudicial. Very suave however but finds himself questioning his life and the path he’s chosen. Looking for someone he can really trust. Special Talents/Abilities: His stocky muscular build makes him an adept swordsman, unhindered by armor weight. Also has a love for using his spiked short-mace. Found that when he was young he could read the subtle changes in the environment that foreshadowed future events, making him an adept tracker/strategist. Past: Roth is the son of a lesser lord in the court of King Aretas. His father was a washed-up alcoholic and lived off of the fortune of his mother’s family teaching Roth to be bitter and untrusting. His mother is a kind and cultured woman whom tried to raise Roth to be a gentleman. They each succeeded in their own way. After his fathers death he went into service under one of the Kings great Captains charged with banishing the Dragonians beyond the Rim. *********************************************************************************************** They reached the hills just two miles outside Pennywick in the early evening. Home of the Halfbreeds Roth thought to himself. It would be the best place to get information, theses people were born afraid. If there was anyone who knew of the Dragonian rebels hiding places, any plans or uprisings, they would be here. For the occasion, Roth donned a hooded gray cloak and soft traveler’s clothes, as well as only a curved dagger in the scabbard on his belt. He and two other men were ordered into the village to extract information that evening. Two men he didn’t particularly like. They were massive, bulky, and limited in their ingenuity – or brain-function as a matter of fact. He’d rather have take two stable hands with an idea between them than muscle with two eyes and two fists. Sighing, he led them through the wood line towards the road leading to the village. Behind him he heard the crunch of leaves and branches. Their stealth is unmatchable! Roth laughed to himself. Picking up the pace he got onto the road and dropped his hood over his eyes. Ahead he saw two figures, their silhouettes outlined by the orange of approaching dusk. A mother and child maybe? They had just walked undoubtedly from Pennywicks main gate, perhaps heading with wash down to the river. He waved in a friendly way and inclined his head so that the two oafs would too. The pair had stopped in the middle of the road unmoving, but considered them momentarily. Well that wasn’t going to work, Half Breeds weren’t stupid…but they still hadn’t made a run for it, and that was a plus. The closer they got though, the more the dusk seemed to settle on the two and blend into them into shadows. Dumb and dumber cracked their knuckles and smiled fiendishly behind him. What a sorry couple of … Roth hadn’t even had time to finish his own thought, the two slender figures had been startled and were now walking backwards, waiting for an opportunity to dash away. ahh, well why not…. His feet barely hit the ground as he sprinted along the trail, his eyes never wavering from the figures now sprung to full motion, their possessions cast to the ground. The last thing he needed was them to reach the village. One of them was old, a woman nearly as old as his own mother. Her feet stumbled on the pebbled roadway as she fell face-first into a cloud of dust. They passed her as she lay there yelling. “Run Niamh! Run!” The old woman cried. The woman turned and hesitated, her windblown dark brown hair sweeping all around her face. Roth had not a reluctance in his body as pumped his arms harder to overtake the woman called Niamh who was again running full-speed towards the village. The gate was a still a ways from her but each of her strides was with determination. Behind him he heard his two annoying companions detaining the old woman and laughing like children at the amusement. Roth was on the girls’ heels now, and planned as he ran. Unsheathing the knife at his belt, he clutched it ready to throw and as they began to round the final bend he let it fly. The blade whizzed through the air right by the girls head and stuck into a tree. He’d missed intentionally of course and her reaction was all the faltering he needed. In one leap, he overtook her. Throwing his arm around her shoulder he used her momentum to swing her into the wood line. Two seconds later lay motionless on the ground. The air knocked clean out of her. He smiled with victory, and in slight hilarity. Roth couldn’t believe he’d managed to find anyone to interview at all considering those two bumbling idiots he’d been sent with. Her light blue eyes looked around desperately as she struggled to catch her breath. Flipping back his hood, he tilted his head and extended his arm to help her up. “Do keep quiet. I’d hate to make this difficult.” He asked with a devilish smirk. Twisting on the ground she tried to get to her feet. Roth kicked her foot out from under her as she tried to rise and sighed. “Come now. Don’t make me hurt you.” A small trickle of blood ran down her temple as turned her frantic eyes on him, mixed blood. Before he could try to get her up again himself, one of the oxen-brains had arrived and without warning threw a sack over her head and slung her over his shoulder. That works too… Roth shook his head and threw up his hood. It was finally night. The moon wrapped the world in its silver beams and made the woods glow like beautiful crystals as they headed back to camp. |
| Jin inched closer. It was now or never. He could see the flickering torches that encircled the Other camp through the trees. If the spy returned there...but he wouldn't. Moving quickly, he yanked the figure around, his dagger's glint unmistakable. "Cry out and it will be your last," he hissed. It was too dark here to make out a face, but he could see the spy nod his head in understanding. "Good." Jin turned the spy around and pressed the point lightly against his back. "Don't try anything." They walked silently for a little while. As they entered a small clearing, the spy stumbled. Before Jin could react, the stumble turned into a quick spin, knocking his dagger out of his hand. The sight of a sword glinting in the moonlight backed him up a step. Jin scrambled for a plan, "My warriors are nearby. One call and you won't see the sun dawn." The spy didn't answer. They circled each other warily. Jin flicked his gaze around, searching for his dagger. Great. I knew I should have called Sheno. As they eyed each other, a beam of moonlight shimmered on the spy's face, but only for a moment. A woman? That can't be. |
| Daliah ducked out of the way as her attacker lunged at her. She quickly drew her sword and placed the tip on his neck once he had rolled over onto his back. They both froze for a moment, trying to recover their breath. "Why did you attack me?" she panted, pressing the blade deeeper against his throat. "I- I thought you were a spy." he choked out nervously, but somehow not afraid. "A spy?" she laughed bitterly. "I travel alone." The statement rang horribly in her head. She knew it was unwise to travel alone, but she could not risk losing anyone else dear to her. "I believe you, though we just met. There is something honest about your face." She slid her sword back into its sheath and held out her hand. "I am Daliah." "Jin." He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, something caught her attention. She spun around and fitted and arrow into her bow, but she was too late. The arrow missed its mark as a poison dart struck her arm, instantly taking effect. She fought the oncoming darkness, fought the weakness that flowed through her body. All was in vain. She stumbled back into the arms of Jin, her last concious thought that she wished this would kill her. |
| Eppie blinked hard once, and then again. She rubbed at her eyes and tried to peer into the inky blackness that was the night, but had little success. All that she could really make out were the dying embers of the refugee’s camp, and their little sleeping figures. A yawn escaped her lips and her eyes began to droop, her head falling so that her chin rested on her chest. It was there that she found comfort, and drifted into a warm, long sleep. Or at least, that is what she had hoped for, but it was not reality. The truth of the matter was that Eppie had not found herself asleep for more than ten minutes, when she was aroused from her dreams by voices. Groggily she blinked and glanced down, green eyes landing on a man and a woman. The woman stood, sword posed at the man’s neck and conversing in hushed tones. ‘A lover’s quarrel?’ Eppie thought to herself, cocking an eyebrow and leaning forward curiously to get a better look. The brunette woman sheathed her sword, holding her hand out to the man. A few more words were spoken when suddenly the woman spun around, staring straight at where the blonde hybrid hid and drawing back an arrow back. The breath caught in Eppie’s throat and her green eyes went wide in surprise, sure that the arrow would hit her at any moment. However, a something went buzzing past her ear and struck the stranger in her arm, sending her reeling back into the dragonian man’s arms. Eppie let out an uncharacteristic squeak, loosing her balance and falling from the tree in an uncomfortable heap on the ground. She glanced up to meet the confused eyes of the man, and gave a nervous little titter, before turning and scooping up her rapier, looking for whatever it was that was shooting darts at people. |
| Niamh didn't like the way the man was chasing her, she pushed herself to run faster. He was chasing with a purpose. She wanted to make it back to the main gate. With determination she dashed, the gate was so close, she could almost taste it. Then there was swooshing sound, and she saw a dagger sticking out of the tree. Stupidly she stopped to stare at it knowing that the man would pounce then. As she hit the ground the memory of the last beating flashed through her mind. And once again she was helpless trying to breathe with futile gasps. She thought of how sad Lida would be if she was killed by this man. Niamh didn't think he wanted to kill her.... yet. He held out his hand to her, she wanted to rip the skin off the bone. She didn't want his help. She tried to get up herself, but cruelly he knocked her down, sending her back on her stomach. He said something but all she could hear was a faint garbled murmur. Then she felt the blood trickle down her face, she knew what he was thinking; 'mixed blood'. Then, there was darkness. Niamh hated the darkness and now to her it seemed that nightmares really could come true. The man that sent her into violent screams was real. Silently she cried as he carried her, salty tears mixing with inferior blood. She wished that Lida wasn't murdered. She would never be able to bear it. She cried, not making a sound, like she had so many times in the field. |
| “Ha.” The larger of the two oafs grunted. Roth casually glanced at him. The soldier’s mandible was almost too big for his face, and he had two dull-witted bulging eyes. To call him a man seemed a foreign idea, but what else but a scary-looking man could he be. With almost no effort he carried the girl in one arm while tearing at branches along the way with the other. “Widmar.” Roth snapped. (He honestly wasn’t sure if that was the right name at all) The soldiers eyes were on him instantly. “Don’t do that, you’re making us easier to follow…and take better care with that prisoner, will you!” A slow nod answered him. Roth screamed on the inside. What idiots! Am I cursed? Shaking his head he looked at the other prisoner, a bandana wrapped ‘round her face and through her teeth. The old woman’s pace was the speed of tar, but he couldn’t fathom something as fragile as a grandmother slung over the back of something so bear-like and careless. Of course, the girl called Niamh was another story, she hadn’t moved since being picked up. “Boss.” Slurred Not-Widmar. Against his better judgment Roth asked what. “I thought that it would be ok if… we just sat down a little and let the Gramma rest.” The rope in his hand was taut, the old woman laboring to keep up. Not answering, he halted and perched on a boulder amidst the towering silhouettes of the trees. “That means we can stop.” A wide toothless grin spread across Not-Widmar’s enormous lips, as he took the old womans shoulders between his gargantuan hands and placed her in front of a log. Lowering herself on the tree-trunk she kept her eyes on the ground. “Now… we can’t stop here long. If we make it back to where the Captain has arranged the rendezvous by morning we’ll be lucky. Remember what happens if we’re late?” He could see the two of them working through their memories, almost as if it was hurting them to do so. “This lady’s awake.” Widmar said and tossed the dark-haired girl like a sack of apples to the forest floor. Standing, Roth lashed the man with the back of his back hand. OWWWWWWWW! His face is made of metal! He made a mental note not to slap the giant again. “Watch what you’re doing Widmar.” He commanded. “Now SIT DOWN!” Calming himself he went to the rag-doll figure lying sprawled out on the ground. Rope in his hand he crouched next to her and began to tie her hands. The hood over her face had fallen off miles ago probably, and he regretted how her beauty was now marred by the blood covering half of her face. Reaching out he touched Niamh’s cheek and felt for any sign of what Widmar had called “awake”. |
| Name: Kor Age: 22 Race: Hybrid (Dragonian/Aquila) Appearance: Tall and lanky, with flame-red hair, pale, freckle-less skin, iceburg blue eyes, and a perpetually amused, intelligent expression. Personality: Kor possesses a carefree demeanor and seems to find amusement in everything. His is a sarcastic, occasionally crude sense of humor, yet with an odd touch of refinement. He is an intellectual who appreciates intelligence and scholarship in others. He tends to act on whims which, for reasons undiscovered, rarely seem to get him in trouble; it is as if he is directed by an inner wisdom which exhibits itself in the unpredictable, carefree purpose of a trickster. At the same time, there is an edge to him when he is passionate about something; he becomes serious and extremely driven, almost to the point of obsession. Special Talents/Abilities: Kor is extremely intelligent, with an ability to memorize practically anything, a strong singing voice, and a natural way with people. He directs these talents toward communicating with other people and, when time permits, singing and storytelling. As for martial talents, he can handle a sword, but prefers to carry a dagger, as this is less likely to impel combative sorts to test him. Past: Kor’s father was a Dragonian warrior who fell during a skirmish and was cared for by Kor’s Aquilian mother, a healer, by the seaside settlement, Wardov. Kor resulted from the ensuing union a few weeks later on the eve before the warrior returned to his people. Kor grew up among his mother’s people, the Quatian tribe, as if he were himself a fullbreed Aquilian child rather than a Hybrid. When he was nearly 20, his settlement made the mistake of sheltering twenty Dragonian warriors, and when the Eloin came and demanded that the village give the refugee men and women up, the village elders refused. The Eloin razed the village, killed most of its inhabitants, executed the Dragonians, and left. Kor survived with only minor wounds, but his mother and many of his friends died. He left, choosing to travel from one Aquila tribe to another trying to convince them to ally with the Dragonians in the war against the Eloin rather than maintain what Kor regarded as abhorrent, self-destructive neutrality. He has been largely unsuccessful during the 2 years he has travelled amongst the Aquila, and has taken more and more often to relating to the Dragonians he occassionally encounters. |
The next instant, a second dart whipped through the trees and Eppie collapsed. *-* Jin looked up from his 'chicken scratches', as Sheno called it, when Daliah moaned. The dart must be wearing off. He recapped the tiny bottle of hoarded ink and waited patiently for her to wake up. Deep blue eyes fluttered open, darted around her surroundings, and then focused on him. Her hands flew to where her sword had been. "Where is it?" He cocked his head. A Dragonian lilt? Interesting. "It will be returned to you, eventually." She frowned at his answer. "When will that be?" "When I am sure you won't attack us in our sleep." Daliah shook her head, and then winced, rubbing her temple. "What did you do to me?" Jin shrugged, "Elam, well, he tends to shoot first and ask questions later, especially where I am concerned." She only nodded. Jin's curiosity was piqued.Is she a Dragonian? The gentle accent in her speech was unmistkable, but, a good spy would probably have that as well. "This might help." He offered her some kolinar. The bitter, green-colored tea, a Dragonian staple, was a drink you learned to like. Her reaction would answer a few questions for him. *-* |
| Daliah downed the tea gratefully. It eased the the throbbing in her head and the burning in her throat. Her eyes began to clear, allowing her to study her surroundings. The camp definetely belonged to a traveler. There was no permanent shelter, nor was there room nearby for the horses to graze. She wondered where Suni had gotten to by now. He usually returned to her by the end of the day. Why was Jin staring at her so? She lowered her head and returned the flask to him. He did not take it. She dared to meet his gaze. "Yes?" she ventured, her voice wavering. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Daliah." "No, not your name. I want to know who you are. Obviously you are Dragonian, but why are you here?" "I could ask you the same." "I am the one asking the questions now." She sighed in defeat. "What do you want to know?" "Where did you learn to fight?" was the first question. She answered it as best she could, omitting the dark dreams that the death of her companion had left her with. He also asked of her parents, which she could not answer, so she told him of the man who raised her. She told him of his kindness, his skill, and his love for her and her family, though he told her little of them. All she knew was her mother's beauty (which she was told she possessed) and her father's honor. As she continued to indulge his prodding, she was interrupted by a moan. "Ah." Jin rose to his feet. "The second awakes." |
| Eppie groaned, pulling herself up into a sitting position and rubbing at the back of her neck. 'What hit me?' she thought to herself, opening her eyes and blinking violently in hopes of battling her blurred vision. Once her vision was mostly back to normal, she regretted to report that she did not like what she saw. The woman from earlier sat beside her, a flask filled with something that smelled absolutely hideous in her hands and a curious express on her face. Eppie wrinkled her nose and turned her head away from the foul smelling concoction, meeting the eyes of the man that occupied the room. "Who are you people?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. She had been in a few uncomfortable situations in her life, but this was among the top on her 'most bizarre' list. Really, how many times does one find themselves falling out of a tree and getting hit in the neck with a dart? "I'm Daliah," the woman answered, causing Eppie to cast her green eyed stare back towards her. She did not smile, but her deep blue eyes seemed friendly enough, albiet disgruntled. Eppie nodded her head and grinned back at her, a dimple peeking out as she did so. She turned back to the man, blond eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Well?" she said, with a tone that sounded like it expected an answer. The man matched her quirked brow with one of his own, jade eyes studying her. "I'll be the one to ask the questions," he said after a moment, meeting her eyes with his jaw set firm. "Who are you?" "I'm sorry, but I won't answer to a man whom I don't even the name of," she said flippantly, eyes glowing amusedly in the dim lightly. His eyes narrowed, and she could see that he was growing annoyed with her. This was never her intentions, but she wasn't really all that open to answering the questions of a man that she knew nothing about. He brushed back a stray hair that was hanging in his face, and opened his mouth to speak. |
| The last thing Niamh felt was the ground. Then she was tossed like a rag doll. She was almost happy to have her blood spilt a different way and whizzing through the air gave her a light feeling. She then met the ground again. The impact made her go numb. She felt herself fall asleep but not before hearing the man curse the large monster that had carried her. Monster was the only word to describe him. His porpotions seemed off, like a child had molded him. She felt the blood trickle into her mouth, it was a familiar taste. Then her eyes closed. She was happy, not having to pretend to be asleep was the greatest gift anyone could have given her. Now she wouldn't have to think about Lida, she could retreat into her own shell. She could sleep out most of the journey. Her dream wasn't anything, just the large dark expanse that was her mind. She enjoyed that. Suddenly startled about the empty dark place she called out in her sleep, "Lida." |
| “Lida” The one called Niamh muttered as she lay yet again unconscious. All Roth could do was sigh. Running his hand over his head, he felt the soft fuzz-like blonde stubble growing there, and turned in exasperation towards Widmar and Not-Widmar. He opened his mouth several times in frustration, not really knowing what to say. What could possibly prevail upon their simple minds that would really get across his point? “Do that again…” Roth began his voice low and eyes burning. “And I’ll cut off your hands…” His eyes never left the dull expressionless dark crater-like eye-sockets in the soldiers face. “Do you understand me?” Without waiting for an answer, he bent down and scooped up the girl in his arms carefully. Adjusting her limp body, he announced that they had rested long enough. It wasn’t long before they reached the rendezvous point. Roth lowered delicately laid the girl on the grass and pointed to where the old woman was roughly forced to sit. Standing akimbo, Roth breathed heavily, tired from traipsing all over the woods with carrying the girl and constantly reprimanding the two oafs he’d been assigned with. Before him, the trees wavered in an unseen and notably unfelt breeze while their trunks expanded and contracted as if almost breathing. Taking a rock from the forest floor, he threw it hard into the branches of a apple tree just across the small clearing. “Owe!” Some exclaimed. Muttering a few more curses as they descended from among the tangled branches of the old fruitless tree. Hefting his rucksack, he made his way over to their group. “Sergeant I dunno know how you do it! You always know where I’m at…” laughed the man awkwardly, a slow grin on his face. Roth, however was either too tired or annoyed to kid. “Where the blaze are the horses?!” He demanded impatiently. I want to get these two back to the outpost as quickly as possible. The young man before him, looked at the women and opened his mouth, but Roth interrupted. “Not them, the two idiots with the weapons.” “Oh, Horik and Widmar. Yeah, they aren’t the best to work with, no. It’s actually amazing you came back with anyone at all. The Cap’n … well he’ll be pleased to say the least. They always test out the new sergeants by sending them out with them two…” A chuckle escaped the man, his reeking gapped toothed mouth hanging open long enough for Roth to sneer in disgust. “One time, Horik wandered off and nearly got killed by some of our own guys, cause he’s just too simple to know who’s the enemy ‘n all that.” Anger flared in Roth’s eyes, and the little man took a step back. “Horses are this way sergeant. Cap’n is ‘pecting you. Good Luck with them prisoners, maybe he’ll let you keep ‘em if they live through the interrogation ‘n all.” |
| Kor knew better than to travel through these parts. By the five blazing firmaments, he knew it, and yet his impatience, his foolhardy desire to avoid the harsh terrain of the mountains to the north, was going to cost him his life. He just knew it! This area had seen heavy fighting recently. Already Kor had come upon---and carefully crept in a wide berth around---three dried husks of villages. Burned, pillaged, and utterly devoid of living souls, the former settlements bore the clear handiwork of the Eloin. Kor had seen it in other places; he’d seen the charred tents and staked heads in his own home village of Wardov, he’d seen it in a couple of the Aquila villages that had made the mistake of straying too far from their comfortable neutrality without being wise enough to take up arms, and he’d seen it in countless Dragonian villages. The rebels had been hard hit lately, especially in these parts. And Kor had stupidly wandered right into the middle of it. His was a fine dagger. Of Dragonian make, it had been the gift of his father to his then-unborn son. Kor’s mother had saved it to him and given it to him on his fifteenth birthday, when he’d become a man in the ways of the Aquila people. Ivory hilted, with a strong, wickedly curved blade, it was a well crafted weapon. Unfortunately, Kor was largely unfamiliar with the Dragonian style of fighting, and the dagger had been virtually useless in his hands up until a mere year or so ago, when he’d received some basic instruction from a Dragonian warrior in its use. It was best, he had come to learn, to fight with one curved blade in each hand, but he did not have two. He had one. Kor was a musician, not a warrior. What was he doing out in the middle of nowhere, far from Aquila lands? Trying to win my pretty head a nice place atop a Eloin spike, he thought, a tired smile gracing his features. In truth, he was trying to locate a Dragonian tribe---any Dragonian tribe---so he could join their cause. It was a naïve goal, he knew, but not one he easily could give up. The Dragonians would not be overly welcoming of a halfbreed; distrust ran thick through the veins of anyone who crossed paths with the Eloin these days, and it ran thickest through the Dragonians. Son of a Dragonian warrior or not, Kor’s bright red hair and Aquilian accent were not going to win him many friends at first. But if there were one trait the halfbreed minstrel possessed in abundance, it was charisma. He’d gain their trust in time. But first… he had to find them. There were not many Dragonians in these parts. The forests to the south of Pennywick were too close to the Eloin lands, and not even the Aquila were entirely safe there. Kor’s destination was further northwest, past Pennywick, past the hills, and on the other side of the mountains, But it would take at least another two days’ worth of walking to get there; his horse had broken a leg a couple weeks earlier and he’d had to put her down. At first, he thought it was the longing for his mare, Keddina, that made him hear the faint sound of hoofbeats echoing through the trees. A moment later it became overwhelmingly obvious that not only were the hoofbeats real, but they were coming directly toward him. Kneeling swiftly in the darkness behind an oak tree, he watched silently as three horses slowly came into view. It was hard, in the pale moonlight, to see clearly at first. However, as the riders grew closer, Kor’s eyes confirmed what his instincts told him. An Eloin officer with two bound female prisoners was approaching, riding through the trees at the swift, steady pace of someone who intends to reach a destination before sunrise. Kor’s pale blue eyes narrowed in the darkness. The women rode like men, but with their hands tied behind their backs and dirty sacks pulled over their heads. The soldier rode with one hand attending to the reins of his own horse and the other clutching the lead-ropes of the other two beasts. Kor surveyed the warrior’s weapons. A dagger at the waist was all he could see, although for an Eloin that might be enough. Just a brief distraction. That’s all I need. Wait, are there any others coming up behind? A second, longer glance confirmed that there were no other soldiers; the officer was alone, apparently escorting prisoners somewhere. Idiot. Kor was not particularly fast as he sprang out of the trees at the oblivious Eloin, nor particularly strong in his charge toward the distracted warrior’s horse. But the soldier, glancing over his shoulder to check on his prisoners, even hearing the sudden snap and thrashing of brush, did not turn around in time to even see the tall redheaded man who rushed him and tore him, with a curse, from the back of his horse. The Eloin landed with a sharp exhalation of air upon the ground, apparently unhurt but, for the moment at least, breathless and slightly stunned. Kor was not much of a warrior, but he was more than an adept rider. It was better, then, to run than to fight. He vaulted into the suddenly riderless horse’s saddle in one smooth motion and gathered the reins of the other two horses a heartbeat later. Already the Eloin had recovered himself and was rising to his feet with a shout. These Eloin horses were wellbred; the gelding he’d commandeered responded immediately to his gentle tap and with the other two horses sprang into a lope, then a gallup, after them, their riders screaming at the sudden flurry of noise and movement. “Don’t be scared!” Kor shouted. “I’m a friend. Hold on tight!” |
| Roth collided hard with the ground, gasping for a breath. Though he thought it pointless he shouted for Widmar and Not-Widmar. "Get him! Kill him! GO GO GO!" The two dull-witted massive soldiers kicked the ribs of their mounts and galloped hard after the fleeing guerilla and prisoners. The simple order seemed to take hold of their brains and they were after the other horses like hungry wolves on sheep. Within moments they passed out of his view. Throwing his dagger into the dirt with frustration he ground his teeth. Then quite unexpectedly he heard a triumph pair of grunts from his wittless companions. "We gots um! We gots um!" Roth rubbed his palms together in victory and broke into a run after their echoeing cries. As he came around the corner, he saw Widmar, or perhaps Not-Widmar literally sitting atop the man who'd quite rudley knocked him from his stead. "I'm squishing him!" Shouted the soldier, his eyes lolling, mouth agape. "Stop squishing...er..Tie him up immediatley!" Roth demanded, and then went to the two women who'd been thrown from the horses in the scuffle and were desperatley trying to flee, hooded and bound. "Ladies...Ladies..." He said with a smile as he took their bound hands in either fist. Now how to deal with THIS... He thought as his men tossed the "extra baggage" onto the back of one of the mounts, squirming and cursing. |
| "I am Jin of Shinar. Who are you?" "Eppie," she commented cheerfully. (Women) He sighed. "Are you with her?" He gestured at Daliah. Eppie shook her head. His eyebrows arched, "You were both traveling alone?" (It's a wonder they're both alive) "You may travel with us if you wish." "Jin!" A scout skidded to a stop in front of him. "There's a group of Others traveling nearby. They have prisoners." Jin glanced at the women, and took a step back, before hissing, "I leave no one in Other clutches. Get the warriors together." He turned back to Eppie and Daliah. "Ask for Sheno if you need anything." With that, he whistled for his stallion and cantered into the night. |
| Niamh had tasted freedom, had felt bliss for a second. Then she felt herself being pulled away from it. "Ladies… ladies…" She knew whose hands were tugging her and Lida away, she wanted to lash out with everything she had. Which were, at the moment, her bound hands. The ropes were too tight, and her fingers wouldn't move anymore, and every time she tried painful prickling began at her fingertips and moved up to her wrists. At least she could still feel them. "Lida?" She whispered, her voice even lower because of the hood. She could faintly hear Lida grunt in reply. Niamh swiped her at her leg with her foot, she swiped backward three times, "Lida?" Niamh tried to sound terrified, she wanted them to believe her. "Niamh?" Lida's voice shook. 'Good,' Niamh thought, she was going out on a limb, but she didn't care whether she lived or she died. Lida was not going to die, not if she could help it. She was about to try and Lida to run while she, Niamh, distracted the man, when she heard horses. Instead of her heart lifting at the sound it stayed dead and unmoved. 'Lovely,' She thought, 'Just lovely, I already know how this will turn out, might as well sit still.' The horses were getting closer the others seemed to notice them. |
| Well, that hadn't gone as expected in the slightest. Kor was right; he most certainly was going to find himself being beheaded and providing grim decoration atop some Eloin spike, but it was most likely going to be a mite sooner than he'd expected. Edda's balls. Why hadn't he waited a little longer to give himself time to think of a better plan? Because you're an impulsive fool, he snarled at himself, your blasted uncanny luck couldn't last forever. Strangely, he didn't mind the thought of dying so much. Not that he wanted---or intended---to die. No, he'd fight tooth and nail and... and.. dagger for his life. But he did mind the possibility that he might not get to aid the cause of his Father's people, even if only for a day. When he heard the steady sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats, he grinned wryly. A new element in the game? Perhaps it was a friend; perhaps a foe. Either way, it changed things a bit, gave him a new mix of factors to work with, and he began to move, rocking back and forth in the saddle, feeling the hard leather digging into his gut and sides and bound arms. He rolled over the rear curve of the saddle, over the rump of the horse, and slammed into the ground. |
| Daliah glared at Jin's retreating figure. No way was she staying there. She wondered if Myna was still carrying her extra weapons. Only one way to find out. She put her fingers to her lips and whistled, pushing away the boy who tried to hold her back. Myna cantered to a stop beside her and she mounted before anyone could stop her. (Sorry it's short, but I have to get off before my mom kills me.) |
Jin cursed loudly, yanking his stallion around the tumbling prisoner. Fiery red hair was visible even in the dim light of daybreak. That caught his attention, something to deal with later, but not now. Warriors fanned out behind him. The Other sergeant and his two lackey hesitated for a moment, eying their approach. The two lackeys fled first, the sergeant cursing at their retreating backs, before his gaze returned to them. Jin slowed and signaled for his men to wait. Striking blue eyes studied them with a calculating light. He held tightly to the reins of a bay gelding, two prisoners hooded and bound on its back. The red-haired prisoner's voice could be heard arguing with some of Jin's warriors. They would not be exactly "cordial" to a clear Hybrid. The sergeant took a step back, one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger. Jin smiled grimly, even as the soft creak of a bow being drawn echoed to his right. "Well, the Other has courage." he thought. Twenty to one were bad odds, even if only a handful were true warriors. But he would lose men, good men, if the situation were not resolved. Jin drew his janin and urged his stallion forward. The Other tensed. "Leave now, alone, and you will not be harmed." The eyes flicked over him and the warriors. "And if I take these with me?" "You won't." The sergeant scowled, tugging on his cloak, "I won't forget this Jin of Shinar!" Jin's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, the Other threw the reins at him and marched away. Sheno started to move after him, until Jin's glare stopped him. "Leave him be." The Hybrid yelled behind him. "I want to speak to the Fay-el! Let go of me!" The Dragonian word for chieftain. Sheno's eyebrows arched. "More mystery," Jin thought with a frown. Flicking the reins to the right, he headed for the struggling man, calling over his shoulder. "Take care of them, Sheno." Jin dismounted with ease and stood there, waiting. "Well, I am Fay-el. What do you want?" |
| Kor twisted, curling his legs toward his chest and then, by rocking his torso and pushing hard against the ground with his shoulder, managed to lurch to his knees. It wasn't the most dignified way to face the Fay-el, kneeling on the ground with arms bound behind him and the dust of the road pressed into his face where he’d connected none-too-gracefully with the road, but it was afar cry better than laying breathless in the dirt or draped, bottom-up, over the back of a horse. No, this was definitely not the way he’d imagined such a meeting would go, but one must grasp the opportunities Eppa threw one’s way. Spitting dirt, he rose smoothly to his feet, standing with his arms tied behind his back facing the chieftain. He offered a friendly bow, graceful despite his bound state and chuckled. “Well met, Fay-el,” he said in fluent but slightly accented Dragonian, offering an untamed grin despite the tiny pebbles imbedded in his forehead and the shallow scrapes peppering one side of his face. “I am Kor na Quatian, son of Renji na Shinar---a warrior of the Dragonian people---and Evali na Quatian, who was a healer of the Aquilian people before the Eloin killed her.” The Fay-el did not seem overly impressed by Kor’s parentage, but the redhead wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned. He didn’t expect the Dragonians to welcome him with open arms at first; he was not, after all, himself a full-blooded Dragonian, and in these harsh times his father’s kin had little reason to trust outsiders. He was a little surprised, then, when a flicker of recognition alighted in the Fay-el’s eyes, quickly drowned by impassivity and then covered by a new, somewhat amused mask. “And lately a prisoner of an Eloin sergeant as well,” the man said lightly, glancing from Kor to the two women, whose bonds were being cut. “An ill-conceived rescue attempt,” Kor admitted with a self-depreciating chuckle. “I thought the brute was alone, but I was wrong. I must admit, I’m immensely relieved you lot happened to be around.” He frowned darkly and his gaze slid toward the women, who looked exhausted and were rubbing their aching, chaffed wrists. “I’ve seen what those Eloin bastards do to women,” he told the Fay-el in an low voice. “I expect I would have been merely questioned and then killed, but the ladies… well, I’m extremely happy you came along when you did and drove the bastards off.” The chieftain nodded curtly. “Yes. But I’m sure you did not want to speak to me just to recite your lineage and thank me for succeeding where you failed. So I ask you again. What do you want?” Kor glanced over his shoulder wryly at the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. “Well, for starters, could you free me from these damnable things?” |
| Daliah dismounted just outside the circle and watched for a moment. Jinn seemed to have things under control, so she entered without her sword drawn. What are you doing here?" Jinn was obviously angry, but he didn't frighten her. She had been on her own long enough to know how to defend herself. "I thought you could use the help." she gestured to the prisoners. "But I must have been wrong." "Yes. Return to the camp." "No." She drew her sword as he cut the Aquillan free. "I sense I am still needed here, whether or not you believe it." Suddenly she was attacked from behind. She threw the offender over her shoulder and fought him off, continuing their conversation between strokes. "Why do you question me? I have had many opportunities to harm you, and I have shown you nothing but mercy. I do not need protection, as you can well see. And I have nothing that you could want." She drove her blade deep into his shoulder to subdue him, and looked back at Jinn, her sweat clumped hair hanging in her face. "Do not lie, for once again I can easily kill you." |
| The pain was a nuisance, but he could deal with it. He had been in too many battles, had broken too many bones, for it to be more than an irritation. Why Daliah was so aggressive was beyond him. He took a step back and cocked his head at her, unable to prevent a grin. “You think you can kill me?” His smile infuriated her. He saw the anger flash in her eyes. “Yes, and you can’t stop me.” “Oh?” The creak of drawn bows snapped her head around. Three of his men held their bows trained at her. Even she had to know of the fame of Dragonian bowmen. “I think not.” She turned her gaze back on him. “Your men would fire on a woman?” His eyes narrowed. “If she attacked their chieftain. I would sheath that sword.” She hesitated for a second more, and then sheathed it with an angry clatter. He picked his janin up from the ground and sheathed it as well, before turning away as if she were no concern. If she didn’t want to be pampered, fine, but then he would treat her no different than one of his warriors. Jin glanced at the Hybrid, Korr wasn’t it?, who was still rubbing his wrists. “Would you like a Healer?” “No-no. I’m fine. No worse for wear.” How could that man be cheerful? Jin wanted to drag the Hybrid into the moonlight and study his face. He could have sworn he recognized him. The ancestry he had given was familiar too. Jin shoved the thought aside. He would ask the Keeper to find the Birth Roll and satisfy his curiosity then. Right now, it was more important to deal with the tribe. That Other knew his name, that worried him. It was very rare for an Other to travel with that small of a guard. If there was another, much larger group of Others nearby, his tribe would never survive. Jin motioned at the Hybrid. “Give him and the prisoners a horse. If he tries to ride away, shoot him.” Jin turned away. Now that that was taken care of…He mounted his own horse, wincing as he moved that shoulder. The Keeper and the Healer, tonight, right after the tribe got moving again. |
| Sitting upright atop his borrowed grey gelding fifteen minutes later, Kor watched the back of the Dragonian chieftan with a mixture of amazement, concern and---yes---anger as the tribe rode with startling silence through he woods. The redhead's amazement came not so much from the fact that the chieftan had taken a blade to the shoulder without a cry of pain or even so much as a wince, but rather from the fact that he'd let the woman who'd wielded the blade live. She'd attacked him, bested him in battle---in front of his own men, no less!---and yet he let her not only continue with her life intact, but continue, unbound and virtually unguarded, to remain in the company of the tribe. Absolutely amazing. The concern, on the other hand, was for the bloody wound in the Fay-el's shoulder. The halfbreed had seen it's like before; deep and ragged, fever could settle into such a wound easily, causing painful swelling and stiffness at the very least and delirium, wound-rot and possibly even death at the very worst. The Fay-el might be a strong man, accustomed to bearing pain and the surviver of many injuries, but even strong men could be felled by filthy wounds. It was with this concern that his anger warred. Kor was a proud man. He did not mind being treated like an outsider because, after all, he was one. But he did not appreciate being treated like a prisoner-of-war when he had come of his own free will to these people, offered them no threat whatsoever, and even recovered two helpless women from the clutches of what appeared to be Jin's enemy. He deserved at least a modicum of respect! Eppa's Balls, the arrogant Dragonian and his woman-wound wasn't Kor's problem! Yet Kor was also a practical man, and his reason told him that even though such treatment by the Fay'el was not honorable, it did make sense; Kor was a stranger, a foreigner who had stumbled upon a Dragonian tribe in a time of war. It was wise for Jin to be cautious, for Kor could be a spy or, at least, a fool who could unwittedly put the tribe in danger. Still though... the Fay'el had a lot of nerve! He practically deserved the prick from that woman's sword! Practically... Maybe not... Eventually concern won out. Leg-reining his horse slowly toward the man, he glanced at the archers who were diligently guarding the the Fay'el. They watched him warily, bows strung but not drawn, as he approached. Kor held up his hands nonthreateningly, looking to the warriors, and pulled up alongside Jin. "Sir," he said softly, nodding at the wound when the man turned to look at him with a slight glance of impatience. "My mother, as I told you, was a healer of the Aquila people. I do not claim her trade as my own, but she taught me somewhat of her skills before she died. Although it would be best to have someone better-trained than I re-treat the wound when we eventually come to wherever it is we're going, I think a practical man such as yourself will acknowledge the wisdom of having that injury cleansed and bound now, before bloodloss weakens you or illness is able to settle in. If you permit, I will provide what assistance I am able. It should take no more than ten minutes' time. I have rudimentary supplies in my bag..." |
| Daliah rode away from the group, angry. She had hoped that Jin would have attacked her, banished her, or at the very least yelled. It was easier not to get close to someone that way. At the moment, all her concentration was bent on not befriending him, because she was afraid of losing him the way she lost Bard. If she spoke that way to Bard, she knew he would have slapped her. But Jin's behavior confused her. Why was he so soft? Perhaps it was an act. She would have left immediately, if not for Eppie. She could not leave the poor woman alone with so many men. Compassion may get you killed, but it keeps you human. That was one of Bard's favorite sayings. She said it to herself every time she wanted to abandon her cause. She broke into the camp, stirring the people that were there. "Eppie!" she shouted. "Come, we have to leave!" The girl spun around to meet her gaze, dropping the knife she was holding. "What?" she asked. Daliah dismounted and grabbed the girl's hand. "We must go. Now!" |
| *Sorry that this took so long and that its so short* Niamh couldn't understand what was going on now but she didn't want to speak because she was afraid. At least she was out of the wretched bonds, but all the excitement had taken its toll on Lida. Niamh and Lida sat quietly and waited for someone do something with them, because that was the only way they knew to do things. |
(mine's short too. it's ok.  Jin studied Kor for a moment, hesitating. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but he was struggling to ignore the wound. Teeth clenched against the pain, he could feel his shoulder beginning to lock up. He had already shifted the reins to his other hand. It would take a hard day’s ride to get home, longer with the two rescued women. He couldn’t afford to be disabled, not with Others close by. “You’re mother was a Healer?” “Do you have trouble hearing?” Jin resisted the urge to backhand him. “Tell me then, what does Kenbane do?” “Mends bone.” “And valla?” “For pain and rest. Handy on an arrow too.” Quite right, Elam often used arrows dipped in valla, as Daliah and Eppie well knew. (Obviously, he has some Healer training.) Jin flicked a glance at Layole, to his right. Twin to Sheno, he could tell if a man were lying with an almost unnerving ease. Layole dipped his head slightly. The unspoken message was clear; he’s telling the truth. Jin yanked his horse to the side, “Come then.” Kor’s eyes widened. “What about them?” He gestured at their group. Layole had already moved to the head of the line, leading them on. “We’ll catch up. They need the safety of the tribe.” He gave Kor a stern stare. “Ten minutes, no more.” Kor shrugged, but didn’t argue. Jin loosened his hold, giving his horse, Doblo, its head. Desert-born, the stallion could find water better than a shaman with his divining. |
| "Here," Kor said, nodding curtly toward a dark wall of trees. Jin's eyes were narrowed in the dark toward him, and he grinned broadly, trying to ignore his own irritation at the other man's distrust. "Water, Fay-el. I can smell it. Aquila-born, remember? The saltwater at home's no good for drinking and one must learn to scout out fresh water. See? Your horse senses it, even if my own is a little oblivious." Jin's stallion's nostrils flared and he huffed softly, his ears flicking to the side now and then toward some yet-unheard movement; a stream, perhaps, or even a creek. Jin didn't trust Kor, but he did trust his mount, and after a moment he leg-reined his stallion in the direction Kor indicated. Kor's mouth lifted in a wry half smile and he followed. It was darker here where the trees thickened, the moon barely bright enough to penetrate the thick foliage, but the horses seemed to know better than the men where they were going. Behind him he heard the sharp snap of a twig and the tumble of a rock through dry leaves. The entire group had not gone on alone, then, but had left perhaps one or two men behind to guard their wounded chieftain from the unruly foreigner. Kor shrugged in the dark; he wasn't going to hurt the man and wondered if he could, even with Jin injured as he was. Kor considered calling out to the trailing warriors but chose to keep his silence and let them keep theirs. If there were other threats nearby---that Eloin officer and his men, perhaps---it couldn't hurt to have the two warriors remain hidden for the time being. "Here," Kor said again, as the dark flow of water finally became visible where the trees cleared to either side of the narrow creek. He dismounted before the stream and led his horse to the water, knowing the beast would likely remain nearby with such a providence of liquid and grass available. Jin watched him for a moment, his eyes narrow in the moonlight, clearly reluctant to leave the back of his horse, but as Kor reached up to the saddle to drag down his pack, the Fay-el grunted and, careful not to put any weight on his injured arm, swung lithely from the saddle and dropped quietly to the ground. Kor's medicine pack was not too extensive; it contained the most basic of herbal remedies for fever, pain, and swelling, plus a sack of lichen for the staunching of bleeding and a shallow jar of unguent to numb and prevent infection. Anything else he needed, he'd have to find, although his mother had taught him well about what plants were good for the easing of a cough or the calming of a foul stomach. "Shirt off," he murmured to Jin, wandering down to the water with a small stone bowl and a chunk of hard soap without bothering to see if the Fay-el obeyed. He washed his hands the cool water, scrubbing them with the harsh soap he was rapidly running out of; Kor was a man who liked to keep clean, and thus far he'd been able to, but supplies such as soap were hard to come by this far from any towns or villages. He'd have to restock soon, somewhere. He filled the bowl a quarter-way with water then returned to his pack, adding one part lichen to stem the blood-flow and two parts valla leaf for the easing of pain and the relaxation of the traumatized muscles. He would have preferred to boil the water first, but at least the creek was moving freely; the algae and movement would keep the water mostly clean and his salve would do the rest. "We'll let that set for a moment," he said, as much to himself as Jin as he lay the bowl down. "Here." He pulled a sliver of silver-white bark out of its pouch and held it out to the chieftain. "Kapa. Just chew on it a bit; don't swallow. It should keep swelling and pain down and guard against fever. It'll make you feel a little numb too. Let me know when that happens." Jin was looking at the piece of kapa like he thought it was poison. Kor ignored him, reaching for his stone bowl and, pulling a pestle from his kit, beginning to gently crush the herbs in the water with the stone pestle. Grind them too much and they'd be too strong for use on an open wound; fail to at least bruise them, and the herbal properties would not be released. "I feel this numbness you speak of," Jin finally said. Kor glanced sideways at him, noticing the other man held the sliver of bark between his teeth. "Good. Now, sit here, next to me." "I'd rather stand," Jin said, crossing his arms slowly, favoring the injured shoulder. "You'd rather sit, trust me" Kor assured him firmly, indicating the ground before him. When Jin made no move to comply he sighed. "If for no other reason than my own sake, I need you to sit. It will be much faster and surer this way." Jin nodded curtly. "Very well." He crouched rather than sat on the ground before Kor, who sighed. That was probably the best he was going to get. Setting the crushed herbs aside once again, he reached into his pack and pulled out the jar of salve. Scooping a generous amount onto his finger, he applied it gently but deftly around the ragged edges of the wound, ignoring Jin's hissing and squirming and making sure it thoroughly coated the injury despite the Dragonian's fluid curses when he spread the salve deep into the wound. "The blade went in about two and a half inches," he told Jin calmly. "You're lucky; if it'd been on the other side, it could have pierced your heart. That was a salve made of kapa root---kind of like the bark you just chewed---and anderberries. It should numb the wound even more here in a moment, and the anderberries will prevent infection. I'll pack the wound with this," he nodded toward the stone bowl of herbs, "in a moment when you can't feel anything. We don't have time to stitch the wound---your healer can do that tonight if necessary---but this'll stop the bleeding, prevent swelling and pain, and keep the injured muscles relaxed and supple, at least for the next six to eight hours." Jin nodded sharply. "We're running out of time," he told Kor cooly. "We're almost done," Kor shot back. Jin frowned and rotated his shoulder slowly. "I'm numb," he said. Kor could tell by the slight glaze of pain in Jin's eyes that the Fay-el was lying through his teeth, but he shrugged. Suit yourself, he thought. Jin didn't say anything as Kor packed the wound with the damp herbs, but held himself rigid and silent. Kor couldn't tell if it was harsh control or if the numbing effect of the salve had taken effect, but it was short work to fill the wound with the mixture and bind it tightly with clean bandages. It was strangely quiet as the two men returned from the creek, and Kor wondered where their shadows had gone. |
| Jin hated being wounded, but he hated being tended even more. Kor wasn’t so bad though. He was a vast improvement over the Healer of the tribe now. That man had been the Healer for Jin’s grandfather and, though he had an extensive knowledge of herbs, he had all the gentle grace of a blacksmith. What irked Jin the most was how easily he could have defeated that starry woman, if not for her unfair advantage. If she had Dragonian training, surely she would have been schooled in the Seven Tenets. Jin had broken Tenet 1 several times. Keep your temper at all times and at all costs, but she had to be aware of Tenet 2. Neither woman, nor woman soon to bear, nor child of up to 11 winters may be harmed. A twig snapped. It was not the first time. Jin swiveled in the saddle, ignoring Kor’s curious look. He whistled a trilling call softly and waited. The twins or Elam would have responded immediately with a robin’s call, but the thick forest around them remained silent. Jin’s mind dashed through possibilities. That Eloin captain could have returned, with reinforcements. On the other hand, it could be Dameon finally catching up to them again. The Hybrid had been orphaned by a rogue Dragonian tribe many years ago, and now retained a maniacal hatred of all Dragonians. That Jin had escaped out of the clutches of his bandits twice already did not foster friendly relations. It had been Dameon who forced Elam’s mother, and now tried to claim his “son”. That ragtag band of thieves and murderers had tracked the tribe for several moons now. His mind wandered to Kor. The Hybrid could have more friends waiting to ambush them, but if that were so, why wait until now? They had been alone for several minutes, and with him wounded, they would have had better success attacking earlier. Doblo snorted, ears flat against his skull. He pranced beneath Jin’s tight hold, yanking on the bit. Jin patted the proud neck soothingly and pulled him short. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his surroundings. Insects chirped among the foliage, and creatures of the night rustled through the bushes, but to his right, and some behind him, the animals were silent. The night almost too still, as if waiting for the right moment. This wasn’t right at all. He drew his janin. Even with the numbness of the kapa bark, he felt a faint twinge of pain from the janin’s weight. If they were forced to defend themselves, he suspected Kor would have to do more tending. The thought didn’t make his mood any better. Jin heard the Hybrid stop beside him, followed by the soft hiss of a dagger freed from its sheath, and then Kor muttering, “I take it our shadows are not one of yours?” Jin flicked a glance at the Hybrid and then his eyes widened. He knew a shitan when he saw it. “Where did you get that?” he whispered. |
| Kor's clear blue eyes slid to the ivory-handled, curved blade and a small, almost privately-proud smile ghosted over his lips for an instant before being replaced by a strangely-intense seriousness. "A gift," he explained. "From my father." Then a hint of his more usual, impish grin returned. "As for the more immediate where... from my boot. Your men did not disarm me." "They had no need," the Fay-el said with a lightness that could have been either whatever passed as a jest with this man or a flippant sort of confidence. He was not smiling, but then, Kor wasn't sure he ever smiled. "Do you know how to use it?" Kor sucked a breath through his teeth. "My father left far before I was old enough to learn from him, but a Dragonian comrade I once had the honor of traveling with taught me the Fundamentals and the Tenets." Jin cursed under his breath and the redhead knew it was not due to the impressiveness of his training. "Your tribe?" he asked. Jin waved his good hand dismissively, his eyes scanning the woods. "Can fend for themselves well enough." He pointed through a couple trees into the darkness beyond and at the same time his janin arm swung up to the ready with surprising fluidity of motion for one with a two and a half inch wound piercing his shoulder. Then again, Kor thought, crossing his own knife over his chest to the ready position, the wound had not yet had time to stiffen. "There!" The horses snorted as three lightly armored men thrust out of the trees, and Kor's smile at he and Jin's mounted advantage faded almost as quickly as it graced his features as the mud-painted warriors converged on them. |
| Daliah froze and pricked her ears. Eppie complained of pain, so she released her grip on the girl's arm, raising her hand for silence. There was something moving near them, clearly coming closer. She drew her sword and looked around, trying to focus in on the sound. It seemed to be coming from the right, then the left. But it wasn't until she heard leaves rustle behind her that she realized what was going on. She bent down and whispered. "We're surrounded. Get up behind me and we'll make a run for it." Eppie nodded and swung into the saddle. Daliah grabbed the reins tightly, tense from all the excitement. Then, without warning, she dug her heels into his flanks and they shot forward. Faces blurred past them as they rode on. She felt a note of pain as on of their blades sliced her thigh, but she forced herself not to think about it. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed to find Jin. Even if not for herself, Eppie needed the protection he could offer. |
| Stars and Crescents! Stars and bloody Cresents! Jin cursed silently. Of all the times to be seperated from his tribe, and without a bow. And with another Hybrid no less. Jin dropped the reins, using his knees to guide the battle-trained stallion. If he had to, he could use both hands to swing the janin. Doblo’s lashing hooves and vicious bites might keep the Hybrids at bay as well. It was quite clear what race and clan these men belonged to. Blonde hair marred an otherwise Dragonian face, or blue eyes peered out from between strands of dirty, raven hair. The small circle tattooed on the right side of their faces marked them as Dameon’s. It was the closest thing to the crazed Hybrid’s sigil. Jin had seen his banner of two winged serpents, devouring each other, several times. The filthy trio paused at the sight of the bared janin, but only for a second. They moved with deadly purpose. Spreading out into a wedge, they slunk closer, various weapons appearing seemingly out of the air. A wickedly curved dagger, a short pike, a set of thin, throwing blades but no crossbow.Kyda be praised. It was the crossbow that he dreaded the most in battle. The bow had to be used by strong, well-trained archers, but a crossbow…it could be used by a woman. An army of bowmen would be difficult to raise, but an army of crossbowmen--they already guarded Blackmoor Castle. They split, dividing their attention between him and Kor. Two converged on the redhead, while the last, and obvious leader, remained facing him. Eyes narrowed, Jin snapped, “Are you ready, half-breed?” The Hybrid’s thin lips cracked into a smile. “I’ll feed your entrails to a Derk-ra when I’m finished, bloody Wanderer.” Clenching his teeth at the racial insult, he charged at the jeering Hybrid. They moved back and forth in a deadly game, a tenuous balance between death and survival. Jin could not wield his full strength with the janin, but the Hybrid could not use his pike well without the risk of Doblo’s pounding hooves. Out of the corner of his eye, Jin could see Kor almost dancing through the Fundamentals. He was holding his own well. In fact, he moved with a natural grace. For all you know, he could be a skilled assassin. He snorted at the thought. Not likely that, but he definitely showed some potential. Jin would have to spar with him once, if they survived. The Hybrid caught his shift in attention and leaped for him. Jin dodged, the steel scraping against his side, but only a flesh wound. In the quick move however, the Hybrid had overextended himself. Jin slashed out, a jagged arc tearing across the man’s sword arm, and then another ripping over ribs and chest. Eyes wide from his mistake, the Hybrid gasped, pulling away, but Jin pressed his advantage. Jin urged Doblo closer and released a flurry of quick, short attacks. The Hybrid tried to defend himself, but his wounds slowed him down. With a final, flowing stance, Jin drove the janin deep and then yanked it free as the Hybrid slumped, lifeless to the ground. Hoofbeats thudded in the distance. Great. Reinforcements. He nudged Doblo in Kor’s direction. If the redhead needed help, Jin would step in. But, judging from what he saw, Kor didn’t need any. |
| Other than two years ago in his village, when he had done no more than clumsily fire a shortbow at the invading Eloin before being knocked unconscious from behind, Kor had never had to actually fight a battle. Yes, he had sparred with his Dragonian companion Kirtha during their two month sojourn together about a year ago, but that had not involved any true threat of death. "If you do not fight to the best of your ability, I will give you a scar as a reminder to try harder next time!" Kirtha had told him, and the thin line of white on Kor's right bicep was proof that the man had been serious, but never had there been the possibility that Kor might actually die. He found the heady mixture terror and anger awoken by the realization that this first battle might be his last somewhat electrifying. The Fundamentals were thirty-two stances, evasions and strikes which applied uniformly to every style of Dragonian combat---armed and unarmed alike---and out of which the multitude of maneuvers specific to each weapon and style developed. A Dragonian proverb taught, “He who knows the smoke but knows not the flame looses his tent to the wildfire”. In theory, a warrior could win any battle with the Fundamentals alone, but even if he were the best armed, best armored, most highly-trained fighter, he would be defeated by someone who knew the Fundamentals if he did not know them himself. Kor knew the Fundamentals. He did not know them well, for he had only been practicing them for the last year or so and had not had an opportunity to practice them against an actual opponent for months, but he did know them. These bloody Hybrids, it was clear, did not. They were fierce, they were experienced, but they had not, for whatever reason, been taught the Fundamentals. Still, there were two of them and only one Kor and, Fundamentals or not, he had a lot of work on his hands. The first warrior, a thin, wiry man with long, greasy hair that may once have been blond but was now a sort of stringy light brown, threw two small daggers at Kor before he even reached the mounted redhead. The first flew wide of its target---Kor’s eye---and the second, which could have found its home in the redhead’s jugular, was deflected by the young man’s hastily upraised right arm. It clipped his hand slightly above his wrist, stinging lightly, but the majority of the blade struck the tough leather of his bracer and bounced harmlessly to the ground beneath the horse’s stomping hooves. Kor was better prepared when the second warrior, a man with slick, dirty ebony hair, threw his own daggers, and Kor evaded them by raising both arms above his face, turning his curved blade downwards to shield his hands, and ducking the rest of his exposed torso behind his horse’s head. He did not like the idea that the borrowed horse might be injured, but it was battle-trained and that was a risk all such beasts faced. Luckily, the first of the thrown blades utterly failed to even come close to Kor or the horse, and the second was turned by his blade. Then they were on him. They spread out to either side of his horse, so that one could one could press him from the left while he was distracted with the other on his right. Luckily for Kor, his horse didn’t seem to care overly much for either man, biting and kicking at them as they came close. Kor copied the horse when he could, kicking out sharply as one man came too close and connecting with the man’s jaw to thrust him back and away. Still, they knew how to fight a mounted man, and Kor’s dagger did not have the reach he needed from horseback; it was almost an advantage to him as one, distracting him and the horse from the one side with his pike, provided the other with the opportunity to drag Kor off the horse. The redhead didn’t fight, but instead went completely limp and allowed his dead weight to collapse on top of the man, bearing them both to the ground and cushioning his fall with the other’s body. He made a point of digging his elbows and knees into the filthy man’s body as he hurriedly regained his feet and whipped around to face his opponent---not the breathless man still rising from the ground, but the man who’d a moment ago been pressing him with his pike. The man still had his pike, and to avoid its jab, Kor stepped diagonal to the outside of the pike... toward him, not away, bringing his shitan up across his chest and taking a slash at the man’s exposed armpit. He didn’t really expect the knife to connect, and it didn’t; the warrior leaned a little backwards to avoid him and Kor stepped diagonal again into that lean, bringing his other arm up and, grasping the pike, pushing it and the man backwards. The warrior lost his balance and stumbled backwards, keeping his feet but losing, for a heartbeat, the opportunity to attack. Unfortunately, the man who’d dragged Kor from his horse had regained his feet and pulled his own shitan free of his belt. The man was left-handed while Kor was right. The redhead cursed under his breath; he was ambidextrous due to many years of playing the harp, but when it came to fighting, he only knew how to use his right arm effectively; one day, he’d have to remedy that. The shitan was designed primarily as a slashing weapon. Its curved blade was sharp on both sides, but the outside was used the most; the inside was only really useful if one managed to hook an opponent’s limb or if one managed to stab and tear the weapon free of the unfortunate soul’s flesh. It was not strong enough to parry a blow, but a man who knew the Fundamentals well didn’t need to parry; he could evade. Unfortunately, evading was exceptionally hard when one didn’t know how to fight a left-handed opponent, and Kor felt a growing sense of dread as he was forced once, then twice, then again to bring his knife up to deflect the other’s strong blow. Please don’t break, please don’t break! he chanted over and over in his head, and to his dismay, heard approaching hoofbeats. From behind, the other man’s pike came jabbing at Kor’s back. He dodged sideways toward the knifeman as he saw the movement out of the corner of his right eye, avoiding the pike but bringing him a little too close to the shitan. The knife bit sharply into his side, and, knowing what could happen if it were driven further in and then ripped free, Kor stepped diagonal again in one of the most basic moves of the Fundamentals, grasping the other’s knife hand at the wrist and twisting his torso to the right so that the tip of the knife slid out of the wound cleanly. Then, taking advantage of the fact that the man’s knife hand was still securely held, he yanked it sharply toward him, grasped it with his other hand as he pulled the man toward him, and drove his other elbow, hard, into the man’s side. “Riders?!” He snapped at Jin. The Fay-el nodded sharply and stepped forward to engage the pikeman. Kor turned his full concentration to the knifeman. |
| Daliah cursed beneath her breath at the sight of the skirmish. She had not expected to run into trouble that soon. With a sigh, she slowed Darman to a stop and turned to Eppie. "You need to stay here." "I can fight." "I know. But I will not let your blood be on my hands." As the girl resisted, Daliah took her by the arm and lowered her to the ground. She threw down her short sword as well, so that she would have protection if they failed. She then dug in her heels and raced off once more. The fight was well underway when she came upon it, so she galloped over to where Jin and another were facing incredibly odds. They didn't appear to need much help, but it was in her instinct to fight. She drew her sword and lopped off the head closest to her, sending it flying several feet away. The she plunged it into the shoulder of another, slicing straight through the heart. "I apologize for before." she called. "You frightened me is all." She waited for the reply while engaging with a tall, burly soldier, but if there was one, she did not hear it, for he proved to be of much greater strength than she expected. |
| That man is going to make a great warrior. Kor might not know the Fundamentals well, but he did know them. That was quite clear. Jin slid from Doblo’s back to the ground. This man’s pike was longer, and it was more dangerous mounted than not if that was the case. Jin moved in and out of the Fundamentals himself, though he added some of the stances as well. Raven in Flight clipped by Reaper’s Scythe; Waving Grass flowing into the Crow’s Feet. The pikeman didn’t stand a chance. When the dark-haired Hybrid finally stumbled from the speed of Jin’s attacks, the janin found its mark. Panting, Jin stopped to catch his breath. He could almost hear Terran, his closest counselor and friend, scolding him. Jin’s “style” involved quick, fast shifts from stance to stance, and Fundamental to Fundamental. The shorter man, who often bested him thoroughly, had often warned him not to do that. “You will tire out before the other man does, and then where will you be?” Terran gestured at the tattoo of a Derk-ra on his forearm, the emblem of blademaster. “You won’t win this that way.” Jin shook the thought away. He had more important things to worry about right now than what Terran thought. He spotted Kor dispatching the knife man with a combination of the diagonal step and a powerful slash from left to right. The old proverb muttered in his head. Beware the dancer: Neither deer move, nor serpent strike as fast as he. Again, Jin felt a flicker of recognition. The style of fighting was familiar to him. If Kor’s father had been a member of the Shinar tribe, it would have been around 20 years ago, with Jin just beginning to learn the Fundamentals. Could this Renji have been one of his teachers? The hoofbeats were getting louder. Jin whistled for Doblo, who came cantering to his side. Remounting, he scanned the surrounding trees for more enemies and, more importantly, Kor’s gray gelding. Neither met his sight. He sheathed the janin. They had to get out of here, and fast. Dameon’s clan, the last time it was numbered, came to over twenty men. With a tribe of 75, that wasn’t a problem; with a group of two, they were in serious danger. Jin was quite aware of what happened to those Dragonians Dameon did manage to capture. It was not a pleasant sight. In his concentration, he hadn’t noticed the slim Daliah step into the fray until now. She dispatched two men in the blink of an eye. By the Star, she knew the Fundamentals, and a great deal of the stances. A whisper of nervousness slid through his mind, but he beat it down. Now was not the time. “Daliah!” He called out, “Come on, let’s go. More are coming.” Her head swiveled in his direction, so she must have heard him. One problem down. One to go. Whipping his stallion around, he hurried to where Kor stood. “Let’s go.” The redhead glanced up at him, hand pressed against his bleeding side. Jin held out his hand to haul him up. “Let’s go,” he repeated, “We don’t have much time.” As if to confirm his words, the obscene blare of a Hybrid horn echoed in the air, followed by a renewed thrashing in the trees. Jin felt a tendril of fear snake through his chest. If they caught him… Surely by now Sheno and Layole were heading back this way. If they hurried, and if Kyda was merciful, he and Kor could catch up with them before the Hybrids did. Doblo rarely carried two, but for the short distance, it should be enough. For the first time, Jin snapped his name, rather than the insulting “Hybrid”. “Kor, get on the crescent-blinded horse!” |
| Kor blinked up at Jin for a moment, then grasped the man’s proffered hand and half vaulted and was half dragged into the saddle behind the Fay-el. “Ha!” Jin cried, giving his horse a swift kick. The redhead glanced over his shoulder, seeing that infernal sword-wielding woman fall in line behind them on her own mount. He could hardly believe his eyes---there she was again!---but gratitude surged through him at her presence. Two versus a large group of mounted men was a terrifying concept, and although three was not much better, it was better. Still… “The tribe?” he asked the Fay-el again, digging through his pocket. Firmaments! Where was it? A patch of roughness against his fingertip and then he’d pulled the sliver of kapa bark free and was sucking on it. He’d have to find more later, if they survived. More of everything; the entire blazing herbal kit had been lost with his horse and all he had now were a couple slivers of kapa and a nearly-used jar of salve. That wouldn’t be enough to treat Jin, let alone them both and anyone else who managed to get injured in this fray. “The tribe can fend for itself. But we need their help.” The two horses thrust through a tangle of branches as the enemy surged through the trees behind them. Kor caught a flash of throwing knives and spotted at least two bowmen. One man pointed at the fleeing riders and kicked his own horse into a run. The woman reached down into the grass and dragged a girl out of the darkness and into the saddle before her. Jin’s head swung around and widened as he took in the sight of the clinging child, but he whipped around again as quickly as he too took in the ranged weapons and gave his horse its head. Kor glanced behind him again, shitan clutched tightly in his hand, becoming slippery with blood from the stinging nick above his vambrace. One of the bowman was within his reach and he wanted to throw his weapon at the man, but stars!, if he did that he’d be out his only weapon! And so he held onto it, hoping none would come close enough that he’d have to use it. Behind him came the sound of a bow being released and an arrow punched deep into a tree before them, having narrowly missed the woman’s back. “This way!” Jin called back to her as he spotted the imprints of the tribe’s feet and the deeper impressions of their horse’s hooves in the damp early morning dirt. |
| Daliah ducked as the arrow came near. By lights, that had been closer than the last one! The next may meet its target. "Here." she shoved the reins into Eppie's hands and turned in her seat. She took her bow from its place and counted her arrows. Five. She would have to be careful. Her first hit one of the bowmen, sending him to the ground to be trampled. The second struck a horse in the chest. But the third struck off a piece of armor and became lodged in the dirt. Then she had to turn back around, with two arrows left and a heart full of dread. |
| Doblo had the bit in his teeth and charged ahead, stride fully extended. The trees were thinning rapidly, which was both good and bad. There was no worry of the powerful stallion tripping on an upturned root or moss-slick boulder, but without the trees to block the flying arrows, they would be lucky to escape with their lives, much less untouched. Daliah was followig hard behind them. Jin could hear her horse's hooves pounding at his back. Unfortunately, he could also hear a myriad of other horses and men chasing after them as well. Dawn sent golden fingers trailing through the trees. A gleam of sunlight on water was barely visible through the greenery. Jin wrenched Doblo's head around and made a beeline in that direction. That was a likely place for the tribe to camp. Fresh water, and grass for the horses. They burst through the shrubs, branches lashing at them as they passed, Jin spotted hurried movement to his left and right. Not Hybrids. Jin swiveled, waving at Daliah an mouthing, "Get down." Before turning back to guide the war horse again. "Kor," he snapped over his shoulder, "Duck." He hoped the redhead had heard him. The movement had to be his own sentries. They would use the bow first, and ask questions later. If Kor was close to their chieftain, however, they probably would not attempt it, and they certainly would not fire on a woman. The camp was spread out before them. A wheel-like arrangement of tents, with his own in the most protected center of the camp. At his back, Jin heard the bushes snap with the arrival of Dameon's men. The whisle of released arrows was audible a moment later. Dameon's men? Or the sentries? |
| Kor was a tall man, but Jin was taller. The Fay-el told him to duck, and duck he did, but the only thing to duck behind was Jin himself. As the sounds of bowstrings being released cut through the air, Kor cringed, then straightened with a look of relief upon his face when, behind him, he heard two sharp exhalations of men in pain. Still though, there were many riders gaining on them, and, as far as Kor could tell, only two Dragonian sentries. Luckily, their loud arrival brought Jin's other warriors to sharp attention, and after the initial frenzied moments of men grabbing weapons and stringing bows, Kor knew that they had enough fighters to face off against these mounted threats with something better resembling equal odds. Jin, Kor could tell, sensed it too, wheeling his horse around to face the oncoming attackers, his janin held out to his side, ready. A second volley of arrows were released, this time by the attackers. One whizzed past Kor's left ear, and he snarled. Leaning precariously in the saddle and pointing his shitan directly at the emerging Hybrids, he bellowed angrily, "Fools! You press this attack, you will die here, to a man!" |
| Daliah admired Jin's bravery. Even she would have run from something like this. Maybe having a friend would not be so terrible, though she would probably lose him in the end. She decided to stay with him for now, long enough to see what kind of person he was. It had been so long since she had been around anyone other than Darman... "So what is the plan?" she asked, gripping her sword tightly. She had loosened it when an arrow nicked her shoulder. It was not bad, it just came as a shock. "I can take a couple with my bow, and perhaps one more with my knife before they reach us." He nodded and she knocked it back by her ear. She aimed carefully this time, since she had to make it count. It hit one of the larger men in the center, and threw the one next to him off balance. It took everything in her not to grin at that moment, especially as more fell under the blows of Jin's tribe. She savoured the last arrow, unsure whether or not to use it. Then she decided against it. They might need it later. So she drew her sword once more and waited for their line to surge forward. |
| Jin felt Doblo tremble beneath him, ready to charge into the battle. He held the stallion in check however. He was looking for a particular foe right now. The twins, Sheno and Layole, had moved protectively to his side, their eyes on both the surrouding enenmies and on Kor, the latter with some curiousity. Jin was not in the mood to enlighten them. If he knew Dameon at all, the cowardly Hybrid would flee at the sign of any danger, or overwhelming odds. One good charge from him, and maybe Daliah too, would make him dart away, taking his filthy band with him. Where could he be? Never in the front of the line, he had to be nearby just the same. Where...there! With hair the same shade as Elam's own and sitting astride a big black, Dameon was easy to spot. Even more so with the disfiguring scar trailing down his face. He had a short, curved dagger in one hand, and a lance marked with raven feathers in the other. Dameon excelled in the use of both. Jin half-turned his head. Kor still held his shitan tightly, muttering what souned like Aquila profanity at the approaching Hybrids. The man had fire in his blood, that was for sure. Jin frowned thoughtfully. He may be prepared to dash through the lines after Dameon, but that didn't mean he had to take Kor with him. Dropping the reins to free his hands and tightening his hold on the janin, Jin said. "I'm going after the Hybrid's leader. Layole's horse can carry you both, if you wish." |
| Kor's sharp blue eyes slid sideways toward the Dragonian warrior Jin indicated for a moment and he hesitated before looking again toward the battle. Then a slow, feral grin spread across his face. "Take me with you," he said firmly. "I'm getting my own blazing horse." Jin twisted in the saddle to look at him. "You're going to what?" the Fay-el demanded, and then a half-breath later he cursed and turned back toward the enemy as an arrow punched deeply into the ground just in front of his horse's impatient hooves. "Edda's Thumb, Kor, we don't have time for this!" "Let's go then," Kor snapped with a nod. "Ride fast'n'hard for the man you seek. I'll take care of the rest." The Dragonian chieftain swung his attention back toward the battle. "I hope you know what you're doing," he murmured as he dug his heels into his stallion's side. Behind him, the rest of the Dragonians flung themselves into battle with him, encouraged by their leader's charge. Kor was actually pretty sure he didn't know what he was doing, but he was going to do it anyway. Already, as Jin galloped directly toward some target Kor could not yet actually identify---the Hybrid leader, Jin had said?---the redhead spotted his own victim... well, his victim or his death... As Jin was just about to be abreast of Kor's hastily selected opponent, Kor held his shitan in a white-knuckled grasp, his eyes locked upon his completely-stationary opponent where the man sat calmly upon his roan's back with only a crossbow in his hands. Then, leaning precariously out of the saddle and knowing full well it wasn't going to matter one bit in a moment, Kor half dove off of the horse's back in his sudden passing-lunge toward the unsuspecting warrior, wrapping the startled Hybrid in a bear hug and dragging them both out of their respective saddles as he tackled the other man, at a full gallop, to the ground. It felt like the ground slammed upwards into him. The cold, packed earth was far, far harder than Kor expected and the warrior who landed on top of him was much, much heavier. The hoof of the fallen Hybrid's horse stomped about a centimeter away from Kor's temple and the redhead barely even noticed as he struggled to regain his breath and stop the spinning of his head and protesting of every bone in his body. It felt like a new blade had slid between his ribs, and Blood, the Hybrid was heavy! Heavy, and utterly, terribly still... Kor rolled the body off of him, finding his shitan half buried in the man's throat. They were both covered in blood; the blade had severed the Hybrid's jugular in the fall. Heh, maybe Edda was looking out for Kor today! Still, the redhead hurt... blazes he hurt! And, stars and crescents, he still had to get up and claim the Edda-forsaken horse! |
| Daliah grunted as she pulled her sword from a hybrid's chest. Their armor was a lot tougher than she was used to, but she was not one to back down from a challenge. She thrust it toward another, excited at the the clang of metal on metal. They parried for a moment, lost in the heat and blood from the battle. Then they were joined by another, friend or foe, she did not know. Foe. She quickly beheaded the other and turned to him. He proved a better fighter than the last, surely trained by a master. Perhaps he was a master himself. She pondered this for a moment before realizing that she had to concentrate this one. He combined several different techniques, and she did not know what to expect from him. A slow smile crossed her lips. This should be interesting. |
| He felt Kor's weight shift a moment before he left the saddle completely. Kor had to be star-struck; he just had to be. That or some god had special interest in him. If the Hybrid was always this brash...that he survived to adulthood was a wonder. Jin didn't have time to consider it. He spotted Daliah dueling with what he recognized as a commander's second. Seconds were bodyguards, well-trained, and would fight to the death if their "master" was close. He hoped Daliah realized that. At the moment, Jin's focus was on Dameon. A few of the Hybrid forces were retreating already from the rain of arrows from Jin's side of the battle. Those did not belong to Dameon's clan, rather they had probably joined up with him at the prospect of booty or killing. Dameon's men had not budged. The Hybrid was known for his firm hold on every one of his men, and severe punishment for rebellion or desertion. Though two years younger than Jin, he had the strength of will of an older leader. Jin locked eyes with him, saw the blue of them narrow in recognition. Dameon mouthed a command and his second nudged his horse between Jin's oncoming charge. Jin waved a hand and his men spread out, chasing down their own foes. Something nagged at the back of his mind but he pushed it aside. Dameon tucked the dagger into his belt, and raised the lance high. Jin nudged the stallion on into a pounding charge, outdistancing his own second, Layole. He heard the twin calling out to him, but he ignored it. Layole would catch up. Dameon watched his approach with unnerving calm, cocking his head idly to one side. Why wasn't the cowardly Hybrid fleeing, as he had done so many times before? Again, a fleeting thought trickled into Jin's mind. What had he forgotten? What was he missing? Something moved in the chaos of warriors and horses dashing here and there. A shadow unfolding at Dameon's side. There was his answer. Dameon had two seconds. Jin's mind comprehended it at the same time as he spotted the crossbow in the man's burly hands. He grabbed Doblo's reins with his free hand and wrenched on the stallion's head. The range was perfect for the crossbow. He presented a clear target. Jin could hear Kor, (who must still be alive then) shouting at him. |
| Uttering a curse under his breath, Kor rolled away from the body of the fallen Hybrid and the warrior’s mount, taking up the dead man’s crossbow as he went. He lurched to his feet in three motions, clamoring first to his knees, then planting his fists---one clutching the crossbow, the other the shitan---in the mud, and finally pushed up to his feet. He was covered in mud and blood, most of it from the gushing tear in his opponent’s jugular but some fresh from his own side. Now, what was he doing? He looked around in confusion, seeing the clash of Dragonians and Hybrids. Oh, that’s right, killing people. There was a blur of movement to his left and he swung around, slashing with the shitan at what he only assumed was an opponent. Oh good, it was. The Hybrid fell back, clutching his arm, and then, to Kor’s surprise, turned to run with a small group of his fellows. What in the name of Edda… running away already? But the majority of the foes did not run, but instead stood their ground to withstand the Dragonian charge. Where was that demon-blessed Fay-el? Ah, there he was, charging headlong toward what Kor could only assume was the Hybrid leader. To Kor’s surprise, Jin pulled back on his reins sharply, driving his horse to a dead halt as a man emerged from behind the enemy leader. Kor spotted the crossbow at the same time Jin did and shouted something---he didn’t know what---as he raised his own stolen crossbow, fired, and saw the crossbow-wielding Hybrid start as though slapped. For a moment their eyes met across the clearing, and then the warrior toppled from the saddle, his crossbow falling, unused, to the ground beside him. Ha! Kor thought in victory. I didn't accidentally shoot myself or something! He turned to look for another opponent, feeling slightly lightheaded and queasy and hoping the battle would end soon. The crossbow was out of bolts and he dropped it to the ground, spotting at the same time a man coming toward him. One hand crossing to touch his screaming side, he stepped back into one of the basic stances of the Fundamentals, bending his back knee slightly, and lifted his shitan to the ready. Edda's Balls, why am I here again? Oh right... joining the Dragonian cause and all that...And my demon-blasted horse is getting away! |
| Daliah was tempted to ask her opponent his name and station, but there was no time for conversation. She could only flick the blade again and again to block the rapid fire attacks. Suddenly she felt a shock of pain. She was forced to drop as his sword sliced her arm and curved once more toward her head. The ground was fairly soft at least. She scrambled with her left hand for her own sword and hurled it at the horse's side. Before her attacker knew what had happened, she had hacked through the strap of the saddle. He too was thrown to the grown and stabbed in his side. She crawled over and leaned over him, wishing to gain one last look upon this face so worthy to die. That was when she recognized him. "You killed him." she whispered. "I loved him and you killed him." A look of confusion crossed his face before she drove the blade into his throat, savoring the last look of despair in his eyes before death clouded them. |
| Jin couldn't decide if he should be thanking Kyda, or Kor. Dameon's eyes narrowed in hatred, and he whirled around, his remaining second following hard on his heels. Jin clenched the janin tighter, and started to urge Doblo forward, but a hand snaked out and grabbed the reins. Layole's chestnut danced at his side. "They're retreating." he said quietly. "Layole-" "Not now." His second's level personality had been the main reason Jin chose him. Even now, his anger dropped at the man's quiet advice. They turned back together. At Jin's nod, Layole signaled to one of the lieutenants, who in turn lifted a horn to his lips and dipped Jin's banner. In a few moments, those Hybrids who remained had been slaughtered or fled. The warriors were busily gathering their wounded, or stripping the bodies of weapons, both enemy and friend. Jin grimaced at the gruesome sight. Few warriors had a sword, and most had more children than arrows. The dead had no need of them. Jin rode to the center of camp, and then dismounted wearily. At his feet, a crude circle had been etched into the ground. The Council Circle. Though no new laws had been added, nor was the Loha Festival due for another four moons-still, every new camp set up involved drawing the Circle into the dust. Jin settled himself cross-legged on the ground. "Layole, find out our losses. And our 'guests' need to be found, if they're alive." The second gave him a curt nod and glided into action. Light laughter preceded the scuffle of feet. Jin looked up, and then smiled. Elam, his son, leaped into his arms, nearly bowling him over. "Has Rowan been taking care of you?" "Uh-huh." Jin fingered the flaxen hair. The widow had raised Jin and his brother, after his parents' death, and now cared for Elam. He was two years from Confirmation (10). Jin wanted to keep him as innocent as possible until then. Footsteps made Jin look up again. |
| "They retreated," Kor stated the obvious as he stepped up to the Fay-el's shoulder. He glanced down at his hand, where he found himself absentmindedly wiping his shitan clean on his off-white tunic. His lip curled in distaste and dismay as he regarded his filthy shirt, but then he shrugged. A little more blood and mud would not harm the shirt anymore after battle had already thoroughly ruined it. Jin nodded curtly. "Yes." A man of few words. Kor tucked his blade into his belt on the opposite hip of his captured crossbow. His hand was shaking a little, whether with bloodloss, exhaustion or nervous energy he didn't know. "Your men are not going to pursue them?" The Fay-el's eyes narrowed and for a moment he stared off in the direction of the enemy. Then---"No." "They might come back," Kor pointed out. Still Jin did not look at him. "They will. But not yet. They took us by surprise and lost. They will seek reinforcements before they return. We have days, two weeks perhaps... and we will not remain here long. The Eloin are too close, and they... they we are not prepared to fight." Kor was digging through his pocket with shaking hands. He only had one sliver of kapa bark left, but he snapped it in half and handed it to Jin. His proffered hand was covered in mud and blood, a good deal of it his own, but Jin didn't seem to notice, taking the bark from him and tucking it between his teeth and cheek. "Where will you go, then?" Kor asked as he chewed on the bark, hoping to release its analgesic qualities faster that way. The heat of the battle was flowing from him like water, leaving him cold, exhausted, and aching. If the tribe did not have their own healer, he would need to set out soon to find the herbs to treat himself, Jin, and---he noted with a glance toward the woman---Daliah as well. But he didn't want to... not yet. Rest first, then the herbs. If, of course, Jin even intended to allow him to stay. The Fay-el regarded him with cool emerald eyes. "I thank you for dispatching Damien's second, Kor." Kor sighed. Still not trusted, then... |
| Daliah let out a long groan as she climbed back into the saddle and nudged Myna into a slow trot over to the men. She knew she would not survive on her own, so she would stay... For now. |
| Daliah joined their trio, dropping the reins of her horse and sliding down from the saddle. Jin could see the Healer headed their way, and resisted the urge to groan. That was going to be painful, though the kapa bark was helping. Layole glided to his side and, crouching down, filled him in on the condition of the tribe. Ten dead, six wounded, but they should be able to move on by tomorrow's dawn. He had completely forgotten about Elam, until he heard the boy's clear voice. "You look like Joran, though he's not a Hybrid," Elam said. He giggled, reaching for Kor's hair, "Is it real?" "Elam, leave him alone." Elam glanced at him, blue eyes wide. "Da, I won't hurt him." He glanced back at Kor and, spotting their shared eye color, grinned wider. "See, he looks like me." Jin cringed. Anyone with eyes to see could tell Elam was a Hybrid as well. If Kor called him that... |
| Kor raised an eyebrow at the child, then carefully rose from where he sat next to Jin and Daliah to kneel, eye to eye, before the boy. "Goodness, look at that, you do have eyes like me! And what a handsome pair of eyes they are, eh?" he said with a broad conspiratorial grin. Then he pointed to the boy's waist, where a miniature dagger hung from his boiled-leather belt. "And by Edda, look at that shitan! I bet you're turning into a fine Dragonian warrior!" The little boy grinned proudly. "I already know the first four Fundamentals!" An old man knelt shouldered between Kor and Jin and began examining the wound in the Fay-el's shoulder without a word. Kor gasped at Elam. "Really? You must be a great warrior, to know so much already! I didn't learn my Fundamentals until I was... goodness... probably more than twice your age." The healer raised an eyebrow in surprise and inturrupted their conversation with the single-minded ease of the truly old. "Someone has already packed this," he commented in a slow, faltering voice. Jin tilted his chin to Kor. The Dragonian healer nodded slightly in satisfaction. "Yeah," Elam said to Kor with a giggle, "but you're a Hybrid. You would have learned earlier if you were a Dragonian." He cocked his head curiously at Kor, who settled back down to sit crosslegged on the ground. "You do look a lot like Joran though, and he's of the tribe." "Who is Joran?" Kor asked. |
| Daliah pulled her arm away from the healer and nodded toward the others. "They need your help more than I do." The man shook his head. "They are being tended to. You are the last one." "All right then." She pulled her sleeve away from the cut and held it out. Once it was treated, she dismounted and checked Myna over. There were a few cuts, only one that would have to be treated. She dug through the saddlebags, at last drawing out the ointment she needed. It took a moment to warm it in her hands, but she applied it quickly, singing softly to distract the horse from the pain. That attracted some attention, but she ignored it. Instead she looked at the boy. He was so adorable, just like she always wanted. No, she must not think of that. Her life would not consist of a family. Unfortunately, Jin noticed her staring. "Do you need something?" he asked. "No." she shook her head. "I was just noticing his dagger. It is a very fine one. He should make a great warrior someday." He didn't look convinced. She turned back to Myna and cursed beneath her breath. He had seen her weakness. |
| Jin would have to be blind to miss the longing in Daliah's eyes. With the Eloin and Hybrids choking them down, raising children was risky at best. Had she lost her own children and husband? Or someone close to her? She had her own form of beauty, so unlike Jin's now dead wife, Karli. Where Karli had been a fragile flower, Daliah was a sharp, shitan- useful, but with a beauty all its own. Blinking, Jin curbed his wandering thoughts. He saw the Healer coming back and, more importantly, the needle in his hands. Jin turned his head away. He had to focus on anything but the man's painful ministrations. With their nomadic lifestyle, harvesting or cultivating herbs was difficult. Serious injuries would allow him to take valla to put him under, or serenia to numb him completely, but with a minor wound like this--endurance took on a different meaning. Elam chattered away with Kor, showing off a few of the Fundamentals he had picked up. "Joran, he's my friend. We spar together." The two were about the same height and weight, though Joran was a few years older. Unfortunately, Jin knew Elam would not grow much taller, (a curse of his Hybrid heritage) unlike the fully Dragonian Joran. Sparring enabled them both to get used to the Fundamentals, both using them and recognizing them backwards. Joran, yes, they did look alike. If he ignored the reddish hair, and pictured the stormy gray of Joran's eyes...very much so. Joran's father had died in an Eloin raid when Jin was still very young. Corin would have known him, but Jin's elder brother was dead. He grimaced at the memory. Tanniyn, the Eloin king, had sent Corin's body to the new chieftain, that is, a dismembered body. Quite forceful a threat. "Turok," he whispered to the Healer, "Send the Keeper to me when you're finished." "Aye." His tone was distracted. Jin gasped as the needle drove deeper than was necessary. It was not a good idea to distract the ancient man. He bit his lip to keep from crying out more. The Healer was half done, thank Kyda. |
| Kor watched the Healer’s ministrations upon Jin with a growing sense of discomfort. Kor may have known somewhat of medicine, but he was not familiar at all with being the recipient of a Healer’s care. He’d always had a hearty constitution; rarely had he been ill, and although he’d had his fair share of childhood bumps and scrapes, never had he been in need of more than perhaps a touch of his mother’s ointment. Other than this day, he’d never been in battle beyond that single time two years ago, and never had he had the ill occasion to find himself under a Healer’s needle. Jin, he could tell, was accustomed to such care. The warrior chieftain bore the Healer’s touch with a slightly impatient, bored resignation. The elderly man knew his craft, there was no denying that. However, he had lived some four of Jin’s and Kor’s lifetimes, and the time during which his hands were steady and sure had long since passed. Many a time Jin gasped, cursed or jumped under his touch, and Kor squirmed in sympathy and dread as he watched the old man unpack, cleanse, repack, stitch, salve and finally bandage the Fay-el’s wound with shaking hands. Stars and crescents! Has the old wheezer no concern for the pain of his charge? Edda’s Balls, if that’s how he handles his own Fay-el, how in the blazing firmaments is he going to treat a lowly little Hybrid such as myself? “You now,” the old Healer grunted, gesturing Kor toward him after he’d tied off the bandage binding Jin’s shoulder. The Fay-el glanced sympathetically at Kor as he carefully slipped his wounded arm back into his tunic. “Come here.” The Healer chuckled as Kor reluctantly rose to his feet, patting Elam absently on the head as he passed. The sound which emerged from the old man’s lips was more cackle than laugh. “Surely, having taken a sword to the side, you don’t fear the prick my little needle, boy!” Kor felt the blood rise in his cheeks, but a moment later he barked out a laugh. Settling himself before elderly man, he said, “No, I suppose not, when you illuminate the situation in such a light. Twas a shitan, in any case, not a sword. I twisted away from the blade at the last possible opportunity, and so am fortunate that the wound is not terribly deep.” The Healer squinted at the wound in the early morning grayness. “Deep enough. Take this shirt off; it is beyond salvaging and we will give you another." He grunted his satisfaction when Kor complied and bent back to his task. "You are right, boy. This could have been far worse. Rest you a bit, then, as I do what must be done. Ah, you did not pack this, as you did the Fay-el’s wound?” Kor gritted his teeth as the Healer probed the wound lightly. “There was no time for such things. Also, I have lost my herbs.“ “Where did you learn your craft, Hybrid?” He said the word with no malice and Kor was not offended. “The herbs with which you treated the Fay-el’s wound are familiar to me, but they are not from these parts and it is rare indeed that I see their like in use or have the occasion to harvest that particular lichen for my own stocks. It is unfortunate indeed that your supplies were lost, for I would greatly have liked to trade a few items with you. But perhaps we could have words later about your training; I would enjoy comparing knowledge of our shared craft with you. Even in my... advanced age... there is always more to learn.” The Healer’s slow, careful speech plodded with infinite deliberateness from his lips as he worked on cleaning the tear in Kor’s side, so that it was all that Kor could do to keep still and wait for him to say his piece before responding with a good deal less patience, “I too would enjoy such an exchange, goodsir. To tell you the honest truth, the healing arts were my mother’s craft; all I have learned, I learned from her lips, but she departed this world two years ago and can teach me no longer. Any knowledge you might share from the wisdom of your years would be greatly appreciated, and in return I will offer what meager knowledge I might give you in exchange.” The Healer cleared his throat of a great gout of phlegm as he continued sponging Kor’s side with as much gentleness as he was capable of. “Yes, well, there will be time enough for that in the days to come. I know not how long our good Fay-el plans to keep you, boy, but you’ll be here at least three more days whilst this wound knits.” He glanced sharply toward Jin, who nodded curtly in agreement. “The two of you---aye, and the girl too---should restrain yourselves to light work for the coming week if at all possible. Burst your stitches and I shall not be as gentle in replacing them, I assure you! Tonight you, Hybrid, and the girl as well, shall sleep in my tent where I might keep watch over you to be sure you do not succumb to fever. Layole will of course attend similarly to our Fay-el in the comfort of his own tent. The weapons of our enemies are sometimes poisoned and always filthy; only time will tell if the wounds have been fouled, although swift tending such as this should prevent complications. Nevertheless, heed well my instructions.” Jin chuckled dryly at the Healer’s words and Kor’s look of surprise. “You speak as though you are Fay-el here and not I,” he chastised lightly. The Healer looked at him archly. “Where my patients are concerned, I am.” Jin did not refute his words, though whether it was because he was tolerating the stubbornness of an old man or submitting to the authority of a healer, Kor could not tell. Kor sat still through the same process Jin had endured, squirming and cursing a fair deal more than the stalwart Fay-el had, and then was finally released. The Healer turned his attention to Daliah with the same combination of sureness and unsteadiness, and then, once all of their wounds had been cleansed, stitched and bound, a young woman brought them each a wooden bowl of stew and a foul-tasting tea the Healer had ordered made earlier. They ate and drank before the fire, listless and sore, as the old man left to fetch the one Jin had called the “Keeper.” The redhead turned to Daliah, feeling more drained than he had all day and drowsy besides, most likely from the heavy dosage of Valla in the tea. “It is fortunate that you came, my good woman. I thank you. Your skill with the sword would put many a man to shame." |
| Daliah nodded and pulled out her knife. She needed to replenish her store of arrows. There was some comfort in watching curls of wood strip away from the stick. At least she still had some of her arrow heads with her, but they would have to be sharpened. "Thank you for your kind words. But it is merely a result of a lifetime of training. There is nothing about me that is superior to anyone else." "Who trained you?" the man asked. She paused for a second to look at him, then returned to her work. "A kind man. Far greater than any I have met." She sighed. "I found the man who ended his life, and today he received the same. Now if you excuse me, I need to find more wood." Daliah walked back into the trees, bent low to pick up branches that would serve for her purpose. She did not wander too far from the fire, since she did not have the energy to get lost. After a while, she returned and proceeded to shape the remainder and fit them to the arrow heads. Once she began, the boy, Elam, walked over to her. "Can I help?" he asked. Daliah preferred to work alone, but the child was so interested that she actually smiled at his request. She handed him one of the heads. "Do you think you can find a rock I can sharpen this with." He nodded and dashed away, coming back shortly with a stone in hand. She took it from him and showed him how to carve the end into a point. At first she held his hands in hers to add pressure, but it was not long before he could do it alone. "Would you like your own bow and arrows?" she asked, looking at Jin for approval. |
| Jin nodded his consent. He allowed himself to smile slightly, "You'll have to do the teaching, however. That is a skill I lack, and most of my men have more apprentices than they need." He saw Daliah's glance of surprise. As Dragonia was known for its archers, that the Fay-el of a tribe did not use the bow had to be unusual. The Keeper's arrival distracted his attention, though he could hear Elam's cries of delight. The middle-aged man had already gathered an armful of parchments, brush, and ink. He handed them to Jin without a word. The Keeper knew him well. The names of the dead needed to be added to the roster. Usually, Jin added them, to help him remember each loss better. He was one of the few Fay-el who was not illiterate. Most were. Warrior training was considered more important. Hhis teacher's scolding popped into his head. That's what Keepers are for. Jin shook the memory away. He had been a second son, never intended to become Fay-el. He had been lucky to learn. Corin never did. Jin also had no intention of allowing Elam to be unable to read and write, no matter what his station became. After a few minutes of struggling to use his left hand, (which was making his normally neat script look like Elam's) he gave up and handed the pieces back. "You'll have to do it this time." A curt nod, and the man went to work. Jin watched him for a minute. The spidery scrawl was better than his attempts, though not by much. "While you're at it..." The Keeper glanced at him. "Could you find the name of Joran's father?" Jin continued. "Aye." Layole returned. Jin felt his hand resting against his shoulder in a silent request. He glanced at his second. "Where's Terran?" "Fretting. I'm sure he'll want to scold you in the morning, but I sent him away for now," His russet eyes narrowed, "As you are going to bed." Jin heard the implied command. "I'm coming." The Valla was kicking in. He could feel its warmth spreading across his chest. Jin turned, catching Layole's eye. "Wake me in the fifth point. No later." "But-" "No later." Layole's disapproval was written across his face, but he ceased arguing. The Eloin were much too close. He had to move the tribe. They, or the Hybrids, could attack again. Their resources were seriously depleted now. And the fall was half finished. It was too much for him to worry about now. Jin shoved it to the back of his mind, and followed his second away from the little group. "Layole, keep an eye on Kor. Some might..." he staggered, and the second gave him a gentle nudge to keep him standing. Jin shook his head and continued, "They might take out old hurts on a new face. He is Hybdid-A Hyrid..." The Healer must have put quite a dose of Valla in that tea. Layole cut off his rambling. "I will. You rest." |
| The voice came a cluster of young warriors sitting on the other side of the fire. “So, Hybrid, that hair natural, or you dye it in henna like a woman?” A couple men laughed, but Kor could not pinpoint the original speaker among them. The redhead was leaning back heavily on both hands, wanting nothing so much as to lie down. The Healer had departed to prepare his large tent for Kor and Daliah. Daliah had been led away by a nother woman to change out of her muddied, bloodied clothing. “Hey, Hybrid! I am talking to you!” Kor glanced slowly over toward the speaker. “Name’s Kor,” he said as amicably as he could manage under the weight of the Valla Leaf upon his tongue and mood. “Not here it’s not. Here you’re Ael Kinth. A… Hybrid.” The laughter from the taunter’s friends was louder this time and one of the men spit toward Kor but did not clear the fire. It was he who had spoken. Kor bristled at the insult. ‘Hybrid’ was nowhere near a proper translation of the Dragonian term, which referred equally to the product of rape as to the child of one who preferred congress with animals to that of other people. Gritting his teeth slightly, he forced a smile onto his face. “The red hair is natural and you’re right, I’m a Hybrid. I have my mother’s hair.” And her temper as well, Kor added silently. One of the young men rose from his place among his friends and crouched down before Kor, who didn’t move. A sneer was spread across the warrior’s face. “Who gave you that shitan, Hybrid? Did you steal it from a proper warrior?” “Twas a gift,” Kor explained for the second time that day. “From my father.” The young man grunted. “Didn’t earn it, then. You have no right to it.” “I have every right to it. It was given to me by my father. I was trained in its use by a Dragonian. It has been anointed by blood in battle.” As of today, anyway. “Thrice mine.” “I’ll fight you for it.” Kor glared at him over his half-eaten bowl of stew. “I’ve had enough fighting this day.” “Scared? Took a little prick in battle and are now ready to run off and cry?” Kor levered himself slowly to his feet and the young warrior stood quickly, reaching for his shitans as he did. Kor did not touch his own weapon, but he did, to his dismay, rock on his feet. Crescents, how much Talla did that blazing wheezer give me? No wonder the Fay-el was stumbling. “You…” He blinked as everything tilted around him. “You’re not getting this shitan from me.” The young warrior’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? Look at you? You can’t even stand. You couldn’t stop me.” He shoved Kor roughly with both hands. Kor stumbled backwards… into a warm body that stopped him like a wall. Rough hands closed on his shoulders and steadied him. “No, a drugged and injured man may not be able to stop you, Talen, but I sure can. Is this how you treat the man who fought at the side of our Fay-el?” It was Layole’s voice. Kor glanced over his shoulder and Layole nodded curtly at him. “Come, Kor. The Healer is ready for you, and Daliah as well." He glanced around. "Where is Daliah?” "Changing," Kor said. |
| Daliah shivered as the cold water was dumped over her head. It felt good to wash away the grime, but the night air was chill enough without having to bathe in the river. Her head ached and her skin felt too tight for her bones. "There now, you may dress and return to your tent." One of the women handed her a length of thick cloth to dry herself on. Daliah took it and rubbed herself until she was warm and dry. The clothing chosen for her was a dress, but she did not complain. As long as the men respected her as more than a woman, she would wear it. Next, her hair was brushed as it had not been in years. The boar's hair ripped at the snarls, inducing such pain that she had never endured before. But she bit her lips together and refused to cry out until it was done. She was so grateful to get out of there. The herbs she had been given were starting to make her unsteady. She clasped her cloak at her throat and walked back to the camp. The rest of the tribe seemed to stare more than usual, yet she ignored them and sat beside Elam. He was the one friendly face of the crowd. "When will you teach me to use it?" he asked, twanging the string of his bow. "Tomorrow." she replied. She looked ahead, staring at nothing in particular. He reminded her of the young boy Gaharis found one day. She took care of him like she would a brother... or son. He never told her his name, never had the chance. The boy died three days later. "What are you thinking about?" She hesitated, trying to find a reasonable story. "I was thinking about... how I should train you if you do not get any rest." Elam's eyes widened and he ran to his tent. Daliah laughed to herself, remembering when she was a child. "You are good with him. I find that surprising." She looked at the man next to her. "Who are you?" "My name is Layole, a very close friend of Jin's. And if you hurt his boy-" "What is it you think I would do?" she asked, throwing a stick to the fire. "I am not some insensitive monster that would hurt a child." "It is not that." "What is it then? Speak your mind and do it quickly." He shook his head and gazed at the ground before meeting his eyes. "I am afraid you will leave him. I do not think he can bear it again." He stood and shook out his cloak. "Now get some rest, and if you are going to leave him, do so quickly." Daliah returned to her tent and knelt in the corner, shaken by what Layole had said. She had not meant to draw so close to Elam so quickly. With trembling fingers, she tied her pack closed and shouldered it painfully. Then she couldn't hold on any longer. She collapsed to the floor, succumbing to the forced sleep. How could she do this to him? |
| Jin awakened several hours later, with Layole's help, and a throbbing headache. Daliah and Kor were probably suffering from the same symptoms. Valla was wonderful, until the next day. The tribe would not be up and about until the sixth point. Jin always rose before they did. It gave him time to collect his thoughts, to plan for the day, and, if he felt like it, worship Kyda. He had never been overly devout, especially after the Shinar massacre. The shaman had long since given up on him. Ask for tithes? Jin's tirade had ended that one. Few people would bother him at this hour, with the moons still faintly visible in the corner of the sky. "Jin?" He turned. Terran stood there, and he had kolinar. "Bless you," Jin muttered, taking the proferred cup. His friend's ebony eyes shone with amusement, "I thought you might want some." The brew was slightly bitter, but no more than he was used to. More importantly, the hot tea both eased pain and shoved the grogginess he still felt down to a tolerable level. "You're going to scold me, aren't you?" Jin remarked. Terran shook his head, chestnut hair brushing against his shoulders. "Enduring Turoc's unsteady hands is punishment enough, I believe." They shared a smile over that one. Both had been under the Healer's touch before, and neither liked to repeat it. "The Keeper was looking for you," Terran commented. Jin glanced his way, eyebrows arched in question. The kolinar was definitely improving his mood. "Hmm?" "Joran's father, you asked for that?" "Aye." "Renji. According to the records, why?" Jin blinked in surprise and turned around. "Renji? Are you sure?" "Aye. The Keeper checked twice to be certain, as it was you asking," Terran cocked his head, "You have my curiosity." "Later. I'll explain later." He glanced at the cup in his hand. "Kor might like some kolinar, don't you think?" "The Hybrid? I suppose so," Terran scowled slightly, "You know I hate when you change the subject." "I didn't." Jin said no more, but went searching for the redhead. He wasn't angry, only puzzled. When Jin spotted Kor, he was relived to see Layole with him. He had enough respect for the man that he had no desire to see him wounded or killed from old hatred. "Good morning, Kor. A little early for you to be up, isn't it?" |
| "Morning?" Kor responded groggily. "Don't you mean afternoon?" Jin handed him a mug of something with his good arm. "Kolinar. It'll help wash the last traces of Valla from your limbs. You'll have to ask Turoc what's in it, for I know not. And yes, I suppose it is afternoon. Forgive me, we keep an... unusual schedule, these days, but habits of speech die hard." Kor grunted but nodded his thanks to the Fay-el, sipping from the warm but bitter liquid he'd been offered. He tasted the sweetness of kapa berries barely masking the tartness of anderberries and the bitterness of an extremely low dosage of Valla. In the background was a faint taste of something he could not identify; he'd have to ask the old Healer about it later. They sat in silence for a while as Kor sipped slowly from the tea and Layole, Jin and the young warrior who'd accompanied Jin to the dead campfire sat a few feet away, talking amongst themeselves in low voices. Kor, who was not in the best of moods, did not resent being ignored for the time being. He'd woken to the throb of a Valla hangover at his temples and the throb of the wound in his side. Even in the late afternoon sunlight and the small fire pit in the center of the Healer's tent, it had been cold, and after waking from his drugged sleep well over an hour earlier and failing to fall back asleep, he'd finally resigned himself to the sad fact that it was time to wake up. When he'd finally emerged from the Healer's tent---dressing first in a set of worn but clean clothes the still-sleeping Healer had left out for him the night before---it had been late afternoon and Kor had been surprised to find that the majority of the camp was asleep and the campfires had long ago been stamped out. However, on reflection, it made sense; the tribe seemed to travel at night, and they had to rest sometime; during the day seemed as good a time as any, for at night they could travel unseen for hours at a time and at day it was just warm enough that they did not need the heat of campfires that would cast smoke into the sky and alert enemies to their presence. Layole had already been awake when Kor had risen, but there'd been no others. Kor had noted, as he approached the fire where the second had waved him over, that Daliah had her own tent and was still asleep. Layole and Kor sat in silence for a few minutes, Layole preparing a few arrows and Kor carefully unwrapping the bandages about his side to check his wound before rewrapping it with some clean cloths the Healer had left out for him. The wound hurt, but the stitches were well placed and no signs of infection had developed in the eight or so hours Kor'd been asleep. When Kor had nearly finished his tea and was beginning to feel much better, Jin extracted himself from his two companions and settled down at Kor's side. The redhead noted that he did not put any weight on his injured arm at all, but instead held it loosely at his side as he sat down. "If you would like, I can check and rebind the wound before your Healer awakens," Kor offered with a wry smile. "I know I offered myself the same service. The man knows his art, but his is not a gentle touch!" Jin chuckled. "Turoc likely will not awaken for another two hours, so there is time enough yet for that before he rises. I... would like you to meet someone today, later, when he wakes up. But first, I must begin making ready to depart. We have a long way to go tonight and much must be done before we set out in four hours." Kor did not ask where they were going, for he doubted Jin would tell him. Instead---"Have you anything I might do? Between the two of us, we should be able to do the work of one man," he said wryly, touching his side and glancing at Jin's shoulder. |
| "Wake up! Wake up! It's morning!" Daliah rolled over and groaned, pressing her fists into her eyes. "Elam, what are you doing in my tent?" He hopped next to her and held up his bow. "You promised, remember?" "Oh, that's right." She froze as she recalled last night's events. How could she tell this boy she had to leave? Then she made the mistake of looking up at his hopeful face and she knew there was no way she could leave him. --- "Good. Now make sure that the string will not strike your arm when you fire." Daliah adjusted his elbow as Elam focused on the target ahead. She did not want him to have to feel the pain of the bruise, or the slice of feathers on his hand. Once he was in the proper stance, she signaled for him to fire. The arrow shot from his bow, landing a few feet short of the mark. Elam pouted. "What did I do wrong?" Daliah shook her head. "Nothing. You should have seen my first shot. I doubt if it even made it as far as yours." His face lit up. "Really?" She laughed. "Yes. You will be a master in no time. Now, I think it is time for breakfast. I can give you another lesson in the afternoon if you like." He nodded and ran back to the camp, which was fairly busy by this time. She walked slower, and was not surprised to be joined by Layole. "I see you chose to stay then." he mused, staring straight ahead. "Yes." she replied equally distant. "He does not deserve to be abandoned. "I just hope you know what you're doing." |
| With Kor's help, the two of them began the work of taking down tents and repacking the travois in preparation for the journey tonight. Jin spotted Layole and Daliah walking together, talking in low voices. He had heard his second grumbling about the woman earlier, when he thought Jin was asleep. Though Sheno was married, and had three sons, Layole had never found a maiden for himself. It made Jin wonder... He turned back to his work. It felt satisfying to be doing something common, rather than the constant pressure of his normal chieftain duties. Turoc checked on them once, but left them alone, shaking his head. Jin was taking down his own tent when Kor's voice broke into his thoughts. "What's this?" The redhead had been repacking Jin's travois, making sure Elam's new "toy" was unharmed in the move. Jin turned. Kor had unwrapped the covering to his lola and was tapping the curved surface that was clearly visible. That was going to be hard to explain. "A lola." Kor's eyebrows arched. The Dragonian lyre most certainly could not be Elam's. "Yours?" "Yes," He turned back to the tent, pulling the last stake free. Kor didn't let it drop. " You have a lola?" "Is there anything wrong with that?" "No, but that's for...for-" "Minstrels?" Jin half-turned to catch his gaze. "I trained to be one before...other things." "Other things?" Jin sighed and swiveled around to face him completely. "I am-was, a second son. My elder brother was chieftain, not I." "He's dead." It was a statement, not a question. Jin nodded. "The Eloin killed him in a massacre, with Hybrid help. You can see their touch on Elam, can't you?" |
| Kor grimaced. "How poorly men treat other men," he murmured. "Elam then is not yours by birth?" Jin sighed heavily and turned away to carefully rewrap the lola in its waterproof sealskin cover. "No, but he should have been. It's... complicated. But it is no matter now; he is mine." Kor nodded as he stared enviously after the instrument as it disappeared out of sight. He knew well how to play the lyre and longed to get his hands on a Dragonian version of the instrument, but all he'd been able to see of it was the shiny, well-oiled wood of one of the instrument's bowed arms. "Know you how to play the lola?" Kor asked to lead the subject back to smoother terrain. Jin snorted. "Later, if we have time and if I can convince my shoulder to cooperate, I'll show you." |
| Daliah sat by the fire with a steaming cup in her hands. It did not matter to her what was in it, as long as it was hot. In the distance, she could see Elam showing one of the other children his bow. "Be careful!" she shouted, before she could stop herself. Then she shook her head at her own foolishness. Jin was his parent, not her. But it made the hole in her heart ease some to say it. The drink was sweet and comforting, and spread warmth throughout her body. After some bread, she was ready to work. Perhaps Jin and Kor could use her help. She found them packing by the tents. With an inward groan of stiffness, she knelt beside them. "What do you need of me?" she asked. "If your women try to dress me again, I cannot assure that all of them will make it safely." Jin laughed and gestured to a pile of things to be bundled. She wrapped them carefully, surprised how fluid her fingers worked. That drink had done her incredible good. The sweetness that lingered on her tongue also sharpened her senses. It would have been well to have it in some of her earlier years. Kor and Jin continued to talk amongst themselves. They seemed to enjoy each other's company. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't come. She bent her head and began to hum softly. It was a song Gaharis claimed her mother used to sing to her, so she sang it often to keep any memory of her alive. She could not remember all of the words, so in times like this she just enjoyed the tune. It might have been a song of history or of love. All she really knew of it was the lady in white. But it didn't matter. Either way, her mother sang it and so did she. |
| Jin recognized the song Daliah was humming, though he couldn't think of the words to it at the moment. His three-year training had taught him most of the Dragonian lays, though his apprenticeship had been cut short by Corin's death. Whatever the song was, it seemed to have special meaning to the normally tough woman. She sang with a quiet revrence, as if remembering some other moment when she had heard it. The glint of tears suppressed was at the very edge of her eyes. A lullaby from her mother? A love song from her husband? Jin's curiousity was aroused, but not enough to disturb her private grief. Layole appeared, stopping his musings. He led a prancing Doblo and Kor's hard-won chestnut. "This is all that is left," he said, gesturing to the belongings they were still packing. "The rest of the tribe is packed and ready." "Good." They finished quickly. Jin slid onto Doblo's back and then motioned for Kor to ride at his side. It was better than his "shadows" of late. Whether the redhead noticed or not, Jin did. Both the twins, Sheno and Layole, had been nearby at some point or another, and if not them, then Terran or another young warrior. With his injury, they weren't taking chances of a surprise attack when he probably would be unable to defend himself. When he motioned the same to Daliah, she shook her head and lagged to the back of the line, riding beside Elam. The tribe had done this several times before. They covered the miles quickly, a good day's journey, though traveled at night. By the tenth point, (five in the morning) as the sun gilded the edge of the sky, they stopped. Another three days like that and they would reach the Mara Desert. Within that was one tribe of Dragonians that no longer retained the same heritage. These were called the T'Ollo, and their Fay-el, Chrys, knew Jin well. Karli, Jin's former betrothed, was his younger sister. They usually wintered there with him, in exchange for some of the tribesmen working in the marketplace Crossroads. The tribe scattered out, setting up tents within a few minutes and starting a meal. Turoc was back, insisting they eat and let him check their wounds. Jin complied reluctantly. After both being tended to and eating- Kor, Daliah, Layole, and he were sitting alone. Most of the tribe was asleep, but with their shift in schedule, none of them was tired. A few moments passed in silence, and then Kor cleared his throat. "About that lola..." Jin glanced his way, feeling Daliah's curious gaze. "I don't know the Aquila lays." Kor waved his excuse away. "I'd like to hear something Dragonian anyway." Layole had already hurried away and now returned with the carefully wrapped lyre. Pulling it free, he ran his fingers over the strings, tuning it again. Mindful of Daliah's seeming sadness earlier, he chose a slower tune. The deeper, haunting tone of the lola echoed around them. Ah, Braewin, my heart singeth for thee. Like gold lyre strings-so thou affecteth me. But you're leaving, going so far away, Across the sea, where night meets day. It rends my soul; the sweet strings are broken, Renewed by thy loving words soft spoken. Return, my love, e're the call of the sea, Or enemy's bow, forever take thee. Lest the dew clinging to forests' green boughs, The soft purity of mountains' first snow. In lands afar, make you forget to care, For I who pine- your maiden fair! Return before stars fade to morn's first light. May the silver moons show your path aright. Then shall my soul 'round thine heart tightly wend, Never parted shall we be, 'till the world's end At the final chord, he glanced at Kor and Daliah to see their reaction. |
| Kor's eyebrows had risen nearly into his red hair with surprise, and then he began to laugh. "A fine song, Fay-el, a fine song indeed. Your skill does justice to your training. I must confess that the tune is not entirely new to me. We sing... another version of the song in Aquila. It is, however, somewhat... different." He chuckled, then nodded toward the lola. "If you would permit?" "You play the lola?" Jin asked, handing the instrument to the redhead. Kor stroked the strings lightly, then quickly tightened a peg at the top of the lola, humming a pitch quietly until the note matched his voice. "No," he said, his fingers working absently over a couple of chords. "But the lyre is one of my favorite instruments." He cleared his throat. "My uncle, who was a minstral long before I ever picked up my first fiddle, taught me this on. You'll find it... famliar," he said with a grin. Kor's slim, agile fingers flew over the strings in a fast, lively introduction. Jin's eyes widened immediately in recognition; the tune was in major rather than minor, and far faster, with playful echoes, but it was, undoubtedly, the same tune he'd just played. Then Kor's robust, highly-trained baritone started in, and the Fay-el and the Dragonians settled back to listen. "O Kainen, only for you I sing," said she. Then-- "Branen, dearest love, only for thee!" By morn and by eve two tunes did she play: The Lover’s Reel, and the Lover’s Lay. Ah di doo, ah di doo da deh! "Ah, Branen, my heart sings only for thee. As tawny lyre strings doth thou affect me. So play me once; then twice, then thrice! As the minstrel loves the lute, my flesh entice!" Ah di doo, ah di doo da deh! "Ah Kainen, love, my soul hums the sweet tune Of thy soft caresses ‘neath the pale moon. But you're leaving, going so far away, Across the deep sea, where the night meets day." Ah di doo, ah di doo da deh! "In lands afar, thou shalt forget to care, For I who pine- your maiden fair!" From the bed she rose as the last chord fell The Lover’s Reel ended and she said farewell. Ah di doo, ah di doo da deh! "Ah, Branen, my heart sings only for thee. As tawny lyre strings doth thou affect me. My soul round thine heart doth tightly wend I am thine alone, 'till come the world's end!" Kor flourished a little bow, and handed the instrument back to Jin. |
| Daliah smiled and pulled out her flute, also feeling inspired to sing. She blew a phrase or two, then opened her mouth to sing. It was a song Gaharis used to sing, and she tried to translate it, but it still came out rough. "Oh weary traveller, far from home Child of the eastern sea Tired one, you're not alone For you have come to me "Make your bed in the quiet stream Lay your head in the glade Some day you'll return to the eastern sea But first you must learn your trade "Run where the wild stallions roam Fly with the birds of the air Swim where the white fish make their home And sleep in the caves of the bear "Wrestle with the black haired wolves Wear their teeth at your neck Defeat the armies in darkest groves And then you may go back" She ended here and looked at them. "That is all I know. The rest is still in the old tongue, which I am still learning." With a smile, she put the flute to her lips once more and blew a well known dragonian tune that everyone there knew. Their voices mixed well, which made the old song even more pleasing to her. After a while she stopped concentrating on her playing and just listened. It was beautiful, unlike any other music she had ever heard. |
| Jin played absently, letting his fingers wander as he watched the others. Daliah's gentle smile gave her an appealing softness. Kor was tapping out the rhythm with one hand. Layole's face was impassive, but he kept his eyes on Daliah. "Well, it's been a while since I've heard you play," a voice broke in. Jin swiveled his head. Terran smirked down at him. "Is something wrong?" Jin questioned. His frown was small. "How can you always...?" he sighed, "Slightly. I'll let you know if they get any closer." Eloin? Jin mouthed. Terran nodded and then continued, "You summoned Joran, I believe?" "Aye. Where is he?" Terran jerked his head. "There. Waiting for your permission." "Tell him to come. I want him to meet someone." "Kor?" At Jin's surprised look, he chuckled. "I'm not blind. I hope you know what you're doing." As Joran stepped into view, Jin turned away, watching Kor. |
| Kor's mouth dropped open into one of his most inelegant expressions. To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. It was as though he were watching a younger, Dragonian version of himself walking toward him. Joran's approach was cautious, as though he weren't at all sure how to take this half-breed relative who'd suddenly dropped into his midst. Joran looked to be about twelve or thirteen years of age, and his eyes were gray, not pale blue like Kor's own and his hair was a subdued Dragonian black rather than bright red, but he was clearly, undoubtedly, Kor's brother. Before the two brothers had a chance to speak, a woman pushed toward them, a young girl clinging to her skirts. And Joran looked like these, too, although far, far more like Kor. "What's this, Fay-el?" the woman demanded. She pointed a finger toward Kor. "What's he doing here?" "He looks like Daddy," the little girl said, but her lower lip was extended in a pout and after a few seconds she burst into tears. |
| Daliah watched in confusion. Was Kor a part of this tribe. But watching his face, he didn't seem to know this. She realized that this was as new to him as it was to her. Oh, how she dreamed of this same moment for herself. How she dreamed of finding her family. She snuck away from the cirlce. There was no way she could watch this and keep her composure. She went to Myna and sat next to her while she took up her knife and wood. Finding a shape within the mass served to calm her. She didn't know what it would be yet. Perhaps another horse, perhaps not. Most of the time, she never knew until she was done. Slowly, the body of a young maid revealed itself, arms open, hair blowing in the wind. It was often how she envisioned her mother. She tossed it to the ground and kicked dirt over it. There was no use in wanting what she couldn't have. Myna dropped her large head over her master's shoulder. Daliah stroked it while digging through her things for a treat, though the horse didn't look like she was deprived of food. She brushed the mud from her coat while Myna ate. It fell away, as did her pain. The simple task drew her mind from her own problems. She savored it like a sweet and rubbed until her hide reflected the sun. Then she was able to watch Kor and his family. Her heart still throbbed, yet it eased to see that he had a chance at repairing his past. She felt a tug at her skirts and looked down to see Elam and a couple of his friends. She smiled, realizing that she, too, had that chance. |
| Jin had not intended for the entire family to come traisping in, but here they were. Turina's sharp, amber glare jumped from him to Kor, narrowed with anger. The look suggested she wanted to lunge for and strangle them both, but she had not decided which. Jin didn't wait for her to decide. "Turina, please," he tried to rest a soothing hand on her shoulder, but she moved out of his reach, throwing her head up with all the wildness of an unbroken filly. "How dare you bring this...this Hybrid here!" "I asked for the ruler of your family, not you. It is you who came without summons." That did not calm her anger. She moved into his face, dark hair waving. It was Jin who took a quick step back. She hissed, "Do you have to bring up old hurts, pain that cannot be eased?" "I do not believe Kor is after the few horses you retain. No one deserves to lose their family." Turina's anger cooled some. He saw the fire drain out of her eyes. She knew of Elam. Turina glanced at Kor, who was still open-mouthed. "I don't want him staying in my home." Jin sighed. "At least allow Joran to talk to him. I am curious how Renji crossed paths with-" "Don't say it, please don't." |
| "Will you teach us now?" Daliah laughed kindly at the children's eager question, then glanced back at Jin and Kor. They were much too busy now to bother. She shook her hair back and fumbled for a string to tie it. "I will teach you if Elam will share his bow." she responded. The youths looked at Elam hopefully, and the boy graciously nodded his head. "All right, I will teach you." ----- Aletha leaned against the trunk of a tree, truly tired. Once every child was satisfied, it had taken all of the strength in her body. She sipped at her flask and sighed. It was a comforting weariness. |
| Kor frowned. "Please daena," he said, using the Dragonian term for 'goodwoman' or 'ma'am', "Forgive me; it was not my intention to offend you or to bring up uncomfortable memories. This... comes as much as a surprise to me as it does to you. You are Renji's wife?" "Am, was, and always will be," Turina said curtly, staring at him through dark, distrusting amber eyes. "My father is dead," Joran explained softly, then corrected himself. "Our father. These two years past, he died fighting the Eloin." Kor swallowed. "I am sorry for your loss. And, I must confess, mine as well; I would have liked to meet him. I never had the occassion to so much as see him my entire life." Renji's widow looked somewhat more comfortable at that pronouncement. "He left before you can remember?" Kor chuckled. "He left before I was born. I was... his way of saying thanks to my mother for her services as a healer. He was injured in a skirmish with the Eloin outside our village. My mother came across him, found him senseless, and brought him to her home to care for him until he was well enough to return home to you." Turina shook her head slowly. "No, not to me. We had not yet been joined, then; Joran is the consummation of our marriage." The teenage boy blushed hotly. |
| Jin could feel the tension of the moment softening. Kor's natural way of putting people at ease seemed to work even for the stubborn Turina. Joran watched Kor with open curiosity. It was to be expected. Jin felt the same way at the moment, though he had learned enough patience to wait and find out in due time. For now, Turina would prevent any conversation. Dropping his voice low, Jin pulled her aside and said, "If Joran is to pass Confirmation, you must allow him to lead." She frowned at him, but let him lead her away from the small group. "How soon?" she asked. Jin smiled lightly. A mother's heart. "A month, or less. I wish to reach the safety of Ratacca Korr first." Turina nodded. Chrys' stronghold could hold out against siege and attack for months on end, and if the port was left open, years. She stepped away and started to leave, but glanced back over her shoulder. "It's hard to let them go." "Aye." He shifted away from her gaze. Elam was due for Confirmation as well. With a shared smile of mutual understanding, they parted company. Someone cleared their throat a moment after she left. "Worried about Elam?" Terran said lightly, melting out of the shadows. "I always worry about him." "I know," he stepped closer, extending a scrap of parchment, "Chrys' messenger came a moment ago. I doubt he refused you but..." Jin took it from him. The clear sigil of the T'Ollo, dark dragon attacking the tower of Bar-Katan, made it obvious whose it was. "Now that's interesting," Terran muttered. Jin glanced at him, eyebrows arching. Terran gestured to his right. Jin followed the motion with his eyes. Daliah rested against a tree, far from the rest of the camp. She seemed to be humming, though the sad cast of her face suggested it was not for happiness. Jin frowned. He may not know what Kor and Joran were discussing, but he could certainly satisfy his curiousity, or at least some of it, with Daliah. He headed her way, ignoring Terran's chuckle. "Daliah, are you all right?" |
| Daliah swallowed her song and gazed at the sky. "I tried so hard to avoid being weak." she whispered. "I told myself if I could be alone, there would be no reason for pain, no loved ones to be held against me." She looked back at Jin. "But then I was here, and now I can't seem to leave. I don't want to my heart to break again. I'm not strong enough for that." Her admission broke through the air, and she wished she could bite it back. She hated being seen like this. Jin lowered himself to her level. "Why do you think it would break again?" She shook her head and laughed a little. "There's no need to lie to me. I saw the sign. I know our chances." He stiffened. "How could you see it? I just learned of it myself." "I see many things. Well, not quite see, more feel or hear, as though someone were whispering them in my ear. Most times I cannot make sense of it, but seeing your face made it all clear." She pulled her clothes away from her shoulder and showed him the jagged scar. "This was given to me almost twenty years ago. My parents knew what our enemy is searching for, and I know where we can find it." |
| Kor nodded to the campfire, then glanced at his brother. "Come. Sit and talk with me a while. I want to know who you are." Joran looked a little uncomfortable, but he lowered himself to the ground to sit by his elder brother despite his uncertainty. Clearing his throat, he stared at Kor's bright red hair. "I don't know what to tell you," he said, his voice breaking halfway through, so that he sounded like a man at the beginning and a boy at the end. Kor favored him with an easy smile. "How old are you?" "I'm thirteen," Joran said. Kor raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Joran should have passed Confirmation three years earlier, and yet his hair still hadn't been cut. The child chuckled. "You are too polite to say anything, but I know what you're wondering, brother. I am two years from my Confirmation. I have no father or... or elder brother," and he blushed at that and stared at Kor, "to sponsor me, and so I must wait until Jin's son, Elam, has gone through his own Confirmation before Jin can sponsor mine. There is no dishonor in waiting and there is much honor in being sponsored by the Fay-el." Kor did not offer to sponsor Joran if the child wanted; that would be presumptuous so early in their relationship, and besides, Kor was not himself Confirmed and so could not sponsor another's Confirmation. "I'm sure you will do the Fay-el proud," he said instead, "and, indeed, that you have already done him proud." |
| Jin hesitated. Daliah had fought at his side, seemed to be in tune with the Dragonian ways, but if she were an Eloin spy... The risk was high. If the already powerful Eloin found it first, what hope his people retained would be lost. He could think on his own; he could see the danger. A year, two, and they would slaughter or assimilate every Dragonian. Those in the Mara, like Chrys' tribe, would be next. Though he had not felt like sharing it with Kor, few Dragonians trusted the Aquila any longer. Karik, Sheno's uncle and a chieftain of his own tribe, would have killed the Aquila without question. The Aquila were seafarers; the Eloin owned almost three-fourth of the ports and harbors across the coastline. If the Aquila did rebel, they would starve. Few bothered beyond that. Jin glanced at Daliah. "You know where to find it? What are we searching for?" Her eyes narrowed. "You don't trust me." "No, I don't." She straightened and stepped away from him. Her stance was more of the warrior at attention now. "And if I said I didn't trust you?" Jin shrugged, "We would be on equal terms. Where is it?" Daliah shook her head, a grim smile on her face. "I don't think I should share it with you. Who knows what you would do?" Clenching his teeth, he stepped closer. "Crescent-blinded woman! This is foolishness." "Be that as it may, you cannot force me to do anything. No Dragonian would torture, unless his senses have truly left him." Jin scowled. She was right. Daliah grinned in victory. Now what? He had never been witty, one who did well in a debate. Give him a quill and parchment and he could make a scribe envious; a lute or lyre and he could express what he wished. But this, his mind was still scrambling for a response. To save face, he turned away from her. "Go then. I'll find it on my own, without help from a bloody, star-bred woman." He popped the seal on Chrys' message, scanning it hurriedly. Daliah sighed behind him. He heard her shift her weight in the loose leaves. Sigh again. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened. "You're stubborn, you know that?" She pulled away. By the time he had schooled his expression into an angry growl and spun, Daliah had glided away, on silent feet that even a warrior would have longed for. That...that woman! Chrys' message was simple and to the point. Jin son of Turin May the Star shine on thee and your house. You may come to Shinar, if you wish, but I must warn you. Eloin prowl still, especially in Eastar, where you will journey. If you must come to me, come through Kaama Forest, then to Crossroads before coming to Ratacca Korr. Beware the Derk-ra. The Star bless thee and guide thee in thy paths. Chrys, son of Endry. Jin grimaced. Derk-ra were dangerous creatures that roamed the Mara Desert, searching for prey. The wolf-sized lizards could disembowel a deer with their talons, crush a windpipe with their fangs, and ran as swiftly as a horse. He hoped dearly they would not cross any pack of them while traveling through the Mara. At least they would be safe in Ratacca Korr from both Eloin and the Derk-ra. Someone coughed. Jin whirled. Terran eyed him, grinning again. "You're not paying attention to your surroundings. I could have killed you." Jin scowled. "In the midst of the camp?" "Don't scoff. Assassins can still roam here in tribesman garb." Jin turned away. "I am not in the mood for a lecture." "And I am not in the mood to give one. Two scouts have returned, one wounded. They had a skirmish with an Eloin company." Jin whirled. "How soon?" "I don't know. They said they were moving fast." Frowning, Jin snapped, "Alert the tribe again. We'll have to move in the day, rather than rest." With that, he darted for the horse lines. Not again, please not again |
| Daliah had learned how to pack a camp long ago, but even she felt sluggish when the news was urgent. She joined the scurry by dousing the fire and loading Myna with supplies. The others were surprisingly quick, and it was barely a quarter hour before they were ready to leave. Jin was toward the front, so she hung behind. She would wait for him to make the first move. After all, he had much more at stake, and would surely realize that soon. She adjusted the strap of her pack, beginning to feel even the smallest weight of the arrows under the stress. These years of running were taking their toll. With a sigh, she kicked Myna's side, easing her up behind the others. She did not want to stray when she was carrying their belongings. She pulled out her knife, somewhat assured by the feeling of cold steel between her fingers. "By the light of the stars..." she whispered to herself. "Before the full moon rises." It struck her then that there was no time for her to give into Jin's games. She looked at those around her. No, she could not let them suffer. She broke Myna into a trot and pulled up beside him, though she neither spoke nor looked at him for several minutes. "I shall grant you this favor for your people's protection. But you must trust me, and it must be tonight." |
| Nudging his borrowed horse gently with his knee, Kor made to join Jin and Daliah. Layole, at the Fay-el's side, jerked slightly as he sensed the other's approach, but relaxed somewhat when he noticed it was just Kor. Talen, on the other hand, wasn't so trusting. Conversing in a small knot of armed Dragonian men, the young warrior broke away from his fellows with a dark scowl as he spotted Kor's approach. That scowl warped into a sneer as he reined his horse to block the Hybrid's path. "You are not a tribesman. You do not get to have access to the Fay-el whenever you blazing well---" The words died on his lips as his gaze fell upon Joran, who approached on horseback at Kor's shoulder. The warrior's eyes widened as his gaze flickered from between the two brothers. "You... um." "Am I to ride at your side today, Sair?" Joran interruped, addressing the Dragonian as "Mentor" as he came to a stop side-to-side with Kor. The boy was young, but his cool gray gaze was as wise and unyielding as stone. Kor saw something of the Fay-el in his little brother, noting the way the youngster masked watchfulness behind calm impassiveness. "I... yes," Talen said, clearing his throat. Suddenly he was all business. "Although if we encounter the enemy, you are to come no closer to battle than bow range. Have you your shortbow?" Joran lifted the weapon to show his instructor. "Keep it on hand always. But heed well my words. Your Father would not approve of disobedience." Again his eyes shifted from Joran to Kor, and then he turned his horse's head and returned to the other young warriors. Joran turned his steel gaze to his brother. "Talen is wary of outsiders, but he is a good man and a fine warrior." Kor grunted. "I'm sure he is," he said, unconvinced. With a brief nod to his little brother, he approached Jin and the others. "Where are we going, Fay-el? And think you can fight with that arm if need be?" He himself wasn't so sure he was ready to weild a blade, but if the Fay-el could do it, so could he, he decided. |
| Daliah had withdrawn at Kor’s approach. Though Jin dearly wanted to question her further, he cut himself off and flicked a glance at the Hybrid. It took him a minute to smooth the irritation off his face and out of his tone. “What?” Kor repeated his question. Jin gave him a sidelong glance, “The Mara.” As he had expected, the Hybrid’s eyebrows arched. “The desert?” When Jin nodded, “Eppa’s balls, Jin. Have you any idea how dangerous that is?” “Aye,” he cocked his head, “I have scars from a Derk-ra.” Kor frowned, “I did not mean them, though they alone are worth concern. Even among the Aquila, we know of the T’Ollo. They are more deadly than any of the Derk-ra, be the man Eloin or Dragonian.” Jin allowed himself to smile slightly. “I know. Their Fay-el has killed more men than the number of my tribe. And his loquiri, even more.” “Loquiri?” Ah, a Dragonian word he doesn’t know? “Ask Joran. If he has listened to his lessons, he can explain.” Jin was not in the mood to give lessons, “The eastern province of the Mara is a day’s journey from us. Eastar, as it is called. We will camp at the edge of the desert tonight, with a tight watch for Derk-ra, and then cross in the early morning, while it is cool.” Jin smiled, “I doubt we will get far before the Border Guards spot us. Chrys is expecting me.” “Chrys?” “The T’Ollo Fay-el. His sister was my betrothed.” Before Kor could ask him yet another question, Layole tapped his shoulder lightly. “Jin, a scout brought word.” Jin turned to face him. Kor muttered under his breath for a second. The Hybrid obviously did not like to be ignored. But after a moment, he retreated to Joran’s side. Layole nudged his horse closer to Jin’s side once Kor had left. “There is much of you in him,” the twin commented. “Joran? I should hope so.” Layole handed him the missive, a smile quirking the edge of his mouth. “I was speaking of Kor.” Jin scowled at him, but Layole feigned disinterest and returned to his place. He tucked the missive away for now. If it were good news, he would not slow the tribe. If it were bad, they were already driving hard. Neither option was worth considering until midday, when they reached Kaama Forest at the edge of the Mara. Tonight, if all went well, he would be with Daliah. He hoped to bring something valuable to Chrys, if possible. Not that he wouldn't use it for himself as well. But, the last time he had seen Chrys was shortly after his sister's death. The T'Ollo were not known for calm, level thinking. If the sight of Elam, who resembled his mother strongly, didn't keep the Fay-el calm; the prize Daliah was promising, might do just as well. Jin certainly hoped so. |
| When the tribe pressed out again, their pace was much swifter than it had been before, and the number of warriors on watch at the outskirts of the ragged band had doubled. Kor, not yet trusted, yet also too capable a fighter to ride among the women and children, rode with the off-duty warriors. Whereas earlier this bunch may have been willing to allow some of their hostility toward the obvious Hybrid to melt through conversation or after hearing the charismatic young man sing, now, on the other hand, all was tense. The others did not speak ill of Kor, except perhaps in hushed whispers he could not hear, but neither did they talk to him, and most chose to ride somewhat away from him, to the side or a few steps behind, so that they could watch him to be sure he would not sneak up on the Fay-el. Kor was of course somewhat dismayed, but not overly surprised or offended. This was a group threatened on all sides by outsiders. It was not only reasonable that they should fear others, but in all honesty, it was also perhaps the healthiest, safest way of acting. Still, it made for a cold, lonely ride, as Joran was kept near the center of the tribe with his mother, sister and the other noncombatants, and Jin stayed with his warriors and that demon-woman Daliah, who occassionally whispered to the Fay-el, who would nod curtly and then, only when she wasn't looking stare with some hope off toward the horizon. |
| Jin breathed a sigh of relief when they passed under the arching branches of Kaama Forest. Save the occassional rogue Hybrid, few would tarry this close to the Mara. The risk of Derk-ra and T'Ollo raiders, each a danger in their own right, assured that. With the fast-paced ride, few arguments would break out tonight. Most of the tribe were too tired to bother. Two fires were lit, one farther out than the other. The latter would keep the Derk-ra packs from coming too close. Usually. The preparations for night were done quickly, and with little sound. Some warriors left, returning with a handful of rabbits and a deer from the forest. The women dispatched them into a meal easily. Satisfied that everything was going well, Jin retreated from the tribe. He lost his shadow in the forest with some artful backtracking and a shinny up a tree. The man soon tired of wandering alone and headed back to the camp. Jin dropped down again and tramped off. He wanted to be alone for a while. Terran, Layole, and maybe Joran knew of the little clearing, but it was unlikely they would bother him. A willow drooped over a small stream, trailing thin fingers in the water. Clumps of bushes broke up the otherwise flat plain of grass, smothered between trees. A deer darted away when he stepped into the open. Jin smiled. Quiet. No squabbles; no Others. Sometimes, he brought the lola, if he had time. But Daliah would need him at midnight. She had whispered something about supplies and when they should leave, before hurring away. Jin settled himself on the ground beside the stream. No, not religious, but he still prayed somewhat. Best to appease the Triad as he could. He nicked his wrist, and rubbed his thumb across the oozing wound. Then, he touched the blood to the crystal that he wore, the willow's trunk, and then the water, (the proper order) before muttering the creed absently. Kyda, Kree, noble Kratan We praise and plead, divine Three Bless and guard those in need Blood of war, land and sea. Jin waited. No wondrous visions, but no deadly vipers either. Must not have offended them then. He slid the missive from its hiding place and popped the seal. The scout was barely literate, but Jin could make sense of his writing. The Eloin were still behind them, but their fast pace had left them behind. For now. With women and children, they often slowed to a crawl. But the Eloin never crossed into the Mara. Those that did rarely returned. If the tribe could last the night without a Derk-ra attack, they could pass into the relative safety of the desert. The night was suddenly silent. Jin glanced up at the moons first. Not midnight yet. He glanced over the woods. Had his shadow caught up with him finally? Tucking the missive away again, he stood. The janin was still on Doblo, safely wrapped against the blowing sands soon to come. But he slipped his dagger free, curling his hand back to keep the glint of the blade from showing. Another quick glance. No, nothing dangerous. He relaxed, staring at the figure vainly trying to stand still. "I see you. You might as well come out." |
| Daliah sat before the fire, desperately trying to keep warm. Though she spent her life in the outdoors, the night held an unusually bitter chill. With a sigh, she stood and shook her leg, trying to keep her blood flowing. Despite the fire's warmth, she retreated to the closeness of the trees. Tonight she needed to be alone with her thoughts and the serenity of nature. The moon looked so beautiful over the water. She smiled and walked on, trying to remember the exact clearing she had been told to find. It had been so long ago. She closed her eyes and stopped, then spun around. It was a trick Galahad had shown her. Once she opened her eyes again, she saw what she was looking for. The tree stood alone, as she remembered it, but it seemed smaller as she had grown. She strode toward it with purpose, holding her breath until it hurt. The ground was nearly frozen and covered with roots, making it impossible to dig with just her fingers. She unsheathed her dagger and hacked through it steadily. The soft dirt was revealed after just a few minutes, its smell and texture comforting. Her hands worked greedily, eager to be moving again. She pushed the dirt aside, forming a small pile on the grass. After another twenty minutes, her fingers struck bronze molding. She pulled it out and dusted it lovingly with her sleeve. The leafy pattern began to shine, bringing a smile to her face. Galahad's journal. It wasn't as much a journal as letters to her. Letters she wasn't allowed to read until now, when she needed them. Emotion choked her, and a tear spilled onto the cover as clasped a hand around her necklace. She snapped it from her neck and pulled the ring from its chain. It fit perfectly into the groove. She gently pushed it in until she heard it click. She wasn't sure why, but she held her breath as the bundle of papers fell into her lap. Her heart pounded as she cut through the string and searched for the letter she needed. It was somewhat difficult, since there were so many, but she discovered it about halfway through the stack. She tucked it into her pocket and was about to return the rest when she noticed some unfamiliar script. Confused, she took it out and held it up to the light. "My dearest angel", it read. "If you are reading this, than the rebellion has begun and I am most likely dead. Most likely Galahad has limited your knowledge for your own protection. I cannot say I would do differently, for the story is a terrible one. "I cannot tell me how it breaks my heart to see you go. You are still so young, but I already see so much of your mother in you. I only wish we had more time together, and that you would have some memory of me, and your life here..." Daliah hurriedly tucked the letter away. She did not want to be seen crying, as she knew the hand this was written in. Her father's. |
| As Kor's second evening with the Dragonians descended into night, the Hybrid was so exhausted from nearly twenty-four hours of almost nonstop riding---the meager two hours of sadly-interrupted early-morning camping over twelve hours ago had done little to ease anyone's fatigue---that he did not even hear the footsteps approaching from behind him. "It grows dark," Turoc's slow, unsteady voice said behind him. "That it does, when it is night," Kor agreed wearily. The healer settled down at Kor's side beside the campfire. "It is the eighth point of night. Normally we would be packing up camp now and beginning to ride, but our flight has turned everything on its head and it is now time to sleep." Kor understood what Turoc was suggesting, but was strangely too tired to draw himself up and find a place to sleep. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "I should think our flight merely set things to right, for it is not backwards to sleep at night." Turoc grinned, displaying missing teeth in a wizened face. "Aye, you speak truth. It has been months since the people of Shinar have had the opportunity to live as men should. We have become people of the night, sleeping when others wake and waking when others rest. But now, as you say, our flight has set things to rights. And you should sleep. I can give you a measure of Valla tea after I check your wound, if you think it will be difficult for you to sleep at night after having slept at day." Kor nodded. "Ah no, I should be able to sleep without difficulty. I am not accustomed to staying up all night, as your people are. I shall rest soon, I merely wished to think a bit. These past couple of days have been... eventful." "Ah yes," Turoc said slowly. "You have met your brother, or so I hear." "And that changes everything," Kor said. "I must decide, soon, what I wish to do. I want to come to know my brother, but... I am not Dragonian, and I am not welcome here, during your people's time of trouble. The time will come, soon, for me to leave, I think." Turoc cleared his throat roughly of some obstruction. "Well, you have some time, yet, to think on these things and decide, for I wll not allow you to leave until another full day and night have passed. Speaking of which, I must tend to your wound, and those of the Fay-el and that valorous woman as well. You first, then, and then will you fetch them for me? My back is not as it used to be and searching for warriors in the woods is not easy for me anymore..." |
| Jin couldn't hide his surprise. He had expected Elam, or even Layole. But Daliah? She looked as surprised as he. Jin sheathed the dagger, striding closer. "How did you manage to find me?" He saw her tucking a book away from the corner of his eye, but kept his face impassive. Curiosity rose at the sight, however. Something of special importance was bound, rather than carted about in loose scrolls. Daliah shook her head. "I was not searching for you. It seems you found me." "Oh?" Jin's eyes narrowed. "Why were you wandering here?" "Do you not trust me?" He studied her face. "Not completely." Daliah's features remained impassive, but the edge of her mouth quirked with a suppressed smile. Must have said something right. She cocked her head at him. "I have my reasons to be in the forest. None of which I need to explain to you." Jin dug his nails into his palms, but kept his temper in check. "At midnight, then?" She nodded. Spinning on her heel, she disappeared into the trees without a sound. Jin stared after her. Even Elam had not mastered that yet. When someone cleared their throat behind him, Jin whirled, bringing the dagger up. He halted it a few feet from Kor's widening eyes. "Bloody...crescent-blinded...Stars and Crescents!" He flipped the blade around, shoving it into the forearm sheath. "Kor, how did you find me?" Jin rubbed at his aching wrist, his irritation flaring. "I suppose you were not searching for me either?" |
| Daliah rubbed a tear from her eye as she walked back to the camp. But as she heard the laughter and felt the warmth, she retreated back to the shade. She felt more comfort in the cold. The wind picked up and pulled her hair back, drying any sign of emotion from her face. She longed to read the rest of the letter, yet also wished she had never begun it. It brought memories and feelings she had tried so hard to forget. Layole suddenly appeared at her side. Either he was lighter of foot than she thought, or she had become so consumed with her thoughts that she had not heard him. "Every time I look your way, you are alone." He said it simply, without judgement or question. She felt relieved, but also that there was a silent curiousity that required explanation. She decided to grant it to him. He did not ask much of her. "I never felt the need to surround myself with people. Horses are more honest, and they do not require..." "Commitment?" He finished. Daliah closed her mouth and turned away. He knew her truth though she would never admit it. Layole sighed. "Just answer me one question, and I promise to leave you alone." She nodded, giving her consent. "Why do you refuse to love? There are many in the world that are not as evil as you say. What was so terrible that you live alone?" She prepared her tongue to lie, but it refused her orders. "Every person I have ever loved has either died or left. I am so tired, my heart cannot take it." He shook his head. "You kept your end of the bargain, now I shall keep mine." He bowed slightly and moved to walk back to the camp. She bit her lip as she left, fighting the feeling that she wanted him to stay. But perhaps she was ready to risk her heart one last time. "Wait." She called softly, closing her eyes in disbelief. "Yes?" He turned, a strange look crossing his face. "You were wrong before." She took a timid step closer, afraid for the first time in many years. "I do love someone." He smiled slightly. "He is a lucky man." "I am afraid not. I fear my love would never satisfy such a heart." "Why is that?" She did not fight the tears this time, though clenched her fists until her nails cut her palms. "He is so much stronger than I in every way. I do not think even his love can overcome my faults, though I desperately hope it can." He stepped closer this time, until she could smell the horses and leather burned into his skin. "Perhaps it might." "Then I have one more confession." "What is that?" "I love you." |
| "I... um..." Kor felt somewhat unbalanced for the first time in a while. Maybe it was just that he was exhausted. Maybe it was that that demon-blasted healer had just picked free and replaced a single suture that had torn loose during the day's riding. Maybe it was that the Jin suddenly seemed so strangely ill-tempered for such a rock-calm man. Or maybe it was just that the Fay-el had nearly just taken out his eye with a knife. Whatever the reason, for a moment Kor forgot what he'd come out into the woods to say, and when he did remember a breath later, he felt less than inclined to share the message he'd been sent to pass on in a normal, business-like fashion. "Well," he said with a flippant gesture at a nearby oak, "It had been my intention to water the tree here, but then I saw you and thought it would be impolite to water your boots as well." Jin's eyes were narrowed, hardly in the mood for the Hybrid's evening antics. The Fay-el looked tired too, and more than a little distracted. "I am busy Kor, and this is rather far out into the woods to come for a piss. Now how did you find me, and what do you want?" Kor sighed. "Aquila born, remember? I followed my nose to the water, and followed the water to you. And it is not I who wants, but Turoc. He, and possibly his wicked needle, seek you," the redhead explained, rubbing ruefully at his freshly bandaged side. Jin grumbled a halfhearted curse under his breath, but seemed more irritated than concerned about the healer's plans for him. "I'd best go to him, then. Turoc is an old man, and like many old man prefers to seek his bed at the earliest possible opportunity once we make camp. If I make him wait, I'll never hear the end of it." Nodding absently, Kor stared down at the reflection of the moon wavering in the slowly moving stream. "Do you mind if I linger for a while in this little haven of yours while you are gone? I could use a few moments of quiet and solitude before I seek my own bed, and this seems as fine a spot as any." Jin, already walking away back toward the camp, turned for a moment to regard the Hybrid over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. Kor could not tell if it was distrust he saw there, irritation about being addressed yet again, or a simple reluctance to share this scenic little spot with others, but he drew back a half step at that look. "Or, I suppose I could go elsewhere," Kor said uncomfortably. |
| Yet again, he had failed the First Tenet. He seemed to be doing a lot more of that. Jin sighed. "Forgive me, Kor. I should not treat you so, no matter my temperament." The Hybrid shrugged, but kept his saucy comments to himself for once. Jin turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared at the dark wood. "You may tarry here, if you wish. But I warn you, this far from the campfires, Derk-ra roam." He glanced back over his shoulder. "No sentry is close enough to help you. I do not wish to lose..." he hesitated, and then finished hurriedly, "...to lose a man foolishly." Kor grinned. "Even a Hybrid?" Jin held his gaze. "Especially so." He swiveled, ducking into the trees before Kor could question him further. How did that man manage to coax things out of him? He had came that close to asking him to stay. He's just a Hybrid. Jin frowned. And he was lying to himself. There was more to it than that. He hurried through the wood, shoving the clinging branches aside with reckless abandon. Once his anger cooled, mostly directed at himself, his pace slowed. The grass did not bend; the leaves did not crackle. A sentry started when he glided past the man, unheard until the last instant. Jin grinned, and then forced it under again. It helped to remind the tribe he was chieftain in more than bloodlines. The less challenges he had to deal with, the better. "A little late to be wandering, isn't it?" Jin jumped, whirling. Terran's burly form flowed out of the grass. Even in the flickering gleam of the campfires, he could see Terran's smirk. Jin scowled at him, though he couldn't see it with Jin's back to the fire. "It is unwise to sneak up on a chieftain." "It is far more unwise for the chieftain to allow it." In a battle of sharp comments, Terran would beat him every time. Jin turned away. "And you stayed up this late, just to scold me?" "No. Turoc sent me after you. It seems he thought you wouldn't listen to Kor." "I am not a child to be fetched at will," Jin growled. "You're certainly acting like one." Jin whirled on him, but Terran didn't back down. No amount of bluffing would cause that, which they both knew very well. His friend spoke again, "You have no intention of going to Turoc." "That is untrue." "It is you who is being untrue. I know you too well. That wound will turn into another battle scar, another reminder that the chieftain is invulnerable. It's not a risk you should take." "Terran, I choose what risks I wish to take." He moved closer. "Can't you take a little advice?" "No, I can't," he snapped. In the distance, the sentry of before stiffened and then relaxed again. Kor. Jin flicked Terran a glare. "I do not wish to discuss this tonight." "By morning, it won't matter." "I do not want to discuss this." Terran leaned into his face, squinting. Jin backed up, aware of footsteps coming closer. "What?" Terran shook his head. "I could have sworn your hair was uncut." And then turned on his heel and left him there, the insult ringing in his ears. Jin clenched his fists and swallowed the hot words in his mind. He saw motion out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, it was Kor, yet again, who stood there. He had almost certainly heard the insult from Terran. "What do you want now?" he snapped. Kor hesitated, for obvious reasons. Jin was too irritated to care. "What is it? Speak." |
| Daliah pulled away from Layole, holding up the letter. "I promised Jin I would give this to him." He nodded and let her go without complaint. She was grateful for that. Her heart was already pounding with the night of searching that lay ahead. As she neared him, Jin seemed to be speaking with Kor. She considered waiting, debating the urgency of the matter, but realized that the time was already drawing near. With a deep breath, she walked over and handed the creased paper to him. He opened it and began to read, his brow furrowing as he did. There was silence for a moment, and Kor began to look uneasy. "I should go." he muttered, already turning. "No." Daliah realized the was one of the first words she spoke to him. "Stay a moment. Now, tell me. In your upbringing, were you ever taught to track?" "Do you mean deer or hare?" "Not entirely. Did you learn of the Ugama?" Kor's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Do you know what you're suggesting?" "Yes." she smiled. "But what is life without danger now and then?" |
| "Depends on the danger," Kor quipped. "Too dangerous and life isn't life at all, it's death." Still, he smiled, and that smile grew increasingly wider as he contemplated her idea. "Then again, if one has to die, why not die in an inferno of dragon's breath?" "Dragon?" Daliah asked. Kor shrugged. "Dragons, drakes, wyverns, wyrms... all words my people use to refer to the Ugama." Jin was frowning and his eyes were narrowed. "How do you propose we actually catch a Gama?" He jutted his chin at his own shoulder, then at Kor, indicating their relative bandages. Daliah shrugged. "The same way anyone does. Find her first, then proceed from there." "It's the 'from there' that concerns me," Jin pointed out. "An angry Gama is no trivial opponent. Many a skillful warrior has been snapped in half and cast aside like so much refuse, and might I remind you both that Kor and I are mending, but hardly at our full capacity?" Kor twisted his torso experimentally. "I don't think I could tangle with one now. But in a couple days, maybe... It'd hurt, but it wouldn't stop me. But as Daliah said, we have to find a Gama first, before we can try our hands at taming her." "You don't tame a Gama," Jin snapped. "You... persuade... her to do what you want. Many men have died trying. This sounds like a foolhardy plan." Kor chuckled and grinned broadly. "Which is why it's likely to work! If we survive, I'll write a song. How about that?" "Are you so eager to seek an early grave?" Jin growled. "By the Stars, you crescent-blinded maniac, your brashness is going to get you killed! And you," he hissed, rounding on Daliah, "Might I remind you that you've a child depending on you? Why rush off to get yourself killed? Surely you've a more sensible idea than this!" Daliah bit her lip a bit. "It's dangerous, yes, but it is by far the most sensible way to go about this, and I'll tell you why..." |
| Jin tuned out most of Daliah's explanation, but did not interrupt. Kor needed to know the reasoning she had explained earlier. The idea of tracking and persuading a Ugama was not foreign to him. His mother had been spurred into early labor from the attack by one, in revenge for the hatchling his father had killed. He had been christened in honor of th event. Jin-El, "fiery one" in Dragonian, changed to "dragon" if you spoke the tongue of the Mara. There was a time when those of the Mara and Dragonian were one people. Jin cocked his head, listening to the conversation, before breaking into it. "Enough. Even if we knew where the Ugama lurked, none of us are in a condition worthy of that beast. Nor would I abandon my tribe just yet. Once we journey through Dike Pass and reach Crossroads, perhaps. The Guild might help us." At mention of the Guild, Daliah's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing in obvious distrust and anger. Kor's blank expression suggested he, on the other hand, did not know of them. "The Guild?" Jin shrugged. Years of kidnapping, murder, and intrigue could not be summed up in a few sentences. "A sect of the T'Ollo, desert people, that we do not wish to cross." He smiled crookedly. "You've never been to the Mara, have you?" Kor shook his head. Jin dropped his voice into a hushed whisper. Even now, he could hear his old teacher, a bard he had apprenticed too, reminding of atmosphere. A good tale had plenty of that. "It's a vast sea of sand and rock, where the only life is a Derk-ra hungry for your flesh. Harsh wind peels the skin from your face, while the sun sears the rest of you. No water. Not for miles and miles. Do you know what they do to intruders?" "I don't think I want to know." Jin didn't pause. "They strip him, stake the unfortunate man spread-eagle on the burning sand. And place bets on which will get him first: Derk-ra or the sun." Kor's face paled. "Why..." his voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. "Why take the tribe there then?" "Chrys, the reigning Fay-el, is my kin. The leader of the Border Guards in Eastar, Ravin, knows me and grants us passage to Ratacca Korr. Though if I told him one of mine were traitor..." he flicked a glance at Kor, leaving the threat unfinished. Not that he distrusted the Hybrid. It was the reaction he wanted to see. Kor's eyes narrowed, hands clenching into fists. "Bloody, arrogant....after all I've done, and said, my lineage--" He took a menacing step closer, and Daliah stepped between them. "Mule-brained men!" She snapped. "This is not the time to fight." She glared at Kor. "I have heard you sing and play. You have some minstrel training. There are lays from the desert, are there not?" "Aye, but--" "So use your mind for more than gutting enemies! What do they say of the Mara, and Ugama?" Before he could answer, she had whirled on Jin. "You're trying to frighten him, you crescent-blinded, Eyrie-spawned thorla." Jin flinced at the last one. The term "thorla" had been used several times in his presence, in reference to Elam. He had grown to hate it. Her expression softened, somewhat, but it didn't curb her tongue. He quickly felt like a child caught with stolen sweets. His patience only stretched so far. "Enough." She quieted, though fire still glinted in her eyes. "Bloody Ajin-sty" Kor chuckled under his breath. Spit-fire was definitely the proper term for her. Daliah didn't catch it, though her sharp glares at them both suggested she would puzzle it out later. Jin cooled his temper. With the right words from her, Layole could make him miserable for many days to come. Slipping cinnamon into his food, waking him at odd hours of the night, insisting on old traditions...Jin grimaced. Layole as an enemy would be very bad indeed. He forced a smile. "If I offended, Daliah, please forgive me. I was only testing his mettle." He flicked a glance at Kor. The Hybrid's eternal optimisim had cleared his features into that same, easy grin that seemed permanently drawn on his face. Infuriating....but reliable as the sunrise. Jin cocked his head at the distant camp. "We can speak more, later. For now, we all need our rest." She looked like she was going to argue, then turned away. Layole's distant figure must have helped matters. Jin wondered idly how long she would sleep alone, before turning back to Kor. The Hybrid had already began to head in Daliah's direction. "Kor, there is one other question." He paused, glancing quizzically over his shoulder. "What would that be?" Jin ignored the cocky retort. "Tracking the Ugama is a fine goal, but there is one thing that must be settled first. Will you be with us through the Mara? Do you wish to remain with your...captor?" |
| Daliah grew sick of the fighting and hurled a stone into the lake, upseting the sleeping fish. Men that were usually so eager for decision were now arguing like children. She knew that she was far from rational, but perhaps a sound word from her would shock them into silence. Moments passed and still they argued. She tried to figure out what might end it, despite her urge for a good fight. They needed to conserve energy for the road ahead. Insults would only aggravate the matter. Her only hope was a gentle word. She turned around, her hair falling over her right eye. "Night is falling fast. Jin, you may want to get back to your son." He could not hide the surprise in his expression. Her voice had never been that calm. She returned her gaze to the lake and crossed her arms. He should return to his son if they did not reach a decision soon, for there would not be time left. Hopefully he would realize this on his own. She did not care to explain it. Though she could not see them, she knew the men were frozen in place. Such was the power of sudden change. Yet, for once, she did not enjoy her victory. Her heart ached with the thought of subjecting these people to the trials ahead. Yes, she too knew the conflict they faced. But she knew that this was necessary in the long run. She sighed and walked back to them. "If you continue to argue, your people may not have a sunrise to wake to. Surely you have noticed that the nights are longer and the moon is fading. This is not the time for games, and I will not be a part of it. I will leave with or without you." Jin seemed confused, yet refused to admit it. "You always have the passion for an argument. Are you so imbalanced?" The question may or may not have been an insult, but she took it as one. She was too tired to look for the meaning behind it. She pulled her sword carefully from her sheath, pointing it away so that they knew it wasn't a threat. "I have already seen a country destroyed by men's folly. I will not stand to see another." Then she left them to sort out her words while she tried to rest at least a little before morning came. By the look of the sky, though, she had a long time to wait. |
| Kor cleared his throat awkwardly to clear the uncomfortable silence left in the wake of Daliah's scolding. Jin, who a moment before had been scowling in the direction in which the demon-blessed woman had stalked off, sighed heavily and turned stiffly to look over his shoulder at the redhead with a raised eyebrow. "She's right, you know," Kor pointed out airily with a little wave of his hand. The Fay-el's frown deepened and flat words fell like stones from his lips. "She speaks of matters which are not her concern." Kor chuckled and clucked his tongue mildly. "Now now, Fay-el, you yourself named her Ajin-sty! You know well that she is not the sort to be confined to a traditional woman's role. Besides, woman or not, her words were wisdom, whether you want to admit it or not. Although, I'll admit, having her scold us like two little boys still clinging to our mothers' skirts was not a particularly pleasant experience." His grin suggested he didn't actually have any such discomfort about the dressing down but was, in fact, rather amused by it. "Perhaps," was all Jin said for a moment. Then, after a few seconds had passed, he added, "We should get back to the camp. But first, my question?" It was Kor's turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. "What question?" Then he searched his memory and grunted. "Oh right. Would I like to stay? That is a complicated question, with an even more complicated answer, but the short version is: yes. I left my people to seek out you Dragonians, and not only did I find you, but much more besides. Although I was not particularly interested in establishing contact with my father or his family or tribe, now that I've found the Shinar and Joran and my... my little sister... Well, I want to stay, if only to get to know them a little bit. But even so, it would be exceedingly foolish of me to leave the Dragonians so soon after just having found you! So family or not, I wish to travel through the Mara with you." |
| Daliah wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she sat before the fire. She had not realized how frozen her hands were until it felt like they were melting over the blaze. This was the only thing she noticed, for the memory of her father's letter blocked out the rest. She could feel the hard binding beneath the cloth of her skirt. It weighed heavily on her leg. Her hand slipped into her pocket, feeling the patch of worn leather. A shiver entered her fingers and ran up her arm. She drew them away, gazing into the flames. Gaharis had once told her that there were many answers that could be found in the fire, though he had never shown her. As she watched the yellow and orange tongues dance, she could not help but wonder what they could tell her. How had her father died? Had he felt pain? Would he have loved her? She blew a misty breath into her cupped hands, rubbing them thoughtfully. It hardly seemed fair, even with the mistakes she had made in her past. Perhaps that was why she wanted so much to protect them. There was nothing that frightened her more than another fatherless child. Something brushed her shoulder, causing her to jump. She breathed a sigh of relief when Layole sat beside her. "You know better than to scare me like that. I could have cut you, you know." she whispered, worriedly stroking her knife. "I spoke to you, but you must not have heard." he looked concerned at the sight of her pale face. "What plagues your mind?" She smiled bitterly. "The same as every other night. Unanswered questions." He rubbed her still chilled hand with his own. Warmth rushed over her skin, banishing the cold. "Perhaps I can answer a few." "No." she shook her head. "Those that could are long dead." "All right. I see you are not going to make this easy, so I will tell you what I do know." He looked up at the moon, contemplating his words before turning back to her. "You are stubborn, nigh unreadable, you frighten just about every man here. You scold grown men like they were boys, and wield a sword better than most. Gloom is written in your eyes, yet you refuse to speak of it. You are rude, pushy, and secretly afraid." She bit her lip and looked away. "Yet in your heart is courage, and when you love, you love well. That is why I love you." "How do you know so much of me?" she wondered aloud, glad the dark hid the redness in her cheeks. "I have always been good at reading people." he replied. "But I cannot read why you are upset." She sighed and pulled the letter from her pocket. "I found a letter from my father, and I cannot help but feel that my fate is somehow entwined with his." |
| The tribe made good time. Within seven days, the outskirts of Findor Plains was behind them; the borderland of the Mara Desert directly ahead. The only delay in their westward trek had been a small Hybrid raiding party. The twins’ careful scouting prevented the ambush, and turned the tables. It had ended with the raiding party destroyed, new weapons and supplies for the tribe, and high spirits. Jin soothed his horse absently, eyes on the expanding sea of golden dunes. From here, the outer borderland ended. Scrubby trees, the shallow pool of water, scrawny rabbits—all would vanish beneath the burning sun and sand of the true Mara. The desert had earned its name; the Mara was truly a bitter place. The gelding snorted again, tossing its head against the hold on its reins. Jin patted its sweating flank, murmuring in Old Dragonian. He preferred his stallion, but overusing the war-horse was not wise. For now, the flighty gelding would have to do. The crunch of approaching hooves made Jin look away from the dazzling sand. Kor rode a speckled gray, his eyes on the sand as well. Jin smiled at the expression on his face. A beach of hot sand was one thing; this limitless sea of barren wasteland was another. Kor had added two horses to his picket since the skirmish, from the deaths of their previous, Hybrid owners. Most of the warriors accepted him as one of their own now. None of Jin’s honor guard stirred when the Aquila’s gray came abreast of him. Kor remained silent, studying the sand. What had caused this place of death had been lost many years ago, such as the making of the janin. Legends claimed the drakes of the Rim, with their cold fire from snowy peaks, had battled with the sea dragons. When the Rim drakes won the battle, and demanded the submission of the dragons, they chose revenge instead, scorching their homeland with the flames of their own bodies. The Dragonian people had earned their name from the legend, though not of their own choosing. They had called themselves Wanderers, the Ishtar, but the Eloin had refused the name, preferring to mock them. The willingness of the dragons to die, rather than surrender to slavery, was foolishness to the Other mind. Though they had not chosen the name, the Dragonians kept it as a badge of honor. Only the old lays would still use the term Ishtar now, and few minstrels knew the Ishtar and Dragonians were the same people. Most believed it to be a reference to the Aquila, who “wandered” through the sea. The gelding jerked its head. Jin loosened his tight hold on the reins. Pondering Eloin cruelty would not change the past, and only mar the future. He didn’t want to consider them today. Their troubles would be bad enough. “Hail to the Mara, scourge of compass and guide; List to the four winds, Ware of each tribe; When mistakes are made, the water is dried.” “What lay is that?” Kor said. Jin started. He had not intended to quote it aloud. “It’s old. Ancient.” “But what’s it called? You can’t deny a man his curiosity.” Jin glanced at him. Kor’s wide smile and the twinkling good humor in his eyes perked Jin’s mood. He returned it with an easy grin. “It is legend, most of it. I learned it for the Compass Chant. There, it recites all four provinces, their differences, and their dangers. It’s accurate on those at least.” Kor shook his head. “Ah, but you still haven’t answered my question. What is it called?” The grin became a chuckle, and then a hearty laugh. It had been a long time since he could laugh, and truly mean it. “You’re a bloody stubborn man.” Jin commented. Kor shrugged. Jin nudged his gelding closer to Kor. “Some people believe the lay to be true, and try to find the Tower of Brakir, the first Dragonian Fay-el. I didn’t want you to get any ideas. It’s called Tale of Dragonfang.” “I plan to stay here, with my people.” He cocked his head. “Dragonfang?” Jin patted the hilt of his janin. “Another name for the janin. According to the lay, Brakir promised his throne to the son who could bring a gift worthy of the Dragon King, as Brakir was nicknamed. The seventh son, Avali, journeyed through the icy Rim, traveled in the burning desert, and eventually cornered a dragon in its lair.” He had Kor’s interst, even if it was a legend. “And? What gift did he return with?” He dropped his voice lower, reciting the translation with careful inflection. “He battled the great she-dragon in her lair, for so it was that a hatchling grew within her. Golden scales flecked and fell, slashing Avali until dragonblood and human were mingled atop the stone. Hours he fought her, until his sword was riven. He seized the blades of those who had tried before, notched and broken, but sharp edge remaining. She drove him from her lair, to the snowy ledge. There they battled, dragonfire roaring. Skin afire, but heart determined, Avali fought her. Dragonslayer twice over. So the name he longed to bring.” Several of Jin’s honor guard had moved closer, but not out of a sense of danger. They had the same expression in their eyes as Kor. He continued on. “Blood and burn, Avali staggered. The she-dragon howled her fury. Teeth flashing, fire burning, her jaws closed upon him. But a twist and fall, a whirl of blade and bone. Fang shattered, driving into snow and stone. Roaring her pain, her head came higher. Weak and wounded, Avali rallied. He seized the fang, searing palm with its heat, and hurled it high. Drove her tooth against her. Throat torn and blood flowing, the she-dragon screamed. By her own fang she was felled.” Jin stopped, flicking a glance at Kor again. “Of course, the Ugama is called dragon, but I do not believe it to be as the legend claims of dragons. I suspect a Ugama to be a Derk-ra of unusual size, not a creature of fire and flight." “You don’t believe in much of anything, do you?” Jin shrugged, though the remark stung. “I trust my sword, my horse, and my strength. I do not trust in things I cannot see.” He drew the janin, presenting it to Kor hilt-first. “I do know this is not regular steel, though of what I am not certain.” Kor hesitated. Jin smiled good-naturedly. “Try it yourself.” The Aquila closed his hand tentatively over the hilt, and then brought it up in a quick salute. He slashed with it lightly, the motions familiar to Jin. He was testing its balance and weight. Jin knew he would notice the same odd things as he had. Light blade, yet strong edge. It had never broken, and rarely needed honing, yet he had used it to hack through bone before. It caught light easily, gleaming yellow in the sun, silver in the moon, scarlet by a campfire, and purple with the sunset. But there was no magic to it; no mystical powers that made it anymore than what it appeared to be, an unusual sword. Kor returned the janin to him, gesturing at the small Dragonian characters on the pommel. “Is that part of the legend too?” “Perhaps.” He slid the blade back into its scabbard. “It’s just an inscription, but it sounds connected to the lay to me. Snow aflame with desert blood: Fire and ice, meld to one.” Jin shrugged. “However, it is not dragons I fear, but the Mara and its creatures.” He cocked his head at Kor. “Beware the Derk-ra.” And then nudged his gelding into a flowing trot across the sand. Nightfall would bring its own terrors. |
| Kor had the strangest, most irrational hope that one of these near-legendary "Derk-ra" would be spotted sometime soon, not so close as to be a danger, but close enough that he could at least see it. He wanted a feel for its quality of movement, the particular hue of its scales against the sun, and the set of its bones beneath those scales for the ballad he was composing in his head. Already he had thought of a handful of Dragonian terms that rhymed with "Derk-ra", and one Aquilian word---ircna or "claw"---that would work well... if Derk-ra had claws or other features that made the words Kor'd selected appropriate. However, as afternoon faded into evening, and the patrols at the edge of camp doubled, the bard was suddenly not so very sure he wanted to encounter one of these creatures. Although the men and women at the center of the camp laughed and chatted amiably, the fires had been built high to discourage the beasts from venturing near, and the other men on patrol with Kor seemed fearful in the dark, unseen but for the occasional nervous shift from one foot to the other, or fidgeting with a dagger. Kor had not been taking part on the patrols long. Only after his necessary involvement in repelling the Hybrid skirmish had the Healer begrudgingly pronounced him fit, particularly after seeing his "patient" ride, victorious like the others, back into camp with two captured horses speaking for his battle readiness. However, Kor was not technically an adult warrior in the ways of the Dragonians, and although none failed to acknowledge that he was a man and showed the first signs of one day becoming a capable fighter, most knew of his lack of experience with shitan or sword. There was some reluctance among the more traditional of Jin’s warriors to allow an un-Confirmed man serve on the patrols, and some concern among the others to allow what basically amounted to a green fighter help protect the tribe. Only Kor’s status as “outsider” was no longer an issue, and soon the other warriors had overcome their fears concerning him and he had been accepted in the patrols as necessity demanded. The Mara was a dangerous place, and the tribe needed every fighter---experienced or not---it had to keep its women, children and elderly safe. As evening deepened into night, Kor’s caution and trepidation shifted back toward a mix of fear and excitement. He really, really wanted to spot a Derk-ra, and be just close enough to it so that he could commit its features to memory. |
| Daliah crossed her arms as the wind picked up, throwing bits of stinging sand into her face. But, though she'd never been this far, she was used to it. Camping under the stars for the past fifteen years had taken care of that. Now she found herself watching the horizon for something unknown. Answers, perhaps. But answers to what? She began to pace, a nervous habit. Something was coming. She could feel it. Her hand twitched, itching for her blade. The wind slowly forced her to close her eyes, so that she found herself surrounded by unbearable darkness until a sudden image flashed before her. A man was dragging a small girl down several flights of stone steps. Well, he was trying to, but she insisted on skipping, seemingly unaware of fire that was coming down outside. Daliah sensed the fear and frustration in him as he finally picked her up and carried her to the bottom. She smiled when he finally set her down. "Are we playing another game?" she asked. Inspiration took him and he nodded. "Yes. We're going to pretend we're in a battle. The enemy has us surrounded, and there is only one way out, but it won't be long before it is gone. Understand? Good. Now listen, because this part is really important. You have to make sure no one sees you, all right? You have to be very quiet, you cannot make any noise, not even a sneeze. If you do, the enemy will hear, and you lose the game." She nodded, still smiling. "Okay. I am ready." The girl did not question him when he embraced her tightly, though she could hardly breathe. She was already playing, already silent. As he sent her off, she sprinted where he pointed, to the stables. Again she did not ask why she went alone, for she trusted him and was too far into the game to say anything. Gaharis, her father's closest friend and her playmate, met her there. Without saying a word, he ran over to her and all but threw her onto his horse. Then he swung up behind her and dug his heels sharply into the ribcage. The horse flew from the building and sprang away. Home fell behind them quickly, and the girl found herself travelling farther than she had ever been. It slowly dawned upon her that this was not a game. She looked back before Gaharis could stop her, just in time to see her country erupt into flames. Daliah nearly dropped to the ground with this memory. But when she turned back to the camp, her eyes shone with tears. |
| Jin paced the perimeter of the camp, content to let his two feet carry him. He wouldn't be able to rest until he had checked, and rechecked, the precautions he had taken. Elam trailed close behind him, bumping against his back when he paused unexpectedly. Some older boy had told him a story on the Derk-ra; Elam's fertile imagination had supplied the rest. Clutching his bow tightly, Elam kept a watchful, and fearful, eye on the dark night around them. Jin smiled, but didn't comment. It was unlikely Elam could hit, much less kill a Derk-ra. But if it made him feel safer, so be it. At least Elam could shoot the bow better than he could. No one had ever bothered to teach him. Not with Corin already present. A woman sobbed, breaking into a pitiful keening of grief and loss. Elam tensed. "Someone hurt?" Jin shook his head. "Listen." The woman's grief shifted higher, became a stallion's dying scream, and then rose into a sharp whistle. Soon, they couldn't hear it, but feel that eerie cry shuddering in the bones. Jin rubbed at his shoulder and turned away. "Nothing to worry about. They haven't found us yet." "The--The Derk-ra?" "Aye. But that sound...it means they're still looking. If they had found us..." "What?" Jin hesitated. "It just sounds different. You can hear them from far away sometimes. That's why they sound so close." "Oh." Jin smiled. He crouched down to eye level with him. "It's late. Why don't you go to bed now?" "I'm not tired." He insisted stubbornly. His eyes narrowed in a perfect imitation of Jin himself. "I don't want to sleep yet." "I know. But you want to be wide awake for the Border Guards, don't you? They'll probably take you to their barracks if I ask." "Border Guards?" Jin nodded. "But you have to rest if you want to stay awake tomorrow. What if you fell asleep, right when they wanted to show you something special? Like a lune." "A lune? Really?" "They have plenty of them, bigger and brighter than mine. The Guild makes them." "How?" "You'll have to ask the Border Guards tomorrow. If..." Elam hitched the bow under his arm and ran. Jin grinned at his retreating figure and straightened again. He finished his circuit of the camp alone. Crouching down by the fire, Jin yawned and checked the points, the latter out of habit. He had grown used to traveling at night; he still felt flooded with energy, but it was fading. The warmth of the small campfire helped. “Tired?” Jin glanced up and smiled. “Terran. I don’t know how you do it.” “Do what?” “Sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugged and settled beside him, staring into the flickering flames. “Ravin sent an owl an hour ago.” “They’ve spotted us already.” “Aye. Ravin plans to meet you tomorrow morning.” “Good. We’ll run out of water in a few days. Ravin knows the oasises better than I do.” “Agreed. How will he take a Hybrid in the tribe?” “Kor and Daliah are under my protection, as much mine as Elam. Ravin will not touch them.” Terran chuckled. “Oh, Ravin won’t kill him, certainly. But he’ll certainly test Kor’s skill, or try to. He loves to spar. You should know that.” Jin grimaced. It had been the only way to earn Ravin’s trust. The bruises and cuts had healed after a few days; his pride had taken the most time. He chose to change the subject. “Speaking of pests, where is Kor?” “Hmm? He was with Joran, down by the horse lines.” Terran grinned. “I think they were trying to sneak a peek at a Derk-ra.” “Foolhardy.” Terran shrugged. “Neither of them have seen one. If you plan to hunt the Ugama…” he continued, ignoring Jin’s start of surprise. “He needs practice with their smaller kin anyway. A few nips, an hour or two with Derk-ra venom coursing in his veins, and he’ll be more careful, I’m sure. It'll add to his knowledge anyway.” “And Joran?” “Joran can defend himself. And his brother. Besides, there are plenty of sentries near who have traveled the Mara before. They’ll know when the Derk-ra attack. I made sure of that.” “You planned it, didn’t you?” Terran shrugged. Jin could only shake his head. “I don’t like that cunning gleam in your eye. You’re up to something.” “I am. I’ll explain eventually.” The Derk-ra shrieked again, a grating whistle that became a woman’s scream again, this time dropping low in a rapid slide. “Ah, they’ve caught the scent.” Terran nudged his shoulder. “Go to bed. I’ll watch over Kor.” “You’ve lost your senses.” Terran laughed. “Perhaps. But that’s my choice, not yours. Quit worrying. Go to bed.” |
| "There," Joran whispered, pointing. Kor narrowed his eyes against the press of darkness, but did not see. The moon's light had been swallowed by a cloud and Joran was more accustomed to staring into the black maw of night and could make out minute changes in the layered shadows better than the bard could. "Where?" he breathed back, his eyes darting uselessly left and right. His brother did not answer, instead slipping sideways around Kor, grasping the older man's upper arm and pulling him hard backwards. Kor actually stumbled somewhat, simultaneously marveling at his little brother's unexpected strength and straining his eyes to follow a flash of blackness that slipped with naught but a soft rustle of sand across their feet. "Here," Joran said, a blend of fear and excitement in his voice. The darkness blurred toward them again, and again Joran dodged, twisting his brother around and out of the way with him. "I can't see it!" Kor growled. "It's toying with us," Joran remarked. "Testing. Here it comes again." This time, Kor heard the slide of the youth's blade out of his scabbard. A shadow converged on them again, faster this time, and Kor stumbled back away from it himself this time, pulling Joran with him. He heard the snap of fangs as it passed. "What is it? I still can't bloody see!" he hissed, reaching for his belt and pulling a Cat's Tongue torch free. Bending briefly, he struck it against the sand at his feet, igniting a spark and then the entire end of the torch. "Don't!" Joran snapped, grabbing his elder brother's wrist and trying to drive it toward the sand. "Snuff it!" His steel-gray eyes were very wide, though with terror or anticipation, Kor could not tell. "I can't see without it!" he complained, flexing his arm somewhat so that his little brother's efforts were futile. Still, the youth's wiry strength surprised him. "Where is it?" The Derk-ra was nowhere to be found, if indeed it even was a Derk-ra. Joran shook his head. "They don't like fire," he explained to his sadly ignorant brother. Kor's mouth opened into a little O of understanding. "Shall I put it out, then? I still haven't seen the demon-blasted---" There was nothing but open desert around them, but the Derk-ra leapt out of nowhere, seeming to unfold from the sand. Kor didn't see it coming, and yet was moving out of its way already, his arm raising to thrust the torch at it without him consciously thinking about it. It didn't do him much good. The beast landed in the sand a few paces from him, then leapt again. Seeing it this time, Kor stepped aside again, swinging the fire he now knew it hated toward it. But the beast didn't go for Kor so much as the torch in Kor's hand, and the bard and cat-lizard-wolf thing collapsed together to the sand as the beast's jaws closed over the torch. “Stars and crescents!” he yelled, feeling the shallow bite of the creature’s fangs as it literally tried to eat the flaming torch, and Kor’s hand with it. Sure he was about to lose his arm, he kicked out, his knee connecting with the scaled beast's middle. He felt strangely tired, and the kick felt slowed, somehow. The Derk-ra yelped, a strangely woman-like sound, but did not release the burning torch. Neither did its fangs pierce deeper into Kor’s wrist; the torch was too big for that. “What the—” Kor hissed in mixed amazement and terror, seeing fire briefly lick the sides of the creature’s long snout as, growling, it struggled to put out the flame with its mouth. He had the sudden, uncomfortable realization that the hard wood of the torch was the only thing preventing the creature’s strong jaws from closing entirely on his forearm, and that if he tried to yank his arm out, he’d end up with worse than the shallow scratches he’s earned himself already. Yet if he didn't move his arm, the flame would burn him. Another rush of fatigue washed over him and the flame faltered somewhat as the Derk-ra bore down in it more, growling musically in frustrated determination. But Cat's Tongue torches burned long and hard, and the sputtering flame continued tenaciously. "I told you they don't like fire!" Joran explained again, driving his shitan, the twin of Kor’s own, into the Derk-ra’s flank. It screamed like a woman in childbirth again, flames from the torch briefly spilling out of its mouth again, and Kor took that as a reminder that perhaps he, too, should use his weapon. With the hand that was not currently trapped beside a flaming torch between the razor-like fangs of a Derk-ra, he drew his shitan and drove it into the beast’s soft underbelly. Twisting viciously and hoping the Derk-ra's answering scream was a death cry, he pulled the blade free. He did not, however, have the opportunity to strike again, for at that moment Terran melted from the sand, shitan in each hand, and blurred toward the creature. Driving one blade into the base of the Derk-ra’s tail---causing it to release Kor’s wrist and the still feebly burning torch with a screech---he straddled the thrashing creature and drove the other blade beneath its jaw and up into its neck. And just like that, it was done. “Are you two hurt?” Terran asked, cleaning the twin blades and sheathing them smoothly as he straightened. “No, sir,” Joran replied, mimicking the blademaster’s movements somewhat less dexterously. Kor extracted his hand carefully from the lizard creature’s mouth, only now noticing the bitter scent of its breath. He scrunched his nose and flexed and unflexed his hand briefly. The burns from the torch hurt worse than the shallow punctures and scratches from the Derk-ra’s fangs, and neither looked serious. The burns might blister, maybe, but they hadn’t been near the torch for too long. “I’m fine. Tired.” He felt slightly dizzy. "Tired? I thought so..." Terran’s eyes shifted from the shallow cuts to the dead Derk-ra, then back to the two brothers. “Are you two satisfied now?” Kor took in the muscular, serpentine form of the scaled creature, noting the play of firelight over its black opal and mother-of-pearl scales, and nodded. “Yes.” He caught a strange gleam in the other man's eye and raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" "I'm more satisfied than you are." Thinking of the song he now knew how to write, Kor grinned. "I'm not so sure about that." “We’ll see if you feel the same way in a few hours,” Terran commented dryly. “Well… why don’t you come back to camp now and let the others have their bit of fun with the Derk-ra? Where there’s one, there are usually others, and I’m sure later you won’t feel up to fighting another tonight.” Confused, Kor followed the blademaster back to camp. “I don’t feel like fighting another now,” he pointed out, but Terran only sighed and murmured something about “crescent-blinded, ignorant Hybrids” in an oddly pleased voice. |
| Daliah slipped silently around the fire, watching briefly as stories were exchanged and arguments began. Then she walked back to the edge of the camp, listening for anything that might be a threat. She'd heard the Derk-ra, but it seemed to have been handled. There was no need for her to search for it. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, but it was immediately blown back. Frustrated as she was, she left it there, letting the sand coat her skin and hair. That was nothing new, but it was anything but pleasant. She kept walking, careful not to breathe it in. It had been hard enough to get a minute alone, she didn't need any attention right now. Usually she found comfort in nature, but the desert seemed stripped of even that. There was no sign of life, just endless stretches of sand. It had been beautiful in the sunset, but now that it was dark, it was cold and unforgiving. She licked her lips, grimacing when her tongue came back covered in grit. Her body grew restless, and she was tempted to lure a Derk-ra just to be able to move. Yet even she was not dumb enough for that. There was only one thing that would cure it. She stripped off everything except for her clothes, sword and dagger, then took off. Running in the sand was no easy task, but it was just what she needed. Hot blood took over her frozen fingers, leaving her exhilirated. She kicked up dust, though there was little sound. Her feet carried her effortlessly, and she soon found herself looking back to the camp. She stopped, her heart racing even though she could still see it. It was probably time to go back, she'd come far enough. She twirled her dagger around her arms as she walked back. There hadn't been any cries close by, so she wasn't in any real hurry. At the moment, she was content in watching the flash of her blade when it reflected the moonlight. The cold began to seep back through her skin, but she ignored it. She'd faced colder weather than this. Why worry about it now? Leather creaked, even though her boots had never done such a thing. She also heard an attempt at silent breathing. Her lips curled into a smile. This could be rather fun. She slowed her steps, now tossing her dagger from one hand to the other. After a moment she began to hum, fearing nothing from this person. If he wanted to attack, he would have done so already. Perhaps she would have been appropriate to confront him right away, but she was starved for excitement. Maybe she could toy with him for just a few minutes... It only took that long before it became dull. This person was easy to hear, not a challenge at all. She let her dagger drop to the ground so that she could kneel down to get it. As she did, she glanced back to catch a glimpse of the noisy culprit. The girl looked to be about thirteen, clothed in a somewhat worn, brown dress and boots. Light from the fire caught the red tint of her hair, leaving a small halo around her head. She was rubbing her arms, watching her curiously. "You might want to get to bed." Daliah called back to her. "It will be a long day tomorrow." She seemed surprised at first, then crossed her arms in defiance. It was a posture she knew all too well. There was no way she would be able to get her to go back alone. She sighed and rose to her feet. "Come, I will walk you back. Your parents will have my head if anything happens to you." The girl shook her head. "They have no idea I'm gone. I don't get caught easily. You're the first to notice." In spite of herself, Daliah found herself intrigued. "What's your name?" "Caira." "Well, Caira, why were you following me?" "You are not supposed to go anywhere alone. But I wasn't there the whole time, just when you were close enough to the camp so I could follow without you seeing me. At least, that was the idea. How did you hear me?" "I will tell you tomorrow. At the moment, we both need our rest." |
| Howling and screaming, a Derk-ra's death was a noisy warning to the rest of his pack. And an annoyance when it was repeated over several hours. Jin sighed and tried to burrow deeper into his blankets. It was expected. Baiting a Derk-ra, and the thrill that followed, was not restricted to youths alone. Tomorrow, several warriors would have the brilliant scarlet or orange crests of the Derk-ra dangling from lances or braids. When another howl broke into the night, Jin sat up. He raked a hand through his hair. Elam mumbled, one hand thumping him in the ribs, before finding the edge of the blanket, and tugging it close again. Jin flicked an annoyed glance his way. "At least you can sleep," he muttered. Curling onto his side, Elam claimed the rest of the blanket. Jin shook his head and left him there. He found Layole first. His second was little help. With him distracted and searching for Daliah, their conversation was about as productive as chatting with sleeping Elam. Next was Terran. The blademaster crouched by the fire, sharpening his shitans. The tatoo on his forearm seemed alive. The dark lines writhed and coiled in the flickering light; the amber eyes gleamed with savage intent. Jin settled by his side and gestured at the tatoo. "How many did you kill?" Terran flicked him a glance. "Enough." He cocked his head. "Little late for you to be roaming, isn't it?" A round of harsh swearing punctuated his statement. Jin glanced toward the sound and then swiveled his gaze back to Terran, eyebrows arched. His friend laughed. "I see what you mean. They'll quiet down in a bit." He sheathed the shitan. "Though I remember a time when you used to do the same." Jin smiled. He bore the scars across his ribs to prove it. "And paid for it in blood." "True, but you still have the crest." He shrugged. Warmth flooded across his cheekbones. "Perhaps." Terran chuckled dryly, but didn't press him. He changed the subject lightly. "Kor and Joran finally spotted their Derk-ra. Though, I doubt the Hybrid feels too well now." Jin grimaced. Derk-ra preferred their prey alive, but unmoving. The paralyzing venom rarely killed, but the discomfort would take hours to work out of his system. "How is he?" "Don't know. I was going to check on him in a minute. Do you want me to wake Turoc?" Jin shook his head. "As you pointed out, I do know firsthand what a Derk-ra bite can feel like. I have a few herbs in my supplies. I'll check on Kor, as you want me to." Terran cocked his head. "Whatever are you talking about?" "You can't fool me." He shrugged. "He tended you before. I thought you'd want to return the favor." "I'd prefer knowing what moon-spawned idea is in your bloody skull." "You'll find out when I'm ready to share." Terran shifted, yawning absently. "Which reminds me, your honor guard needs refreshing." Jin's eyes widened. "You wouldn't." "Refresh your guard?" "Terran." He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't fret. You worry more than a woman. Go tend the Hybrid." "Terran." "Is your shoulder bothering you?" Jin blinked at the sudden shift. "What?" "I think so. I should wake Turoc to tend you." " That isn't fair." Terran held his gaze, but said nothing. Jin sighed. "Fine. But please, don't do anything...rash." "Me? Never." Jin swore under his breath, but left him there. Terran was worth than a mule sometimes. |
| Obeying the advice an annoyingly cheerful Terran had given him upon their return to camp, Kor was trying to sleep, but it wasn’t as easy as he would have thought it would be. Although his limbs were as immovable as fallen logs and he could neither open his eyes nor speak, his mind was wide awake and he couldn’t seem to dive into sleep. This disturbing inability to move frightened Kor somewhat, but infuriated him more. Terran had chuckled as he’d helped the bard take off his boots and lie down, and reassured him that it was “just the onset of Derk-ra paralysis” he was feeling and soon either he or Turoc would be by soon with a remedy that was “somewhat less pleasant than the poisoning”. Crescents take the man! Kor cursed in his mind, struggling to no avail to get his body to move. What did he meant by that? And where in the Stars is he? Terran had been gone a good five minutes already, and Kor was beginning to feel a strange heaviness descend upon his chest, making it harder and harder to draw breath every moment. He heard footsteps approaching his little bedroll by the fire and was surprised when it was Jin’s voice, and not that of Terran or Turoc, that spoke. “Kor? Awake?” Stars and Crescents, what do you think, you demon-blinded fool? The chieftain of the tribe of the Shinar obviously did not hear the ranting of the helpless Hybrid before him. “I’m going to assume that yes, you are, for I remember the first time I myself felt the Derk-ra’s venom running thick through my veins.” Well, that’s blasted interesting, Jin! Now get me Turoc or Terran and whatever Star-cursed ‘remedy’ they’ve got for me! The Hybrid felt the Jin’s hand rest for a moment at his pulse, then upon his chest. It remained there for three slow, labored breaths, and then went away. He heard the clink of glass against metal, and then Jin said lightly, “You are a healer of some variety. Perhaps you are familiar with the effects of the kurara berry?” Realizing he had no choice but to be patient, Kor considered. Kurara berry? It’s not from Aquila, but close enough that mother got it in the spring from the old hedge-woman with the blue herb baskets. Causes extreme muscle relaxation, sometimes to the point of paralysis. Dangerous, but occasionally useful in surgery. Laeri’s daughter needed it when she had to have that tumor removed from her abdomen, but mother had to give her an antidote because she stopped breathing… Jin continued to the sound of more gentle taps of glass against metal. “Derk-ra venom, I’m sure you are discovering right now, is rather like the poison of a kurara berry. I remember how within seconds after I had slain my first Derk-ra, my fingers and toes started to get a little numb and my eyelids started to droop. It was then that I noticed the long scratch on my arm, which had seemed like an almost-inconsequential wound at the time, or maybe a fine badge of my prowess as a warrior. I ignored the numbness and sudden fatigue and sat down upon the ground to claim the beast’s crest for my janin.” I would bet my very shitan that his fingers became unwieldy and he destroyed his crest. Ha! The folly of youth. Was I ever that dumb? Oh right, I’m in the same position Jin was in when he was half my age. Will I ever live this down? At least I’ll have a song to write. “Oh foolish bard, is it so hard, to slay the Derk-ra… something rhyming with ‘ra’… Fa… ga? Kurara?” Jin chuckled, almost as though he’d heard Kor’s thoughts. There was the sound of something being stirred in a metal container. “So there I was, kneeling on the ground with my hands crimson with the Derk-ra’s blood and its crest halfway removed from the scales of its hide, when suddenly my hands started to fail me. My fingers began to move very slowly, like an old man’s, and I nearly slipped and cut myself with my knife. And so I finished the task as hurriedly as I could, and started back toward the tribe.” Kor had a feeling he knew where this was going. The young Jin would encounter a brother, mentor, perhaps even Kor’s father Renji, who would scold the young warrior, warn him of the dangers of the Derk-ra, and commend him for getting the Derk-ra’s crest. And that would be Jin’s subtle way of scolding Kor. Why didn’t I think of claiming the thing’s crest for myself? Or Crescents, why didn’t Joran? Surely a boy that young would love to dangle a bit of lizard-dragon-wolf-thing from his shitan! I wonder if Jin notices that we did not bring one back? Will Joran be ashamed not to have claimed a crest? Jin’s story took an unexpected turn for the worse. “As I was heading back to camp, where I knew Turoc would be able to tend me and my brother would congratulate me for my kill, my arms and legs suddenly became very weak, and my head began to feel too heavy for my neck. I sat down upon the ground briefly to rest, but the feeling of weakness did not pass, but instead grew and grew. Soon, I was unable even to sit up, and I lay down upon the sand for two hours not five minutes from where I had slain my first Derk-ra and waited for its poison to wear off or for someone to find me. It became harder and harder to breathe, and still I could not move. Luckily, my older brother came upon me then and brought me to Turoc. It was a fortunate thing indeed, for the old wheezer---he was old then, too, and not much more gentle---knew what to do, as does any healer of the Dragonian people.” What would Turoc have done? Hmm… if I recall correctly, mother always said to monitor the breaths of a patient who is under the effects of the kurara berry for at least three hours. The poison spreads its paralysis from the extremities to the torso and finally the respiratory system, and often the patient ceases to breathe and needs to be given emergency breaths or an antidote. Blazes, what is that antidote? “Needless to say,” Jin continued, giving whatever he was making a final stir, “Since that day, although I always encourage my warriors to test their mettle against the Derk-ra, I also require them to carry a very small measure of ground calaba bean. It is a very simple remedy, easy for us to find---if we know where to look---and produce. There’s this very squat little plant, with long leaves, right? We can grind the beans or mash the tuber into a fine powder, which can then be added to a small measure of whiskey, rum, or any other spirit really. It instantly halts the effects of Derk-ra poison, which is great, but it also sends the body into immediate withdrawal, which is not so great. Know you the withdrawal effects of kurara? Withdrawing from Derk-ra venom is like that...” Oh no… Kor thought with a certain sinking feeling, and tried to stir. But his body would not obey him and he could not open his mouth to voice his protest. The stirring stopped. “So, what I have here in my hand is a dosage of fire brandy mixed with calaba bean. The stuff has a faintly nutty taste, but you won’t be able to detect it over the brandy. There’s a lot of it; you’ll be a little drunk. I’ll give you this now---” Kor felt the press of a metal cup against his lips and then a rush of liquid into his mouth. “---and in about ten seconds it should start to work its somewhat vile magic.” Kor coughed feebly at the burn of the brandy, but his body was still able to swallow, and swallow he did, lest he drown. Kor felt his toes tingle a little bit, and then his finger twitched. Jin must have noticed, because he said sympathetically, “Just remember, practically every man over the age of fifteen here has experienced the joys of the Derk-ra venom at one time or another. Except Talen, but his time will come.” Sure enough, Kor saw the flicker of one or more figures passing by the fire and heard the rueful chuckle of a couple warriors. I’ll puke in your porridge, Kor promised, but was relieved to feel a greater rush of air into his lungs as he once again caught a breath. His leg kicked out involuntarily. “Gah,” he sputtered. This time Jin chuckled. “Right…” Kor heard the other man standing up and managed to peel his eyes open. The Fay-el grimaced as the bard twitched again and he stooped to grab the end of Kor's bedroll. “I’ll just pull you over here, so you don’t accidentally throw yourself into the fire.” “Demon… blasted---” Jin laughed, depositing the Hybrid a ways away from the fire. “Don’t blame it on me! I’m not the one who got himself gnawed on by Derk-ra. And what in the name of the Stars is that?” he demanded, raising an eyebrow at Kor’s wrist when the bard one again flailed randomly. “A burn? What were you doing out there? Don’t you know that the Derk-ra hate fire?” Kor felt uncomfortably hot, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He snarled. “Didn’t know it'd… attack fire!” Jin frowned and pulled the bedroll higher on Kor’s shoulders. Kor pushed it back down, not liking the feeling of sweat against fabric, and Jin pulled it back up. “Stop it. Joran didn't tell you?” “I did!” the boy’s voice piped up suddenly, appearing from behind one of the tents on the far edge of Kor’s vision and striding toward them. He knelt beside his older brother, who shuddered in greeting, feeling a cramp rising in his middle. The blankets felt too warm but also protected his sweating body from the coolness of the desert night. Kor grudgingly accepted it; it’s what he would have done if a patient were sweating excessively, even if it was not what made him feel comfortable. “Mother said to leave you alone until you’d been given the calaba,” Joran said. He grinned. “Did you see the crest I got?” “Joran,” Jin snapped, “go back to your mother. Your brother’s not feeling well.” “Nobody ever feels well after being given the calaba,” Joran grumbled, but obeyed. As he retreated, Kor could see the scarlet crest tied about his little brother’s shitan. “Very… bright,” Kor commented. Joran cast a smile over his shoulder and disappeared behind the tents. Jin sighed heavily. “I hope you two have learned that the Derk-ra are nothing to be trifled with.” Kor drew in a long breath. “It’s well we encountered… one now, with th’ tribe close by.” This time it was a wave of nausea, and not difficulty breathing, which stopped him, and he frowned at the foul taste in his mouth. “---Better’n waiting till one… snuck up... to fight one for the first time.” “I suppose that makes a… kind of sense,” Jin admitted grudgingly. But then he pointed his janin at Kor, who merely curled miserably around his cramping middle. “Still, you should have found out everything you possibly could have about the Derk-ra before running off to fight one. I would have expected you, at least, to know about their venom, and shouldn’t there be a song somewhere that mentions their hatred of fire?” “Least we killed it,” Kor gasped. Sweat was pouring into his eyes and it only increased the misery of the muscle cramps. “Well, Terran did, in any case.” “Water?” Jin interrupted. The very notion made Kor even more nauseous, and he shook his head, then reconsidered. He knew what he’d require of a patient. “Yes.” “The two of you did well,” Jin admitted after the Hybrid had drank. “Terran would not have let Joran keep the crest if he hadn’t earned it.” Kor gasped out a chuckle around a spasm. “Terran… didn’t even see. Came… last second. Saved our hides.” “No,” Jin shook his head. “Terran would have been watching to see how you fared. Most warriors fight Derk-ra for the first time in groups of four or five and are not able to get in more than a blow or two on a Derk-ra before the beasts scratch or bite them and must be driven off by someone more skilled. That you and Joran fended one off on your own long enough to earn a crest before Terran had to step in speaks well for your potential. Fighting a Derk-ra is five parts wits, four parts evasion and only one part offensive maneuvering.” Kor curled around another cramp. “And ten blasted parts foolishness,” he added. Daliah appeared with another young woman in tow. "What in the name of the Stars happened to you?" |
| Daliah tried not to laugh as Kor explained his situation. Had her first experience been any better? She remembered Gaharis alternating between scolding and laughing for days on end. That had not helped any, so she would let him be until he was well enough to take it. Caira shifted behind her, and Daliah suspected she was thinking similarly. Hopefully she would hold her tongue. The calaba's after-effects could be rather unpleasant. Even if Kor's pride was not already injured, he would anger easily. Oddly enough, she did not feel like arguing tonight. She locked eyes with Jin, and she felt he had something to tell her. Well, she had to also, and it could not be shared in front of Caira. "Caira, remember our bargain." she reminded her, sending her off to bed. The younger woman pouted and spun on her heel, walking quickly back to her own tent. Daliah knelt next to Kor, pulling a book and pouch from the folds of her dress. She set them down, motioning for Jin to sit. "I found these just outside the border." she whispered, dumping the contents onto the sand and opening her book to a page she had marked. She unwrapped a small cloth bundle, revealing a remarkably large scale. "It comes from the Ugama. Notice how the markings are similar to this one. There can be no mistake." she rocked back on her heels. "Most likely he is farther on, though. This is several weeks old." Kor reached out to touch it, and she grabbed his wrist before he could. "Careful. You have enough poison in your body already." "It would have dried by now." "Ugama poison never dries. That is what makes it so lethal. You could find one a hundred years old and still die from it. If you wish to keep it, you must wrap it in a thick cloth, like this one. Or you could choose to fashion a bit of armor, but be sure to keep your skin away from the edges, for that is where the poison lies." She held it firmly so that he could stroke the center and marvel at the markings. She did not know if he knew the old Dragonian tongue, but if he needed, she could translate it when his mind was ready. All that she had shared was likely filling his drugged mind to its capacity. She turned the scale over, scratching at a thick, black crust. "He is wounded." she noted. "Perhaps badly. He might have come up against several Derk-ra." She saw Kor flinch at the word. "Sorry. Or perhaps it was one of your kin. Chrys, perhaps?" she thought aloud, turning to Jin. He pressed his chin thoughtfully against the hilt of his dagger. "That is possible, though I doubt they would come this way." She put the scale back in its pouch, tying it shut. They had learned all they could of it at this time. Now she needed to know what Jin had learned. |
| Jin hesitated, fingering the hilt of his dagger. He crouched down by both Kor and Daliah. "I have spoken to the Keeper and searched our scrolls. There is not much on the Ugama, or dragon, if you prefer. Some are are fanciful descriptions--breath of fire and broad wings--but there is more practical things mixed in with the legend." Daliah's eyes narrowed. "It is not a legend." "Perhaps." He continued, cutting off her sharp reply. "It mentioned two weak spots--between the wings or at least, up close to the neck if there are no wings. And just under the head. The only other claim, which doesn't help us at all, is that, save those spots, only dragonfang can score the Ugama hide." "Dragonfang?" Jin frowned at Daliah. "If you believe in it." Kor snorted. His words slurred slightly, thanks to the calaba. "Remember? He donna believe in anytin." Jin shrugged. "Whether I believe it or not makes no difference. I plan to hunt whatever is called the Ugama, no matter if it is an over-large Derk-ra or the dragon of legend. That should be enough." "And what will you do when you find it?" Daliah said. "What good will slaying a large Derk-ra do?" "I--" he hesitated. "I hope it is...that it will help me in some way. I do not know how yet, but at least I can hold out hope. For a little while." He shut his mouth with a snap. Blabbing didn't help either. Jin straightened again. "For now, we should sleep. As you said, Daliah, the creature is several weeks ahead of us. We must reach Crossroads and its safety before I am prepared to hunt. And you," he gestured at Kor, "Need your sleep. I doubt you will enjoy tomorrow much." Jin left them there, passing a warrior heading the other way. He smiled at that, but didn't comment. Kor might or might not notice his new "shadows" for tonight. The Hybrid woudl probably sleep quiet and undisturbed, but the men would make sure he didn't wander off in a daze, or suffer a renewal of the venom symptoms, unlikely though that may be. This time, the night was quiet. Jin wrestled a bit of the blanket from Elam and fell asleep before the boy could kick him away. -------- Jin fidgeted uneasily. Blast that man. Bloody blast that man! The tribe had formed up into proper order. They were eating a quick morning meal, on their feet and ready to leave. Jin's honor guard clustered around him, all new faces again. He had been relieved to be missing one particular face. A Hybrid in his tribe was one thing; one serving as his honor guard was quite another. Doblo's ears twitched forward and he snorted, pawing at the sand. Jin patted his neck absently, scanning the surrounding camp. Where was Terran? Before they could dare move the tribe forward, they must have the Border Guard's permission. Ravin waited out there in the dunes. Terran always accompanied him in situations like this. With his sharp mind, quick wits, and the tattoo on his arm as a clear deterrent to more violent solutions--he was invaluable. Ravin had a nasty temper and a tongue sharper than Derk-ra claws.The Border Guard leader had been a typical case in some ways, and not so in others. Like most of them, Ravin had been a street waif, willing to sell himself for five years in exchange for the food, lodging, and brief education. His skills blossomed under the training and conditioning, and he continued to sign his name. Until his fifteenth year. The first flowering of the Mara "Gift" (something Jin barely understood). A common Border Guard could have the Gift; an officer could not. He chose to have it stripped from him, and regretted it ever since. He could sense the Gift, but never seize it. Jin bit his lip and neck-reined Doblo around. If he had to, he would hunt Terran down himself. Keeping Ravin waiting was a very bad thing. He sighed in relief. Terran, astride his burly black, cantered up to him, with Kor close behind. The Hybrid's expression was quite unlike his usual cheery reaction. He squinted at the sunlight, muttering Aquila profanity under his breath without much of a pause. He gave Terran special attention. When his eyes landed on the lanky blademaster, the curses were more audible, and his eyes narrowed in obvious frustration. Sometimes his fingers danced over the shitan hilt at his side. If Kor tried it on Terran, he would regret it. Jin glanced at his friend, but Terran's face was unreadable. "Are you ready?" "Aye. I've been ready." "A delay was unavoidable. I had something that needed my attention first." His eyebrows arched. "Do you plan to stand here and chatter like old women, or meet Ravin before he feeds us to his Derk-ra pets?" Kor flinched. Jin gave Terran a steely glare. "Crescents! Do you have to keep needling him? Ravin is not Apollar; he does not keep Derk-ra." Terran shrugged. Jin turned away. "Let's go." -------- The trip did not pass comfortably. He could hear Terran's voice, though not the words. Kor seemed to be providing the pauses with a mixture of Dragonian and Aquila words not fit to be repeated in Elam's presence. "Hail, Jin of Shinar, friend of the Mara." Ravin called, materializing from the sand like a wraith. Doblo's head jerked back, snorting at the veiled stranger. His forelegs pawed at the air, but Jin brought him down again. Thankfully, both Terran and Kor had silenced abruptly. Ravin's dark eyes flicked over their small group, and then beyond them, to the waiting tribe. His brown hair, bleached lighter by the burning sun, was pulled back into a tight tail at the nape of his neck, and bound with a simple leather tie. His hawkish features and twice-broken nose was not improved by the scars he carried, including a particularly wicked gash that zigzagged from the edge of his mouth to trail across his throat. Three Derk-ra crests, varying from a vivid red to a burnt orange, dangled from the short spear he held in one hand. He gave Kor an especially intense stare, before returning his attention to Jin. "Strange friends you keep of late." "True-heart, true-blood." "Aye, his heart. But not his blood. Only an Ael Kinth." Kor hissed behind him. Jin growled one of the few words of Aquila he did know. "Silence." And then to Ravin. "Do you intend for us to bandy words while my tribe waits and the sun burns hotter?" His eyes narrowed. "Why the hurry? You brought sad news when you arrived before. Will Chrys welcome you this time?" Jin kept his face impassive. "Is that your task? To know your Fay-el's heart?" Ravin clenched his teeth, but let it pass. He jerked his hand in a silent signal, and three more Border Guards appeared, stalking across the sand. Jin flicked a glance at Layole and then tipped his head in their direction. His Second nodded once, smiled at Daliah, and then pulled his horse's head around, following after the fast-moving Border Guards. Jin returned his attention to the silent Ravin. "May we share your water?" Ravin's expression darkened. The Mara culture was strong in this regard. Any man offered hospitality could not become enemy. It forced Ravin to treat them with some measure of respect at least. Ravin studied him for a moment, fingers clenched his spear until the knuckles whitened, but he relented. With a curt "Come," the Border Guard whirled, leading the way. |
| "Come." Terran tossed the command over his shoulder at Kor, echoing the Mara border guard's word with the same terseness. "I am," Kor snapped, but it took him a moment to persuade his stiff, aching body to gather the reins and give the mare a firm kick. His hands felt like claws; another spasm was building up, he could just feel it. They came every five minutes or so and lasted perhaps thirty seconds to a minute. Meanwhile, he sweated profusely until he stank, shivered like an old man, vomited up the acid of his empty stomach, and tried not to hate Terran too much. The swordmaster swiveled in his saddle. "Faster, Hybrid! It is unwise to keep Ravin waiting." Kor had worn out his store of curse words---Aquilian, Dragonian and even Eloin alike---much earlier that day, and was now coming up with new, creative combinations. "Kinth-Crescents!" The swordmaster---who had taken a very sudden, keen interest in making Kor's life miserable the instant he'd kicked the bard into groaning wakefulness that morning---glared at him until he kicked his horse into a canter. Every muscle in his body screamed and rapidly began knotting up with each jarring fall of the mare's hooves. It felt as though the hard muscles of his belly and back were trying to twist themselves into ropes or braids. The blood pounded painfully in his temples and forehead, and the back of his throat burned from vomiting so often that all there was left to vomit was stomach acid. "Kyda, Kyda, Kyda," he hissed, half curse, half prayer. Gritting his teeth, he bore it, for there was nothing else to do. Terran was not in a mood to be denied and besides, the swordmaster was right; Ravin could not be kept waiting, rude and arrogant as the man might be. But some part of him wanted to simply tell Terran and Ravin and Jin and everyone else to go to Xraj. Kor did not know why the swordmaster had taken such a sudden, intense dislike toward him, but he refused---refused---to back down. If Terran said ride faster, he'd ride faster if that's what it took to show the star-cursed man that Kor na Quatian, son of Renji na Shinar, was no weakling... no matter what Terran might think of Kor's blunder with the Derk-ra. As long as he doesn't start disrespecting Joran, I can blasted-well take anything he throws at me, the bard told himself, but the spasms in his stomach and back were stretching down into his seat and legs now, and all he really wanted to do was drop off the horse to the sand and curl up there against the sun-baked warmth until it passed. Ravin led them for approximately an hour, then finally brought them around to a rest stop of sorts. There were stones there for a campfire, but little else. Stiffly, Kor dismounted and reached immediately for his waterskin to wash the grit and acid-taste from his dry mouth. A shadow fell over him as he did so, and he sighed heavily and turned to look over his shoulder. Terran, of course. The man still sat atop his horse, and stared sternly down at Kor. Not a single hint of the strange humor the bard had spotted the evening before showed on the swordmaster's face. "The campfire pit. You will clear the sand from it, then help Ravin's men disburse water." Kor turned to stare at the circle of stones. Sure enough, it was more than halfway buried in sand. "I haven't a shovel." The swordmaster's face did not change. "That is hardly my concern. You will clear the sand, you will help with the water, and then you, along with Talen and Sharin, will join Ravin's men on sentry duty." You've got to be kidding me, Kor wanted to say, but knew better than to voice those words. Terran was definitely not kidding. "Very well," the bard growled, "Anything else?" Terran smiled ferally. "Do not forget to run through the paces with a sparring partner. Your handling of the shitan shames the Shinar and our Fay-el, and I will not stand by it. In fact, you will practice the Fundamentals before you do your sentry duty. Perhaps then, if you face another Derk-ra--" Kor flinched, the very word sending a spasm of pain through him "--you will put on a better showing. In fact... Daliah!" The woman had just dismounted from her horse and wandered over, eyebrows raised curiously. Terran nodded to Kor. "Once the Hybrid has finished with the campfire and the water, you will spar with him. His Fundamentals are poorly executed. You will work with him." Daliah gaped at him. "But... he is hardly in any condition to--" "I care not," Terran interrupted, then turned his horse's head and headed for Jin. "Blasted Stars!" Kor cursed. Then, wrapping his arms around his middle, he pulled his shitan and headed for the campfire. Better to get it done now rather than later. Kyda, I hurt. Crescents take the man! |
| Though Daliah was furious with Terran, she managed to formulate a plan that would allow Kor to rest for a few minutes without sacrificing his pride. She waited anxiously for his return, hoping that he had seen a proper Dragonian spar. Most of the tribe likely moved right into the fight, without taking the old rituals into account. "Sit." she commanded, crossing her legs carefully. Kor eased himself across from her, allowing himself to only wince, though she could tell he longed to do much more. She led him through the exercises, beginning with Kyda's greeting. "Arms out, palms up. Good. Now, look to the sky and repeat after me. 'Kyda, fyr lon valon a colarh. Il hota nifyr toka, tyra rode-an virca. Kyda, your face burns in the night. We fight in your honor, that you may bring us victory.'" "What crescent-blasted madness is this?" Daliah turned to Terran innocently. "I thought of all the Shinar, you would recognize the ancient Dragonian spar. You would not expect me to fight without first acknowledging Kyda? If I did, he could bring fiery rains upon us, and I suspect Jin would not be pleased when I tell him it was because you were eager to see the suffering of his protected." She stared unblinkingly into his eyes, ignoring the itch to draw her blade and show him exactly what suffering was. At this time, she would settle for his humiliation before others of his station. When he finally broke away from her gaze and walked back, she shared a victory smile with Kor. They had won for now. They finished without any other interruptions until it was time for them to spar. For that, Terran returned, seemingly eager to see blood spilled. Daliah knew there would have to be some. If she held back, it would be known, and Kor would be taunted for days on end. But he was already injured, if only she could level that... She swung her sword, parrying several blows. Kor was talented, she could see that even his condition. However, under the poison's influence, he was quickly tiring. She dug her foot into the sand, leaving it there until an attack forced her back. Her entire body dropped to the ground, where she continued to fight. She knew his technique. He would not let her up easily. Her blade crossed his arm twice, barely breaking the surface of the skin. But there was enough blood that she would not be suspected. He nicked her shoulder, and she could tell then that he knew what she was doing. Yet he was eager enough to protect her pride as she was to protect his. They kept up the show of skill for nearly half an hour until Terran grew frustrated and called them all to work. Kor helped her to her feet, watching as she pretended to test her weight on her foot before leaving, limping slightly. Of course it ached, but she did not do enough damage to be a burden to anyone. She was assigned to the tents. It was simple work, but it took her focus off of the past few days. She tossed canvas over the frame and held down the corners so that the stakes could be driven in. The rest of the tribe spoke and she listened, but contributed little. She still did not have a place here. Kor had found family, and she had love, but that did not bind her to them. She smiled at Layole, who had come to see that everything was going smoothly. He passed a flask of water around, coming to her last. She drank slowly, savoring the warm drops as they slid down her throat. He gave her a strip of blue cloth that she had seen often around the camp. She tied around her head like the others, and it soaked the sweat that would have otherwise fallen into her eyes. They had a few minutes of conversation before he had to continue to the next group, but that was enough to restore her energy for her task. They were at last allowed a break for the midday meal. She did not notice what they ate, for she ate it too quickly in her hunger. All she knew was that it tasted wonderful and quieted the hunger that clawed at her ribs. Kor sat beside her. She was surprised, as she had expected him to keep a fair distance between them. It was a welcome surprise, even as he said what she knew he would. "I need to speak with you alone." She wondered what he was going to say. That part she had not thought through. |
| Jin's eyes narrowed at a point behind Ravin's shoulder. That was the third time Terran had slunk past him, this time with a small, wrapped bundle in his hands. Friend or not, the man was making him nervous. He glanced at the Border Guard and excused himself. Ravin growled something, but Jin ignored him. With a curt gesture, he ordered the other warriors to stay behind. Their sullen expressions showed their feelings about that one, but he didn't need the noise of their passing alerting Terran. And there was little concern for his safety in the midst of Mara Border Guards. The blademaster was easy to spot. His stride was fluid, swaggering slightly as his weight shifted from one foot to the other. His training attested to that. They darted between two tents, skirted a third, and passed the last remnant of tents in a few minutes. Jin stayed back, leaning past the farthest tent to watch Terran. The blademaster studied the ground for a moment, and then dragged his foot through the sand, forming a narrow circle. He stepped into the center and unwrapped the bundle. Saluting with what was now revealed as a shitan to the light, he stepped into an opening Fundamental, transitioned into several stances, and then back into a handful of Fundamentals. The pattern Jin recognize easily; testing the balance and workmanship of a new or recently adjusted weapon. But Terran already had a pair of shitans of fine work customized exactly to him, including an extra weight to the lefthand shitan to favor his style. Sand hissed softly behind him. Jin stiffened and whirled. Ravin stood there, smiling. "What?" "Your captain is very intrigued with the Hybrid, yes?" He shrugged. "I know not." Ravin's smile broadened. "You do. You won't admit it, but you do. He has arranged things quite well, I would say. I wonder what your captain has found so interesting in a scant Hybrid. Maybe I should find out." Great. "You have far more training than he. It would not be a fair fight." "Instinct is stronger than training. A trained Derk-ra is dangerous; a feral one far more so." Terran called out to someone. Ravin glanced aside. Jin followed his gaze. Kor had reappeared, Daliah at his side for a moment, before she stepped away. Kor appeared drained, putting one foot in front of the other by will power alone. And Terran, obviously, planned to either spar with him or set another Derk-ra on him after dusk. Jin shook his head. Terran he would deal with later. It was too confusing now. And more importantly, Terran was very close-mouthed on matters of this. Ravin chuckled behind him. "I think I will watch this." And probably join in after a moment Jin thought, but didn't voice it. He strode after Daliah. At least she might give him some answers. More than Terran would at the very least. |
| Hearing Terran's sadly now overly-familiar call, Kor glanced from Daliah to Terran, his expression twisted into a strange combination of snarl, grin and wince, before settling into a stern scowl. "A moment, Bladesmaster," he murmured, striving at once for politeness and firmness. "The lady and I were about to have a word." Terran grunted. "There's time enough to fawn over women once you've done your duties. Every man of the Shinar must pull his weight. You---" and he pointed a shitan at Kor "---still have duties to see to." A muscle clenched involuntarily in Kor's jaw. He was not gritting his teeth; instead, another spasm was coming on. "Very well." He tossed the words like offerings of appeasement at Terran's feet; right now, as little talking as possible was the easiest course. It was far easier to comply than to argue, and far easier to stay silent than attempt to speak through a spasm. He dipped in a bow toward Daliah, but was so stiff it was barely more than a nod. "Later then, Daliah. I'll seek you before I find my rest." If that Demon-blasted kinth permits me to rest tonight, he finished silently. Terran nodded, and pushed past Kor and Daliah, who both gave him dirty looks behind his back. Then Daliah cast Kor a sympathetic glance, and hurried off. The Hybrid sighed heavily, wrapped his arms about himself, and uttering a fluent string of curses, strode off to find Talen and Sharin. ****** Layole frowned, but gave Daliah's shoulders a small, reassuring squeeze. "Terran can be a... harsh taskmaster. But he usually means well." Daliah's eyes narrowed. "This is more than being a harsh taskmaster, he's---" Jin appeared at her shoulder in the sudden, silent way that was his habit. Both Layole and Daliah jumped. The weight of the Fay-el's attention fell upon Daliah. "I'd like to have a word with you," he said. Her eyes gazed off in the darkness where Kor'd gone. "It seems many people desire my time this evening. What is it?" ****** To say that the other two warriors were surprised to see Kor was an understatement. They weren’t merely surprised; they were more than a little dismayed. “Oh no.” Talen shook his head, hard, upon Kor’s arrival. “Terran has to be out of his mind. Hybrid, you are hardly fit---” Sharin added his own estimation of the situation. “No offense, Hybrid, you’ve shown well enough. But whether slowed by a Derk-ra’s venom or sickened by its ‘remedy’, a man has no business hunting Derk-ra just after having tangled with one for the first time. Go back. We’ll talk to Terran.” Talen stared at his companion. “Oh we will, will we? Speak for yourself, cousin. If you want to match wills with Terran, you may, but I’m not going to attempt it.” Kor spread his arms wearily, shitan already clutched in his hand. “Then we are at an impasse, I’m afraid. I myself admit it feels like folly for me to be here, but we must trust in Terran’s wisdom, is it not so?” The cousins grumbled. “Yes, it is so,” Talen admitted. “Though what in the Star’s name Terran is doing in his wisdom, I’d like to know! I know you and I haven’t always gotten along well, Hybrid, but as Sharin said, you’ve shown well enough and Joran likes you, so I don’t wish ill on you. But… well, I don’t know what you did to get on Terran’s bad side, but he has it out for you!” Kor sighed. “Well, perhaps he does, and perhaps not. But pondering that question will not help us spot any Derk-ra that may lurk about the camp. So we’d best see to our duty.” The two warriors merely stared at him. He pointed to the left. “I’ll go that way.” Still they watched him. “Ah… as soon as my leg stops spasming.” For a moment they continued staring at him, and then Sharin laughed brusquely. “If you survive this night, it’ll be worth writing songs about.” Kor chuckled too, but that chuckle was strained with pain. Attempting to so much as move his of his right leg hurt almost as though the muscles in his calf were tearing in twain. “Yes,” he gritted out, “and I shall write the song!” The two warriors chuckled again as they left him, then abruptly lapsed into the silence of sentries. Kor clenched his jaw, holding his shitan in a white-knuckled grasp, and waited impatiently for the spasm to pass. “Cursed Kyda. Starry kinth demon spawn. Crescents. Crescents!” Gradually, over the course of a long minute of cursing, the spasm wore off, leaving in its wake naught but a tired ache and shaky weakness. Hissing, Kor stalked through the sand, tracing a slowly widening perimeter around the camp. This time, his torch was not lit. Off in the distance he heard the screech of a Derk-ra, followed by Talen and Sharin’s laughter. He needn’t fear for those mens’ lives; they’d doubtless fought many scores of Derk-ra since their adolescence, and judging from the death-scream that quickly followed the laughter, they’d proved easily victorious against the first Derk-ra to be spotted that night. There was a soft rustle of scale against sand to his right. Kor dropped into a crouch, practically smelling the rush of adrenaline through his own veins, and his eyes darted to and fro in the darkness. There was nothing. Nothing he could see, in any case. Every muscle was tense with fear and he actually felt slightly faint and clammy. Sweat poured down him in rivulets, and only some of it was from the calaba. His breath echoed hoarsely in his ears, so loud he feared he would not be able to hear the approach of a Derk-ra should one choose that moment to come to him. I can’t do this, Kor realized. I can’t stand out here, pissing myself in terror while waiting for one to sneak up on me. Where’s that torch? Hand shaking badly, he reached for his belt, pulling free the small Cat’s Tongue torch he’d claimed from the women who’d started the campfire after he dug it out for them. He lifted it high above his head, then froze and let out a low groan; a spasm was mounting his back, beginning with the muscles alongside his spine and spreading over his torso. It felt like his ribs were pulling apart. Slowly, he lowered his arm, and remaining in a low crouch in the sand, panted and cursed his way through the pain, all the while praying to Kyda that the Derk-ra would not come upon him then. A few moments passed, and then the convulsion melted away from him like water. Again, he heard that silky glide of scales over sand, and before another spasm could rise again, he struck the torch hard against the ground. The flame flared up with a loud hiss. Kor tossed it as far away from himself as he could, then slowly crept backwards away from the circle of its light. As he did so, a stalking shape leapt up from the sand, wailing out it’s strangely feminine scream, and landed upon the small flame. Scales glinting in the warm torchlight, the Derk-ra thrust its head down at the torch, snuffing the light with one snap of its jaws. Kor threw his shitan, flipping his wrist harshly at the end so that the point of the curved blade would find the Derk-ra’s hide. The scream of pain confirmed his hit, and he launched himself up from his crouch and straight toward the Derk-ra, weaponless, relying on the slither of shadow against shadow to tell him where precisely it was now. Then he was upon it, one hand somehow finding a firm handhold in its crest, the other seeking his shitan in its hide. The beast was a good deal stronger than him, and having eliminated the annoyance of the fire, she now turned to confront this new threat. Feeling the small mammal’s grasp upon her crest, she wrenched her head around, snapping at the offending forearm. Kor hissed in pain, feeling those teeth graze him, but pulled his arm away from the crest by instinct the instant the slightest feeling of sharpness and moisture touched his arm. The strong jaws snapped shut a few inches from where his arm had a moment before been, and at that moment his other arm, flailing for purchase as the thrashing beast unbalanced him, came into contact with his shitan. Growling, he tore it viciously free of the beast’s hide, twisting to ensure that the weapon’s exit would cause as much damage as it could, and was greeted with another scream. Then, remembering Terran’s killing blow the night before, Kor thrust his shitan upwards, driving it into the Derk-ra’s throat just beneath the jaw and upwards into the beast’s brain. It fell limp at his feet without a sound. He heard two sets of racing footfalls coming toward him from the left. “Kor!” Sharin’s voice called out. There was another sound, closer. Kor flung his shitan at it before he could think and saw the blade glint briefly in the moonlight before hearing the sound of metal clanging against metal. Then there was a low chuckle, and the hiss of a torch being lit. Kor found himself staring into the grinning face of Ravin. "Interesting," the Border Guard commented, sheathing his twin shitans. "An... innovative victory, to say the least." His eyes traced a path from the fallen Derk-ra to Kor and noted the new, long scratch on the Hybrid’s forearm. The smile widened. "Although... I do suspect you'll come to regret your moment of triumph come morning. You'll find that a Derk-ra's poison can be a... somewhat less-than-satisfactory award for your efforts." Kor knelt beside the Derk-ra corpse and began sawing at the crest. It parted more easily than he thought it would. "I know the effects of Derk-ra venom all too well," he sighed, cleaning and sheathing his shitan. "In fact, just last night I experienced it for the first time." Ravin raised an eyebrow. "As I said, interesting. And your Fay-el's captain put you up to this madness, I suppose?" Kor did not frown or grimace or show any other hint of his present distaste for Terran. Who knew if the two warriors were friends? "Terran reminded me to see to my duty," he responded simply. Then, more tersely than he intended--- "I have." "Very interesting indeed, I do say," Ravin positively drawled, that strange wide grin still upon his face. "Well... you'll be relieved to discover that a Derk-ra's venom is nowhere near as harsh the second time. Doubtless, you won't need the calaba this time." "Great," Kor snapped, but a small flame of relief kindled in him. "Which means perhaps tomorrow I can answer my own questions about you," the Border Guard responded. The small flame went out. “Great,” Kor said again, with even less enthusiasm. Even worse, he felt another spasm building. “Good evening, Hybrid!” the Border Guard said cheerfully, starting back toward the camp. “Evening,” Kor grunted, then sat abruptly upon the sand, hissing and waiting for the spasm to finish building to he could go about the process of waiting for it to diminish. That was how Talen and Sharin found him a few seconds later. “Are you hurt?” Talen demanded, kneeling before the Hybrid where he sat in the Derk-ra’s blood. “No,” Kor said. “Yes. I don’t know.” Strangely enough, just before the spasm would have peaked, it suddenly eased off. “Huh,” he murmured. Talen grasped Kor’s forearm. “Hybrid, you got scratched.” “Yes,” Kor said morosely. He waited for it. It came. Talen and Sharin began to chuckle. Talen actually thumped Kor heartily on the back. “Well, you killed it, at least! Hybrid… you are a madman.” Sharin shook his head at his cousin, still laughing. “No, it’s not Kor who’s the madman, it’s Terran. Whatever made the man decide to throw Kor at two Derk-ra in two nights is beyond me. But at least he gets a reprieve from the calaba for his trouble. And look, he got his crest!” “And immunity to the venom!” Talen was saying, but Kor was beginning to feel extremely drowsy and somewhat drunk, and could hardly be bothered to be interested in the conversation. “But still… what is Terran thinking?” “You two!” the voice of the man in question snapped out of nowhere. Talen and Sharin leapt to their feet. Kor, feeling an immensely soothing relaxation settle gradually over his limbs, didn’t bother. For once, he wasn’t being given an order, and even if he had been, he didn’t have any particular interest in obeying right now. All he wanted to do was seek his bed. Terran looked down at Kor. “Let me see that.” His head tilted to the crest in Kor’s hand. Shrugging, the Hybrid handed it to him. It was bright orange, like the setting sun. “You fought it alone, in the dark.” It was not a question. A moment later he grasped Kor by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Come with me.” Glancing over his shoulder, he looked sternly at the two warriors. “Back to your duties!” “A madman,” Kor heard Sharin whisper as Terran half dragged him back to camp. If the bladesmaster heard, he didn’t show it. Terran deposited him on his bedroll when they arrived back in camp. “You’ll sleep well tonight, at least,” he told the Hybrid. “Calaba is a cure for Derk-ra venom, and vice versa.” Kor yawned widely, lethargically yanking off his boots. “Don’t need more calaba?” Terran cocked his head at him. “You can just sleep the venom off this time. The body builds immunity to Derk-ra poison quickly, especially after being poisoned with it twice in such rapid succession. You’ll be a bit unsteady on your feet tomorrow. Slow.” He frowned down at the Hybrid. “See that it doesn’t make you lazy.” “I know, don’t forget my duty,” Kor said, then yawned rudely in the blademaster’s face. Terran nodded. “Yes.” A shadow fell over them both. Jin, standing with arms crossed, Daliah and Layole at his shoulder. Daliah couldn’t seem to be able to decide whether to laugh at Kor or feel concerned for him. Laughter won, this time. “In your case, this is a strange fortune,” she giggled. Kor smiled wanely. Why won’t you people just go away and leave me alone so I can sleep? he whined inwardly. "Why?" he asked out loud. She nodded toward his arm. "Calaba cancels out Derk-ra venom, but leaves rather nasty lingering after effects and causes your body to protest the venom's absence. So, naturally, calaba sickness and venom withdrawal are both alleviated by---" "Derk-ra venom," Kor finished, nodding very slowly. It felt like his head was surrounded by water. Layole was studying the scene with a thoughtful expression on his face. He glanced briefly at Terran, who nodded slightly. The Fay-el did not look pleased in the slightest. “Terran, a word with you. Now.” Terran nodded, turning away from Kor and following the Fay-el, who had started heading toward the privacy of a nearby campfire the instant he issued his order. Then the blademaster paused and glanced over his shoulder. His wrist flicked, and a shitan buried itself in the sand at the foot of Kor’s bedroll. The orange crest he’d earned that night was fastened about the hilt. “I’ve commissioned a second shitan for you. You’ll begin learning to dual-wield them with me tomorrow.” Kor stared, briefly shocked out of his drowsiness, at the shitan. The rest of the group gaped at Terran. Somewhere, Ravin chuckled. "Terran!" Jin said sharply, gesturing impatiently fo the man to come. The blademaster's eyes flickered over his shoulder toward the waiting Fay-el, who looked even less pleased now. Then, to Kor--- "We'll talk tomorrow morning. Not tomorrow afternoon, Hybrid, tomorrow MORNING! Remember your duty and see that you do not oversleep!" "Terran, NOW," the Fay-el commanded. Without another word, the bladesmaster followed Jin away. Daliah and Kor exchanged an immensely confused look. "Finally," he muttered, as Jin led Terran away. Then he turned to Daliah. "I was going to ask you something, but I forget what..." he started, yawning widely. The woman laughed. "You look as though you're already asleep. We'll talk tomorrow, before your 'lesson'." Kor sighed. "With Terran's temper, it had better be AFTER the lesson." Daliah nodded. "Agreed." |
| Daliah watched as Kor began to drift. She knew he was not up to a serious conversation, so she kept it as light as she could. "I dare say you can write that song now." she joked softly. "I dare say I can." he agreed, humming a few lines. She found herself liking them, though no words were put to it yet. Her ears remained intent on his voice until sleep at last took him. She spread a blanket over him, knowing that chills would likely come soon. It was remarkably quiet now, and she soaked it in. Though Kor was only a few feet away, she finally had a moment to herself. She began to think over all that happened, attempting to unravel some of the confusion. It seemed that everything continued to change. The truth was unclear. All she knew was what was in her heart, and that was to let go, even if her kind acts were in secret. Once he fell into a deep sleep, she decided to leave. She could not take refuge in someone else's tent for too long. Jin appeared to be waiting for her at the campfire. She sat beside him, remaining silent, allowing him to speak first. "I trust you and Kor had a good discussion." She felt her cheeks burn in shame. "Yes. He has begun to work on his song, and allowed me to listen to it." He laughed and shook his head. "How long has he been asleep?" Daliah dropped her head in her hands, answering his question without words. "You know, there is nothing wrong with wanting to escape. I do so every so often. It is all in the matter of timing." "Timing?" "Like now, for instance. Most of the camp is in their tents, and any left would believe that we were merely patrolling the border." She nodded, smiling. "I never knew this about you. But how do you ensure that no one follows?" He fingered something beneath his cloak. "Are you sure you are up to the challenge?" "Always." ------------ "So what are you escaping from?" Daliah asked, lowering herself onto the ground. Jin considered this for a second. "When you are a leader, it is a rare moment when you are alone. I know it is my responsibilty, and I feel privileged. But there are days... And you? Has Layole become too dull for you?" She considered slapping him, but decided against it. He meant it in jest. "No, far from it. Yet there is much I am afraid to tell him, thoughts I cannot sort out, memories..." "I see. Though, I do believe he would understand." "Would he understand knowing nothing of your past, even though you feel you are missing something important? Would he understand dreams of blood and tears, screams that echo, though you do not know why they scream? Would you?" He raked his fingers through his hair. "Sometimes it is best to forget, and move forward." She was silent for a long time, before she allowed him access to the darkest corners of her mind. "What if I lose him?" "What?" Jin spun around to face her, surprise written across his face. "Think about it. I lost my family in war, my only companion in battle. If I lose him, I do not believe I can take it." Then he said something she did not expect. "I can relate. I lost my wife, and did not think I could survive." "How did you?" He smiled slightly. "Elam." "He is an incredible child." she sighed as she rose to her feet. "Perhaps we should go. I would not want to see you at odds with your guard." He laughed, and walked her back to the camp, leaving her outside her tent. "He will understand, you know." "I do. Thank you. Tonight was exactly what I needed." She ducked under the flap, not entirely surprised to see Layole. "You do realize that if you were seen, others might get the wrong idea." she teased. "There is nothing I could care less about. I had to see you." "I do as well. There is so much that I never told you that I believe you need to hear." "Why tell me now?" "I do not want to hide anything from you. I want you to know every dark secret, and know me completely." She began to explain everything, talking long into the night. She told him of her dreams, the vision of her father's death and her home's destruction, all that she could think of. It took her until dawn, before she felt she had told him all he needed to know, but she felt such peace. He had not rejected her for her past, rather he accepted her for it. The sun's pink rays were already filtering through the tent before Layole responded. "Marry me." he whispered. But Daliah was already sleeping against his shoulder. |
| Terran sat cross-legged on the sand, eyes closed, back against a chunk of rock. He could hear the camp beginning to stir. Pots rattled. Children laughed. Horses snorted and whinnied as they were buckled into their traces. In an hour, maybe two, they would move on, following their Mara guides toward the sprawling marketplace of Crossroads. A shitan clattered against the stone by his shoulder, close enough to spatter his arm with chunks of rock. The blademaster opened one eye and then smiled. "Ah, the Star bless you, Kor." "The bloody Star take you, Terran." He laughed. "At least you have your spirit." Curling his fingers around the shitan's hilt, he tossed it at the seething Kor. "Did you sleep well?" Kor caught it and brought the blade up, crosswise for defense. "Forget the nice words. Just get it over with." "Get what over with?" Terran stepped closer, hands on his hips. "Shaming me. Making me suffer. I care not what you term it, I only know prolonging it is useless for both our sakes. Do what you must and let me return to my duties." Terran cocked his head. If the man wanted to impress him, he couldn't try much harder. "I do not intend to shame you. I have other plans than that." Resignation flickered in Kor's eyes. The blademaster smiled. "Here are my terms. You have some potential, not much, but enough. Each day, I will drill you and train you, until we reach Crossroads. Three dawns." The Hybrid's eyes widened. "You?" He nodded. "If you satisfy me at the end of that span, I will sponsor your Confirmation, under one condition. I will continue your training after your Confirmation, until I think you are prepared enough. Agreed?" "Why? You must have other things to do than train a Hybrid such as I. And one who lacks what another warrior would already know." Terran smiled. "I have my reasons." Sees right through me, does he? "Do you agree to my terms?" "Answer me this first. Why should you treat me so, if you intend to sponsor me?" " If you do well. And the other is simple enough. Can you hold your temper? Can you ignore pain? Because I assure you, you will learn what I teach, I may have to beat it into your skull, but you will learn it. Do you agree?" Kor hesitated for a beat more, and then nodded. "Aye." "Good. Now then, do you know the Fundamentals?" "Aye. You've seen me fight." Terran sighed. "Then you see no need to learn more of them?" "Perhaps a little." There's a place to start. Terran shifted his weight, balancing on the balls of his feet, and then moved, stringing four Fundamentals back to back. Kor's eyes widened and he took a step back, but not in time. Elbow in his chest, fingers in his hair, Terran shoved him down. The Hybrid sprawled facefirst in the sand. Terran leaned down, eyes narrowing, but kept his voice level. "Do you know the Fundamentals?" Kor spat sand and turned his head. "No." Good. Not as hard-headed as Jin. It took four such episodes for the headstrong Fay-el. "We'll start there. A house is only as sturdy--" "--as its foundation," Kor finished. Terran stepped back. "Get up. Now then, I want you to know nothing, think nothing, do nothing but the Fundamentals--" He saw Ravin skirt by out of the corner of his eye. Ah, won't be much longer. "--We'll start with one shitan and work up to the dual. Ready?" He saluted and advanced on Kor. "Fundamentals only. Do your best or I'll give you something to remind you." |
| The sun streaked unexpectedly across the sky as Kor lurched gracelessly backwards and sprawled on his rump. His face throbbed sharply in time with his heartbeat where the blademaster's knee had connected solidly with his nose, but bringing his hand to his face revealed only the thinnest trickle of blood. “Fundamentals only,” Terran said quietly, waiting for the Hybrid to regain his feet. For the fourth time Kor dragged himself off the ground, wiped the blood away, and advanced upon the bladesmaster. His movements were annoyingly sluggish and he struggled to force his body to work at its normal speed. Waving Grass melted into Tumbling Rock as he sensed Terran begin to slash toward his pretty face with a downward tilted shitan. For once, rather than breaking the Fundamentals with an instinctive block or dodge, the Hybrid dove for the ground in a somersault to both avoid his opponent’s strike and earn himself some room. Terran pressed the attack, however, and in the heartbeat it took for Kor to notice that the bladesmaster was moving, Terran was already waiting for him at the end of his tumble. Kor lifted his own shitan in Derk-ra’s Claw, twisting the blade so that Terran’s shitan was deflected at the last second with a clash of metal against metal. But then he started to rise to his feet with a twist around the bladesmaster’s outside, and he was so blasted slow. Terran’s shitan flipped and slashed the Hybrid’s bicep. I'm going to find and kill every last of those Crescent-spawned Derk-ra! he vowed silently as he retreated a step. “Fundamentals only,” Terran reminded him again, kicking sand as the Hybrid backed away. Kor winced and sighed, bringing his shitan up again in the defensive Derk-ra’s Claw. All of them. He’d never before realized how often he instinctively maneuvered in battle without the Fundamentals, and these habitual mistakes, combined with the sluggishness of his limbs, was going to earn him an entire array of scars from Terran. Kor launched into Lizard’s Scurry and pressed his attack upon Terran in two swift steps. There was another loud ring of shitan on shitan, and then the bladesmaster spun in Dust Devil and his blade sliced the air. The Hybrid began to step and twist out of the way again, but turned it at the last second into the simple Diagonal Step that was the first technique any student of the Fundamentals learned. Now he was behind Terran’s left shoulder, and in position to parry again with Derkra’s Claw when the bladesmaster brought his shitan down. Again, the blades sang as they collided. “Better,” Terran said, but before he'd even finished the word the bladesmaster sprang, hunkering down into Rushing Bull and ramming his shoulder into the Hybrid's solar plexus, driving him backwards. Taken by surprise, Kor began to fall, and rather than resist it he decided to use it to his advantage. Falling wasn’t one of the Fundamentals, but neither was it precisely an outside technique. And so he fell, simultaneously grasping at Terran’s belt for purchase and making sure his legs were in the bladesmaster’s way. However, to his dismay, he went down hard and Terran merely Sparrow Hopped over him, tearing free of the Hybrid’s grasp in the process, and Kor suddenly found himself looking up at the wickedly curved end of Terran’s shitan. “Fundamentals only,” the bladesmaster reminded him yet again, and took that opportunity to slash another token reminder into Kor’s skin, this time on the other arm. |
| Daliah found that she woke alone in her tent. For a moment she wondered if Layole had changed his mind, then realized what he had done. He left before the rest of the camp stirred, leaving her honor intact. She stretched, allowing last night's conversation to flash through her head. It nearly made her dizzy. There had been so much to talk about, that she could not even remember all of it. All she knew was that she was truly happy for the first time in years. She jumped up, ready to begin her day. Most of the camp was already awake, but she was relieved to see she was not the last. That would have been truly embarassing. Her feet automatically followed the sound of commotion. It appeared that there was another spar. She smiled with delight to see that it was Kor. He had definitely improved, there was no doubt. Terran was still beating him dreadfully, but Kor was clearly putting up a decent fight. Strangely, she felt a swell of pride, though she had done nothing. Perhaps it was only pride for a friend. Friend. The word tasted odd in her mouth, but not unpleasant. "I see Terran is testing the hybrid." Layole observed, appearing as always without her knowing. "Interesting." "He seems to be holding up rather well. In a few months time, we could be looking at one of the fiercest warriors yet." She bit her lip as he fell onto the sand. "In a few months time..." Layole crossed his arms, and it appeared his attention was elsewhere. Daliah found her curiousity roused. "What are you thinking?" she whispered. He smiled. "The same thing as I do every day." "What would that be?" "I will tell you tonight. This is not the place." She pretended to pout. "I hate to wait." "You made me wait before you told me your thoughts." he pointed out. "Fair enough." she sighed and looked back to the fight, but she could not focus now. "Is there a hint?" "No." he replied, obviously enjoying their banter. "You must wait." "All right, then." she walked off without telling him her destination. "Breakfast? I have not eaten either." he began to follow her. She gritted her teeth. He knew her too well for her to get him to tell his secret. She sat on one of the logs near the long-dead fire, food in hand. It was simple, bread with cheese and cream. She ate it slowly, though, deep in thought once more. How dare he torture her like this? "This cannot do, even for you." One of the women clucked her tongue and tugged on Daliah's arm. "You cannot hide that beautiful hair in dirt and tangles. It simply cannot do." Daliah was quickly dragged away by the woman and two of her companion, despite her protests. She looked to Layole for help, but he was laughing too hard to move. She struggled, but soon understood the extent of their strength. They would not give up their captive easily. "A shame there is no water. She could use a good washing." An older woman commented, pushing her onto a makeshift bench. "We will have to make do with rags and a comb. Now sit still, do you want this to hurt?" Daliah stopped moving at the threat. This woman struck fear in her more than anything she ever encountered. She kept quiet and stared straight as they ripped through her tangles with boar's hair and scrubbed her skin with dry cloths. The pain dodged about her brain, but she ignored it, afraid to move. "Nati, perhaps one of your travelling dresses would fit her?" The woman gestured to one of the younger members. "This one is far beyond repair." Daliah bit her tongue. This day would be a long one, and she would kill whoever put these women up to this. |
| Jin leaned against the side of a tent, waiting on Terran's reappearance. The blademaster had dismissed the Hybrid earlier, reminding him to return by morning. Kor had not looked thrilled at the prospect, not while clamping a hand over his latest wound. Wincing, Jin fingered his own marks from Terran's gentle instruction. He had been distracted. Terran dragged a shitan from the crook of his elbow to his wrist, and insisted he fight on for another fifteen minutes, bleeding everywhere. Jin made quite sure he didn't get distracted again. A horse snorted. Jin straightened as Terran appeared, leading his ebony charger. His eyes found Jin before he could open his mouth. "Yes?" "Well? What did you think?" Terran smiled. "He'll do. It's been a while since I've trained anyone. Quite fun." Turning, he slipped the reins over the black's head, tugged on the cinch to make sure it was secure, and then mounted again. "Has Ravin said anything yet?" "Not directly. But he's thinking about it. He has hinted at me sparring with the Hybrid first." "Do not." Jin studied his face. "Why?" "If you want spar in private, far from the camp, then go ahead. Otherwise, I would suggest against it. He is an amateur in some ways, but he makes up for it with instinct. He surprised me today." "Oh?" Terran laughed. "I knocked him over. Instead of being a normal man, and falling, he grabbed at me as he fell. If not for the Fundamental-only session, I would have praised him for it." Still shaking his head, the blademaster changed the subject. "Has Chrys answered any of your messages?" "None, save the first one." "Hmm." "Do you think he's still upset?" "Karli died thirteen years ago." "And I did not allow Elam to be raised in his mother's stead. Don't forget that." "I have not forgotten. I hope Chrys has." Jin shrugged. "I want you there, when I go to Ratacca Korr." "I plan to be. With Kor." "A Hybrid in a pure-blood T'Ollo court?" Terran flinched. "I've warned you about that." Jin scowled. The term was accurate. The Mara did stem from a "Lost" tribe of Dragonians, fleeing from an earlier scourge by the Eloin. But the Mara people usually resented it. "Mara court. A Hybrid? Do you think he'll stand for it?" "Can he refuse a member of your tribe?" "True." Jin shook his head. "I'm still surprised that you'd choose a Hybrid to sponsor. The last Confirmation you sponsored--" "--was yours. I know." Terran smiled. "I have my reasons." "Why do you keep me in the dark?" "Because you worry too much." He nudged his charger with his knees. "Ravin wants to leave in half a point. Better get the tribe packing." "Aye, Da.." he mocked, dipping his head in a mock bow. Terran's chuckle floated back to him. Jin smiled and turned away. All he wanted was Crossroads. "Ah, Jin." He winced. Ravin, of course. |
| The Border Guard stretched lithely with a satisfying creak of his boiled leather armor. He simply could not help the spread of the smile across his face. “I must say,” he told the rather irritated-looking Fay-el, “I am coming to enjoy the company of your tribe immensely. The Mara is suddenly so much more interesting with you lot around!” Jin, son of Turin, frowned and crossed his arms. Ravin relished the expression of irritated discomfort on the other man’s face. “How so?” “Weeell,” Ravin drawled, leaning back lazily and resting his hands on his hips. “An Ael Kinth with Dragonian weapons and a Derk-ra’s crest is strange enough alone, but to have such under the tutelage of the Fay-el’s own blademaster is simply unprecedented,” he pointed out flippantly, with dripping sarcasm and a wide grin. “And you also call 'friend' a woman of---let us just say---questionable breeding who can barely be coaxed into proper skirts and who struts about with a sword and proud words like a man. Yet if my little eyes do not deceive me, I think she has an eye for your Second, and he for her, which---again---is… well… most interesting.” Jin’s frown deepened into a scowl. “You seem to spend an inordinate amount of time observing my tribe.” Ravin shrugged fluidly. “I am a Border Guard. I watch.” His smile melted from his face as he felt a sudden emptiness wash over him, as though the air had just fallen apart. “What is it?” The Border Guard’s eyes were narrowed, and all sense of humor had been leeched from his face. He was all wary watchfulness. “Something just happened.” He held up a hand to stay the Fay-el and stalked off in the direction of the event. “Stay here.” Jin blatantly ignored the command, following at the Border Guard’s shoulder. “Something? What do you mean something?” They passed through the outer ring of tents toward the first sentry perimeter. Ravin’s eyes flicked back toward him. “Like the Gift. Only… the opposite?” He could hear the confusion and uncertainty in his own voice. The explanation made no sense, but he had felt what he had felt. “What in Kyda’s name does that mean?” Jin demanded. “Shh,” Ravin commanded. Then, a second later, he sighed. There was loud discussion off behind dunes in the second sentry circle and obviously stealth was unnecessary. “When someone uses the Gift, it’s like… a knot. Or a peak. Or a wave. There’s something there. This was the opposite. An… unraveling. Or a sinkhole. A dispersal. For a moment everything was utterly calm. There was no motion, no tension, no activity. Just… smoothness.” The Fay-el of the tribe of Shinar was staring at him as though he’d sprouted a Derk-ra’s crest. Ravin didn’t entirely blame him. What he was saying made no sense, even though it was undeniably what he’d felt. “Um…” Jin sounded entirely out of his element, but still he offered a theory. “Maybe it was just someone not using the Gift?” Ravin shook his head. “Normally there are eddies and tensions even when people are not seizing the Gift. Gives and takes. This was definitely something else.” They finally reached the speaking voices. Neither of them were entirely surprised to find Kor standing there, although Jin was shocked to find Elam and Joran with him. “What are you doing out here!” Jin exclaimed, grasping Elam by the upper arm and glancing back toward camp, where the boys should be. Elam had his bow and arrows with him. “I was showing Joran my bow!” he piped. “I went away from the camp like Daliah showed me so a stray arrow wouldn’t hurt anyone.” “Good,” Jin said. “That’s good. But why is Kor here?” And what in Kyda’s name caused that… event? Ravin wondered silently. It felt like something had happened nearby. Everything was still eerily calm, but the Gift was beginning to resume it’s normal flow. He sensed somewhat of a condensing around the boy Elam, and wondered. The Ael Kinth shrugged. He was cleaning off his shitan on his pant leg with one hand. In the other hand he held something long, limp and dark as night. “They saw a viper and asked me to come out and kill it. I obliged.” He held up the snake and looked at it. “Pretty little thing. See the scales? They look black but are actually a very interesting shade of blue and purple. I think there may be enough here to skin for three or four shitan coverings.” “You fired some arrows and killed a snake?” Ravin said doubtfully, looking the group over. “That’s all?” The redheaded man stared at him as though he were crazy. “Yes… The boys were practicing their archery and saw a snake. They came and got me. I killed it for them. She was fast, but she was no Derk-ra.” “Look at her fangs!” Elam said excitedly, tugging on Jin’s pant leg. “She tried to jump on Kor and bite him, like this---” He formed his hand into a mouth and thrust it at the Fay-el’s face, who laughed and swatted the boy’s hand away. “---but Kor knew she was coming and dodged and sliced her out of the air with his shitan like this!” He slashed at the air with an imaginary knife. "Kor says he’ll let me keep the head!” Jin chuckled. “You’re not keeping the head. It’ll start to smell. But maybe if you’re really nice, Kor will show you how to skin the hide for a shitan covering.” He glanced at Ravin. “Are you satisfied now?” Ravin suddenly felt very stupid. “I suppose.” “Come,” the Fay-el said. “I think maybe the sun is getting to your head. You should get into the shade and have a swallow of water. And Elam and Joran, it’s time to return to camp. You know you shouldn’t be out past the first sentry circle.” The Ael Kinth tossed the Border Guard his water skin. Ravin caught it one handed and raised an eyebrow. “Here, have a bit of mine,” the redhead said. The sardonic smile crept once again over Ravin’s features and he tossed the waterskin back. “Thanks, but I’ll drink your water after we spar.” With a curt nod to Jin, he stalked back to camp, puzzled and annoyed. He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly ran headlong into a woman. She stepped agilely out of his way and he frowned, finding himself staring into the irritated blue eyes of that demon-blasted warrior woman. At least she was clothed now in a proper dress with freshly scrubbed cheeks and artfully braided hair. “You people,” Ravin growled. Then he smiled pleasantly; a viper’s smile. “Can you spar in those skirts?” “Can you?” she shot back, clearly irritated, though whether at him or the clothing or both, he did not know. "Probably," Ravin told her, the sardonic grin still on his face. "But then, if I were wearing skirts, I'd have no business sparring, now would I?" |
| Daliah crossed her arms, trying desperately to control her temper. Hot blood pounded into her arms, desperate to wrench the guard's insolent jaw from his face. Yet, as she spoke, her words came evenly, perhaps too much so. "You find it wrong for me to defend myself, then? Perhaps you would prefer it if I were to depend on a man such as yourself." His obnoxious grin remained. "No, I find it wrong that you liken yourself to a man. You believe you are equal to a warrior, and that disgusts me." Daliah closed her eyes briefly, praying to Kyda for strength before she answered. She knew she should at least attempt to explain before she severed one of his limbs. "You have travelled through the woods alone at night, yes?" He nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going. "How protected would you feel if you did not have your...gift? Even so, you have the appearance of a man that no one would dare plunder. Imagine yourself as a woman, vulnerable to the elements and any caravan that happened across you. You believe I violate my integrity, but that is in fact what I am protecting. I will not find myself defenseless, at the mercy of any man of questionable morals." She spun around, not wishing to speak with him any further. It could be that he called her name, scoffed at her, but her head was too hot to hear him. Sounds of the camp spun around her, biting at her mind, forcing her from her thoughts. It was a sort of blessing. If she were to dwell longer on the issue, her temper would have broken forth. She melted onto the sand, a state of awareness overtaking her. Her eyes darted from face to face, until they landed on Layole speaking earnestly with Jin. Yet from here, she could not hear what they were saying, which she found frustrating. She could feel Ravin approaching, and stiffened. If he were here to banish her, she did not think she could leave. She could only hope she found a friend in Jin, who held that decision. |
| “There is no need to feel ashamed, Layole.” The Second’s eyes shifted to behind Jin’s left shoulder. He sighed, and moved into his view again. “You wish to marry, and I will not bar you from it. And I have no need for a Second here, with the Border Guards so close.” “I swore oaths.” “Which I release you from.” Jin cocked his head. “Enjoy it while you can. How else can I grow a tribe?” Layole flushed. Chuckling, Jin stepped past him. “I will make it official in a few days. Beware though. If you’re no longer a Second, I guarantee Terran will find you and set you to work.” Ravin swore. Both of them glanced his way, Layole with a frown at the sight of who his anger was directed against. Jin rested a staying hand on his shoulder and moved closer. “Bloody, blasted, star-spawned—“ Ravin slid into his native language, though he was obviously still cursing at her. Daliah smiled, head cocked to the side, apparently enjoying the tirade. “I would suggest moving your betrothed away from him,” Jin suggested. With a nod, Layole moved forward. Ravin flicked him a glance, fingering the hilt of one shitan. They studied each other, and then Ravin relented. Either could win, but neither would risk it. Daliah followed Layole with a wry grin curving her face. Jin, on his way to calm the fuming Border Guard, stopped her. “What did you say to him?” “He mocked me for my blade.” She shifted the sheath smoothly, adjusting its position. “I told him me without my sword would be like him without his Gift.” It was Jin’s turn to swear. “Have you lost your mind? No wonder he wants to feed you to the Derk-ra.” She stared at him blankly. Jin sighed. “He does not have the Gift. It was removed from him, permanently.” “Like mocking a eunuch for his lack,” Layole added. Daliah glanced from one to the other. “Perhaps I should speak to him.” “No. You have said quite enough already.” Jin sighed. “I hope Kor is prepared,” he said dryly. Not that Ravin would act on his anger yet. The Border Guard would feed that flame, keep it burning long and fierce, and then express it against Kor on his own timing. Jin knew Ravin, and his own form of self-control. When he caught up with the Border Guard, Ravin was calm again. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and smiled in Jin’s direction. “The sun won’t wait forever, you know. I hope the whole tribe is not as lazy as you.” “We’re moving on at midday?” Ravin shrugged. “The Fay-el wants no delay.” Jin’s eyes narrowed. “You have received news?” “Some. Not much. He very much wants to see you.” “Bound or free?” He muttered. Ravin cocked his head. “I do not know my Fay-el’s heart, as you so pointedly reminded me earlier.” Jin glanced at him. His face was smooth, undisturbed, but danger glinted in his dark eyes. This time, the chieftain held his tongue. The Border Guard shrugged affably and stepped aside. “I would dearly hate to leave you behind. Or help you keep up. Better be ready.” Their gazes met. Ravin’s expression darkened lightly. The implied threat Jin understood; he would rather not be presented to Chrys tied to his own horse. “We will be ready.” “Good. And tell that Ael Kinth I have not forgotten him. In Crossroads, we shall see how he dances.” And Ravin strode away, whistling sharply at the sand. One of his men unfolded from the dunes, brushing away golden grains as he trotted after his leader. That the man held a scrap of parchment, and had a hawk perched on his shoulder, suggested his occupation clearly. Jin scowled at them both, but did not interfere. Chrys sent messages to his Border Guards, but not to his kin-in-kind; it did not bode well. |
| As he, Elam and Joran returned to camp, Kor was not incredibly surprised or dismayed to see Terran melt from in between two buckskin tents. He was, however, not incredibly thrilled---and taken quite off guard---when the bladesmaster brought his arm back like a thrower in an Aquillian saeda game and, with a mightly snap of the wrist, lobbed a good sized stone directly at Kor's head. The rock sailed past his right ear as he barely managed to twist out of the way. Beside him, Elam jumped, and Joran stared in dismay as the Hybrid, flustered, dropped the snakeskin they'd salvaged. "What the... in Kyda's name... what..." Kor sputtered. "Good," Terran said simply, then eyed the Hybrid and each of the boys in turn with a heavy stare. "Always expect to be assailed by unexpected assailants." The phrase had the feel of a recently-invented proverb, perhaps of the blademaster's own creation. The two boys nodded, wide eyed. Kor merely stared for a moment, then laughed ruefully. "Well, at least you did not test our preparedness with an arrow or shitan!" "This time," Terran replied. Kor honestly could not tell if he was serious or not, and judging from the glance exchanged by Elam and Joran, they were not sure either. The bladesmaster did not give them long to contemplate, however, before changing the subject. "We're setting out. Pack your things immediately. Boys, see that there is adequate water for the tribe. Kor, when you have packed up that ridiculous bedroll you deign to call 'living arrangements', assist the Fay-el. Now, boys!" he growled, seeing Joran and Elam still there. The boys nodded sharply and hurried off to do as the blademaster bade them. Terran watched them go, and then, once they were out of earshot, turned to Kor. "Stay close by the Fay-el and... take care with the Border Guards." Kor's fingers rested on the hilt of his shitan. "They would hurt Jin, after giving him safe passage and an escort besides?" He glanced around, looking for any of the elusive men of the Mara, but they were---as usual---not to be seen. Terran blinked. "I mean look out for yourself. It is unlikely that they would do Jin harm, but you are---forgive the word---a Hybrid. Although..." His expression darkened. "Well, it is a strange thing, to hurry the lot of us along when the sun rides so high in the sky. And Ravin is unusually surly, even for him. Watch well your own back, but also be wary of those who may approach Jin. You never know..." Kor frowned. "His honor guard has been refreshed. I am not to ride with him..." The bladesmaster raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think chose his honor guard?" Kor smiled sheepishly. "Today, you ride with him. When they challenge you---and they had better challenge you or I'll have their hides!---tell them I sent you. They will confirm with me." "But... won't my presence so close to the Fay-el displease Chrys?" Kor worried out loud. "A lowly Hyrbid like me?" Terran frowned deeply and glanced off toward Jin's tent. "Chrys is already displeased about something, I think. Now get you to your duties. And don't slack!" Kor nodded seriously. "I won't." He strode toward the campfire. Spotting his bedroll, he knelt to roll up his pallet and two blankets. |
| "You cannot." Jin blinked, shifting his gaze away from the stiff back of Ravin, and toward the arguing voices. His honor guard had adjusted their position. Two formed a wall of horseflesh between Jin and the Hybrid. "You mean well," one continued. Talen, it seemed, had drawn the leader position for today. "But you cannot." "Terran ordered me to do so." "Terran chose us already. Why would he order you as well?" Kor shrugged. Talen sighed. "You hold to that?" A nod. Talen's sigh deepend. Flinging a hand at the nearest of the guard, he snapped, "Go. Find Terran. See if what he says is correct." "And in the meantime?" Kor asked. "In the meantime, you stay there," Talen said. As the argument resumed, Jin turned away. Whatever they chose made little difference to him. He did puzzle over Terran's statement. Why would the blademaster insist on having the Hybrid close to him? There was little danger of the Border Guards. Jin glanced at Ravin thoughtfully. As long as Chrys wanted to see him alive, that is. If Chrys were to order his death...Jin shifted that line of thought away. Surely not. A shout. Swearing. Kor was suddenly at his side, grinning from ear to ear. And Ravin whirled, hand snapping into the air. "What did you just do?" "Me?" Kor's eyebrows arched. "I saw an opening between them. I took it. Now I am where I should be." Jin caught a string of invectives from Talen. Kor acted as if he didn't hear, though his grin broadened just a little, and his eyes glinted with suppressed amusement. Bloody rogue Jin thought. He frowned at Ravin, whose eyes had narrowed as if studying a curious insect. "You lie, Ael Kinth." Kor stiffened. The honor guard quieted instantly. Even Talen drew himself up. Jin tried to defuse the sudden tension. "Should any man accuse without proof?" "I have proof," Ravin snapped. "I felt something. Or rather, the lack of something." Jin sighed. "Did we not discuss this before? How can you bring up such star-crazed things again?" Ravin didn't answer. He cocked his head, danger gleaming in his face. "Well? Have you nothing to say, Kor?" "I do not lie. I did nothing. Perhaps you should have accepted the water I offered you before." Jin flicked Talen a glance and gestured at the two glaring men, whispering. "Do something. Kor looks like he wants to--" "To fight. Aye, I hope he does." Jin glared at him. "Ravin will kill him." "A honor fight requires no death. And Ravin deserves to find Kor is no weakling." "I don't want to lose a good man over harsh words." Talen's eyebrows arched. "He felled two Derk-ra, in two nights. What makes you so sure Kor will be the loser?" Ravin tensed. "You speak as ka-lin, as darkness--a deceiver." A sly grin. "Perhaps your heritage lies more toward the tower of Eyrie than the fair land of Aquila." Kor's eyes narrowed at the insult. Each word was spoken with careful distinction. "So, you say my mother was a concubine of Azrael, Lord of Darkness. Or that I was sired by a demon. You insult my honor and now my birth." Ravin shrugged. "I felt something that cannot be explained by what I know. I see one who says he did nothing, yet I felt the proof of his lies." Kor drew his shitan. "This cannot lie." And Ravin's eyes lit up. "Do you challenge me then? Can demon-kind bleed?" |
| "Let's find out," Kor said, pointing the wickedly curved dagger toward the sand. "Yes, I challenge you. But this is your land. You draw the boundary." "Oh for Kyda's sake," Jin sighed. Ravin smirked in satisfaction, drawing his own shitans, and sauntered in the direction the Hybrid had indicated. "Very well." The toe of his ashy brown leather boot began to trace a graceful arc in the sand. All the time he smiled ferally at Kor. "This is simple. I shove you outside the boundary, you lose. You step outside the boundary, you lose. My shitan tastes your blood, you lose. I knock you unconscious, you lose. You yield, you lose." The circle traced, he stood waiting in the center, arms spread wide, inviting the Hybrid to enter.. Kor stepped into the circle, sheer anger burning some of the drowsy lethargy from his body. "You're going to lose, Ael Kinth," the waiting Border Guard informed him pleasantly. Kor didn’t answer, but instead watched Ravin warily, looking for any hint of movement that might warn him that the more experienced man was about to attack. The Border Guard was all fluid grace; every minute change of stance and expression melted seamlessly into the next. There were no hints. “You don’t wish to exchange words?” Ravin sneered, stepping back into Coiled Snake. "Plotting more tricks?" Kor just watched him. “Fine,” the Border Guard said with a shrug, “then we shall fight.” Still Kor said nothing in response, only crouching low, his eyes trained on Ravin’s readied blades. “And I thought they called you a bard,” Ravin said silkily. And in the middle of the sentence he pounced. Kor dodged easily, noting the calculation in Ravin’s eyes. His foe was merely testing him. The fight would get much more trying. They wove about each other for a few moments as if in a great dance, feinting and dodging. It was clear Ravin was leading and Kor following. “You prefer a silent fight, do you Ael Kinth?” Ravin asked, that infuriating grin still spread from ear to ear. “Do words frighten you so very much? Is your concentration so bad that you cannot spare any attention for a friendly conversation?” Kor smiled a tiny bit himself, changing footwork and forcing their circle to the left. Ravin followed him effortlessly. He thrust forward, faster this time, and Kor swung to the side to evade his attack. “You dance so prettily,” Ravin taunted. Still Kor said nothing, testing Ravin with his own blade. The Border Guard leapt in a great Diagonal Step suddenly, lashing out with his knife so quickly that Kor, focused on the downward stroke, almost failed to avoid the blade when Ravin shifted it to his left hand in a blur. He felt the tip slash the side of his tunic as he twisted out of the way, missing his flesh by mere millimeters. He ducked under Ravin’s follow-up swing, spun around, and kicked him hard in the back. The Border Guard stumbled but stayed upright, and turned around to face the Hybrid. Ravin grinned savagely. “Again you prove your denial a lie! I knew it!” His smile was cold and sharp as steel, and rage Kor still didn't understand simmered in his eyes. Kor tried to shrug away his confusion, but at that moment the other man feinted, and at the last second pulled his dagger and met Kor’s right shitan arm with a turning kick that knocked the blade from the Hybrid’s hand. It flew through the air and landed outside the circle, out of both of their immediate reach. The other followed where that one had gone with a grab and heavy blow to Kor’s left wrist. “You are disarmed,” Ravin said, his own shitans still held quite firmly before him. “Do you yield?” Kor snorted, shaking his hands firmly to try to clear some of the tingling numbness left by Ravin’s blows. “I’m not going to lose.” He charged forward head first in Rushing Bull to plow into the Border Guard, but instead of slamming into the other man, he stepped out of the way at the last moment and tripped Ravin as the Border Guard changed his footwork to meet the expected blow. The attack drove the Border Guard back and to the ground. Ravin’s head struck the ground with an audible thud, and he lay there for a long moment, stunned. Grinning in satisfaction, Kor knelt beside him, claiming one of the shitans the stunned Border Guard had dropped. The Hybrid held the blade to Ravin’s throat with narrowed eyes. “Do you admit you lose? Or would you prefer I draw your blood first?” he hissed. Eyes suddenly clearing, Ravin beamed and hooked his leg around Kor’s knees and used it to twist the Hybrid off balance. Kor fell sideways with a curse, Ravin’s other shitan came up, and Kor felt the blade knick his bicep just below Terran’s shallow slash. “So the demon does bleed,” the Border Guard smirked. |
| "Are you two finished now? Satisfied?" Ravin glared at him, eyes narrowing, before rising to his feet. He cleaned the blades, sheathing them smoothly. "I have my reasons." "Reasons I wish not to hear," Jin growled. "Can we go now? Or do we hold up the rest of the tribe and your Fay-el?" The Border Guard's eyes narrowed. "If you were any other man--" Jin shifted the janin sheath on his shoulder, a light threat Ravin did not miss. "If you were, I would have had you flogged and beheaded already. By my hand. But you are a Border Guard. I am in your land. Do you wish to challenge me?" Ravin scowled. A lose-lose situation for him. Wounding Chrys' kin-in-kind could mean demotion, exile, or death. Losing to Jin would include a loss of honor, somewhat, among his men. His frown deepened. Whirling, he gestured west again. "To tarry is unwise. This close to the caravan trails, unwanted visitors wander." Jin nodded curtly. Grabbing Kor's steed's reins, he led him closer to the Hybrid, who was gathering his own shitans. "You fought well." Kor glanced up at him. "Perhaps. I still lost." "You did stay in the Fundamentals. At least, as far as I could see." He shrugged. Jin sighed, dropping his voice. "He won't challenge you again. Ravin is of the ilk that backs off when another stands up to him." The Hybrid remounted silently. Jin backed away and turned to follow their rapidly disappearing guide. < > The gentle swell of dunes cut off abruptly, shearing down into the narrow Dike Pass, smaller cousin to the mighty Rim. Stone wings spread on either side, their broken sides only suitable for wiry, thin goats or the few renegades who dared not risk Crossroads. A thin river, fed by melting snow from higher peaks, drained into a large pool. Trees and sparse foliage made this a suitable camp for caravans and one lost, Dragonian tribe. Jin smiled ruefully and shifted in the saddle. Here, they were safe from the Eloin and most Hybrid attacks. Several camps were spread out at the base of these cliffs. Caravans milled and churned, setting up camp or preparing to leave, either course discerned by the amount of merchandise dangling from the wagons. A merchant-noble's retinue sprawled in disregard of the cramped area, striped tents rapidly changing into the dusty brown patina of the desert's trademark. Jin gestured at the men behind him. Talen eased up to his shoulder. "Sire?" "Where do you suggest the tribe camp?" Talen glanced at him and frowned. "I...I suppose they--" "Do not." His eyebrows arched. Jin sighed. "You drew leader this morning?" "Aye." "Then do not guess or suppose. You tell me, where?" Talen straightened slightly, flicking a glance over the landscape. "To the north of the Pass, at a goodly distance from the nobleman. The trees are sparse, but that merchant may be cause of trouble." Jin nodded. "I agree. Do it." And he was gone, whirling his horse and drumming his heels against its flanks. The tribe had set up camp many times already; they were efficient and quick. Though Ravin muttered and swore, Jin tarried until he was certain the tribe was safe and prepared. The honor guard divided. A large one would be an insult to Chrys' goodwill. Terran reappeared, flicking a curious glance at Kor's bared arm, and the bloody cloth wrapped around it. He shifted to Jin's shoulder. "Seems I missed something." "You did." "Did he hold to the Fundamentals?" "Never strayed." Terran grinned. "Good." Jin shook his head, smiling. "Let us go now, Ravin. I am satisfied with the arrangements for my people." He nudged his stallion forward. "Halt." He stared at the Border Guard over his shoulder. "What do you need?" Dark eyes narrowed. "The boy." Jin frowned. "He is still but a child. Let him stay with the women and other children." "The child comes with us. That Chrys demanded. You deny a man the right to see his sister's firstborn?" And his heir Jin thought. "You know as well as I the danger of the Guild. The danger of Eloin slavers." "I also know the danger of my Fay-el's temper. Bring the boy." Jin turned, but Kor had already reacted, apparently, because he was at Jin's shoulder again, Elam on the saddle. "Your Da wishes to show you Crossroads," he said. Elam grinned, oblivious to the tension. "I can't wait to tell Joran. He'll be so jealous!" Kor's smile was forced, but Elam didn't seem to notice. "Aye, he will. Go to your Da now." Jin shook his head. "Keep him with you." "A Hybrid? With your son?" Jin smiled. "I trust you." Kor looked slightly startled, but he said nothing more. Ravin scowled at them both, obviously disliking the arrangement, but he let it stand. Jin nudged Doblo through the Pass. Crossroads loomed ahead. And at its back, the craggy outline of Ratacca Korr; Chrys' lair. |
| Kor’s nostrils flared. “I smell the sea,” he said with an appreciative inhalation, but he stared dubiously about. The desert looked as dry and lifeless as it had for the last several days. “I smell dates,” Elam piped, and Kor nodded. That implied either an oasis he could not yet see, or a healthy trading post, for any trading post was sadly lacking if it lacked dates. He’d only had the desert fruit once in his life, and knew he’d have to sample them again while here, even if the only currency with which he had to pay for them was a song. Jin glanced at them both crosswise. “You may see the sea and taste some dates later,” he said, and Elam pouted. “Right now, seeking an audience with Chrys is our first priority.” Although there was hardly time to explore, Kor and Elam were able to see much of Crossroads as Jin’s small entourage---surrounded on either side by Ravin’s Border Guards---made its steady trek through the main avenue of the trade city toward Ratacca Korr beyond. Here, there were bright tents, beneath which, piled precariously within giant barrels and parked carts, were heaps of fresh fruits and vegetables, some of which---like a spiked green melon that reminded Kor of a morningstar---the Hybrid had never seen before. Just across from it was a covered stall constructed of whitewashed, neatly hammered wood, where a woman of clearly mixed ancestry was selling lace products. Next to that was a large open space, where a Dragonian blacksmith had set up a forge and was selling horseshoes and a dagger to a family of what appeared to be Aquilian netmakers, judging from the materials in their carts. Although he could not see it as they traveled northwest through the city, Kor was aware of the moist air flowing from the east, and salt on the wind. There were fish that way, and faintly he smelled the seaweed salad and sugary kelp treats of his boyhood. Several times Jin noticed the shift of the Hybrid’s eyes toward the east, and finally smiled. “Smells like home, does it?” Kor raised an eyebrow. “That it does. Yet it is strange, for I cannot hear or see the sea.” On the saddle before him, Elam squirmed, trying to see past the sprawl of tents, stalls, huts and stone cottages to the source of the salt-smell. Ravin, riding nearby, snorted and kicked his horse into a canter to escape the idle chatter of his charges. The Fay-el glanced off in the direction Kor’s attention was repeatedly torn. “See the shanties down that way, past the Derk-ra stalls?” The Hybrid jumped at the word, then grinned ruefully, his fingers briefly brushing the Derk-ra crest on one of his sheathed shitans. “Aye, I see them.” “The sea is just beyond. Crossroads is on the gulf, and there is a thriving Aquilan port there where Crossroads meets the sea.” Kor’s eyebrows arched nearly into his bright red hair. “Indeed?” It had been more than six months since he’d last been in Aquila, and the thought that some of his countrymen were so close briefly made him long for home. Then his eyes flicked backwards in the direction of camp and Joran, and he shrugged. Home was where one made a home. Still, it would be good to visit the port, if he had time. Jin chuckled lowly. “Assuming all goes well with Chrys” --- Kor was somewhat discomforted by the doubt in the other man’s voice --- “you should take some time to see the city. Perhaps even sample some of its wares. Have you anything to trade?” Kor shook his head. “No, other than perhaps a tune or two.” “Well, I’m sure there are a few folks here who would gladly exchange a leaf-full of fish for a familiar song. Or perhaps you could put your mother’s craft to good use; Crossroads is large and thriving, but few live here permanently, and finding a healer can be difficult. I’m sure there are those here who could use a healer’s services, and would be willing to part with some coin in exchange for a steadier needle than Turoc wields.” Terran came riding up behind them as Jin was finishing that last, and glanced from the Fay-el to the Hybrid. “Just see that you---” “Don’t forget my duties,” Kor finished in a tone of long suffering. Terran blinked. “That too.” He nodded to the left and Kor turned to look in the direction of the blademaster’s gaze. Two blond-haired, heavily armored men walked side by side in the shadows, speaking lowly. “I meant make sure you keep an eye on them.” “There are Eloin here…” Kor growled, fingers touching the hilts of his mismatched shitans. “Ahh, the demon has his own hatreds,” Ravin taunted, twisting in his saddle to stare over his shoulder at the Hybrid with that infernal grin. |
| Jin gave the Border Guard a fierce glare. Ravin scowled and whirled aside. “If only he would challenge me,” Terran muttered. “Knock some of that arrogance out of his thick skull.” “Unfortunately, Ravin will not. He knows better.” After ordering Talen and his men to remain behind, (as his uneasiness grew) Jin nudged Doblo after the retreating Border Guard. They rode at an easy pace through the packed sand, settled by hundreds of feet over the years. When hooves clattered against stone, Jin slowed and dismounted. The courtyard spread in a wide circle, speckled with sand. Careful attention kept the stone clear of most debris. Ravin had halted as well. He called out in the desert dialect, a slurring accent that mingled syllables, as if he spoke with a mouthful of pebbles. A hostler appeared at his summons and led the horses away. Jin shifted the janin’s sheath from saddle to back. Not that he would be allowed to keep it in Chrys’ presence, but at least it would be in his chambers…. hopefully. They walked across the courtyard and into a milling crowd of supplicants. Though the outer gates were open, the inner gates were tightly closed, barred by two tall sentries, bearing the Aquila double-headed spear. Each stood at rigid attention, arms unwavering, eyes narrowed like hungry falcons. Sharp features marked them Eastar, such as Ravin. The Border Guard plowed through the crowd with ease. Swearing and angry shouting followed his path. Jin did not follow him. He had no desire to push through the people. And not with Elam in tow. One mistake, one slip—and his last link to Karli would be gone, as well as the son he loved. Guards patrolled the battlement of the stony castle. Its name had come from its construction. The southern tip of the Rim curved through this stretch of fertile land. The castle had been carved over ten generations, crafted from the rock that protected their coastline. Save the Aquila port, the rest of the surf was a pounding sea that threw ships onto jagged rocks. Many Eloin invasions had tried to unseat the Mara stronghold, and the timbers of their ships lay scattered here and there. Ravin glanced back at their motley group and shook his head. He turned to the two guards, eyes sliding to the west. He snapped his attention away, fingers flicking a warding sign toward the distant peaks. The ebony needle of Eyrie, Azrael’s tower, lay there. Whether it were truly a tower or a thin spike of dark stone, Jin could not guess. The truth or falsehood of the legend had never concerned him, and still didn’t. The Border Guard finished his discussion with the other guards. He turned to face them, gesturing irritably for them to follow. Jin worked his way through the petitioners. Ravin stepped away from the two guards and gestured vaguely to the right. “Come. We will pass through the guard tower.” “Why?” “Must you ask questions? Chrys is expecting us. His men saw our approach through Crossroads.” The Guild saw us, you mean. The hawkish glares and studied disinterested expressions he recognized from before. They had not improved, as Chrys had claimed would happen. If anything, the power of the Guild was rising. Two of the shops had the Guild’s mark of disapproval on them. Four intersecting triangles, with a red slash drawn through them—and both shops had been empty of patrons. Ducking through a low lintel, they darted into a murky-lighted room. Sweet kolinar smoke clouded the air. A hind turned on a spit, surrounded by burly men tossing dice or downing tankards. These were off-duty men, it would seem. A small group, clad in cloaks and linka, were talking quietly among themselves at a rough table, crowned by a single lantern. They gave their group a cursory glance and promptly ignored them. A pair of Derk-ra rested at their feet, their coloring unusual enough that even Terran took a second glance. “A matched pair,” he said quietly. “Aye.” Though their underbellies were the soft tan of most Derk-ra, their other scales were a gray, fading into white around their jaws and talons. They did not possess the murky amber eyes either, but a brilliant sapphire. One hissed, rising into a half-crouch. At the edge of his vision, Jin saw Kor tense and shift himself between the Derk-ra and Elam. The man at the table looked up, frowned at them, and snapped at the Derk-ra. The creature flopped down again, snarls continuing, but it did not continue after them. Winding through the corridor, Ravin finally paused and threw open a door, gesturing for them to hurry. Jin stepped through first, and climbed the stair. The rest of them tramped behind him. Out onto a landing of smooth stone, veined with minerals, like threads in a tapestry. Clean rushes and lanterns spaced at intervals revealed a wide hall leading in both directions. Men and women scurried from either side, heads down as they moved from task to task. Each was clad in the color-banded tunic or dress of hereditary servants. “This is the west wing of Ratacca Korr. Do you know where you are, Jin of Shinar?” Ravin’s voice held a taunting note. “I do.” Dread uncoiled in his stomach. A flicker of nausea rose, but he beat it down. The last time he had wandered these halls, Elam was but a month old. His mother had died within sight of her homeland, leaving Jin to intercede with the grief-wounded Fay-el. Thankfully, the midwife Rowan had taken Elam into her home after the miscarriage of her own child. She gave the babe the milk he needed and, more importantly, hid him from the Guildsmen who tramped through the tribal camp in Jin’s absence, searching for Chrys’ heir. “Ah, sweet recollections, Jin?” He glared at the Border Guard. “We have no more need of you.” “You could not find the throne room, even if you tried.” “I can. Go, Rah-vin.” The Border flinched, eyes glinting at the slight. “You will regret that.” “I think not,” Terran said softly. Ravin glanced at him, his frown deepening, and then back to Jin. His eyes slid to Elam and a slow grin spread. “Maybe so.” Jin leaned into his face, grabbing his shirt and shoving him back against the wall. “Go. Now. Before I do something I regret.” He released him. Ravin’s eyes were stormy, but he only brushed at his tunic and retreated to the stair. When he had truly gone, Jin sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I fear Chrys has not forgiven me.” “For once,” Terran said, fingering his shitan, “I agree with your worrying.” “What did you do?” Kor asked quietly. “Did not the Eloin cause—“ his voice trailed off. Elam was staring at them both with wide eyes. “Perhaps, another time?” Jin said. Kor nodded. They passed in mutual silence, between the smoldering glares of long-dead warriors on their tapestries. On through the quiet corridor, aware of servant’s curious looks and the contemptuous frown of nobles, the rich cloaks and gold torc on bare arm marking their status. The corridor ended abruptly. Four guards bore lances and swords, studying them as they approached. Behind them, the wide hall of Chrys nuse Endry a Lodear stretched out of sight. Without a word, Jin unsheathed the janin and withdrew the dagger hidden in his boot. Handed it to them. Terran’s shitans and a small blade was added to the pile. Kor hesitated for a moment, perhaps fearing his father’s gift would not be returned, but then he too handed his weapons to the waiting guards. Elam stirred, tugging on Jin gently. “What are you doing?” he whispered. Jin smiled at him softly. “Chrys doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.” Puzzlement flickered on his face. Jin squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” Elam frowned, nibbling at his lip. His face turned solemn. “Nothing dangerous can go where Chrys is?” “Only what his guards allow.” He moved closer to the men. Jin reached for him, but he wriggled out of his grasp. Withdrawing short arrows, Elam held them out to the men with quiet seriousness. “Keep this safe.” “Aye, sire.” Jin blinked. Saw Terran’s head snap up. The blademaster glanced at him, eyebrows arching. Jin felt his heart sink. Chrys had married a young Settar-born maiden, Turina, four years ago. But if she were childless, than Elam remained sole heir to the Mara. Jin clenched his teeth. You can’t have him, he growled in his head. He is mine. Mine and the love of my heart. The guards stepped aside. Jin stalked through, anger pounding in his skull. The hall was wide, centuries old, and stunning to anyone who had never crossed its flawless stone. Curls of scarlet, sapphire, and emerald meandered through a milky marble floor. Craggy pillars reached up into the air to support a roof graced with a pane of Aquila glass the size of a small table. Sunlight shimmered across frayed and fading tapestries. Delicate lunes cast their pale light over the vast room, lighting the inlaid symbols etched into their surface. Kor and Elam alike stared at the glowing globes. These were not like the small ball Jin owned. Teardrop and crescent moon, prism and six-pointed star—their shapes differed, but all shone with the sapphire gleam imparted them by the hands of a Guildsman. This many of them in one room advertised Chrys’ wealth; a lune that could fit into the palm of a hand was worth a week’s wages. A larger lune could buy a horse. At the end of the corridor, a raised dais seated two men. Chrys sat at the top of it, eyes narrowed at the approaching group. A gold circlet, crowned with a single green gem, banded his dark brown hair. It was shorn close to his ears, as befitted a man who had passed Confirmation, framing almond eyes, the edges tipped slightly upward in deference to his Lodear heritage. At the base of the dais, Chrys’ loquiri sprawled in languid annoyance, head resting on one elbow, feet dangling from the step. The relaxed posture belied the true danger. Though the loquiri queue dangled down his spine, marking him out, he was more obvious by the studied stare he gave each of them, searching and weighing the risk to his Match. Jin had seen him kill a man from that position on the dais, unfolding like a Derk-ra from his crouch. Veritas was not a man to trifle with. He stood as they approached, hands on the hilt of his sword. He alone could carry weapons into Chrys’ presence, and did so visibly. Burly where Chrys was wiry, Veritas smiled easily, and motioned them closer. “Hail, Jin of Shinar. The Star bless thee and thy house.” Jin glanced at Chrys in surprise. The Fay-el swore, glaring at his loquiri. “ That is not what I said to tell him.” Veritas shrugged. Chrys swore and jerked to his feet. The loquiri shifted, glancing back over his shoulder. His gaze returned to Jin. “He’s mad at you.” “I know.” “I can’t fathom why. Well, I can, because he’s always muttering about it in my head. But his reasons don’t make sense to me.” “Would you be quiet!” Chrys snapped. He pushed Veritas aside. Glowering, he leaned into Jin’s face, anger twisting his features. Even then, his resemblance to Karli was uncanny. Regret and grief twisted in Jin’s chest. He stepped back. “The Star keep you, Chrys.” Chrys’ hand came up, and then dropped again. His eyes glanced over their group, searching, hungry. Jin felt his dread rise into a snarling monster. “How fares Turina?” he spoke around a lump in his throat. “What concern is that to you?” “You are my tata-kan.” Chrys glanced at him. A scowl darkened his face. “I care not.” And then flinched, wincing as if he had been slapped. His eyes slid to Veritas and back again. He took a breath and retreated a few inches. “It is…worry for you. That has me…upset.” Liar. Jin bit his lip and forced a smile. “Of course. Kin-in-kind should never quarrel.” “Aye.” His eyes widened. “Oh, Kyda,” he breathed. Jin followed his gaze. Elam stared up at the Mara with unfeigned wonder. “You look like the Keeper’s drawings.” Chrys smiled. “Perhaps. You look like someone…” his voice caught, “someone I loved very much.” “Are you a T’Ollo?” Jin flinched. Terran groaned softly. Chrys said nothing for a long, dreadful moment. Veritas cleared his throat behind them. “We are of the Mara, Elam. ‘Tis best to call us by that, to prevent confusion.” Elam nodded solemnly. “You sure do look like the pictures of T’Ollo though. Are you sure you’re not one of them?” “Quite sure,” Chrys grated. His eyes shifted to Jin. “I see what a fine education you have given him.” “It is a true term.” “Not any more,” he hissed. “What do you want of me? Of the boy?” “I wish only to see him.” “I do not believe you.” Chrys clenched his hands into fists. “Do you question my honor?” “I question your motives. Your actions.” Elam frowned, glancing between them. Jin rested a hand on his shoulder and gently nudged him toward the Hybrid. “Stay with Kor.” Chrys’ gaze shifted, and then his expression hardened. “You have a Hybrid caring for my heir?” Jin’s eyes narrowed. “For my son. Your nephew.” “A Hybrid? Have you lost your wits?” Veritas scowled. His hand jerked. Chrys winced. Swore half-heartedly. The loquiri smiled and settled back. Jin watched the play of expressions on the Fay-el’s face. Pain faded to anger, then frustration, and ended at uneasy annoyance. “Fine. Let the child be carried off by some Eloin slavers. A castrated jester for the Eyrie-spawned Eloin king.” Jin spoke each word with careful distinction. “I trust Kor.” He flicked a hand in a cursory gesture. “Hybrids are notoriuos liars and thieves. I’m surprised half of your women is not with child by him.” Kor tensed, but Terran rested a restraining hand on his arm, shaking his head. Jin forced his own anger back under control. “We are weary from our journey, Chrys.” Chrys frowned. “I know that!” Jin blinked. And then the Fay-el twisted to glare at his loquiri. “I said, I know that. But they can—I don’t want—Ack!” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Fine. Do what you want. Just quit jabbering at me!” Veritas clipped his heels together and bowed at the waist. “As you command, sire.” Chrys cursed. Threw a hand out at the grinning loquiri. “He will lead you to your chambers. Speak to a maid if you need anything." Veritas glared at him. Chrys flinched again. "You may....eat with me, tonight, if you wish." Jin dipped his head and turned away. They followed Veritas from the throne room. When they were out of earshot, Jin dropped back, catching Kor’s arm. “Take Elam out now. I don’t want him within easy reach of Chrys. It makes me…uneasy.” The Hybrid nodded. “Elam,” he called out. “Remember the dates? Let’s go see if we can find some.” The boy dashed to Kor’s side, grinning from ear to ear. “Really?” Jin tousled his hair and dropped crouched down to his level. “Aye, you can wander and explore. But, Elam, listen to me.” He rested his hands on his shoulders and dropped his voice to a stern tone. “You stay with Kor. At all times. No matter what you see, or hear, or think, you stay with him, and do what he says. Understand?” Elam nodded, his face solemn again from his serious tone. “Promise me,” Jin said. “I promise.” He straightened, pasting on a smile. “Good.” “Jin?” That was Veritas. He bent down again, hugging Elam close. “You be careful now.” Elam squirmed in his grip. Jin released him and he scurried to Kor. “Come on. Come on. Let’s go. Let’s hurry.” Kor sighed dramatically but tagged along after the excited boy. Chuckling, Jin returned to Terran’s side. |
| "Well," Kor said to Elam conversationally as he led the child hastily toward through the courtyard, fearing at every moment that someone would stop them. They had paused just long enough to collect their weapons and hear, again, the guards direct that strange title toward Elam. They hadn't even looked at Kor. "This'll be a first for the both of us!" he said in an undertone. "You've never been to Crossroads either?" the eight-year-old asked, slightly louder than Kor would have liked. The swarming sea of supplicants did not even so much as glance at the boy, and Kor relaxed ever so slightly. Before he could answer the child's question, Elam offered, "My Da hasn't been in years." With a slow nod, Kor smiled weakly for the boy. "Yes, well, it seems your father is less comfortable in Crossroads than he is at home." Elam puffed up his chest. "Well I'm not uncomfortable! I'm not afraid of new things at all!" Kor laughed, and the bark of his voice did turn a couple heads, who scowled to see his red hair. "Me neither! Now let's find those dates!" Kor said, ignoring the xenophobic glares and whispers except to almost unconsciously rest his finger upon his father's shitan. They were not challenged at all as they left Ratacca Korr. Kor lifted his nose, and pointed it toward the wind. The wind pointed him toward the dates. "That way!" he said with more joviality than he felt, considering the fear he'd seen in Jin, and pointed toward a figure approaching with a cart. "My good woman!" the bard greeted with a winning smile as he positively swept before her, Elam on his shoulders. The 'good' woman frowned deeply, her eyes flowing from Kor's flame-colored hair, to his stormy eyes, then finally to his smile. Her coldness melted somewhat at that last, but her muddy brown eyes were still suspicious where they watched him from beneath a ridiculous floppy, sapphire blue hat. "Yes?" she inquired, her hands fidgeting with her full maroon and azure skirts, then patting the covered top of her cart nervously. Kor could smell the sweetness of the dates stored beneath the lid. "I see you have a full load of dates!" the Hybrid grinned, shifting Elam on his shoulders. "Are you headed to Ratacca Korr?" "Yes..." the woman said again, looking even less certain now that her wares had been identified despite having never been exposed to the open air. She couldn't possibly comprehend the keenness of an Aquilian's nose. Kor and Elam would have made the world's most unusual pair of bandits, but the woman was eying them as though they intended to stab her---perhaps with Elam's little arrows---and steal her cart at any time. "You wouldn't by any chance be willing to part with a small handful or two, would you? The boy here loves them dearly, and I... well... I smelled them, and saw you, and simply couldn't resist." The woman hesitated, melting slightly more beneath that smile. "No... I cannot... These are for the kitchens. I deliver them once a month." "Not even for a song?" Kor asked with a pout. The woman blinked in confusion. "What?" "A song," the Hybrid repeated. He hummed an agile track of notes, then smiled again. Elam, on his shoulders, giggled and looked at the woman hopefully. "Well, perhaps one," the woman relented. "Thank you thank you thank you!" Elam said as she opened her cart and, frowning slightly at herself, lifted the lid of a barrel and passed not one, but three dates to the boy and the Hybrid. Kor, still singing as promised, smiled a little and bowed as he accepted them. "Now I must be going!" she said, but there was no rancor or impatience in her voice. Kor bowed his head again, and sauntered off, still humming. Elam clung to his dates with one hand, and ate them with the other. "These are good!" the boy exclaimed, once Kor had led them through the gates back into Crossroads proper. His eyes were already seeking other carts. "Aye, they are. And that's just fresh. They're good dried, sugared, baked, or made into pastries, too." "Can we try the pastries?" Elam asked, squirming. Kor lifted the boy from his shoulders and set him on the ground. "We can certainly try to try the pastries. Let's go see if there are any." "Wait," Elam said, tugging Kor's hand to stop him. "I want to try your food." "My food?" Kor said in mock surprise. "Why, my cooking tastes terrible!" "You know what I mean, Kor!" Kor thought of the sea-smell on the eastern end of town and smiled. "Aye. Let's visit the Aquila port then, and you can try all kinds of my foods. But Elam... remember... you are to stay close. No running off ahead, okay?" "I won't," Elam assured him, wrinkling his nose in consternation at being reminded, once again, not to leave Kor's side. The crowds on the streets became slightly thicker as the two Shinar neared the port. Most of the men passing were merchants of various types, transporting great carts of wares, often with armed escorts. Elam and Kor stepped hastily aside to allow these room to pass, and Elam grinned to see the red, strawberry blond and hay colored hair of Kor's countrymen. "They look like you!" "Aye," Kor agreed, although those armored guards looked a good deal more muscular than he did. He nudged Elam affectionately, "But I'm not all Aquila!" "True," Elam piped. "You look like Joran, too! And Ava, though only in the nose, 'cause she takes after their Ma." He frowned. "I don't look like anybody." Kor studied him as they stepped back out into the street. "Well, you look like your uncle, a bit." Elam shook his head vehemently. "I do not! Da doesn't like him, so I don't like him either!" Nor do I, Kor thought. But outloud, he said, "You should give him a chance. Remember what your Da said. Kin-in-kind should never quarrel. I'm sure the Fay-el is a... very nice man... when he wants to be." Elam scowled. "I don't think he's nice. His loquiri said he was mad at my Da!" Kor shivered at the term. Something about the loquiri had disquieted him almost as much as seeing the Derk-ra, tamed, had, and in a way that did not even pale in comparison to Kor's shock when the loquiri and his Fay-el had quite obviously shared thoughts. "Yes, well, I'm sure our Da and the Fay-el will work out their differences. You should wait until that time to pass judgment on your kinsman." Elam did not seem to particularly like the idea, but he was distracted from those troubling thoughts shortly enough when Kor's nose caught a whiff of fire-roasted fish. Again he set upon an ill-prepared merchant with pretty words, a disarming smile and a song, and this time earned not only the fish, but also a few coins from passersby. "Ah, this will give us a little spending money," he said. He handed Elam a steaming, lemon-sprinkled fillet of fish wrapped in berka leaves, and a coin. "This is for you. Now you can buy something, if you want. But saving is better." "I don't want to save it!" Elam said with a boy's impatience, already looking for carts with interesting wares and tasty snacks. Kor laughed. "To be honest, I'm not going to save mine, either." "What are you going to buy?" Elam asked, nibbling the hot fish delicately. "Well," Kor said, "I lost my herb bag back when I first fought alongside your Da. It'll take more than this little coin to get back what I lost, but perhaps another song or two can make up the distance." "We can sell the shitan covers we made!" Elam exclaimed, nearly dropping his fish as he reached into his pouch to retrieve the deep blue and purple snakeskin covers Kor had taught him how to make. Kor shook his head. "No Elam, I gave those to you. They're yours. If you want to sell them, you may, but as for my herbs, I know I can afford them with a song or two. Shall we try?" They set off again, this time looking for something that might mark an apothecary's cart or shop. |
| "Lord Gyas of Apollar." The announcer had a voice somewhere between a mule's bray and a screaming Derk-ra. Jin shifted uneasily in his seat and glanced at Chrys. The best way to keep an eye on the Fay-el was to stay as close to him as possible. It didn't mean he had to enjoy it. Earlier, he had bathed, scrubbing the sand and dirt and grime of the trail from his skin. His clothes had been washed while he was busy, but they still needed more help than even they could give. A quick meal of water and a few pieces of fruit, and then he had rushed to the throne room. Chrys stirred wearily. His gaze shifted to the skylight above, eyes narrowing in an expression Jin knew: counting the points. Like the years before, Chrys reserved several hours of his time to deal with supplicants. He hated the petty arguments, preferring his varied Lords and other officials to deal with things. He knew enough about people, however, to make sure they saw their Fay-el in action. He waved his hand vaguely at the approaching noble. "Hail...greetings...the Star." The Lord gave no sign he noticed the abrupt welcome. Not that Jin could blame Chrys; repeating the same set of ritual phrases would make him feel the same way. Someone gasped. Veritas, who had been standing behind Chrys, unsheathed his blade and started to move forward. When the Fay-el was foolish enough to stand, more from surprise than fear, his loquiri seized him by the hair and yanked him to the floor, stepping over his body to put himself in the way. The Lord smiled. His pupils were wide with kolinar smoke, but they lacked the murky confusion of a full haze. Instead, the dark depths gleamed with amusement and something more...cunning. At his side, two pale Derk-ra stood in relaxed positions. The other guards were glancing uneasily between the waiting Derk-ra and tense loquiri. Gyas bent to one knee. "My liege," he said, and then made a clicking sound with his mouth. The Derk-ra crossed their front legs, dipping in a half-bow. Jin could only stare. Muttered whispers spread through the court. Mostly outrage and excitement, but it gradually turned into soft humor. Chrys swore. Grabbing Veritas' shoulder, he pulled himself upright again. Flicked a hand at the two nearest guards as he growled, "How dare you bring such as these into my presence." The Derk-ra hissed at the approaching men. One bared its fangs. They stopped and glanced at Chrys. Gyas' grin broadened slightly. "I brought gifts to my Fay-el. Is there a crime in that?" Chrys' jaw clenched. But he sat again, motioning the guards aside and allowing the man to approach a little more. Veritas did not relax. He sheathed the blade and settled at Chrys' shoulder, arms crossed, glowering at the Lord. Gyas' eyes swept the assembly, wandering from man to man. They stopped on Jin. Tightness spread across his chest. He struggled to breathe. Couldn't turn his gaze away. I know you. whispered in his head. Jin clenched his fingers around the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Bile burned the back of his throat. And then Gyas looked away. "Sire, I present to you the work of Gyas the White. These are purebred Derk-ra, well-trained. But, as you can see, quite different than any other." In the clear light of the skylight, they were less pale gray and more like an off-white gleam. Eyes as blue as lunes studied those around them, fangs extending past lower lips. When one held Jin's gaze, an uncanny look gleamed. Though he could not describe it, his gut clenched in dislike. A warm hand rested on his shoulder. He flicked a glance from the corner of his eye. Veritas. The loquiri didn't turn his head, but his thumb pressed against his spine. Gift flared. Jin closed his eyes, and allowed the loquiri to bleed the tension from his body. "What's wrong?" Veritas whispered "Don't know. Nothing probably. Just...strange." The loquiri shrugged. "He does have a way of doing things, doesn't he?" He gestured at Gyas, who had backed away. His Derk-ra stood quietly beside a pillar, one of Chrys' Derk-ra handlers standing near. Jin saw Chrys' eyes slide to him, noting his loquiri, and then move away, but not without the look of irritation. Veritas sighed. "I swear, if he doesn't get out of this surly mood, I'm going to dunk him until he cools off." He stalked away, returning to his Match's side. Jin smiled and returned his attention to the court again. The "gifts" cut the number of supplicants in half. The rest, thoroughly cowed, stammered out their pleas quickly and then backed away as soon as Chrys gave an answer. The rest of the session passed without incident. < > Settled for the evening meal, Jin saw Chrys' gaze run over the two empty places. "They have never seen Crossroads. I believe they wished to sample some of the prosperity of your land." The Fay-el's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment. At least, outloud. Veritas, standing at his side, thumped the top of his head. Jin bit his lip to stifle the laugh. Taking a deep breath, Chrys shifted slightly away from his loquiri and said, "Tell me of this Lord Aretas. I have heard some rumors." "There is nothing much to tell. He is young, but not untried in warfare. He has two half-Dragonian advisors, which makes him a formidable opponent." Jin hesitated. "He also, through them, knows how best to treat his...captives." An eyebrow arched. "No torture, surely. Eloin do not participate in that." "Eloin do not. Hybrid do." Pain flickered in his eyes, before vanishing again behind a mask of boredom. "Ah, I see." It had been a Hybrid who raped Karli. Jin felt like beating his head against the wall. Only he could be so half-witted as to remind Chrys of that. Veritas cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Sire. Your wife--" Chrys stood before he could finish. "The Healers released her already?" The loquiri nodded. Chrys strode out. Jin glanced at Veritas. "Turina? She is ill?" Veritas hesitated. "She miscarried his third child a week ago." "Third?" "Aye." He bit his lip. "It is some of the reason for his anger, though it is no excuse. Plus, with the Prime, he has a great deal of ... " he cleared his throat, "...desires, that he cannot fulfill." During the short span of Prime, a man's needs doubled. Jin grimaced. He had a few years yet until forty. "It must be hard, to experience the Prime secondhand." "It can be, but it is--" he trailed off as Chrys returned. Turina leaned against his arm. Her skin was pale and waxen, spots of color from her exertion flushing her cheeks. The cheekbones were sharp, clearly visible in her thin face. Amber eyes glittered with grief and pain. Chrys' expression had softened, his eyes clouded with concern. He looked like the kin-in-kind Jin had known before. Like Karli. Another pang of grief sizzled in his chest, though not as severe as last time. Jin beat it down and waited until they had seated themselves. Servants appeared as is crawling from the walls. They must have tarried until the Fay-el returned. More intersesting was their order of serving. They served him and Terran, but gave Chrys' plate to Veritas first, who sampled it and then returned it to the Fay-el. They had not done that before. Jin frowned. "Have the Eloin assassins reached here as well?" "Never within Ratacca Kor. I would sooner poison an oasis than allow Eloin scum here." For a Lodear-born, that was a drastic threat. "If not Eloin that you--" No, fear would not be the proper word. Not if I'd like to keep my head on my shoulders. "that you consider, than who else?" Chrys arched his eyebrows in genuine perplexment, and then glanced at Veritas, who was sampling his wine at the moment. "Ah, there have been some squabbles lately among my Lords. Those of the..." his voice trailed off, but his fingers traced a triangle on the tablecloth. The Guild. Poisoning was one of their favorite means of removing obstacles. "There has been trouble then?" "Some. Not for long." His voice hardened. "It seems my lack of..." he flicked a glance at Turina. "They are mostly threats and air, like a Derk-ra lacking fangs." He shrugged. "I am not concerned." Yet your loquiri tastes your food. Jin chose to shift the subject to safer matters. I hope Kor is careful. The Guild is much stronger than before. |
| "I don't think I want to try anymore food," Elam told Kor, slumping slightly over his full stomach and holding his sticky fingers out away from his body. Kor deftly rewrapped the parchment paper about the pistachio cookies they'd purchased from a Dragonian baker (who'd eyed both of the Dragonian Hybrids curiously but--- thankfully---said nothing). "Well, you are a growing boy, but I suppose you're not a bottomless pit." he ate the other half of his own almond cookie. "I, on the other hand, am." Elam briefly looked like he wanted to challenge that statement, then sighed in defeat. His hands moved toward his tunic, to wipe away the stickiness, but Kor shook his head. "No. Let's go wash our hands in the sea, shall we?" Kor suggested, pointing down across the docks toward the calm blew ocean beyond. "Really?" Elam asked, straightening immediately. "Aye. There must be more to the Aquilan port than the docks and ships. And swearing sailors, he finished silently, with a sideways glance at the boy. "I want to go swimming!" Elam informed him, dragging on Kor's hand. Kor chuckled. "Do you know how to swim?" That slowed the boy down a bit. "No." He looked dejected for about half a heartbeat, then tugged Kor's hand again, harder. "But you can show me, like Daliah showed me how to use my bow!" The bard shook his head, following after the excited boy. "Tis a somewhat longer task, to teach one ot swim than to teach him to shoot an arrow. But you can see the beach, and walk in the surf, if you'd like. If we stay in Crossroads a while, I'll teach you to swim." "Do you think my Da will let me learn?" "Do you think your Da wants you to grow into a strong, capable warrior?" Kor shot back. Elam grinned, revealing two missing teeth. "Yes!" "Well then," Kor said, "I'm sure your Da will let you learn to swim if there is water in which to teach you. And I am the best man to teach you, for I am half Aquilan and I am a fish." He puffed out his cheeks at the boy and widened his eyes. "You are not!" Elam giggled. Kor nodded furvently. :Oh yes I am, as surely as I am Dragonian and Aquilan. For they say, in the priest-songs, that the first Aquilan was a fish, and his wife was a seal." Elam smiled slyly. "Can you fly too?" Kor looked at him in confusion, cocking one auburn eyebrow over an iceberg blue eye. "What?" "You're half Dragonian too, and the old stories say that the first Dragonians were Ugama and that Ugama can fly." Kor jumped up on top of a sealed wooden crate, then onto the brick wall behind it. "Maybe I can fly," he speculated for the boy below, jumping down and opening his arms wide. His boots thudded on the ground beside Elam. "Well, perhaps with more practice." "Let me try!" the boy exclaimed, running for the crates. Kor caught him by the arm. "The sea, remember?" he reminded him. They passed though the Aquilan part quickly, nodding politely to two T'ollo bearing insignia of entwining triangles, who stared at them with gleaming, calculating eyes. A small beach on the southern side of the Aquila port was waiting for them, with only a few teenage boys and a young Aquilan couple enjoying the white sands. The two Hybrids removed their boots and lay them carefully in the sand, Kor setting his newly-purchased pack of medicinal herbs on top. They walked in the shallow waters, delighting at the rush of foamy waves over their feet. "Is this like your home?" Elam asked, crouching to splash his hands through the waves. Kor smiled slightly, but his voice was homesick. "The waters of Aquila are colder than these, and the sands much darker. There are usually dense, puffy coulds on the horizon, or fog rolling in from the sea, and it is damp, chilly and often rainy." "I know what happened to your Da, but what of your Ma?" the boy asked. "Where is she? Does she miss you?" Kor sighed. "Ah, Elam. My Ma is two years dead." he still felt bitter. Elam's blue eyes were very wide. "My Ma died too, when I was new. What happened to yours?" Kor frowned deeply, wondering how to---or even if he should---answer the boy's question. Then he shook his head; Elam knew well the threat of Eloin, as did any Dragonian. "The Eloin raided my village and my mother was killed." "Is that why you came to us?" "Yes," Kor said immediately. "I wasn't even looking for my father or his tribe. I just wanted to help stand against the Eloin, and the Dragonians are the only people doing that." "Why?" Elam asked, his curiosity boundless. The bard cocked his head at the boy. "Who are the people of the world?" he asked, offering a question of his own instead of simply answering. "The Dragonians, the Aquila, the T'ollo and, if the stories are true, the Ugama," the boy responded. "The Ugama we will ignore for now, and you must learn to refer to the T'ollo as the people of the Mara," the Hybrid gently corrected. Again, that persistent question. "Why?" "Because people have the right to define themselves, and the lost Dragonian tribe, the T'ollo, became a new people---the people of the Mara---long ago. Do you see them, and still think that they are Dragonian?" The boy chewed his lip. "No. They're weird!" " 'Different and interesting' is a more diplomatic description," Kor laughed. "What's dip-lo-atic?" "It's when you talk to people to try to work out your differences without fighting." Elam kicked at the water beneath his feet. "Why don't the Eloin do that?" "Well," Kor said, trying think of a simple way to frame the complex issue. "I'm not sure. Maybe they don't htink others are people. Or maybe they don't think others are worth trying to share the world with. Or maybe they think it's easier to kill people than to talk to them." There was a long silence as the boy digested that, but Kor soon broke it. "But you were asking why the Dragonians are the only people willing to fight back against the Eloin. Do you know what the people of the Mara are known for?" "They live alone and say they are not Dragonian, and that they don't owe anything to anyone." Elam offered after a few seconds of thinking. "Exactly. They try their hardest to stay away from everyone, including the Eloin. And they have the Mara to help them with that. And what about the Aquila? What do you know about us?" "You... eat fish?" Elam asked with a sheepish grin. The bard chuckled. "Well yes, we do. But we're also diplomats. We try to get along with everyone, and that requires neutrality. We are known for not taking sides when there are conflicts. So that's why the Dragonians are the only ones willing to fight the Eloin. The people of the mara shut themselves off from everyone and don't need to worry about the political situation outside of their homeland. Meanwhile, the Aquilans don't want to make anyone mad, so they don't fight the Eloin either. So that leaves just the Dragonians." "And the Ugama," Elam said. "If they exist... and if they are," Kor pointed out. "I'm cold," the boy complained. "Aye," Kor agreed, although he was still quite comfortable. "Let's go back." A robed figure was standing by their shoes, his hands on Kor's medicine bag and his eyes inventorying its contents. His fingertip coming to rest on the hilt of his father's shitan, Kor demanded, "What in Xraj's name do you think you're doing?" The man's eyes slid up toward the approaching Hybrid and a silky smile stretched his lips. "You are a strange companion for a scion of the Mara." "Put my bag down and step away from our belongings," Kor growled, stepping directly in front of Elam. The man was T'ollo, and when Kor'd seen him earlier, the man'd had a similarly garbed companion by his side, their matching entwined insignia marking them as representatives of the same organization. Kor reached back to put his free hand on the child's shoulder, to make sure he was still there more than anything else. The man held up his hands, letting the bag fall to the ground. "Trust me, Ael Kinth, you don't want to threaten me." But he backed slowly away, still leering. "I won't have to, if you leave now." "I'll be seeing you again," the man promised, the grin abruptly falling from his expression. He turned, and stod casually across the sands back toward the market beyond. "I'm scared," Elam whispered. "Let's go back to camp." Nodding, the Hybrid picked the boy up and placed him on his shoulders for the walk back toward the Dragonian camp. Daliah approached them from the arena in which she'd been practicing her sword. "How was your... meeting?" she asked, seeing the grim expression on Kor's face. The bard grunted, said "Short", and left it at that. "Will Jin be returning here, or will you two have to return to him?" Kor shrugged. "I know not. I suppose if he wants us, he'll send a messenger. He has determined that Ratacca Korr is... not a place he wants Elam to be, at least not for the time being." He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "And how have the past few hours passed for you?" He motioned for her to follow him as he followed the suddenly-hungry-again boy toward the cook fires at the center of camp. Jin had wanted him to stay close by Elam's side. |
| Where could he have gone? Jin frowned and glanced up both corridors. Chrys was not one to vanish normally. His retinue of attendants, guards, and lone loquiri marked him out better than any beacon. He knew Chrys had held a brief meeting with the major Houses, six Lords that held governorship over the provinces or, in the case of Eastar, over one-third of the province. Gyas was also included, as he oversaw the peace and prosperity of Crossroads. Thoug the meeting ended over an hour ago, Chrys was nowhere to be found. When Jin questioned the servants, none knew where he was, or at least, were willing to share. With a scowl, Jin headed for the top floor. Broad skylights dotted the roof here, spreading pale square of sunlight across the stone. Tapestries and paintings alike gleamed with unholy life, while the lune was distinctly absent. Frustration rising, Jin stalked down halls at random. He had never been up here. Somewhere, Chrys' royal chambers were guarded by a crossed pair of lances above the door, and several bodyguards outside it. The loquiri quarters, the Houses, and any other diplomat or representative invited to Ratacca Korr would be somewhere in this maze, along with enough guards to skewer a pack of Derk-ra. Something moved at the edge of his vision. A courier, with a pouch stuffed with messages. Jin grinned and ducked down. He would know where Chrys was. They wandered through the halls, Jin tagging behind as the messenger hurried with apparent confidence. And then what he had been hoping for. Jin dropped back and waited. No guards (which meant Veritas was with him) but the lances were a dead give away. Jin pressed against the wall around the corner and waited for the courier to pass him again. When the boy did, Jin dashed back down the hall. He raised a fist to knock, and the door came open. He stepped back. Veritas glanced at him curiously, but he remained silent. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it and sighed. "You can't feel Gift, can you?" Jin shook his head. Veritas sighed again, deeper. "Good for you." Something thudded against the door. Glass shattered. Angry swearing shouted hoarsely. Jin glanced at the loquiri quizzically. He shrugged. "He's been holding his anger in for the last hour. I'm letting him throw a fit now." "Why is he angry?" "The ambassador from Aquila. His presence alone would make him act like this, and with the demands..." he shot a pointed look at Jin. "Neither is he in the best of moods at the moment." He shrugged. "Why should an Aquila ambassador bother Chrys? I was told the Mara and Aquila were allies, as Dragonia and Aquila are." "Not any more." Jin cocked his head. "Why?" "You sound like your son." The loquiri sighed. "The Aquila signed a peace treaty with the Eloin yesterday." He froze. Jin felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "What?" "I knew it would happen," Veritas muttered. "The Eloin own all that coastline, and they have a tendency to be very...persuasive. Like impressing sailors into their army, or confiscating goods, or raising impossibly high tariffs. The Aquila signed a treaty for the sake of their people." "And that made him this angry?" Another thud hit the door. The loquiri gave hima sharp stare, eyes narrowing. "The Aquila ambassador was an Eloin." Jin winced. He couldn't refuse the Aquila ambassador. "He didn't kill him?" "Believe me, he wanted to. I've never felt him so angry, spiraling out of control." Something cracked with a shrill ting. Veritas swore, muttering, "That was a lune. If he keeps breaking those..." His eyes turned distant, an inward gaze. Listening to the link. "Hmm, he's calming down now. Get some wine, would you?" And the loquiri stepped back into the room. With a shrug, Jin complied. It was easy to catch a servant in a color-banded tunic. He took the proferred bottle and flagon and darted back to Chrys' chambers. The royal suite was divided into two rooms. The first was designed as a reception chamber, with places to sit and talk, and decorations that were composed of all four provinces, and some Crossroad material. The next room was Chrys' alone. And it showed. The Lodear design was strikingly apparent, from the blessing bowl at the entry, filled with tepid water, to the rich sapphire tassels dangling from curved shitans . No paintings or tapestries here. And no more furniture, save a bed and a handful of cushions scattered in different corners. One of those had been shredded. Downy feathers dusted the floor llike a layer of snow. (not that Chrys would know what he meant if he said it) Chunks of a lune spattered the floor. Silver-blue oil shimmered its dying gleam, the luminescence already fading. A set of messages were pinned to the wall with a slender dagger. Chrys was sitting on the edge of the bed, panting, scowling at his loquiri. "I can't believe...the nerve...that he would--that they would dare to..." He clenched his teeth and dropped his head. His fists clenched at his side. Veritas' voice was calm. "No more, I said." His eyes caught Jin. "Bless you." He grabbed bottle and flagon and poured him a glass. "Here now. Calm down." The loquiri took a quick sip and bent down. "It won't la..." Veritas paused. His eyes narrowed and he straightened. Chrys glanced up at him. "What? What's wrong?" Veritas held up a hand. "Just a moment." He turned his back to Chrys. Jin could see his puzzlement. But the loquiri shook his head at the silent question and took another, deeper drink. Sniffed at the cup. Ran a finger over the rim. And then brought his attention back to Jin. "Where did you get this?" "I asked for some from the first servant I saw." "Did he seem nervous? Uneasy? Did you see any odd marks on his wrist or palm?" "Why?" Veritas set the cup down carefully. "Go get Asaph, captain of Chrys' guard, if you please." Chrys stood, eyes widening. "Ver? You're worried." "About you." The loquiri didn't turn around. Chrys bit his lip. "Now you're lying." "Partially." "What is it?" "Somna. You need protection before it takes full effect." "It shouldn't bother you." "It wasn't meant for you. There was a bloody lot of somna in that. Mixed with valla for good measure, I'd think. But they just wanted the somna in my system." Jin glanced from one to the other. "Somna?" Veritas scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It helps with headaches somewhat, but among the loquiri, we know it blocks Gift too. Which means there's a leak somewhere." "Or a Guildsman among your kin." "Aye." Veritas threw his hands out, staggering, and leaned against Chrys. "Sorry." "Don't be." Chrys glanced up. "Asaph. And a Healer. Please?" With a curt nod, Jin darted down the maze of corridors again. At least Elam is safe |
| Daliah walked carefully through the market, savoring the sights and smells. It had been many years since she had been near so many people. She was almost claustrophobic in the crowd, but she laughed. Nearly everything attracted her attention, especially the vendors. She held respect for the jewels and the brightly colored fabrics, yet she was entertained most by the animals. A trained monkey performed tricks on a makeshift stage, flipping through the air like a jester. She stopped to watch this, and clapped her hands with delight. After several minutes, he bowed and left the stage. People began to toss coins to the vendor, and Daliah wished she could spare a few. But it had been long since she found work, and could not afford it. Instead she threw a ribbon and hoped the man had a little girl that would appreciate it. She then continued to the next stand, which included a bird with white eyes. This was one she had never seen nor heard of, so she stepped a little closer. Then it seemed it looked at her, burning straight into her soul. Long forgotten images flooded her mind, as if he had unlocked a door she had never seen. When it ended, she backed away, watching in curiousity as its eyes turned blue. "You fancy the 'Lota?" The vendor stepped up from behind her, his thick accent obscuring his words. "Is that what it is, then?" He laughed. "I thought you knew. It can be dangerous at times, though. It has a rather hypnotic effect." She nodded. "Well, thank you. It was, ah... interesting to watch." He laughed again as she walked away. She was suddenly filled with the desire to be alone, away from this place that was so overwhelming. Her agility was lost for the moment, and she bumped into several people, drawing stares she did not want. At last, she came to an empty stretch of land. She ran to a far corner and collapsed to the ground. The memories flashed before her again. Voices, smells, thoughts...until they all blurred into one. Her father's face. She almost cried at remembering it, and longed to reach before her and hold him again. Yet she felt the roughness of his beard against her fingertips, the crinkles where he had smiled too much. She smelled the horses and the sea...Oh, to see that sea again. Not the one that seemed so small now, but the wide ocean that you felt would swallow you without notice. She now felt it at her feet, though she did not see it. "Push and pull, watch the gull, be careful when the moon is full." The simple child's rhyme brought on her mother's face now. It was far more beautiful than she could ever hope to be, and she was ashamed of it. Her hands were dirty and brown, never to be admired as her mother's were. She folded them and pressed them into her skirts, willing them away from her sight. If only she could stop remembering... But the curiousity plagued her, and she plunged deeper while they still remained. She remembered her home, her childhood friends, and at last her family. Then her heart pained her, and she was forced to stop. She found that she was out of breath, and leaned over to suck in the air. Her head pounded with all of these new memories, and though she felt the ache of loss, she hoped she would not forget them. With them was knowlege, and a step closer to finding herself. Then perhaps she would know what connected her to others. Or what set her apart. |
| Early evening found Kor sparring with his little brother Joran before supper, as Elam stood off to the side and cheered them on, rooting for Kor one moment and Joran the other. “I do not think you even realize how often you venture beyond the Fundamentals,” Joran laughed, jumping forward agilely to avoid Kor’s foot as his elder brother snapped a low kick at the back of his knee in an attempt to drive him to the ground. Kor snorted. “Of course I know. But please note that a certain bladesmaster is not here right now to chastise me every time I get a little creative! And you” --- he swiped at Joran’s torso with his shitan, the weapon turned in such a way that it would only tap the adolescent with the flat of the blade if he actually connected --- “are hardly in any position to stop me, now are you?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw three figures leading a horse stop to watch. Grinning at Joran, he tipped his chin in that direction, and the two of them enjoyed themselves for the next five minutes with showing off, until the younger brother at last tired and they bowed out of the sparring match. Kor now turned that grin upon the assembled onlookers, but it faltered and fell from his face when he saw that he was facing an unconscious man laying over the neck of a horse, and a small woman with her right shoulder heavily bandaged and her arm in a sling. They were clearly people of the Mara, dressed for the desert in veils, their two uninjured companions---a man and a woman---carrying the water for the entire group. Iceberg blue eyes widening, Kor patted Joran on the shoulder and strode over to them. “Come Elam,” he said, not willing even now to see the boy separated from him. His encounter with the man at the beach earlier had made it clear to him that something was not entirely right in Crossroads, and Jin’s fear earlier had been an almost tangible thing. “Forgive me,” he urged them, relaxing a bit as Elam came to stand before him. “I knew Joran and I were being watched, but I didn’t realize you were hurt. Please, all of you, come to my tent and I’ll see what I can do.” He began to steer Elam away by the shoulder, but when he touched the injured woman to do the same, she scowled and twisted subtly away from him so that his hand rested on empty air. She turned her head sharply, dark curly hair flying over her shoulder as she did so, and tipped her chin toward the shadows between the tents. “It is for my Derk-ra---and for Naftis---that we come,” she told him firmly, fixing him with a rather unfriendly stone gray stare. That was the last word Kor had expected or wanted to hear, and he froze, his eyes settling first on one Derk-ra crouching between his own tent and Layole’s, and then on another, hidden between the legs of the unconscious man’s horse. At least the second one was tethered; a strong but crude leash extended from about its slender, sinewed throat to the end of the staff held by the cloaked man leading the horse. Unfortunately, it was clear that the woman was indicating the untethered Derk-ra, and Kor took a step back away from it. “Oh.” An excited Elam tried to take a step toward the animal, but Kor grasped his arm gently and kept him close by his body. “You have Derk-ra as pets?” the little boy asked, and tilted his head up at Kor with a huge grin. “They’re nice,” he insisted, “like the ones I saw when Da and I met my uncle!” Kor snorted and shook his head. “Shh, Elam,” he said quietly, then nodded politely to the injured woman. “Is it trained?” He could barely see the smile beneath her veil, but the crinkling at the corners of her eyes gave it away. He noticed a rather nasty scar stretching from her temple nearly to her eye; she’d been lucky, once, not to have lost her vision. “He hasn’t taken anyone’s fingers without permission yet,” she told him, her voice almost a warning. He swallowed. That was just great. “Very well. Well, uh, let’s not keep him waiting, or your companion either.” He turned his attention with great difficulty away from the Derk-ra to the man on the horse, who sat in the saddle like a normal man, only with his torso and head resting on the beast’s neck. His eyes were still closed, and he was very still. There was a white bandage around his head. “He is unconscious? Ill? Injured?” The other woman in the group, who had until this moment not said a word, spoke. “Drugged,” she said in a rich, bell-clear voice. Kor could hear years of bardic training there. “He has had a rough few days. Two days ago, he attempted to end his life. Hamen had to strike him to prevent him from doing harm to himself. He was quite determined.” Elam’s eyes were very wide. “Why would he do that?” he asked “Elam, not now,” Kor told him quietly. He nodded to the four travelers… and their Derk-ra. “This way,” he said, leading them to his tent even though he’d much, much rather they leave the Derk-ra behind. The cloaked man led Naftis’s horse by the reins, and Kor touched the man’s face gently as they walked, trying to rouse him. He opened his eyes easily enough, but was clearly disoriented and ready to slip back into sleep at any moment. However, when they helped him out of the saddle, he was able to stand reasonably well on his own, and could walk between Kor and the female bard’s supporting arms. “What did you drug him with?” he asked as the group entered the tent and helped the drugged man sit down upon one of the rugs Kor’d borrowed from Turoc. Thankfully, the Derk-ra stayed outside under the care of the cloaked man. “Derk-ra venom,” the taller, healthier of the two women said. Now that she was indoors and away from the dust and the sunlight, she removed her veil, folding it carefully and tucking it inside her belt. The other woman did so as well, awkwardly, clearly not as accustomed to using her left hand as her right. Kor raised an eyebrow. Well, that would work, he supposed, although it hadn’t occurred to him that one could use Derk-ra venom as a sedative. Nor did it seem like a particularly good idea, considering its potentially deadly effects on those who had never felt a Derk-ra’s bite. Fortunately, he’d purchased somna today at the apothecary, a drug long known for its strong sedative effects and distinct lack of dangerous side effects such as the paralysis and respiratory failure of kurara berry or Derk-ra venom. When the injured and drugged man was awake enough to sit on his own, Kor knelt before him, going through the basic tests his mother had taught him to give an individual who’d suffered a head injury. The suicidal man was by far the saddest person Kor had ever seen in his life---although he couldn’t pinpoint why exactly he thought so---but the man was able to tell the Hybrid his name, age, hometown and the number of fingers Kor was holding up. The blow to his head hadn’t impaired him particularly much, and now that he was awake he could think past the Derk-ra venom, which was not particularly surprising considering Kor’s own experience. “You seem mostly intact,” he said, noting how the wound had scabbed over and the bump that has surely been there a few days before was gone. He was greeted with an apathetic grunt from the injured man. He continued on anyway. “It looks like this was washed and bandaged shortly after you were hit?” Naftis ignored him, and Kor turned to the man’s two companions, who nodded in confirmation. “Good,” he said. “It’s healing well. I’ll just spread a little salve over it, cover it back up, and give you some kapa bark for the pain.” He fixed the two women with a significant look and lowered his voice slightly. “I have something you can give him. Something better than Derk-ra venom. Remind me to prepare a bag of somna for you before you leave.” Naftis seemed to start a little at that statement, and stiffened in anger. “That’s right,” he snapped at the two women, so loudly and forcefully that both Kor and Elam, taken by surprise, started. Kor was suddenly very afraid that the man would rise and try to harm one of the women, or rush out into the night. Unsteady as he was on his feet, that would not be a good idea. He needs to calm down, Kor thought, gathering himself as he tried to think of soothing words to speak to the man, and how best to convince him to remain quiet and seated. The weight of the injured man’s eyes fell upon Kor, and he saw true terror there, and anguish and rage as well. “Do not do that,” the man whispered sharply. Kor’s hands flew away from the injury over which he’d been spreading salve. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? I am trying to be as gentle as I may, but you took a rather nasty blow to the skull.” He was not sure he could stand the pain practically radiating off of the man. How could any human being be this sad? “My head is fine,” the man snapped, his eyes turning away to stare coolly at the ground. “Leave me alone.” He gestured brusquely toward the injured woman. “See to Jaara.” Kor really, truly thought the man was in more need than the woman, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how to help him. He’d been taught to heal the body, not the mind. He nodded politely to the woman, Jaara. “He’s right. I’ve done what I can for him. You now, my good woman.” “I am not your good woman,” she said stiffening. She strode to the flap of his tent, and for a moment he thought she was going to simply leave, but then she held the flap open with her good arm and said with a sharp note of command, “Khyr, come.” To Kor’s complete and utter dismay, the untethered Derk-ra slipped silently in through the door into the tent with serpentine grace, fixing Kor with a cold reptilian stare and hissing. Without even thinking, Kor stepped before Elam, his hands resting on the hilts of both of his shitans. The Derk-ra merely looked at them. A soft, musical voice smoothed the ripples of fear and tension in the room. “Do not be afraid,” the female bard urged him with a soft chuckle, still sitting comfortably beside Naftis on the rug. “He is tamer than he looks.” Jaara did not seem to notice the tension at all, but Kor suspected she relished it. “Sit, Khyr,” she told the beast and indicated with one clean but callused finger a spot at Kor’s feet. He tensed to run, but knew he could not; that would mean putting Elam in the creature’s path. Fortunately, the animal settled down upon the ground, growling lowly but not attacking. Well, Kor knew what he was supposed to be doing, and figured the faster he did it, the sooner the thing would get out of his tent. Swallowing his fear as best as he could, he reached out tentatively to rest his hand on the scales of the beast’s face, half expecting his fingers to be snapped off at any moment. But he Derk-ra neither bit him, nor flinched or shrank away from his touch, and Kor found that he actually somewhat liked the roughness of the scales beneath his fingers. The Derk-ra were, undeniably, beautiful creatures. The lizard creature allowed him to turn its head into the light so that he could better see the injury. Unlike the Derk-ra he’d slain earlier, this one bled a sort of dirty blue blood, but fortunately there was not a whole lot of it. He probably would not need to test the animal’s patience by placing sutures in its scales. “Looks like this is an old wound that reopened,” Kor observed. “Was he in a fight today?” “Yes, less than an hour ago,” Jaara said. With a nod, Kor stepped away from the beast, pulling Elam along with him. The boy was staring at the Derk-ra with rapt fascination. “A moment,” Kor said. “I’ve some things to clean the wound with. It does not require stitching, but there’s a salve around here somewhere that will help protect against infection and foster the healing of the flesh.” The retreated to Turoc’s tent, and borrowed a small measure of the sleeping healer’s special salve, which a lot of the warriors used to keep their Derk-ra crests supple and waterproof, paying the healer for it with small treats from the cook fires. “Did you see?” Elam asked him, craning his head over his shoulder as though he could see the Derk-ra through the tent. The cloaked man was nowhere to be seen, perhaps having gone to find water for the horse and other Derk-ra. At least, Kor hoped so, although horrified images flowed through his mind of the Derk-ra getting free from the man and running rampage on the camp. But there were no screams or battle cries, only the soft voices of men, women and children down by the campfires. His stomach rumbled. He’d need to grab something to eat once he had finished treating his rather unpleasant patients. “Of course I saw,” Kor laughed nervously. Elam did not seem to notice the Hybrid’s fear. “Can I have a Derk-ra, Kor? Do you think Da will let me keep one? I like the one that man had tied to his staff. It was pretty.” “You will… uh… have to ask your Da that question,” Kor said, really hoping that Jin would not feel inclined to give in. Kor seriously doubted it. With Elam following close behind, Kor returned with Turoc’s salve, and cleaned and salved the Derk-ra’s snout as quickly, gently and thoroughly as he could manage. It wouldn’t do to do a poor job, for then he might see these people back here in a couple days with a decidedly less calm Derk-ra. But neither did he spend any more time than was necessary. When he had finished, he stepped away from the creature and wiped the grease of the salve away upon his trousers. His eyes settled once again upon the Derk-ra’s owner, and he sighed to see that heavy bandage. “Will you allow me to tend that shoulder, my good woman?” She clenched her jaw a little and lifted her chin. “It has been tended,” she informed him coolly. Kor heard anger in the voice of the female bard for the first time as she turned to regard her companion. “Two days ago!” she said, with a tone of voice that suggested the was a subject that had been discussed many, many times, and of which both women were quickly beginning to tire. “Besides, if the other healer was right, now is time to remove the stitches. You should be grateful for that, at least.” The smaller woman sighed heavily, but Kor had a feeling it was more for show. “Fine.” She sat down on the ground when he asked her to do so, and allowed him to pull the corner of her loose-fitting tunic down over her shoulder to reveal the bandaging and, once that was removed, the wound. Kor’s eyes narrowed at the fabric beneath his fingers; it contained an extremely high thread count, and he could see hints of gold stitching in the hems. She was a either a rich woman, or a thief, although her attitude suggested the former. Kor whistled softly at the wound once it was revealed to the light. Someone had clearly pierced the woman’s shoulder with a sword or dagger, twisted viciously, and yanked it back out. The damage was not as extensive as that which would have been caused by a shitan or other curved blade, but still, it was a wonder the woman was even still on her feet, let alone traveling. It appeared as though the wound was perhaps eight or nine days old, and had been sutured with a healer’s careful touch shortly afterwards. He saw no signs of infection, but the wound still looked slightly swollen and rather painful. Yet as he examined it gently, the woman showed no sign of pain at all, keeping her face almost inhumanly impassive, almost as though she were bored. But he saw a hint of sweat break out just below her hairline, and was suddenly reminded of Jin’s stoic approach to medical care. “You are like my Fay-el,” he laughed quietly. The woman stiffened and immediately took offense. He should have guessed; she was a touchy one, and quick to anger. “I am no Dragonian.” Why must you be so unpleasant? Kor asked silently, but outloud he merely chuckled and gestured toward his flaming red hair and the shitans at his waist. If he could claim to be Dragonian, surely so could she. “That doesn’t stop me!” Behind him, Elam giggled, and Kor reminded himself that he’d have to compliment the boy later on how good and quiet he’d been. The woman was not to be consoled at all, not even with a joke. “Yes, well,” she said flippantly, “true blood is a much truer thing within the Mara than without.” Kor gritted his teeth. The people of the Mara were quickly becoming a close second to the Eloin in his ranking of peoples he liked and disliked. Still, he needed to remain professional, even if the woman clearly had no interest in doing so. “Let us just stick to the business at hand. You’ll want to keep this arm in your sling for another two weeks, at least. If you rest it properly, it should be completely usable within a year, unless you sustained nerve or tendon damage.” He was surprised when the woman laughed in his face and the female bard stared at him in shock, her mouth falling open a bit. Jaara raised an eyebrow at him and said huffily, “I’ve seized enough of the Gift to Mend it long before then. I just…” She nodded toward Naftis, who had straightened a bit and was staring at the healer incredulously. “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea just now, you understand.” Kor didn’t understand, but he did think with silent sarcasm, Well pardon me! Something about the exchange had caught the attention of the half-conscious Naftis. “You do not know the Mending?” he asked. Kor wasn’t even sure how to answer that question. The grammatical structure of the sentence didn’t even make sense to him. “I… excuse me?” The three visitors exchanged glances, and Kor had the sudden, distinct feeling they thought he was an idiot. Naftis turned his head back to stare at the dirt again. “Interesting,” he said. Kor was quickly growing tired of this, and a headache was beginning to blossom in his temples. He rubbed his head, frowning deeply and wanting nothing so much as to kick all of these people out. “Why are you so sad?” Elam asked Naftis with a child’s innocence, but the man did not answer, for which Kor was glad. “Leave him alone, Elam,” Kor said, continuing to rub his aching head. The injured woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Headache?” Kor sighed. “A bit. But I’ll be fine. Um.” He was having the hardest time thinking past the ache. It was definitely time to call it a night, and to get these people out of his tent. “Oh right. I can give you some kapa to help with the pain,” he told Jaara, hoping to give them some herbs and send them on their way. The female bard snorted. “She won’t take it, trust me. But… do you have anything for an unsound stomach?” The two women exchanged a glance, and Kor could tell by the injured woman’s angry expression that it was for her the bard was asking. Kor turned to regard Jaara with renewed interest. She should not be having problems with her stomach at this point unless the wound was fouled, which it was not. “Stomach problems?” he asked, inviting her to explain. She was not very forthcoming. “Yes,” she grunted, and did not enlighten him further. Luckily, the female bard was more concerned for the injured woman’s health than she was. “Every morning, without fail---and sometimes into the afternoon as well---she becomes very ill and cannot hold anything down.” Kor frowned. No, that definitely did not make any sense at all. “How long has this been happening? Did she suffer from an infection early on?” Perhaps it was just the lingering effects of an earlier illness. “It has been happening since she was first wounded ten days ago, and no, I do not believe the wound was fouled,” the female bard said. “And this happens everyday, without fail?” The woman nodded her confirmation to the glare of her companion. “And at the same time of day, without fail.” Jaara had had enough of the exchange. “Talk to me, not about me!” she snapped. We would, if you would actually cooperate, Kor thought irritably. Then an idea came to him suddenly. No, that’s highly unlikely. Still… might as well check. “Any fatigue, mood swings, unusual cravings, faintness or heat flashes? Unusual weight gain?” The female bard stared at him in shock, instantly understanding what he was suggesting. “Isn’t that a bit of a leap?” Jaara was clueless. “Yes? No? I don’t know. Are you calling me a glutton?” To Kor’s horror and surprise, her lower lip started to quiver and her eyes welled with tears. Her companion rushed to her side. “What’s wrong? He’s just considering the options!” “Nothing’s wrong with me,” Jaara insisted, but was clearly in tears now. “You’re the ones with the problem.” Well, maybe my guess was not so off the mark after all… He cleared his throat and nodded politely to the female bard. “Could you give the lady and I a moment alone?” “Do you want me to leave?” she asked her friend. Jaara stared at Kor for a long moment, her gaze clearly measuring. Finally she nodded. “Yes. I’m in no danger.” What? I’m hardly going to hurt you. Infernal woman! “Thank you,” was all he said out loud. He turned to find Elam. “Elam, go sit in the corner and be quiet, alright?” When the female bard had finally stepped out of the tent, he shook his head ruefully, staring down into Jaara’s defiant face. Then he remembered Naftis, and wondered if he should send the man from the tent as well, but saw that he was slumped forward, snoring softly. He turned back to Jaara. “This may be a somewhat personal question, but…when was your last moon day?” The confused look Elam gave him confirmed that the boy did not understand what they were talking about. The question seemed to catch the woman off guard. “I don’t know,” she said, as though it were not something she’d thought about in a long time. “I’ve been concerned with other things.” Interesting, Kor thought. He might as well do the test. “Alright,” he told her. “Well, would you be so kind as to gift me with a drop of your blood? There is an herb I can blend it with that will tell me what I want to know.” The woman offered her open palm to him with the same lack of concern or trepidation she’d shown when he’d carefully removed her stitches. Pulling his shitan from his belt, he carefully pressed its tip into her palm, then scraped a little of the resulting blood onto the blade. “A moment,” he told her, and step outside of the tent with Elam. “What are you going to do with that?” Elam piped as Kor led him once again to Turoc’s tent. The elderly healer had turned in his sleep, but not yet awakened. Kor replaced the salve he’d borrowed earlier, and selected a small pouch of pale blue bark instead. He held it up to Elam. “See this? When a woman is going to have a baby, there’s something in her blood that’s not there when she is not going to have a baby. The stuff that’s in her blood reacts with this bark” --- he sprinkled a tiny pinch of the bark onto the droplet of blood on the blade --- “and turns it green.” He tilted the shitan to show Elam, as sure enough, the drop of blood turned a deep emerald where the bard had touched it. “Can I try!” Elam asked eagerly. Kor resisted the urge to say the first thing that came to his head---Not until you’re a man, and instead responded more appropriately. “Not today. The lady has already lost enough blood since she was injured, and it wouldn’t be very nice of us to take more just so you can play with Turoc’s herbs.” Elam pouted. “Well she’s not very nice,” he pointed out. “No she’s not,” Kor agreed. They returned to the tent, and Kor was dismayed to see that the Derk-ra was laying right next to its mistress, directly in Kor’s path. Picking Elam up gently, he stepped over the beast, and put the boy down well away from its jaws. He spotted the female bard in the corner. “Oh, you’re back,” he said politely, then glanced back at Jaara. “Um…” He nearly called her ‘my good woman again’, but caught himself, “Jaara… What I have to tell you, you may prefer to hear alone…” She fixed him with a withering stare. “I am not easily frightened or dismayed. You may speak before her.” You do not even know what I am going to say, he thought, scratching his head and wondering if he should send the bard out anyway. Then he shrugged, decided it wasn’t his problem, and delivered his news with a grin. Hopefully this would cheer the surly woman up. “Well, I’ve got some great news. You are most definitely with child. Congratulations!” Or perhaps it wouldn’t cheer her up. The two women exchanged a glance, and the shock on Jaara’s face was not encouraging. She turned slowly to look at Kor. “Excuse me?” she said flatly. He felt the smile begin to falter on his face, and felt like he’d overstepped some unknown boundary again. “I said you’re with child,” he said uncomfortably. Jaara definitely seemed to deflate a bit as the words sank in, and suddenly she looked like the tired, injured woman she was, and worse, he saw echoes of the pain he’d seen in Naftis’s eyes in her own. What had these people endured, that brought them to Crossroads? “You have got to be kidding me. Is this some kind of blasted joke? I don’t have time for this.” Looking simultaneously ready to cry or to kill someone, she rose to her feet, and calling for her Derk-ra, strode unceremoniously out of Kor’s tent. |
| Veritas' presence was usually a calming matter around Chrys, but not today. Jin knew that look in the loquiri's face and eyes. The somna had not completely worn off. He could walk and move on his own, but the constant twist of his head to keep an eye on Chrys, the uneasy pacing, the restless check and re-check of the hilt at his side spoke volumes of his feelings. An insecure loquiri kept all the Lords on their best behavior, or noticeably absent. Within a few points, the number dwindled to only a scant three or four, Gyas included. Jin kept his attention away from that particular Lord. The paired Derk-ra rested at his feet. "Sire, this is not acceptable to any of us. If you should perish, Kyda forbid, you cannot expect a boy such as Elam to take the rule of Mara. Name a proxy and we will be content." Chrys glared at Gyas anew. "You will never be content. I will not have any bloody, Eyrie-spawned proxy of your choosing to rule over my people." Mutters rose and fell. Jin inched closer to the loquiri. "Veritas, you've got to keep him calm." "Don't you think I know that?" he hissed. He rubbed his temples and sighed. "I still can barely feel him. As it is, I'm draining his Gift to keep me awake. And--blast!" Veritas moved to Chrys' side, head snapping to study the group arriving. Jin turned to do the same, and bit his lip to keep from gasping. Ravin and several other guards led a bound Kor and several other T'Ollo into the throne room. Daliah followed on her own power, though bereft of her weapons, and glaring at everyone who met her gaze. Jin spotted Elam and felt his heart race. A Guildsman held the boy in an iron grip. That the normally impassive official was smirking did not ease his fear. Jin whirled, bending close to Chrys. "My son, give me my son and keep that bloody Guildsman--" "Jin--" Veritas' voice was strained. "Please, Jin." The chieftain blinked. Chrys was leaning back away from him. That close would make any loquiri snarl, even without somna muddying the link. Taking one quick breath, Jin backed an arm's length away. He saw Veritas' shoulders relax. That was close. "Chrys, please. Put him in the charge of the woman, Daliah. Anyone but a Guildsman." The Fay-el stood and nudged him aside. "What is this, Ravin?" The Border Guard dropped to one knee and dipped his head. "Get up," Chrys growled. "What is this?" Gyas' head turned. One of the men looked up. He reacted much the same as Jin had before, his eyes widening in surprise and shock. As Ravin explained the situation, Jin felt his heart sink. Kor isn't capable of that. I had him at the camp all this time. But blast...the evidence is certainly there. And his mixed blood doesn't help feelings. A Hybrid bought herbs, including somna. A point later, Chrys' loquiri is out cold with the same drug, and Kor's own flask was half-empty, though he claimed not to have used it. Chrys moved forward, standing next to Gyas. The Lord flicked him an uneasy glance."Well?" the Fay-el snapped. "Why did you drag all these others before me? There is no need to leave them all bound, and accuse them all, if only this Ael Kinth seems guilty." "But sire." "Do you question me, Ravin?" The Border Guard shook his head and moved to obey. Chrys' gaze snapped to the Guildsman. "And why do you tarry with the boy? Should he not be asleep in his own bed? Or in the care of someone he knows, and not a stranger such as yourself?" "He is your heir, sire." "He is Dragonian-raised, Guildsman. Give him to her," he gestured at Daliah. The Guildsman's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Gyas, biting his lip, and then returned his attention to Chrys. "Sire." "Not you too. Do as I command. Unless you wish to see how I deal with those who cross me." The Guildsman released his hold on Elam. And the boy ran to Daliah's side. Jin relaxed a little. With Elam in her care, hopefully, the Guild would have trouble reaching him. |
| Daliah gripped Elam's hand, allowing him to squeeze hers as hard as he liked. In a way, it gave her reassurance that he was still there. His small fingers warmed her, and reminded her not to do anything rash. If she took him and ran, it could harm him in the future, especially if Jin still remained. They had to stay and face what would come. She clenched her teeth, willing her anger down. Her eyes met Jin's for just a moment, and she passed what she hoped was a trustful look. Then she knelt carefully beside the boy. "Elam, would you like to practice your bow? I found some special arrows at the market." His concern was immediately forgotten in place of this bribe, and it seemed the light flicked back into his expression. "What kind of arrows? Will you show me?" Daliah smiled gently, realizing that their entire conversation was being observed and judged. "Of course. A future leader needs to learn his weapons early." She dared not glance at Chrys, but knew that this last line pleased him. Jin, however, may have thought differently. But she needed them to believe she would not run. She nodded in Jin's direction as they passed, and let Elam give him a parting embrace around the waist. I'll take care of him. I promise. They walked out with a seemingly carefree air, yet Daliah was still on her guard. She knew they were being followed, as she expected. Chrys would not release his heir so easily. She did not worry, though. They would keep their distance as long as there was no danger. She began to sing a common child's tune, swinging Elam's hand to distract him. The last thing he needed was to notice the men behind them. He laughed and sang along, unaware of their circumstances. She was grateful for that, and hoped he wasn't only pretending for her sake. Thankfully her weapons were not back at the camp. She could not risk returning, as they would also be looking for Kor. He would have to meet them eventually, but she did not want to be the one that betrayed him. She retrieved her bow and arrows from the side of the courtyard, where the guards had left them. However, she left her sword, unwilling to risk any kind of suspicion. She was already testing the waters with her bow, but it was the only way she could think of to entertain Elam before he began to ask questions. She led him to the range, where there were targets already set up. Then once more she lowered herself onto her knees, laying out the arrows for his inspection. "You must be careful not to break these." she cautioned. "There are no more." He picked one up gently, studying the fundamentals carved into the wood, and the bright colors each one was decorated with. They were far from practical, but she bought them for his enjoyment. He deserved them. She pulled out his bow, which she planned to bring to him before she was taken before the Fay-el. He remembered his stance almost perfectly, and fit the arrow onto the string. She laid her hand on his arm, guiding his aim. Then he released, spinning the arrow only a few inches from the mark. They continued until she noticed that his arrows were continuously straying further from the center. "I think it is time you rested." she whispered, lowering his arm before he could take another shot. "It will not be long before it is too dark to see." She gathered up their things and led him toward the market, knowing that Elam must be starving. Her ears picked up the sound of men rising to their feet, but she did not let on that she noticed. |
| Kor's wrists burned where they had been chafed raw by the coarse ropes with which Ravin had bound him, but his physical irritation was nothing compared to the seething burn of his pride. How dare that kinth-spawned Fay-el accuse him---a blasted healer!---of deliberately poisoning a royal servant? Of deliberately poisoning anyone, for that matter? How dare that smug, conniving Ravin arrest him? And that thieving, scheming Mara… Kor knew the man must have stolen the somna he and Elam had purchased from the apothecary, and then had turned around and made Kor the scapegoat for his crime. Kyda, he hated the Mara more and more with each passing second! Their only redeeming quality was Chrys's insistence that little Elam be shielded from the drama of the court that evening and released into Daliah's capable care. He’d felt positively flooded relief as he had watched her escort the child out of the throne room, and he desperately hoped she would be a better guardian for the boy than he had been. When at last he was permitted to speak, he strove to keep his voice calm but to also convey the urgency of his words. Seeking out the gazes of Jin in the chair beside Chrys, and Terran at Jin’s shoulder, he felt slightly reassured, although both men looked very grim. "Please, my lord, think past your distaste for my mixed heritage and see that it makes no sense for me to have committed this crime. I have no interest in the affairs of your court or country, beyond any refugee's hope that the land in which he seeks sanctuary will be secure and flourishing. I bear neither you, nor your royal loquiri, any ill will whatsoever; indeed, I have never even met you before my arrival with my Fay-el today, let alone had the occasion to come to know you well enough to take some unfathomable offense toward you." The ruler of all the Mara leaned forward, his eyes like daggers, pinning Kor to the spot. "Your Aquilan heritage alone is enough of a cause for concern in these trying times. Do you think me an idiot? It cannot be mere coincidence that on the very same day news of the alliance between the Aquila and the Eloin is made known to this court, a half-Aquilan Hybrid with a healer's education---who somehow managed to weasel his way into my kinsman's tribe---stands before me accused of having poisoned my loquiri with an herb only known to healers, loquiri and the occasional bard. I’m given to understand you are two of these things, and a Hybrid besides." Kor's eyes slid to Veritas, where the royal loquiri stood, clearly tense, behind Chrys. Despite the fact that the man accused of being his poisoner stood on trial right before him, the loquiri was hardly even paying attention to Kor. Instead, his focus seemed to be divided between Jin and Chrys, sharpening to a tension so strong it nearly vibrated through the room whenever the Dragonian Fay-el leaned a little too close to his Mara kinsman to whisper furious appeals to the livid ruler. Terran, for his part, seemed more intent upon encouraging Jin to keep a healthy distance away from the High Fay-el, and Kor wondered at it. If he would ever be released, he’d have to ask Jin about that. The bard sighed heavily, smothering the urge to wordlessly bellow his frustration at Chrys’s idiocy. "My lord," he said through gritted teeth, "Reason alone will inform you that I am a mere scapegoat for some plot within your own court. You must be blind if you cannot see it. I've no cause whatsoever to trust---let alone align myself with---the schemes of the Eloin, and numerous reasons to despise them. More than two years ago an Eloin raid saw my mother slain and our village nearly burned to the ground. I have spent the last twenty-six months attempting to convince my countrymen to take up arms against the Eloin, to no avail, and only then did I ‘weasel my way into your kinsman's tribe’, as you so quaintly put it. My tribe too, by the way, for my father was a warrior of the Shinar. So now, here I stand before you, accused of a crime for which I have no conceivable motivation whatsoever, and yet you insist it is I, and not a more obvious threat that already dwells within your court, who is at fault." Chrys waved a hand dismissively. "I care not for how you came to be in Jin's retinue, ael kinth. All know that the loyalties of Hybrids are as impure as their bloodlines and as fluid as their mothers’ amorous attentions. Gold coinage would have been an easy salve for whatever ill-feelings you might bear toward the Eloin." Even Veritas looked scandalized about that, and began to turn to speak furious words to the High Fay-el, but then his attention snapped to Jin as the man surged to his feet at those words. "Chrys, you go too far---" Veritas's jaw was very tense as he turned to regard the angry Dragonian Fay-el. "Jin, I am going to have to ask you to sit down now." Normally Kor would expect a sharp retort from Jin after such words, but Jin grew very still, and then nodded very carefully and sat down as though upon eggshells. Behind him, Terran relaxed, clearly afraid of what a confrontation between Veritas and Chrys would lead to. That Terran could be so wary of one man frightened Kor somewhat; what kind of warrior must Veritas be, to make Terran so ill at ease? Kor, for his part, felt a surge of hatred flow through him at the High Fay-el's callous dismissal of his very real, and still brightly burning grievances. He felt the royal loquiri's eyes come to rest dangerously upon him, and he struggled to find the breath to speak through his anger. "My lord," he said finally, "if you want to search for treacherous motivations, look to the individuals who have brought forth these vile accusations. Elam and I saw these two men---" He thrust his chin toward the kinth he'd overheard arguing against Elam's succession when Ravin had escorted them into the throne room and the one who'd been rummaging through his pack at the beach earlier "---just today. They were watching us as we left the palace, and when Elam and I returned to our belongings after taking a brief walk down to the sea, we found that man searching through my bag. He easily could have taken the somna from my bag at that time, used it to poison Veritas, and then brought it back when he came with Ravin to arrest me. He even promised me that he would be seeing me again! Meanwhile, as I was brought before you, his companion was busily standing before you making known his strong reservations about Elam's succession. Why look beyond your own court for treachery when the seeds of discontent have clearly already been sown within?" The smirking man who had earlier spoken against Elam fixed his eyes upon Kor, and the Hybrid noticed for the first time that they were dilated, so much so that they were nearly black. What in Kyda’s name? The Lord smiled charmingly as he spoke. "This one has a sweet tongue, my lord, but like all ael kinth spews poison with every word. Surely it is no transgression for a pureblood Mara Lord to convey his subjects' concerns to his High Fay-el? Indeed, as I'm sure the ael kinth knows, being a learned man as Hybrids judge such things, feudal obligations within the Mara demand that a Lord oversee the welfare of his province, and speak on the behalf of his people before the Fay-el. I am hardly alone in my reservations about the boy Elam, and it would be deeply improper of me to refuse to bring Apollar's concerns before my lord Chrys." The Fay-el did not look in the least bit persuaded by the Lord's speech, and indeed appeared even more angered by it. "Lord Gyas, you speak more for the Guild than you do for your province, and everyone in this room knows it," he snapped, taking a single step toward the man. "Surely, my lord, you do not mean to suggest that the Guild, alone out of all your subjects, has no right to make its concerns known to you?" Lord Gyas said nervously, taking a small step backwards, his eyes suddenly shifting about the room. “Naftis!” Kor twisted over his shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise as his heavily-drugged recent patient, with a look of strangely dazed determination, broke away from his companions and headed toward Lord Gyas’s retinue despite Caylia’s attempt to call him back. On the top of the dais, the High Fay-el looked just about ready to launch himself into the crowd and punch Lord Gyas in the face. "Lord Gyas,” Chrys said, enunciating each word with infinite care as he strode down the steps of the dais toward where Lord Gyas and his retinue stood among the other supplicants, “if you do not cease this pathetic attempt to dominate my court, I will have you physically removed. I have already addressed the matter of Elam’s succession, and this court has moved onto other business. Do you understand me?” “Perfectly, my lord,” Lord Gyas said silkily. He opened his mouth to say something else, but broke off an instant later with a gasp of surprise and dismay as Naftis, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, abruptly stepped in front of him and, tripping suddenly, sprawled at his feet. Kor thought he might have heard Caylia humming softly, but if so, she abruptly broke off at the unexpected spectacle. What is Naftis doing? Chrys took a single step back from the fallen man, more in disgust than surprise. “What in Kyda’s name is this!” he snarled, gesturing sharply from Naftis to Lord Gyas. In three short strides, he crossed the distance between himself and the Guildsman, who recoiled, eyes wide. “What game do you think you’re---” “Chrys, no!” That was Veritas, springing abruptly to his feet on the dais and launching himself into the crowd. The High Fay-el started to turn toward his loquiri, but it was too late. Moving faster than any man with Derk-ra venom running through his veins had a right to move, Naftis twisted on the ground, rolling onto his back and pulling a dagger in one smooth motion and throwing it with a practiced snap of the wrist. Chrys crumpled, his hands clutching his side and his eyes wide with shock. Kor didn’t even realize he had tried to run forward until he felt something catch at his bonds, jerking him harshly to a halt. Cursing at the pain in his shoulders from the sudden jolt, he twisted over his shoulder. “Let me go!” he shouted at Ravin. “You know I’m a healer!” Ravin tugged him backwards roughly. “You’re not going anywhere near him. You and your friends have already done enough.” Not really thinking, Kor kicked his leg out behind him, hooking it around the Border Guard’s ankle. Ravin toppled, pulling Kor with him, and uttered a sharp exhalation of air as the Hybrid landed on top of him. Not bothering to catch his own breath, Kor wiggled free, making a point of stepping on Ravin’s belly as he rose, then sprang toward Chrys, who lay in a growing pool of his own blood surrounded by frightened courtiers. Veritas was kneeling beside the fallen High Fay-el, but his attention, for the time being, was upon Naftis, not Chrys, as he restrained the dazed loquiri. That attention snapped immediately to Kor as the Hybrid rushed forward. “No!” Jin shouted from the dais as Veritas sprang to his feet and drew his sword in one motion. Instinct or insanity alone propelled Kor to dodge sideways and twist his back toward Veritas as the royal loquiri, moving with the same blinding speed Naftis had employed, brought the sword down viciously. The blow should have cleaved Kor from shoulder to abdomen; instead, it touched him not at all, slicing through the bonds at his wrists alone. Veritas gaped a little, his eyes widening in shock, but his expression was still grimly determined as he flipped the blade and brought the sword up in a follow-through swing. Shaking the severed ropes away from his hands, Kor dove beneath that strike, and then he was kneeling on the floor next to Chrys, holding up his hands and staring up at Veritas. “Please, I’m a healer! I can help!” The loquiri paused, staying the blade where it was poised, ready to stab the Hybrid through the heart. Hesitation warred with viciousness in the loquiri’s eyes, and then, as abruptly as Kor had decided to turn his back to Veritas’s blade, Veritas decided to trust the Hybrid. Saying not a word, he sheathed the sword, and turned back to Naftis, who was murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again. Kor turned to the High Fay-el. “Get back,” he snapped at the flustered courtiers crowded about, throwing up a hand to motion them back as his eyes surveyed Chrys’s condition. The wiry High Fay-el was writhing on the ground, but his eyes were filled with hatred and no small amount of fear as he looked up into the healer’s face. “Kyda, not you,” he gasped, his hands wrapped around the hilt of the dagger buried in his side. Kor slapped his hands away. “Do not pull that out, you hear me? Here, lie on your back and bend your knees up,” he commanded the ruler of all the Mara, helping him adjust his position to alleviate stress to his injured abdomen. “Good.” Swearing loudly, Ravin was rushing toward them, but Veritas bounded to his feet again to intercept him. Kor did not hear what the loquiri said, but definitely heard the Border Guard’s response. “Are you serious? That ael kinth---” “You heard me,” Veritas growled. “Where’s Lord Gyas?” “Gone,” the Border Guard said. “Do you think he was the one…?” Veritas nodded, and Ravin thrust his finger toward Naftis. “What about him?” His lip curled into a sneer. “Are you going to have him fluff the our lord’s pillows? Draw him a bath?” The loquiri glanced down at the despairing man, who was, at this point, positively in tears over what he’d done, and utterly incoherent. “I’ll treat him myself.” “What?” Chrys snarled, struggling to sit up. Kor held him down firmly, and a worried Jin knelt beside him, placing a restraining hand on the High Fay-el’s other shoulder. “Stay down,” Kor told him calmly. Jin echoed the sentiment. “Marriage-brother, you need to stay still.” “I’m not your bloody---” Ravin’s eyes had just about popped out of his head at Veritas’s pronouncement. “Treat him? This man just tried to kill our Fay-el!” “How is he?” Jin asked Kor quietly. The Hybrid’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Lucky. The blade shouldn’t have hit any organs or arteries here. But I’ll need to remove the blade to be sure, and stop the bleeding. It’s deep.” He eyed Jin’s shirt. “Take that off and fold it.” “No,” Veritas was saying in response to Ravin’s question as the Dragonian Fay-el slipped out of his tunic and began folding it obediently. “No, he didn’t try to kill him. He tried not to kill him.” He finished tying Naftis’s wrists and then spoke to the confused Border Guard in a low voice. “This here is a depraved loquiri, and if I’m understanding what he’s saying, Gyas just tricked him into believing he was his Match. The Guildsman felt threatened by Chrys, and Naftis reacted precisely as newly pair-bonded loquiri always act.” “Yes,” Chrys said through gritted teeth as Kor’s fingers closed carefully over the hilt of the dagger, “he tried to kill me.” Veritas bit his lip. “At first, maybe. Yes. But he says he sensed the pair-link between you and I and could not bear to make another suffer what he has suffered.” Two palace servants appeared at the loquiri’s shoulder. “For that reason, and that reason alone, I will treat him myself.” He addressed the servants. “Take him to my chambers. See that he is under guard, but unharmed.” “Can you treat me, too?” Chrys hissed as the depraved loquiri was taken away, and Kor, focused on the dagger in his patient’s belly, could not tell if the Fay-el was serious or joking. A gentle pull revealed that the dagger moved easily beneath Kor’s fingers; good, it would slip easily out of the wound without doing further damage or needing to be cut out. “No. The Hybrid knows what he’s doing,” Veritas said, his lip twitching slightly in a smile which turned quickly into a sympathetic grimace as Kor pulled the dagger free to the sound of his patient’s choked cry. “Tunic,” Kor commanded, holding out his hand to Jin. The Fay-el placed the folded cloth into the healer’s palm, and Kor placed it against Chrys’s wound, pressing firmly down. Chrys cursed robustly, and ignoring the insults, Kor handed the dagger to Veritas and turned to Ravin. “All of my medical supplies are in my bag. I’ll need that.” The Border Guard scowled. “I confiscated what was needed from it and discarded the rest.” Kor fought to control his temper, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Very well,” he said, with iron politeness. “Then you can gather what I need and bring it to the High Fay-el’s chamber. Hot water and a sponge. A funnel. Valla. Lichen. Kapa bark and kapa salve. Anderberries too, if the salve is not already made with it. Bandages. But before you go get them, send a servant with a litter. Go!” Ravin looked from Veritas to Chrys. The latter was still busy cursing, and the former merely shrugged and said, “You heard him. I’m given to understand you know where the apothecary is, if you cannot find what you need here.” Ravin grunted. “All of that should be available in the barrack’s infirmary.” He glanced down at Chrys, worry clearly written on his face, glared at Kor, and disappeared. “Where is Gyas?” Chrys demanded, craning his neck and trying to see around him. Kor didn’t care, so long as the Fay-el did not actually try to sit up. “Gone,” Jin and Veritas both said at the same time. The Fay-el of the Mara frowned up at Kor. “It seems you were right.” The healer frowned absently. “Yes.” He spotted the litter-bearing servants and gestured them over. Carefully, Veritas and Jin lifted the injured man, then bore him away to Chrys’s chamber as Kor continued applying pressure to the wound in his side. An hour passed as Kor treated the wound, irrigating it with a warm valla, lichen and anderberry boiled water to help ease the pain, stave off the blood flow and guard against inflammation and infection; coating it in kapa salve to numb it heavily; placing careful sutures; and finally bandaging it with fresh linens. He had just given the overactive High Fay-el a heavy dose of valla tea to keep him quiet for at least the rest of the night, when suddenly there was a loud knock on the heavy ironwood door. Veritas glanced at Jin, nodded to Kor, and pulling his sword, disappeared into Chrys’s reception room. There were loud, urgent voices, and then the loquiri was back, helping Caylia support a dazed and bloodied Daliah. Jaara and Hamen followed behind them. Jin rushed forward, taking the woman by the shoulders. “Where is Elam?” Kor followed at the Fay-el’s heels, taking Daliah’s chin gently in hand and tilting her face toward the light. The side of her head was matted in fresh blood. “I don’t know!” Her eyes were very wild, and very dilated as she looked around. Definitely a concussion. Chrys was trying to get up from bed, but was having a hard time summoning the strength after all the blood he’d lost and the valla Kor had given him. He finally settled back against his pillows. “What happened? Who struck you?” “I don’t even remember being struck, let alone who struck me.” She turned to Jin. “I’m so sorry!” Jaara slipped out from behind Veritas, and Hamen with her. She knelt, bowing her head, with fluid, practiced and business-like grace. “My lord, we found her outside, pulled behind some bushes. It looked like she’d been headed southward away from the archery range on the west side of the palace grounds, probably on her way back to the Dragonian camp on the far side of Crossroads. There was no sign of the boy.” All of the blood had drained from Jin’s face. “None? There was not… please tell me there was no sign of a struggle or of violence…” Jaara shook her head. “Beyond the blow this woman took to her head, nothing my lord. There were no marks of a fight in the dirt, no blood except that upon this woman’s head. In my educated opinion, someone struck her from behind and snatched the boy. A child that young… well, he could not have put up much of a fight. Nobody I questioned heard a thing, and neither were there footsteps leading away from the scene, which, my lord, is notable, as the ground was fairly damp.” Chrys blinked at her. “You seem to have done a fairly thorough investigation for someone who simply stumbled upon a crime scene…” He sat up a little straighter against his pillows and squinted at her. “What is your name?” he demanded. “Jaara, my lord.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Jaara of no particular family?” She lifted her chin slightly. “Jaara na Harad lo Arvan,” she said, stating her clan and father. Chrys laughed, then grimaced, then stopped laughing abruptly, holding his stomach. “I knew your name was familiar! You’re Lord Arvan’s unruly daughter, the one who refused to wear women’s skirts, dared to marry her loquiri, and then became Inquisita to my infernal cousin, Kinyth!” “The Fay-el of the Harad clan in Apollar,” Jin whispered to Kor for his clarification. "Lord Arvan’s royal nephew and therefore Jaara’s cousin and clan Fay-el. Chrys’s cousin as well, the son of his maternal aunt, which makes Chrys Jaara’s, um… let me think… In any case, House Harad has been the rival of House Liyl---from which Lord Gyas hails---for nearly twelve generations. Lord Arvan was just replaced by Lord Gyas this winter, at the changing of the terms. House Harad will not have a Lord in court again for... four winters. It's unfortunate; House Harad lacks House Liyl's unfortunate allegiences to the Guild and is known for being far more evenhanded with the people of Apollar." Jaara nodded slowly. “Yes, it is so, my lord. Our royal cousin Kinyth would… ah… send his greetings… if he knew I was here.” Chrys frowned at her. “Kinyth did not send you to Crossroads?” “Indeed, no. A few days ago, he granted me leave to see to… personal business.” “Personal business that bring you to Crossroads and find you in the company of an assassin?” A muscle tensed in her jaw. “Personal business such as blood-debt, my lord. A woman of Eastar took the life of my loquiri and husband. I followed her to Settar and executed her, as is my right, then traveled to Eastar to bring her body to her kinsmen and word of my husband’s death to my marriage-kin. It was there that I met Naftis, and he became my travel companion as I made my way back to Apollar.” Chrys settled back on his pillows, apparently satisfied. “I have heard tell of you. You are a ruthless investigator, quick to bring justice where our cousin desires justice be brought. You are sworn into our cousin’s service and I would not interfere with that duty, though it is my right. Nor are you truly my kinswoman, to beg favors of. But I ask a favor of you nonetheless.” He swallowed and glanced at Jin. “My heir is missing. My kinsman’s son is missing. You and your companions have spent some time in the company of a man who proved to be the tool of Lord Gyas of your native Apollar, a man who does not desire to see Elam inherit my throne." He turned to Caylia. "I'm given to understand that you are a scholar, a bard." He turned to Hamen, "And you train Derk-ra and are a fine weaponsmaster.” “And quite adept at hiding in shadows and following those who do not want to be followed,” Jaara commented lowly. Chrys nodded. “Also, all of you are Gifted, and you two---" He nodded to Caylia and Hamen "---are mine to command. I would like the three of you to find Elam and bring him back to his father and I.” Caylia stepped forward slightly. "My lord Fay-el, I am not yours to command. I am a bard, and cannot be detained without good cause." The Fay-el slammed his hand down on the bedsheets. "Is finding and liberating an innocent young boy from his kidnappers not a good cause?" he thundered. She nodded frankly. "Yes. And it is for that reason I choose to help you." He stared at her for a long moment, nodded, then glanced at Hamen. The Derk-ra trainer inclined his head, then said, "I’m yours to command at will, my lord. But… I do ask a favor… I would like to see my Derk-ra returned to my care." His eyes slid sideways to Jaara and he grimaced. "And hers as well," he said in distaste. "Very well," Chrys started to say, but Jin cleared his throat. “Chrys… no. Please do not send these three to look for Elam.” He turned to the three Mara. “No offense, but I am not ready to entrust my son’s safety to individuals who may be accomplices in his kidnapping. I've no reason yet to trust you, and quite a few reasons to distrust you.” Chrys held up a hand, “Jin, I cannot speak for these others, but if you knew the reputation of my cousin's Inquisita, you would not think---” Jin shook his head, looking very tired and very frightened. “No. No, Chrys. Let Kor and Daliah go after Elam. They are competent individuals who have earned my trust, and they know my son well. He will be far less frightened if it is they who find him and not these three strangers. If you’ve a need for the Inquisita and her companions, then perhaps have them investigate the matter of your assassination attempt instead.” Chrys turned to regard Jaara, Hamen and Caylia in turn. His eyes were becoming very bleary with valla, but his voice was still strong. “The matter of the assassination attempt, then. As you saw today, I cannot not trust my court incredibly well these days. It is better that I make use of the services of outside investigators. Are you willing? Answer quickly, for this valla is beginning to wear on me.” Caylia looked less than pleased. "My lord..." She sighed. "Yes. If it will help prove that Naftis is an unwitting tool in someone else's schemes---an individual who needs healing, not punishment---then yes, I will help." Jaara, however, looked positively angry at the request. “My lord, I am in mourning. I have been released from my duties for a year in order to mourn my husband as is proper. I have been traveling for days on end, and expected to find some time to recover from my own wound. I am also…” She swallowed, her good arm wrapped around her stomach. “My lord, if I grant you this favor, I demand one in return.” “Demand?” Chrys asked dangerously. “What does the daughter of my marriage-uncle’s brother think she can demand of me in return for seeing this humble request granted?” Jaara did not let his belittlement of their distant relationship quell her. “There are people who may come to Crossroads soon seeking Naftis. His kinsmen. Keep him heavily drugged, locked in chains and guarded at all times, if that is your will, but do not let them know that he is here, or that he has been here.” Chrys blinked. That was clearly not what he’d expected. “I... Very well. Your request is granted.” His gaze shifted to Hamen. “Your Derk-ra will be returned to you, and hers as well. Do you require aught else?” "Ah… yes… sort of…" "Why am I not surprised?" the Fay-el murmured. "What? What is it?" "Don't... hurt Naftis. He has already been hurt enough." Chrys scowled. "What kind of man do you take me for? Yes, yes, your request is granted. You need not have even asked." He turned to Kor and Daliah. “Ael ki---Hybrid, see to Daliah’s head. The two of you have work to do. Get to it. Also… Ravin will accompany you on your search.” He smiled darkly. “To ensure you do not misremember whose heir Elam is.” His gaze shifted to Jin. “And you… you will remain here, with me. I’ll not see my royal kinsman killed in the crossfire of the Mara’s troubles. Despite today’s, erm, events, Ratacca Korr is safer than the rest of Crossroads.” Jin would have reached for the reassurance of his janin, had he been permitted to have it within Chrys’s presence. “Nor will you see your heir’s father attempt to find his son and return to Shinar, leaving the Mara’s troubles behind.” Chrys nodded, his eyes drowsy but no less shrewd. “Aye, that too.” |
| Daliah knelt before the statue of Kyda, slowly drawing her sword. This all seemed too familiar, though she'd only done it once before. However, there was little ceremony to this, as the problem was her fault. She sighed and touched the flat of the blade to her forehead. "May I not rest until the boy is found. May I travel as far as the sky before my sin is purged. May I-" she broke off, too heartbroken for the formal vow. "Do not blame Elam for my mistakes. Only let me... Just let me find him. Please." She would not swear vengeance this time, for it had taken too much of her the last time. Her head began to spin, and she bit her lip, drawing blood to block the emotional pain. She had to focus now. Her brows creased as she concentrated on the statue, its detail and grace. Hair hung in her face, but she did not notice it enough to brush it away. Even if she did, it hid her from the rest of the world. She let the sword clatter to the floor and dropped onto her elbows. "Please..." she whispered. "I would give my life for his if it would come to it. You know I would, so please." "It was not your fault." Daliah recognized Kor's voice and cursed herself for not hearing him approach. "I let my guard down while protecting my charge, I should not have done so." "But you kept him safe for so long." She started to cry in her weakness. "I saw him coming, but I thought he was... I saw him with Chrys and thought he was there to protect us, but..." she looked back up at the statue. "I fought him, but I was not strong enough. I failed Elam and Jin." "But... Wait. You said you fought him?" "Yes. With everything I had." "We only found that one blow to your head." "I don't know. I only just started to remember... I know he approached me, and I felt this... wind force me out of the way, and though I fought, I could never get within an arm's length until he struck me." Kor gazed up at the ceiling. "He must have had the gift, then." Daliah finally pushed her emotion away and took a quill from her bag. She began to draw her vow in symbols along her forearm. They were the ancient Dragonian markings of shame until a promise was fulfilled. Soldiers used to bear them, and now she did as well. "I should gather my things." she said at last. "I left my bow in the throne room." "It was not your fault." Kor stated once more, noting the ink staining her arm. Daliah left the temple in silence, not bothering to reply. |
| Kor cursed, rubbing his forehead, and threw himself down the path after her. He hadn't been struck over the head this day, unlike Daliah, but he was beginning to feel the strain of the past hours, and knew it would only get worse as the night stretched before them. He didn't know what to else to say to her to make her believe Elam's abduction was not her fault. He wasn't even sure he should try to comfort her; there as determination in her grief, and Elam needed that determination. Still, Kyda take him, he tried. "Daliah," he called, stepping up to her and taking her shoulder gently, she shrugged his hand away, dragging her bow off the table outside the throne room. "There was nothing you could have done. These Mara... they do... unnatural things." There was a sardonic snort behind him. "We're hardly alone in that," an unfortunately familiar voice drawled, and Kor tensed. When had finally mastered his expression, he turned slowly to look on Ravin. The Border Guard did not have his customary irreverent smile, but instead stood behind them looking thoroughly displeased with life. His hands clutched two shitans in an iron grip and Kor stiffened to see the familiar orange crest. "Give those back." Now Ravin did smile. "What if I don't want to?" Kor resisted the urge to punch the wall, and actually had to grasp Daliah's arm to prevent her from rushing the Border Guard in anger. "Eppa's balls, you devil, every second we waste playing your stupid games give Elam's captors more time to get away!" The Border Guard tossed him his shitans, one after the other, giving the Hybrid time to catch each in turn. "Have you notified your keeper that you're leaving in search for the boy?" Kor started toward the door, but glanced irritably over his shoulder. "My keeper?" "Your Fay-el's captain." "Jin will---" Daliah shook her head angrily. "Ignore him, Kor. Let's start in the archery field. I know that T'Ollo woman searched the area, but maybe she missed something..." They crossed the palace grounds at a near run, forcing Ravin to hurry to keep up with them. |
| Daliah traced her finger along the backs of the targets, searching for a piece of snagged fabric, anything that might help. Yet the wood was impossibly smooth, not even a sliver to find evidence. Curse the Fay-el's need for good appearances. She sucked her cheeks in with frustration, willing herself not to scream. If they were to find Elam, she would need a clear head. "We were standing here." she thought aloud, walking over to a place in front of a target. "Someone was behind us. A guard, I think." She looked back, catching the deep impression in the dirt. Whoever was there was standing for quite some time. Kor and Ravin were already there, forgetting their differences for once in this new clue. She left them to it, trusting Kor if not Ravin. She stepped lightly behind their target, only taking a second to smile at the child's aim. But then she ducked behind it for reasons she did not know why. Gut instinct, perhaps. She found one of the arrows Elam must have forgotten and felt a surge of pain through her head like a reminder. She held it gently as if it were a new treasure. This was the last thing they had done together. But then she noted evidence that it had been handled, and not by either of them. There were traces that were not there before. Suddenly everything clicked. Daliah leapt to her feet, staring at the arrow in disbelief before trotting back to Kor. She found that for a couple minutes she could not speak. What if she truly found something? Would they ridicule her if she hadn't? She decided to take her chances. She handed the arrow over to Kor, giving him time to inspect it. "Is it possible they could have a connection to me through the arrows? I know a little about the Gift, but I was hoping... Could it be true?" Then she stood in agony while he thought it over. |
| Kor glanced dubiously at the arrow. "You may be grasping after straws, Daliah," he said gently. She shook her head emphatically. "No. See this smuge? No, look, here!" She pointed it out to him. "Someone had filthy fingers when they touched the arrow." She held up her splayed hand, releaving her clean fingers. "Not I." "Elam is a little boy," Kor pointed out. "I spent half the day washing date juice from his hands. He could have made the print." "No!" she snapped, and pointed again. "His fingers are much too small. That's a man's print. Or a large woman's." She repeated her earlier question. "Do you think they used the arrows to form some kind of connection to me?" Kor sighed and swallowed his impatience. It felt like they were wasting precious time, but he felt like Daliah needed her hope badly, and this early in their search, any clue was a cause for hope. He glanced down at the toy. The little fire red arrow did feel strangely heavy in Kor's palm, as though there were more substance to it than just wood, paint and bronze. He turned it over in his hand slowly, his eyes and fingers tracing the Fundamentals engraved along its shaft. Someone had put a great deal of work into the little children's toy; the nock and arrowhead were both solid metal and shined to look like gold. The glyphs for the Fundamentals were perfectly carved and painstakingly tiny, with no roughness about the edges at all. Each one was inlaid with gold metal, and it looked like the wood had been carved in such a way as to draw the metal out, rather than the bronze having been poured meticulously into the tiny lines and swoops of Whirling Grass and Derk-ra's Claw. The Hybrid frowned and turned the arrow on its head, studying the nock. "Oh wow," he said, his eyes widening at it. He'd been mistaken; that wasn't bronze. The gold of the nock seemed to spill out of the end of the arrow and bubble slightly on top. His brows knitting, Kor pulled one of his shitans free of his belt, and began carving the wood back from the nock. "What are you doing!" Ravin snarled, reaching out with one hand to stay Kor's knife. The Hybrid stepped sideways to avoid him, and sliced the rest of the wood lengthwise from nock to arrowhead. Ravin threw his hands in the air. "You incompetent fool, you're destroying the only evidence we've found thus far!" Kor peeled the wood back, allowing it to snap in his hand. "Look," he said, handing the split, hollow tube of wood to Ravin, and holding up what he'd found. "What in the world?" Daliah asked, stepping foward and reaching for for the thin rod of gold. Kor handed it to her. "It's solid gold," he confirmed as she turned it over in her hands, scrutinizing the arrowhead on one end and the nock on the other. "Someone crafted that thing, fashioned a shaft over it, and sold it as a children's toy in the city." "Not solid," Daliah murmured. "Look. There's something in the middle." Kor leaned over to look. "Glass?" It was very thin, a minute speck appearing at the tip of the arrowhead and between the nock; Daliah had good eyes. "Give me that," Ravin commanded, snatching it from Daliah before she had a chance to protest. He tossed the wood to Kor. "And you, take a look at those carvings. Notice anything strange?" Kor and Daliah bent over the wood, but it was harder to make out the carvings without the original gold backdrop. "No..." Daliah said. The Border Guard tossed the gold skeleton of the arrow back to Daliah. "That's lune glass inside. Snuff your torch." Daliah looked at him doubtfully, but did as she was told. The archery field was swallowed by darkness, except for a tiny speck of pale blue light where Daliah was standing. As Kor's eyes adjusted, he leaned closer. "What is that?" he whispered. The glow was very faint, but steady. Ravin allowed them to study it for a moment, and then he struck his Cat's Tongue torch upon the ground, flooding the archery field with light again. "That, my friends" --- he said the word sardonically --- "is a Guild toy, and not a toy for little boys. And if I'm not mistaken, it was put in your path deliberately." "Why do you say that?" Kor demanded. Ravin nodded his head to the piece of destroyed wood that had formed the arrow shaft. "Count the Fundamentals. The Dragonian Fundamentals are two and thirty. But here in the Mara, where some warriors fight with Derk-ra at their sides and others must defend against the Derk-ra of our opponents, we have fourty Fundamentals." Kor and Daliah both hastily began counting the Fundamentals carved into the wood. Daliah nodded grimly to confirm what her friend already knew. Ravin stated what they had both already figured out. "There are thirty-two. Someone in the Mara crafted a set of arrows clearly intended to catch the eye of a Dragonian child, or someone who would want to get that child a gift. You were definitely intended to buy this Guild toy, and you walked right into it." Kor barely heard Daliah choke down a sob at his side. He turned her around to face him. "It is not your fault. These are clearly plans that have been long in the making, and we walked into this situation having no cause to distrust every pretty toy on Mara's streets." He glared up at Ravin, who was watching them both in growing impatience. "Alright Ravin, what in Kyda's name this thing is intended to do?" He shrugged. "I should think it'd be perfectly obvious. They wouldn't leave it here unless they wanted you to find it. Most likely, they think you'll take it with you, keep it as a reminder of the boy. And then they'll probably know where you are at all times... and possibly even be able to use the Gift on you through it." Kor cursed. "Okay. And how do we destroy it?" The Border Guard raised an eyebrow. "Use your Gift." Kor nearly pulled out his hair. "All this talk of the Gift! What are you talking about?" It was Ravin's turn to look frustrated. "Are you mad? You know what I'm talking about. The Gift." Kor looked blankly at him. "Kyda! What do they call it in Aquila? The Shine?" Kor's eyes widened, and then he laughed. "What? You fool, I'm not a mage!" Ravin laughed back, dryly. "Call it what you will. I can't do this part for you. Look at the rod." Kor looked at it. It looked the same. "And what---" "Look at the Crescent-blasted rod!" The Border Guard struggled to control his temper. "Just look at it. Breathe calmly. Break it." The Hybrid's eyes widened at him. "Break it? It's solid gold!" Ravin shook his head. "You heard me. Just do it." Frowning, Kor grasped the thing by both hands. Bent the metal. It was gold, and soft, but it didn't break, only bent. He stared at Ravin impatiently. "Now what?" "Break it." "I can't break the demon-blasted arrow!" He threw it against the ground, hard. The arrow's nock struck a rock just so, and with a rushing roar, bright blue light pulsed thunderously outwards from the arrow, struck all three of them in their chests, and knocked them clear off of their feet before spiraling due east across the sky. Kor blinked as the light faded. "What in Kyda's name...?" Ravin rose slowly, brushing the dirt of the ground off of his pants. "As I said before... your methods are innovative." He pointed toward the east. "Whoever made that arrow is that way. It's a start." |
| Daliah stared at the sky in frustration. Guilt had firmed the lines in her face, taking the sliver of innocence she had left. Her hands clenched and released repeatedly as she thought it all through. She had not been even slightly educated in this, and felt completely inadequate next to Kor and Ravin. She did not have a trace of the Gift, all she had was her sword. That seemed so useless now. Anger and despair chased each other in her mind. One second she was filled with vengeance, the next she lost all hope. They were then consumed by confusion and she became dizzy. She glanced down at her arm, where the temporary tattoos were still clear against her skin. She had to get rid of them, but she could not until Elam was found. If not, she would bear them forever, as she deserved. With a sigh, she pulled her sleeve back down. She could not bother with that now. She had to find some way to be useful. The men were still arguing over the arrow, which reminded her of her own arguments with Kor. Back to the night on the lake, when she knew something would soon happen. She wondered if this was it. Angry that her mind had wandered once more, she shook her head and looked back to the house of the Fay-el. She wanted to be somewhere quiet, where she could sort out the turmoil without interruption. But with the chaos surrounding Chrys, that would not be the best place to do so. If either Kor or Ravin noticed that she left, they did not let on. She was grateful for that as she walked toward the stables. Myna was there now, and she had not seen her in days. The mare always helped her solve her problems. Myna certainly was happy to see her, though Daliah noticed she was well cared for. "Well, old friend, I certainly failed this time." she whispered, stroking the smooth jaw of the animal. Dark eyes blinked at her, understanding. It gave her some comfort, even if she was mostly talking to herself. She stepped into the stall and closed the door behind her. There was the soft scraping of wood and the sounds of other horses, but otherwise silence. She began to work with the brush she'd taken from the wall, moving it in circles in no particular pattern. Her stress eased with this until she finally was able to evaluate the situation. Perhaps she could not contribute any knowlege, but her experience would have to serve. She knew how to track as well as fight, and she knew how to survive the long nights that were surely ahead of them. But her spirits soon fell again. What could she do once they met the captors? She had little power against the Gift. That role would have to fall to Kor. "I thought I would find you here." Kor said. "You have to stop sneaking away." "I needed to think." she replied without looking up. "I see." he leaned against the stall and began to rub Myna's forehead. She finally allowed her eyes to follow his movements. "Did you find anything else?" He shook his head slowly. "We have ideas of their location, but nothing is for certain." Daliah bit at the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to say. They slowly grew comfortable in each others' presence, and she noted that Kor's rigid stature eased some. She finally put the brush away and prepared for a more serious conversation. "What can I do?" she asked, closing the door behind her. "The time for your skills will come soon. Try to remember what you can, perhaps. A face, if possible. But other than that, just try to prepare for the journey. We hope to leave tomorrow." She nodded, making a mental list of what they might need. She managed to figure out rations by the time two Dragonians entered the building. They were leading two horses, still loaded with saddle bags. The stallions were clearly well bred, but they did not appear to be from this place. "Who do these animals belong to?" she inquired. One of the men shot her a disapproving look. "That is not of your concern." It seemed there was a lot that was not her concern lately. |
| Kor could not sleep. For once, it was not the churning, twisting viciousness of the calaba that kept him awake, nor the throb and burn of wounds earned at the hands of Jin’s enemies (or Jin’s bladesmaster or Jin’s demon-blasted kinsman’s kinth of a Border Guard), nor---thank Kyda---the creeping, leaden numbness of Derk-ra venom. Indeed, all of his past troubles---so very trivial in comparison to the circumstances which now stared him in the face---had faded and been forgotten in the midst of his arrest, the attempt on the Fay-el’s life and Elam’s kidnapping. And now, no matter how much he prayed to Xraj to bring the blessed little death to his incessantly-prattling mind, sleep would not come to him. For four hours he forced himself to lie still and take what rest he could from darkness and immobility, but his mind screamed at him to stop lying around while there was so much to do, to take action before it was too late. At last he sighed, and pulling himself up in his bedroll, looked about the sleeping camp. It was almost unseemly how bright it was this night. Firelight bounded off the coverings of tents, and many people had left lanterns hanging outside their tents. Safe within the shadow of the walls of Crossroads and with the Maran city guard as well as the camp’s own sentries on heightened alert because of the events of that day, the tribe had felt secure enough to keep the fires brightly lit all night despite the potential dangers of Derk-ra or bandits being led to the campsite by the fire. Apparently Derk-ra were just as valuable as---if not more so than---wild stallions in these parts, and the creatures seemed to be wise enough to avoid large settlements where waiting merchants might capture them and sell them to the highest bidder. And bandits knew well the foolishness of trying their luck outside so populated and well-fortified a city. The campfires and lanterns, however, heralded more than the Shinar’s lack of fear about Derk-ra and bandits. As word of Elam’s kidnapping had spread through camp, nearly every child in the tribe had been brought inside his mother’s tent and made to play quietly while his mother watched fearfully, and every fire that could be lit was kindled. Kor thought the precautions were most likely unnecessary---Elam’s kidnapping was surely politically motivated---but nevertheless, he knew that he would have done the same had he been blessed with unruly spawn of his own. He didn’t know enough about the elusive Guild to know for sure whether it was their practice to kidnap children and bend them to their own purposes, but something about his encounters with the Guild made him strongly believe that they were a nest of self-interested, plotting vipers who had no qualms about engaging in unsavory practices to get what they wanted. It would not surprise him at all to learn that kidnapping was something they did regularly and with little thought. He heard footsteps approaching behind him, and turned from the twisting flames to look---somewhat anxiously---over his shoulder. His blue eyes settled on a familiar face and he relaxed. It was just Daliah. “You cannot sleep, either?” she asked. He shook his head. “Nay. Normally I fall asleep faster than a cat in a sunbeam, but tonight my thoughts fly to and fro in my head as though Xraj’s own fury were after them“ She quirked a tiny, unhappy smile. “Thus it is with me as well.” Her hand rubbed absently at her forearm, and although Kor could not see the ink beneath the fabric of her night tunic, he knew that it must surely still be there. He stretched and rose. “Well, I know well enough that at times such as this, I can do little better than to answer the demands of my heart. What say you to waking Ravin, and dragging the man out of his bed in the dark of night?” He grinned, but it was fierce and not cheerful. “I’ve a mind to find a particular maker of arrows, and put him to the question.” Daliah looked down at herself. “Yes, let us do that. But I must make myself ready.” Her lip twitched, this time in a more genuine smile. “As do you.” He glanced down at his own tunic, and grimaced. “My mother made it,” he defended his favorite night shirt, with its delicately embroidered “Kor, Kor, Kor” stitched about the bottom hem in a cheerful spring-green thread. Shaking her head, Daliah took her leave, and after folding his tunic with gentle care, Kor changed into his rough but durable Dragonian leathers. |
| It took Daliah a bit longer to change clothes, as she had to incorporate her weapons. So, once she had on her basic shirt and pants, she took a few extra minutes to strap on her sword belt, sling a pouch of arrows over her shoulder, and hide a dagger and bottle of poison in her boot. She did not bother to tie her hair back, though, seeing little point in it. Hair kept her warm in the night, and the last thing she needed was a chill wind ripping across her neck. Kor was already prepared when she stepped outside her tent. And though she was glad to see him, she could not help but miss Layole. It had been several days since they last spoke, as he was busy attending to Jin. She immediately felt guilt for such selfish thoughts. He was still Jin's second, after all. "Dare we bring him out into the cold?" Kor had a friendly, boyish smile. The pleasure and guilt of a harmless prank was written in that grin. Daliah could not help but smile back. "We have faced Derk-ra and Gifted attacks, I do not think Ravin can be much more dangerous. Besides, there is nothing more exciting than a good interrogation." He chuckled, and led the way to Ravin's tent. Daliah stood outside, but was still able to aim a good kick to the sole of his boot. At least he sleeps dressed, prepared to leave at a moments notice, she thought. Ravin shot up, then moaned grumpily. "I should think it was your sole purpose to torture the camp. Could this not wait for morning?" Daliah crossed her arms. "How amazing it is that after Elam's disappearance and the attempted assassination of your Fay-el, you can still sleep so soundly. That must be one of the many benefits of lacking a soul. Tell me-" Ravin cut her off by crossing the distance between them and drawing his own dagger nearly even with her throat. For a second, he only stood, panting and wild-eyed. "I will not be insulted by the likes of you." She stared at him evenly. "Perhaps by him, then?" she jerked her eyes toward Kor, who had his own weapon at the ready. "Well, Ravin, as long as you are risen and dressed," he held the knife against the man's shoulder, "we have a matter to see to." Ravin growled, but sheathed his dagger. "I shall see that you are both put in the stocks when this is over." "Fine." Daliah walked over to Kor. "As long as Elam is found." ------ "Finally, that fiery temper of yours can be put to use." Ravin was in a less beastly mood now that he had had a bit of wine. "But do not kill him until we have the information we need." "I do not take the value of life as lightly as you think." Daliah replied. "I do not kill unless I am first attacked or there is good reason. But if he has harmed Elam, I shall see that as good reason for a slow death." Kor looked at her worriedly, but she gave him a reassuring glance. "I will stand in the corner until I feel I am needed. But perhaps between the three of us, we can pull what we need from him, whether through a few words or the edge of a blade." "This would be our stop." Ravin pointed out the small business. "It seems he sleeps there as well." He knocked the door sharply, drawing out a too thin, pale boy of about fourteen. "We have business with your master." Daliah prodded gently. "No harm will come to you." He nodded and disappeared into another room. "I could have handled that." Ravin grumbled. "You do not exactly look convincing with your stash of weapons." Daliah did not look at him as she answered. "If you did not see his eyes, he obviously has poor vision. A woman's voice would have been more comforting to him." she closed her eyes, pushing away her worry. What man would leave a boy in that condition? Her heart ached for Elam. Finally, after sounds of shouted cursing, a man appeared at the door. He was still in his nightclothes, though he at least had the decency to wrap a blanket around his waist. He looked at them suspiciously, and it occurred to Daliah that they must be a strange group. It was not often you saw a hybrid, warrior woman, and a man of Ravin's standing. Good. They caught him by surprise, then. |
| Since the ael kinth and that loose woman had awakened him, Ravin had ran options through in his head. Tramping up to a Guildsman's door in the middle of the night was foolhardy. Marching up when the man had already been alerted to his discovery, thanks to the broken arrow, was suicide. They needed a story, believable enough to keep the man from raising an alarm to Guildsmen and watchmen alike. At the sight of the shopkeeper, the air around Kor stilled. Ravin's annoyance rose, but he beat it down. That blasted Gift would do nicely. Grabbing the Hybrid's shoulder, he shook him roughly and shoved him forward. "This ael kinth is nothing but trouble," Ravin growled. He spoke in Common, but added a light nasal tone. The way an Eloin, feigning another race, would sound. The shopkeeper's thin lips twisted into a scowl, and then shifted into an impassive mask. His chestnut eyes belied the mask, gleaming with interest. No Guildsman could miss the flickering Gift, and none would give up the chance of kidnapping or buying a new bloodline. "What seems to be the trouble?" he said. "And why would you question me, and at this late hour?" Ravin gestured at the boy close by. This time, he noted the clouded white in both eyes. "Is he deaf as well as blind?" Daliah hissed profanity under her breath, and Kor twisted against his grip. The Border Guard tightened his hold. With the other hand, he motioned at Daliah to keep still. The shopkeeper paused, and then nodded as if agreeing with himself, before sending the boy away with a curt snap of name and command. Ravin waited until the boy's footsteps faded away. "This Hybrid I purch--that serves me," the Guildsman's eyes flickered. Ah, he caught it. Good. "He is acting strangely, hearing what he should not, moving quickly. When I spoke of it in the tavern, they mentioned a Tyre, of the craftsmen, might be able to remove the problem. Are you Tyre or do I seek another?" The shopkeeper held his gaze. Ravin didn't back down. Eloin slavers often had the Gift stripped from their flowering cargo. With a nod, the man motioned them inside. Ravin grinned. One problem down. Tyre closed the door behind them. He cupped his left hand over his right, fingering a ring, and then reached for Kor. "If I may?" No matter how much he disliked the blasted Hybrid, he would not wish a Gift-probing on anyone. "First, the price?" he snapped. "We will get to that, in due time. It will depend on the malady." Tyre's smile was cold. "The harm will fade." Kor tensed under his hand. Ravin felt his plans trickling away. "I did not earn my place among the...merchants...easily. My gold sticks to my fingers." Pleasure flared into his features. The task of taking Gift would require only silver; the hint of much profit effectively distracted him. Tyre looked away and his eyes found Daliah. Eyebrows arched slightly. "You have a Dragonian woman?" Daliah laughed. Ravin glanced at her. Had she lost her mind, touched by the gods? Serves her right, refusing to dress like a true woman. "You are a fool," she said. "Can you not see my heritage?" Tyre hesitated. To insult a prospective buyer would be unwise. His mouth shut with a snap and he turned away. He plucked at a chain around his neck, and then pulled a simple key out of his tunic. Bending down, he fiddled with an ornate chest. "My materials are here. If your Hybrid has the Gift, it will soon be gone." Ravin frowned and stalked closer. Tyre flinched and backed away slightly. So, he doesn't like my height, does he? The Border Guard leaned closer, resting long fingers on the Guildsman's shoulder. "I have also heard that you have...ways...of keeping an eye on some. This one keeps vanishing." "Perhaps." He shut the chest again and, with a flick of his wrist, cast a jumble of odd-shaped items across the table. Two lit immediately, hollow tubes shining with lune light. Even Ravin didn't recognize this, and he had his Gift stripped from him. "What are these?" "They are necessary." Frowning morosely, Ravin shook his head. "They are not." "And how would you know?" His eyes jumped to the shopkeeper's gaze, now narrowing in suspicion. Think. A reason. A bit of excuse wrapped in logic. "I have heard...other things are used. Shaped more like stars, sharp-edged." He rubbed a thumb across the old scars on his right hand. The ceremony had not been without pain. "You hear many things. Not all are true." "I see. So the toys with special purpose? I found one, but it was damaged. Could it be repaired?" Tyre scowled. "Get someone else to mend broken arrows. I cannot overtire myself." Ravin froze. He had said nothing of arrows. Daliah drew a sharp breath. The Guildsman flicked a glance at her, and then his eyes widened. Ravin swiveled his head. She had drawn her dagger, and rolled up one sleeve to reveal black symbols etched into the skin. "You. Eyrie-spawned, son of a Derk-ra's harem." Kor stood too, slowly, his shitans sliding free of their hilts. "Aye. You have questions we need answered." "I see. You are neither Eloin, nor need my talents." His eyes wandered over them. Ravin felt the tension, the danger of a crouching Derk-ra. One hand rested at his side, but the other was at shoulder-level, twisted out of sight. The Border Guard took a step closer to both the Guildsman and Kor. Of them all, the Hybrid was at the most risk. "The boy, Elam. Where is he?" Ravin said. "It is not my concern. Or yours. I only do as I am told." "And kidnap a young boy? Take him away from father and family?" Daliah swore and stalked closer. "I will gut you and leave your bones for the Derk-ra to gnaw." "Not now," Ravin hissed. "If he is dead, he cannot respond to questions that need answering." Chestnut eyes found Kor. Narrowed. Ravin inched closer to the Hybrid, but kept his attention on the Guildsman's hands. "By whose orders did you fashion the arrows? Seems a paltry task for the talent we saw in those toys, unless you had good reason to do so." "I am of the Guild. I obey." He cupped one hand over the other again. The ring. If it is a nexus... Tyre's hand whipped upward. Ravin yanked Kor from his feet, shoving him across the room. Daliah leaped forward, tackling the shopkeeper and pinning him, dagger at his throat. On the wall behind where the Hybrid had been standing, a mirror shattered as if touched by invisible hands. Jagged chunks of glass spattered the floor. Ravin caught Kor's eye, widening at the sight of the mirror. "A strong Guildsman, whether by breeding or aid, can stop a man's heart," Ravin said. "He would have killed me. If you had not reacted as you did." Kor studied his face. An uncomfortable feeling spread across Ravin's chest. He shrugged and looked away. "If we want answers, we need your Gift, however impure and untrained it may be." his eyes narrowed. "Which will soon be remedied." "You?" Kor laughed. "You don't have the patience of a teacher." "Aye. Better learn quickly." Whirling away and bending down, Ravin ripped fabric from Tyre's sleeve and handed it to Daliah. "Blindfold him. Without his sight, he cannot focus the Gift well enough to harm us." While she did as he asked, Ravin snapped the slender chain and withdrew the key to the chest. "Let's see what else he has hidden in there, shall we?" |
| As Ravin began to unlock the trunk, Daliah tossed the ring to Kor. He caught it in a bit of cloth and tied it securely. They could not risk Tyre trying something. She pressed her knee into the man's back and proceeded to bind his arms as well. Though she could still see Ravin, she could not see what he had found. It frustrated her, but she had to keep a close watch on Tyre. Even after his struggling and insults died down, she did not trust him alone. Her lips twisted into a grimace. He was not as much of a challenge as she expected, and gave her no opportunity to inflict pain. The promise she made to Kor sat heavily on her chest, making her sick. This man may not deserve death, but he deserved punishment. How she longed to be the one that dealt it. Though perhaps it was not hers to give. She blew her hair away from her face in frustration, rousing another struggle from Tyre. It was not physical, however. It was his nature to jeer, testing her, drawing out her anger that she might do something rash. She would not let him, so she ignored him. Then he started in on her family. Low remarks of her father and mother reached her ears. How her father was a Derk-ra and her mother was an Eloin. How they abandoned her in their quest to plague the world. How she was cursed to wander on and beneath the land, with no love, her heart and soul stolen in the night. He knows nothing, she told herself. But the insults continued until she could take it no more. She flipped her dagger in her hand, so that the blade pointed out from her hand, angry and red in the light of the dying fire. There was a gasp from Kor, and a shudder from Tyre. She held it for a moment, contemplating the shine of the steel before plunging it down. It struck deep into the wood, still vibrating from the force. Tyre let out his breath, but she felt his fear yet. "I rarely miss." she whispered in his ear. "Do not test me or the next time it may be those hands." She looked up at Ravin, flushed. "What did you find?" ------ Finally bored with the fight, they strapped Tyre tightly against a chair, gagged as well as blindfolded. Daliah force herself to watch him, though she could not stand the sight. She continually spun her retrieved dagger in absent-minded circles as she did so. Ravin began to explain his findings, and she did her best to understand. Unfortunately, he used many terms that one without a proper education could not know. From what she could gather, however, this man left enough clues for them to go on. He was only useful now for names and perhaps history, but that was all. She looked over the objects, though she still did not know their significance. Ravin and Kor seemed to be particularly interested in a coin, which she thought she saw somewhere once. When she had the opportunity to hold it, she felt a chill as her eyes glanced over the bird and other symbols, and she could look no more. She passed it back to Kor, not wishing to hold such an evil thing at this time. "The assassin's seal." he hissed. "It cannot be." She was about to reply when the door behind him opened. Two dark-haired women entered, one bearing a scar. She immediately plucked the coin from Kor's hand and inspected it, eyebrows creasing. The other saw its meaning as soon as it was in her grasp and seemed to hold back a series of curses before resting her hands on the top of her head. "What else is there?" she asked softly, the recognisable voice of nobility. Both took a place at the table, and the objects were exchanged between the group. Daliah looked carefully, but could not see what the others did. All she had were feelings as each passed through her fingers. A small, shapeless bit of metal was dropped into her palm. She quickly threw it on the table, as it had grown hot. Her skin felt seared, and she pressed her thumb against the wound to ease the pain. The one without the scar looked at her strangely, eyes widening. "Did that just burn you?" she whispered. "Yes." she answered simply, returning her hand to the table. "What of it?" "Who is your father?" "I do not know." she grumbled through her teeth, annoyed that she was forced to share so much of her personal life. "Why?" "It is most likely nothing." There was a flash of discomfort in her eyes, quickly replaced by concentration. Daliah felt herself believing the girl, though she did not know why. "Now, as for the significance of the coin..." Ravin continued. "As we were talking about before our interruption, I think may be traced back to the Guild..." |
| Kor honestly wasn’t sure what in Kyda’s name Ravin wanted. One moment, the kinth was dragging him practically by the hair before Chrys, accusing him of poisoning the royal loquiri. The next, he was shoving Kor across the room to save him from a sorcerous attack. As the sun rose, he was claiming first blood over Kor’s supposed use of this maddening “Gift”. In the dark of night, he was offering---no, threatening---to train Kor in the very same Gift. Did he want Kor dead, or alive? Did he want the Hybrid to learn the Gift, or not? Not that I have the Gift, Kor thought, watching in confused interest as the Border Guard carefully lifted item after item from the chest and lay them upon the table. Two were similar to those lune lamps he’d seen in Chrys’s court, only much smaller and longer, with far less ornate glasswork and a duller glow. There was a palm-sized trinket shaped like a seven-pointed star; he reached out to touch it, wondering at its sharp edges and failing to imagine how it could possibly be used in battle, but Ravin positively slapped his hand away from the thing. “Stars and Crescents, I’m not going to pocket it, if that’s what you’re thinking!” he snapped. It was very late, and his head had been throbbing for the past several hours as though Xraj himself were pounding an anvil into his temple; his patience was wearing thinner with every passing second. Ravin’s dark eyes pinned him like an insect to the spot. “If you wish to know pain so great it feels as though your soul is being shredded away from your body, then feel free to touch the star. It is of no concern to me, I assure you. But please, do wait until after my lord Chrys has no further use to you.? There’s yet a need for your Gift, virtually-useless though it may be.” That demon-blasted Gift again! Are all these people mad? He wasn’t saying that there wasn’t anything, well, unusual about his luck. His Ma had oft reminded him to trust the will of the gods and thank them in his prayers when he felt their favor upon him; he knew well the power of faith, especially in times of trouble. But Kyda had not blessed him with the Shine, which was said in some of the old songs to allow men to partake of the powers of the gods; of that, he was positive. Ravin was a bloody, superstitious fool. “I don’t have the---“ he started to protest again, but the Border Guard slammed a coin onto the table and flicked it with one calloused finger toward him. “What think you of that, minstrel?” One side was marked with an unfamiliar insignia: a dagger and vine. The other made his blood run cold, and he handed it to Daliah as she turned away at last from her torment of the blindfolded Tyre. “Assassin’s seal,” he identified the raven sigil through clenched teeth. The warrior didn’t seem any more inclined to hold it than he, and she hurriedly passed it back as the door opened. “It cannot be,” Kor whispered, turning the coin over in his hands as that unpleasant woman Jaara and a new woman of the Mara entered the room. He’d seen the raven before; in Aquila, his mother had had a book of little-known herbal remedies that could be made from well-known poisonous substances. The chapter that had described the properties of nightflower root and its history in the Mara as a poison had been illustrated by a raven in flight. Beneath the picture, in black ink, the scribe had written the words, “The Assassin’s Seal.” Cold fingers closed over his own and snatched the coin from his grasp. Kor glanced down in annoyance to see that woman, Jaara, scowling at the coin. Apparently its meaning eluded her because after turning it to and fro for a few seconds and glaring as though intending to intimidate answers out of it, she handed it to her companion, who cursed fluidly, destroying Kor’s first impression of her as a Maran noblewoman. After a few moments Ravin cleared his throat. Kor wanted to hit him for the patronizing expression on his face, but refrained, clenching his jaw and his hands instead. "Now, as for the significance of the coin..." the Border Guard began. |
| "...of the coin, the dagger and vine most of us know or have seen before. This represents the Guild nearly as much as the vile triangles, sprouting up like nightshade." Ravin frowned at the young girl that had entered with Jaara. "No need to hold the Gift, dearie. I am only stating the truth, unpopular though it may be with you." She clenched her teeth, but the Gift vanished again. As did the insistent buzz in the back of his skull. "My thanks," he growled, "The vine for peace, the dagger for war, and the Guild touches both. Simple enough?” The group nodded. “This symbol,” he continued, gesturing at the dark raven, “As the ael… er, Hybrid aptly pointed out, is known as the assassin’s seal. I have seen six of these in my tenure as Border Guard, held by men in Endry and in Chrys’ service.” Jaara’s eyes widened. The proud Inquisista had probably never considered that aspect of Fay-el power. Ravin smirked at her. “Never fear. None were destined for Mara hearths, no matter how well deserved it may be.” She snorted. “And you are judge of that?” “Perhaps.” He glanced back to that younger woman, Kharme, and Kor, noting absently that the Hybrid was squinting as if in pain. “What worries me more is the lack of the second.” “Second?” Kor said. “Assassins no longer work alone,” Kharme responded. “They move in pairs, dropping the coins as proof of their presence, their task completed, or sometimes as an approval of their task.” Ravin’s eyes narrowed and he passed the coin to her. That last one he had not heard of before. “Pray explain…approval?” “The raven is constant. But these here,” she ran one finger over the characters inscribed around the bird’s head. “Can sometimes read another word than ‘Gidlak’ or Death as is usually etched.” She squinted at it for a moment, turning it to the light. When she filled with Gift, Ravin’s apprehension rose. Jaara spoke first. “What does it say?” “Someone has rubbed the last few characters out. It spells Gid now.” The Border Guard yanked it out of her hand. “Surely not.” “Gid?” “A sect of the Guild,” he flicked an annoyed glance at Kor. “A very nasty sect of the Guild.” “Could they have approved the kidnapping of Elam?” Blast him with his infernal questions. Ravin opened his mouth to answer, but Kharme cut him off with her response. “If they did...” she swallowed, biting her lower lip, “Then we have a day, maybe two at the most, before there is no rescuing the heir.” Jaara frowned. “Why?” “The Gid practices culling,” The Border Guard stated bluntly. “Unless Elam has the Gift, and that at a higher rate, they will either kill him or--to keep a bargaining tool--do as was done to me.” Ravin tossed the sharpened star onto the table, gesturing at the dark stains on each point. “Remove his ability to use it. Permanently.” The blood drained from Daliah’s face. For the first time since had met her, Ravin thought she was going to cry. But then she hardened her expression, whispering, “That’s so...so cruel,” Kor’s reaction was more unexpected. He smacked the table with a clenched fist. The star bounced, lune-rods tumbling to the floor. “He is only a little boy. He has nothing to do with the politics of this place!” The air around him stilled, prompting curious glances from Jaara and Kharme. “The Gid are always brutal,” Ravin muttered. He retrieved the star and rubbed his now-aching scars. They ached with remembered pain. Clenching the star as blood oozed across its edge, focusing on the hum as it tuned into his Gift’s bent, and then pain—intense, searing agony... He shivered. Best not to dwell on that. Ravin straightened. “If we find the other coin, marked as this, then we will find where the boy is kept. All we need is the compass heading the group took.” He stalked to Tyre’s side. “And you will tell us. Willingly or not.” Tyre shook his head. Ravin grinned. “By Kyda, you will.” He yanked the gag from the Guildsman’s mouth, ignoring his yelp of pain. “Where did they take the boy?” His mouth set into a thin line. “I don’t think this will work,” Jaara said. “The Guild is willing to torture and kill any who speak of things they should not.” “Aye, I know.” Ravin stalked around the man, noting the tilt of his head. Tyre could not see him, but he could certainly hear him. “But perhaps I can offer a far worse punishment.” “You cannot,” Tyre rasped. “With lucca root and the Gift, the Guild can make you beg for death. I have seen it done.” “Ah, but I know of one that you will not only beg, you will attempt to die by your own hand. And that I have seen done as well.” Jaara and Kharme flicked him a curious glance. Ravin bent down, hissing a few words Tyre would know quite well. “ Cur nuse kalin, cur nuse jom’y. Karne speka karne, jom’y catak jom’y.” And then, shifting into Common, he repeated the invocation. “Clouds of darkness; clouds of light. Blood answers to blood, light scatters light.” Tyre shivered. “You lack the knowledge, proud though your words may be.” “Nay. I remember quite well.” Ravin retrieved the star, rubbing it against the man’s sleeve, before tapping it against his bound fingers. “It wouldn’t take long, would it?” “Surely you...you would not...” Kharme looked physically ill at the idea. “Take the Gift from a Guildsman? Aye, unless, of course, I had reason to let him keep it.” Tyre bit his lip deep enough to draw blood. “No.” “Where is the boy, Tyre? Where did they take him?” “I don’t know.” “He’s lying,” Jaara said. Well, at least she’s not squeamish. Ravin laid the lune-rods on the floor beneath the Guildsman’s hands, clinking them together as noisily as possible. Saw Tyre flinch. “Where did they take the boy?” Tyre shook his head, but he was visibly shivering. Ravin loosened the bonds on his hands, and pricked his palm with one point of the star. The lunes lit at the touch of blood. A distinct hum resonated. Tyre jerked, drawing more blood at his movement. Ravin leaned close, speaking slowly, with as much menace as he could muster. “Where did they take the boy?” “N-Nowhere.” “Answer me!” Ravin growled. “Not with riddles.” Shaking his head frantically, the Guildsman repeated it. “Nowhere. They didn’t take him anywhere. He’s still in Crossroads.” “Crossroads?” Kor said. “Impossible.” “He’s here. Who notes one Hybrid among many?” “Where is he hidden?” Jaara snapped. “A ship.” “Which one?” “I don’t know.” Ravin jabbed him again. “Stop that!” Jaara growled. “He doesn’t know. Do you think they would tell him everything?” “There are many ships in that port, some of which will leave early in the morning.” “He doesn’t know, Ravin. What good does bleeding him do?” Clenching his teeth, the Border Guard stepped back, panting. She had a point. “Fine, Inquisita. How do you suggest we track down one small Hybrid among a hundred sailors?” “Give me a chance to think!” Her eyes flicked to something behind him, as the air stilled. “You might tend to the Hybrid first.” Ravin whirled in time to see Kor stagger, and then slide to the floor, hands clenching his head. “Bloody ael kinth. Whatever is the matter?” He stalked to the Hybrid’s side, cupping his chin in his hand and forcing his head up. Kor blinked at him with bleary eyes. The Border Guard frowned, eyes narrowing in thought. Counted rapidly. And then swore, before growling, “How many times have you seized the Gift today?” “I don’t have...Gift.” Kor groaned, clenching his eyes closed. “The Shine. The Glow. The touch of the gods—dragon’s fang, Kor! How many?” “Six…seven. I don’t remember.” “Headache? Dizzy? Humming in your ears?” Kor nodded, and then thought better of it, judging by the instant wince of pain. “Yes. All of those.” Ravin scowled morosely. Could this day get any worse? He whirled on the others in the room. “Daliah. Come.” Her eyes sparked with anger. The Border Guard’s frown deepened. “I and the Hybrid are headed for my tent, and the herbs I keep there, as well as some instruction for better control. And then the docks, if he recovers. You may come with us, or stay with them. But do not wander alone.” “Do not order me.” “If you wander alone, you risk a cut throat or worse, if a bandit realizes there is a woman beneath that manly garb. That is your choice,” Ravin sneered. He turned back to Kor, hauling him to his feet and shoving him ahead. “I hope you can at least climb onto a horse,” he muttered under his breath. -~- Kor lay curled on his side, cursing vigorously. Ravin chuckled as he bent over him. “Much worse than Derk-ra venom, eh?” “Much.” “It is your fault, ael kinth. That blasted stubbornness. If I had known how close to flowering you were, I would have acted sooner.” “Do you have to speak so loudly?” Ravin ignored him. “Unfortunately, there is no time. We must find Elam before the morning is very old. And we need you to do it.” “I know none of the Aquila sailors here. I cannot help.” “I meant with your Gift.” The Border Guard crouched beside him, cup in hand, and pulled him upright with his free hand. “There is no time to brew this properly, but you must drink it.” “Drink what?” he muttered. “Calaba?” “No. Raw kolinar.” Ravin moved fluidly, pouring the thick mixture down his throat while pinning him with the other hand. Kor gagged, spluttering at the bitter potion. When the cup was empty, he released him. Kor tried to stand, staggered, and then did straighten up, drawing both shitans. Ravin laughed. “Really. Can’t stand your medicine?” “You Eyrie-spawned, kinth bred, Kyda-blasted...” “You’re standing again, aren’t you? And the pain should ease, somewhat.” Kor blinked. Frowned. And then glared at him again. “What did you do?” “Boosted your Gift. No—“ he cut off Kor’s argument. “You have it, whether you deny it or not. Do you want me to show you how to use it? Or do you plan to be easy pickings for the next Guildsman to use as target practice?” Kor glowered. Ravin smiled. “Well?” |
| “We don’t have time for this,” Kor snarled, shaking his head viciously and almost relishing the pain of the headache pounding behind his eyes. It was strange, the way energy seemed to almost tangibly be traveling up and down his spine, thanks to the kolinar… but at least the headache was receding. He gestured with his shitan at the tent door, palm up. “I am on my feet again, and I thank you for it, truly, but we need to focus on recovering Elam right now and put this superstition aside.” “Are you daft?” the Border Guard snapped. “This is not superstition, no matter how much you argue against it. Surely you’ve felt the pressure of your bent? And, if you cooperate, we will find Elam. Even if the boy were drugged, as long as he lives, you can find him” Kor felt like pulling his hair out. Maybe it would relieve the pressure on his skull if he did. “How? Eppa's Balls, if I must listen to this madness about bents and Gifts, then show me---quickly---how it can help Elam. And I swear to all the gods, Ravin, if nothing comes of it and he dies, I will kill you myself.” Ravin’s lip curled. “I’d like to see you try. However…” He held up a hand to silence the Hybrid’s protest, “I will show you, as best I can. Do you remember the first Fundamental? The very first? ‘Clear your mind—focus on your opponent’?” Kor sneered, impatient to begin searching for Elam and in no mood to play this game, but also cognizant of the fact that he was going to get nowhere fast unless he played along. “Which opponent? You? Lord Gyas? Or whoever may have taken Elam in Lord Gyas’s stead?” “Focus on me, for now. You feel, and hear, and see only me.” "Well, that's not hard," Kor growled with an exasperated sigh, but affixed Ravin with a glare as instructed. Struggling to breathe evenly through his anger, he forced himself to take in the other man's posture, the way he breathed and waited, and to get a sense of the tension the Border Guard held in his jaw and shoulders and which practically vibrated in the air between them. “Good.” Kor heard, though slightly at a distance and as though through a jar of his mother’s molasses. “What do you see? Feel anything…unusual?” Kor scrutinized Ravin carefully, but felt a rush of warmth against his shoulder and neck and flicked his eyes over his shoulder more than once in annoyance. Where was that draft coming from? He could not see a tear in the tent or anything. “No, nothing.” He tried focusing on Ravin again, but his concentration felt broken by the maddening airflow behind him. It felt so warm that for an instant he could have sworn someone lit a lamp behind him. But, again, when he turned to look, there was nothing there. “If you feel nothing, then why do you keep looking behind you?" Ravin snorted. "Maybe the Lord of Eyrie sent a spirit to hunt you down.” The Hybrid gritted his teeth at the reference. “It’s warm in here,” he snapped. “Damn you to Xraj’s Bowels and Eyrie, what is it I am supposed to be sensing?” “It’s not warm in here.” Ravin smiled, and then exhaled deeply. His breath plumed white. He glanced at Kor, his grin widening as Kor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Look out of the edge of your vision? Do you see something? A light—a gleam?” Kor really didn't want to admit that he'd sensed precisely what Ravin was describing, but he wasn't a liar, nor afraid of uncomfortable truths. "I saw it already." He signed and finally sheathed his shitans in resignation. Apparently Ravin did have something to show him here tonight. He only hoped it’d be enough to help Elam, or he would make good on his warning. He cleared his throat and elaborated "A warm... light, that I could not see when I looked at it directly." “Ah, good. Touch it—no, not like that.” Kor tensed as Ravin caught his hand to prevent him from reaching upward. How in Kyda’s name else am I supposed to touch it? “That’s a habit you do not want to start.” "Touch it how, then?" He twisted his wrist out of the Border Guard's grip and grinned at him in nettled amusement. "What, Ravin, going to hold my hand through the whole process like an anxious mother?" The Border Guard kept his voice level, but his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “One of the Guard had that habit. He grabbed at the air to seize his Gift, a habit he grew accustomed to, just as you use one hand to eat with. Hybrids caught him. They gagged him, tied his wrists, and tortured him to death, unable to seize his Gift, unable to call to us, waiting within easy reach. That habit will kill you.” Kor’s eyes widened and all humor and frustration drained out of him, replaced by shocked confusion. “Why?” he breathed. “Why would they do that?” The Border Guard shrugged. “They’re Hybrids. No offense to you. Eloin-bred Hybrids are always that way. They belong in neither world. That particular group had already raided a few villages, and we had retaliated. When we found they were coming back again, the Guard set up an ambush, and I sent the man ahead, as a scout.” Ravin shook his head and continued. “We were ten, fifteen feet from him, waiting for his signal. It took a full point for us to realize something may be wrong. By the time we had crept up to the camp, he was beyond hope. I—“ The Border Guard looked away. The memory was not a pleasant one. “I finished him, at his request. Freed his soul from that broken body. But that is beside the point.” He straightened, glaring at Kor. “You will not learn that habit. Most Gifted, like I at one time, are taught to use images.” Kor resisted the urge to reach out and touch the glow over his shoulder. He might have to try, later, if he could do so without Ravin watching. Did it {i{feel warm like it looked? "Very well. What manner of images? And how am I to use them?" Ravin cocked his head. “Now that is the difficult part. I seize my Gift, forcing it to do as I like. I picture the Gift as a horse, an unruly stallion that I insist my will upon. You do not seize it, but allow it to…to flow around you, or through you, in some way. For that, you would need to picture…a river perhaps?” He bit his lip. “It’s all in your head. How you think. I could try to follow the steps, but I can never seize it.” The Border Guard clenched his hand, fingertips brushing the old scars. “You might try picturing a bow, stringing one or…” he grinned, “A lyre. Can you picture a lyre, the music flowing through you, filling you?” Kor grinned. “Aye, I think I can manage that. Ah… Do I close my eyes?” He did it anyway before the Border Guard could respond. So… How did he feel when he usually felt like letting luck take its course? He’d never deliberately concentrated upon that feeling before, let alone tried to recreate it in his mind, but he did so now, remembering a profound sort of paradoxical stillness coming over him, before filling him like a bowl with a rhythm too deep to be heard and so slow and prolonged that each vibration seemed to flow almost seamlessly into the next. He remembered, and as he did, shaped a lyre in his mind’s eye---no, a lute, with a deep, round shell that could be filled with sound---and tried to visualize that uncanny stillness flowing into the lute as it sometimes seemed to flow through him. “Closing your eyes helps, at first,” Ravin said calmly and quietly. “But you can’t do it forever. Not if you want to outlive a lyre.” It’s a lute Kor thought distractedly, but the stillness he was imagining was beginning to gather around him, and it was a simple thing, really, to surrender to it. Kor stiffened, gasping softly at the slightly charged warmth that seemed to rise up around his body from the base of his spine, then flood out from his body into the air around him, taking his awareness with it. Distantly he heard Ravin’s chuckle and words. “Obviously, you feel it now. Don’t open your eyes.” The Hybrid felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “Allow the music to spread, like light on a windowsill. When it touches something, listen.” Kor felt slightly distracted by the difference between the music Ravin was describing and the low thrumming pulse he was feeling within and around him, but shrugged it off. It probably didn’t matter precisely what he visualized to encourage this perception, so long as it worked. And it was working, against his every expectation. He wanted to accuse the Border Guard of drugging him with some hallucinogen, but he knew without a doubt that what he was feeling was in no way the product of some foul substance or another. His mind, even on the best and worst of drugs that he knew about, could not possibly come up with something so fantastical and yet simple as what he was feeling. And what he felt was… large. Very large. Expansive, like he extended well beyond the bounds of his body, filling the entire room, filling the entirety of Eppa’s vast universe. But there was nothing there in the universe but him, and that wasn’t right. Ravin had said to… to… What had Ravin said? “Let the music spread, and listen when it touched something?” Kor already felt as though he was everywhere, but still he reached out further, tentatively at first, and then, when that yielded no results, in a great pulsing wave. He crashed against something, and the deep thrumming resonance of his Gift rebounded back at him powerfully off of whatever it was he’d connected with, sounding like a great bell in his mind and jarring him into opening his eyes in shock. The resonant, slightly-charged warmth flooded from him. Ravin glared at him from his sprawled position on the floor. “Kyda’s teeth, bloody Hybrid. I said to touch it, not shove it.” The Border Guard stood, brushing sand from his tunic. “And, you let go again. You have to hold onto it. Seize it…or woo it…again. And try again, gently this time, hmm?” “I knocked you over?” Kor said in alarm. First he’d imagined himself as a lute… and then had felled a man with it. The Border Guard waved at him impatiently to continue, none the worse for wear, but still… But still… “I could have done that with my hand,” Kor pointed out, no less shocked by what he’d done but also not particularly sure about it’s usefulness. “And it felt like I had to cross the entire universe before I could do it. How is this useful?” “How many repetitions of the diagonal step did you do before you could do it quickly, accurately? It is the same with the Gift. The more you do it, the faster you can be. At the moment, you will be slow.” Ravin shrugged. “If we had time, I would continue this, but the key is finding Elam, yes? So, seize the Gift, and reach out to touch me.” Kor nodded. This time, knowing already what it felt like to immerse himself in that strangely resonant stillness, he kept his eyes open, and taking a deep breath, tried to find it again. It was as simple a thing as trusting, but as he felt his body and mind shift into the embrace of that stillness, he could vaguely feel that headache growing in the back of his head this time, and knew that even with the kolinar Ravin had given him, he couldn’t do this all night. He needed to learn quickly and get Elam. Tonight. He studied Ravin, feeling again warmth grow around him with that sense of being larger than his body, but yet not connected to anything, Ravin or otherwise. He could see that warm glow at his shoulder again and knew it as the warmth he was feeling within and about him, and this time could vaguely spot another one bathing the Border Guard in light where Ravin stood, hands on his hips, at the far side of the tent. Perhaps if he pushed out again---slower this time---and reached for that light, he could touch the kinth, rather than shove him over? Carefully, he did so, and heard that same bell-like resonance sound in his mind, quieter this time. Ravin shivered slightly, clearly uncomfortable as Kor’s presence brushed against his awareness, hesitant, but with growing confidence. Kor could not believe such a thing was even possible, but it was undeniably a part of his reality now. Not wanting to intrude, he let the warmth and stillness fade. “Very good,” the Border Guard said. “I can feel you. That sense of me is constant. As long as I breathe, you can find it again.” The Border Guard stepped out of his line of sight. “Don’t turn your head. Can you find me again?” Kor didn’t particularly like having the Ravin behind him, but he cautiously expanded his awareness away from himself in all directions until he felt that light contact again. It was easier this time. “You’re a fast learner, ael kinth ” the Border Guard admitted grudgingly. “This part will be more difficult.” He fished out the damaged arrow of before. “Three people have touched this, one of which is Elam. You will have to sort through them. Hopefully, you can pinpoint which is him. If not,” he sighed. “We can return to the Dragonian camp, and find something that he touched and the others did not. But that takes time.” He tossed Kor the arrow. “Same thing as you did with me.” The Hybrid frowned deeply at the arrow in his hands. That stillness still filled him, though it was faltering, but after three or four tries he could not seem to bridge the gap between himself and the arrow, regardless of whether he probed it forcefully with a pulse or gently with a tendril. Every time he tried, he thought he sensed something faint, the tiniest of responding vibrations, but then it was gone and his temples were beginning to pound. He didn’t want to release the stillness and call it up again, because he had a feeling it’d just be harder and more painful to get it back, but this was yielding nothing. He shook himself a little, feeling the stillness slide away from him. He felt very cold as the warmth flooded from him and the noise in the room felt almost deafening. Ravin frowned at him and Kor ignored him and stared at the arrow. The nock was bent very slightly from where it’d fallen earlier, and inside he could see tiny shards of broken glass where the light stored within it earlier had fled. The thing didn’t glow anymore like it had before, and all the wood had been peeled away earlier, but he tried to look at it and see what Elam would have seen. It was small, not as practical as a man’s arrow, but it was sturdy and had been beautifully wrought before Kor had stripped it down to its gold skeleton. The little boy probably would have turned it over in his hands, like so, admiring the Fundamentals carved into the wood, and held It on this end, like this, as he strung his bow. So if there was anything left of Elam’s touch on the thing, it would probably be here in the center, where all of the Fundamentals had been, and on the end, where he’d have had to hold It before stringing the bow. Kor would just have to hope the child’s touch hadn’t been stripped away with the wood. Taking a deep breath to steel himself against the growing headache, he recalled the stillness again and reached out to touch the arrow. “You’re hurting.” Kor glanced up at Ravin, squinting in pain and not entirely positive how much time had passed as he’d repeatedly---and futilely---probed the arrow. “Aye. But Elam must be found. If this is the way to do it...” He fiddled with the arrow again, glaring at it as if the secret to everything was etched into its surface. About him, the stillness around him flared in and out, harder and harder to hold onto as each breath passed. He swore hoarsely as he continued, but no amount of cursing would tell him if one of the faint presences he sensed on the arrow was Elam’s. Ravin appeared at his shoulder with a tap. “Hold for a moment,” the Border Guard said, drawing Kor unwillingly back away from his work. The Gift slipped and faded, and Kor could have strangled the man with his bare hands, but Ravin held up a hand. “We can head for the docks, while you chew on these, like that infernal kapa bark. It should help.” He pressed a handful of slightly bruised kolinar leaves into Kor’s hand and Kor stared in shock. He hadn’t even noticed the Border Guard leave. Ravin sighed. “I sincerely hope you can stay conscious long enough to track them down.” Kor chewed on the leaf, not particularly relishing the flavor, although it could be pleasant in a much smaller dosage. “Sometimes, I felt small vibrations,” he croaked to the Border Guard as they started for the docks. Each step pounded in his head. “Five, I think.” He started to reach out to probe at the arrow again to confirm that number, but thought better of it and chewed on a second leaf. “Two were faint but easy to pick out, but not to hold onto. Ours? But the others… I couldn’t get a firm grasp of them, but I suppose I got a sense of what they feel like. I’m not sure which is Elam’s, but I could try all three and see where they lead us. Two should lead back to Daliah and Tyre, right? And one to Elam…” “I would think so.” Ravin caught him by the arm as he stumbled. “I do not envy the headache you will have in the morning.” Kor reached for another leaf, and the Border Guard frowned. “Take care. Do you remember Gyas’ eyes?” The leaf fluttered from his hand to the ground. "Dilated. Ah... Is that bad? I don't know the properties of kolinar. Well, I know it helps one feel a bit better the day after taking a wound and downing a full measure of Valla... and apparently helps with these headaches..." “Aye, it helps with pain and weakness. But higher doses are more dangerous. Such as morpha. Taking a little will help with pain, but taking a great deal…you know the dangers of that, I am sure.” The Hybrid nodded a tiny bit, grimacing. “Aye. I know those who have been treated with it after surgery who could not give it up again once they were well.” He glanced down at the dwindling handful of leaves Ravin had given him. “And what kind of dosage would you say this is? I won’t find myself craving more tomorrow, will I?” Ravin laughed. “Certainly not. As long as you don’t keep taking it. This is the green kolinar.” He frowned at Kor’s blank look. “Green—unripe. It can cause the cravings, but only if you take very large doses, such as Gyas does. On the other hand, if I were feeding you ripe kolinar, the leaves would be red and crisp from drying. And, it you would crave, stronger each time, until you died. Think of kolinar as morpha, and red kolinar as haro root. That is their difference.” “I shall avoid red kolinar as though it were Xraj’s own monster, then,” Kor said devoutly, pressing the tips of his fingers together as though in prayer and grinning through his headache. "Besides, once we find Elam, I shall not find employment in the finding of people anymore anyway, now will I?" “Perhaps. But I hope you will continue to use what you have been given,” Ravin frowned. “Do not waste it. Some have, and regretted it ever after.” He stopped, glancing up to study the dark masts outlined against the lightening sky. With a grim look, he motioned to the arrow. “Ready to try again? We haven’t much time.” Kor nodded grimly, his jaw hurriedly working on the last of the kolinar leaves. Bracing himself, he called up the Gift once again, staggering a little as it caught him like a bit of seaweed on an outgoing tide. Again he probed the arrow, to remind himself of the faint signatures there and to imprint the particular vibrating sound of the three unknown ones in his mind. The first one he noticed, he flung himself at desperately, trying to hold onto it long enough to recognize it when he found it again. Then, before he could forget what it felt like, he pushed his awareness outward in a pulse, feeling himself connect briefly---then brush past---several things that didn’t feel like the sensation he’d received off of the arrow. The answering response he was waiting for was stunningly loud when it resounded back to him, but it came, unfortunately, from the wrong direction. “Not Elam,” he gasped to Ravin by way of explanation as pain shot through his temples, but he was already steadying himself in the stillness again to repeat the process with the second of the three unknown signatures. By Kyda, one of them would be Elam. Again, his awareness surged outwards away from his body in every direction, brushing against and going over and around hundreds of small presences like water over pebbles until it crashed against the signature he was looking for. This time, his Gift did not rebound with a hollow, bell-like thrum sounding in his mind when it came into contact with his target. Instead, it felt as though the resonance he’d encountered curled around him with serpentine speed, holding him fast and nearly deafening him as though he were trapped inside a great bronzework bell. He had the most uncomfortable feeling of being known, and then it released him. “Tyre,” he said grimly, feeling nauseous. Ravin grimaced. “Don’t mess with him. Guildsman are well trained. He can track us as well as we can track him, and with far more accuracy. The only worse to follow is a depraved loquiri. They have nothing to lose, and all to gain.” Kor gave him an annoyed glance as each word pounded behind his eyes. “For one, how do you know this? For another, can’t you be quiet?” “My bent. I was a tracker. When you find Elam’s presence, head there. I will follow you.” And with that, he fell silent and watched the Hybrid work. Kor swallowed, straightened his spine and gathered his wits about himself once again. His heart still pounded in his chest with the realization of what Tyre, even far away, bound, blindfolded and barely conscious from Daliah’s blow to his skull, could do, It took a few agonizing moments to calm himself enough to even imagine the stillness of the Gift, let alone ride it, but he hurried as fast as he could; time was running out, not only for Elam, but for Kor’s Gift as well. If he and Ravin did not find the boy, and the ship carrying him set sail, he knew without a doubt it’d probably be the last time he saw the boy alive. Gyas would not keep the child alive, after his plans in Chrys’s court had gone so badly awry. He breathed in and out a few times, directing his attention once again to the arrow to isolate and recognize the last signature---Elam’s---before casting his Gift out away from him for Kyda only knew what time that day. The last, he hoped. It was harder, this time. Rather than simply throwing himself outward, to fling his Gift up against whatever it found no matter how unsubtle or how unsettling the contact might be, he instead pushed gently onward, slowly, with little momentum behind his efforts to help ensure it was over quickly. He had knocked Ravin over earlier when seeking him out too enthusiastically; he didn’t want to do that to Elam, who was a sturdy boy, but much smaller and weaker than the hardy Border Guard. Besides, Kor had no notion of the shape the child might be in; Elam wasn’t one to go quietly… By the time his awareness brushed, feather-light, against a presence that sang like Elam’s, the Hybrid was covered in perspiration, stank like the depths of Xraj’s bowels, and was shaking like an elderly woman with ague. But his grip was strong when he turned and grasped Ravin’s shoulder, pointing toward the fifth ship in the port. “There!” he gasped, his grip vice-like. An instant later he drew his shitans and ran, more than stalked, toward the dock. |
Ravin tagged after him, matching his stride. He came up on the Hybrid’s left side, his shield-arm, and grinned in the lightening darkness. “To think, Border Guard of Eastar and a bloody Aquila ael kinth . What a tale that will make.” “Will you be quiet!” Kor hissed, ducking down into the shadows cast by the ship’s hulking bulk. Ravin crouched and drew his own shitans . “This is not the time go subtly. Come.” And he dashed toward the ship. He heard the Hybrid swear softly behind him, but his feet soon padded after. Smirking, the Border Guard increased his speed. He shifted his weight forward, darting up the gangplank as if the wood were scorching sand. Though his progress was relatively quiet, Kor’s subdued motion was still loud enough to draw attention. Ravin had been counting on that. When the sailor on watch stepped forward, frowning at Kor, the Border Guard slid behind him, dragging the curved blade of one shitan cleanly across his throat. With a low gurgle, the man crumpled to the deck. Kor scowled. “He may not have been involved,” he whispered, “At the very least, he could have told us where Elam is being kept.” Ravin shook his head. “We cannot risk any warning to the others. How many Aquila sailors are aboard this vessel alone? Not counting any Guildsmen—against which we would be sorry opponents.” He cleaned the blade and turned to study the slowly swaying deck. “What sort of cargo would this ship carry?” The Hybrid took a step forward, and sniffed at the air. Ravin flicked him a sidelong glance. “Whatever are you—“ “Cinnamon. And fennel. A spice merchant.” “Better than a hound,” Ravin muttered. Kor’s eyes narrowed. Grinning, the Border Guard crept across the deck, and out of the ael kinth’s reach. “Where would they keep what needs to be hidden? Or passengers?” “Below deck.” Ravin glanced around, squinting at the wood. He nudged a coil of rope with one foot, and then ran a finger across a taut line, frowning at the rustle of sail. "And how exactly do we get there? You will have to lead the way." The Hybrid snorted and stepped past him. He bent and tugged on a metal ring, opening a trapdoor, before eying Ravin with a wry grin. They were nearly standing on top of it. The Border Guard frowned. "I am not Aquila. Do not expect me to know where your bloody kin places things. You would not fare well in the shifting sands of Mara." Kor only chuckled and disappeared into the hole. Ravin peered into the darkness, his frown deepening. He could hear the whisper of the water's caress, and the slight shift of the ground beneath his feet with the roll of the waves. Even in the quiet harbor, the sensation made his stomach twist. Few Mara, himself included, cared for the sea and its dangers. "Are you coming?" a voice hissed. Ravin jumped at the disembodied voice. And then swore at the Hybrid. "Aye." With a grimace, he slid into the opening and down the ladder. The rocking floor was more pronounced here. The Border Guard spread his legs for balance and scowled at the lantern swaying nearby. And then blinked in surprise. Its twisting light revealed bunks, scattered like spokes in a wheel, stacked four high. Most were occupied. The evidence lay sprawled on small pillows and thin blankets. A bone-carved flute. Charms of serrated teeth and jade beads. Flasks of oil, ale, and medicinal elixirs. Pale hair, colored in varying shades like Kor's own, peeking out of blankets. Several of the crew sat up, blinking at them, rubbing their eyes. "Itois ekai ato' ?" One said, pale hair flaring like a mane around his head. Ravin froze. This was not going as planned. And then Kor spoke at his side. A stream of words that were lost on the Border Guard, but seemed to appease the sailor. They gestured and chattered. And then the sailor frowned, puzzlement creasing his face. "A tao' ?" "Tell him no, whatever it is," Ravin hissed. Kor sighed. "He's asking about 'the child' brought on board. Contrary to any stories you may have heard, Aquila do not condone kidnapping." The Hybrid focused on the sailor, and continued his conversation. Ravin scowled. Being left out of any conversation was irking. Not understanding what was being said, and knowing the chances of a Guildsman's appearance were very high, was not much better. "We have to hurry, ael kinth." A dagger sailed past his shoulder, clipping the tunic, but missing skin, before burying its point into the wood behind him. The Border Guard gaped. "I would not call me that," Kor said, without turning his head. Ravin yanked the dagger free and dropped it the floor, glaring at Kor. "Could you please hurry, Kor and find out where the boy is? If the ship sails with us on it, we'll have a worse fate than Elam." Kor spoke to the sailor again, and the man nodded his head, curtly. He stalked across the room, retrieving his dagger with a wry grin at Ravin, and then gestured for them to follow. `~` The youth guarding the cargo hold took one look at their motley group and darted away. The sailor with them, who had introduced himself as simply Alek, spoke in rough Common. " The tao'--the child-- 's there. But there are two--with Shine." He glanced at Kor. "Yes? Shapes here..." he tapped his palm. "Guildsmen," Ravin muttered. "Are they in there too?" Alek shook his head. "Nay. They rest, to prepare...they say." "I can guess for what," Kor said. He shoved his shoulder against the door. Prickles of warding tickled Ravin's spine. "Ah, Kor. You might want to..." He took a step back and hit it again. The warding unraveled with a snap that made Ravin wince. Kor paused and glanced at him. "What was that?" The Border Guard sighed. "A warning. Much like our arrow, one of those Guildsmen now know we are here. Better hurry." "Why didn't you say something?" Ravin sighed again, deeper. "Just hurry, hmm?" "Then help me, bloody sandcrawler!" The Border Guard scowled, but held his tongue.Beneath their combined efforts, the door gave. Kor hurried into the room, sheathing his shitans. Ravin had no intention of doing the same. A quick throw might defeat a Guildsman, if you could manage it before he seized his Gift. Of course, he could only kill one. Ravin frowned. "Hope you're an excellent learner, Hybrid. Or we're both in trouble." An alarm bell clanged above their heads. Ravin glared at the wood above him. "Just great." The noise continued. Angry shouting, cursing in both Common and Aquila, and then, to his surprise, the battle-cry of a Dragonian...Ravin blinked. "Did you hear that?" Kor glanced at him. "Jin or Daliah. Or both. If they're here..." "Maybe that bloody Inquisita managed to get some information from Tyre after all," the Border Guard mused. He squinted into the shadowy hold, before darting forward. "There. This is not part of a spice." He shoved a group of cloth sacks aside. Elam lay stretched on his side, arms and legs bound, with a bruise darkening one side of his face. His hair was matted with dirt, and what the Border Guard hoped was sweat. His eyes narrowed in an excellent imitation of his father. "Get away from me, bloody kinth. Kyda banish you to Eyrei!" "Good to see you too," Ravin growled. "Won't your Da love the words you've learned." His eyes swiveled, and then widened in relief. "Kor!" "You're welcome," Ravin muttered, stepping aside as the Healer shoved past him. "Kor, you'll need to carry him. I doubt he can run on his own." He frowned at the Hybrid. "And that hair...like a beacon--blast." He jerked his tunic over his head and handed it to the Healer. "What about you?" "I have fought Derk-ra naked. I can manage a few Guildsmen," Ravin snapped. "This is not the time or place to argue. Cover his head, pick him up, and let's go. Got it?" |
| Jaara and Kharme looked hard at Tyre’s unconscious form. Two blows to the head in as many hours could hardly be good for the man, but then, Jaara did not particularly care about his wellbeing at this point, and Kharme wasn’t inclined to complain either. Here was a man who was undoubtedly involved in some way with an attempt on the Fay-el’s life, and who they’d just caught using the Gift, possibly to consort with whoever had attacked Daliah, knocking her clear off her feet with the sheer force of a Gift-pulse. A moment later Daliah, having heard the other two women’s hypotheses about what had just occurred, rushed into the night, headed for the port where Jaara and Kharme had traced the attack with their own Gifts. “What should we do with him?” Kharme wondered aloud as Jaara carefully rechecked the bonds on the man’s wrists, ankles, and the blindfold around his eyes. “We cannot leave Daliah unarmed against the Gift.” “Kill him.” Jaara spat, then glanced over at Kharme’s shocked face. “Only jesting. But perhaps it would be good to give him the…” she rustled through her bag, at last pulling out the bottle she was looking for. “Poison?” Kharme’s voice was suddenly very small. “No, it is only to keep him asleep for a little longer while we look for Daliah and the others.” Jaara glanced at the bottle in her hand; somna, for the deadening of the Gift when one wanted to pass unnoticed through heavily populated cities without the Guild taking note of the presence of one whose work was delicate enough to require anonymity. A very useful trick her husband had taught her; a triple dose should boost the drug’s effects to help ensure the Guildsman remained sedated. “Fine, then. But do it quickly.” Kharme watched nervously as Jaara emptied the contents down the man’s throat. “Now let us go.” Both women began to run toward the docks. Because of all the years of horseback riding and foot races, Kharme was a near match to Jaara in speed. But if it came to fighting, she had great fear. *** Daliah stumbled to her feet and continued to run. She still did not quite understand what force had struck her back there in Tyre’s home, but she could not let it slow her. All she could do was hope she found the ship in time. Her feet flew evenly over the ground, light as any deer’s, leaping over fallen carts and boxes of salted meat. The ship was in sight now, and by the shouting alone she knew there was trouble. She ran faster, crossing the plank in only a few steps. She leapt aboard, sword drawn even before she landed. Chaos met her, but she knew how to handle it. Her sword clanged against those of the sailors, but hers rang clearer and sharper as each stroke felled another enemy. But there were so many, she needed a way to balance the scale. There was at least one she was repeatedly trained in. She cut the arm of one of the men, causing him to drop his sword. It fell into her outstretched hand as he stumbled back, and she proceeded to wield both blades against her opponents. She did not fight with flash, but with a raw viciousness. Her blades did not spin in her hands before they ran through flesh, but moved only with speed and power. Another man jumped in front of her, and she noted his athletic form and strong sword. He had obviously been trained in battle. She let him attack her first, and blocked him easily with both blades, pushing them forward so that he was forced to back away. His arm flashed out, grasping the weapon of one of his fallen comrades. They were now evenly matched. He grinned at her and started forward once more. They fought in circles it seemed, and Daliah had to spin more than once to dodge an attack and gain force behind her blows. But he continued to drive her back, and she let him, a plan already formed if she read him correctly. Her back was now pressed against the rail, and she leaned out over the water, fighting for her life. She could hear the waves sucking hungrily at the ship, ready to swallow her. She shoved him away and readied herself. He flew at her, eager to finish this. She ducked at the last second and lifted his legs over the side. He fell, but managed to grab the collar of her shirt and fumbled to get in one last attack before she threw him over. By the time she forced him away, he had sliced deep through her thigh and she was hanging to the side with only a hand, her other clutching the wound tightly. She glanced down for a moment until she was sure he was truly gone before she began to pull herself up. The blood made the railing slippery, but she dug her fingers into the grooves and swung her legs over. She pushed herself up from the deck, clutching her leg and trying to catch her breath. *** “I see that the time for subtly is over,” Jaara grinned harshly, as she and Kharme skidded to a stop to behold the skirmish that had spilled out onto the dock. Apparently that ael kinth and his Border Guard “friend” had found an ant’s nest of angry, armed men, and even now were whetting their blades in freshly spilled blood, working their way along the deck. They were also, it appeared, running away from their opponents, moving adroitly down the gangplank in a series of jumps, slides and rapid footsteps. The red-headed Hybrid had a small, hooded form slung over one shoulder, and was clutching his shitan in his other hand as he ran. Ravin guarded his back, weaving around the Hybrid once their feet touched the ground again to fend off their pursuers with wickedly powerful slashes and stabs. He spotted the two approaching women and his dark eyes widened. “Go!” he shouted, pointing with one hand before slashing at a stocky Hybrid with the other. “Where is Daliah?” Jaara shouted back. *** Daliah groaned as the pain seared her thigh. Something was wrong, now. She’d been wounded in battle before and it had never hurt this much, and now the pain was spreading rapidly until she struggled for breath. Her vision began to blur and darken as she felt something invade her body. She had never encountered the Gift, so she did not recognize the feeling, as she should have. A shadowy figure at the corner of her vision stepped closer, and the pain increased greatly. She screamed in spite of herself, drawing attention from those around her. Jaara and Kharme heard it, and soon found themselves running across the deck. Both knew the cry of a woman in pain, and they knew of only one other woman on the ship. Neither stopped to think about how easily they were able to cross, how the other men stepped away from them with a simple push from their Gifts. Their minds were on other matters. “What is he doing?” Kharme cried, quickly spotting the man that stood staring at Daliah in silent concentration as the woman froze in midstep and began to sink to the floor in agnoy. “The Gift,” Jaara snapped. “He’s killing her with it,” she explained flatly, rushing the Guildsman. “Let her go!” He turned to them slowly and his hold loosened enough for Daliah to suck in a quick breath. He smiled, but it faded as Jaara expanded her own---comparatively feeble---Gift between the Guildsman and his victim, breaking his hold. Kharme stood for a moment, unsure of what to do, before circling over to Daliah. The strange woman was nearly unconscious now, and didn’t seem to recover even as the Guildman’s Gift released her. Kharme was not a healer, but she knew the gray cast of the other woman’s skin and her rapid, shallow breathing were not good signs. Still, she saw little that she could do at the moment except attempt to help Jaara. “Come on!” Jaara yelled, fighting off a sudden attack from a sailor at her side as she focused her meager Gift upon the Guildsman. She was sweating from the strain of just trying to fend off the man’s attacks, which washed, one after another, against her own Gift. If she could only find a break in his attacks, she could take the offensive… but he kept slamming her again and again, driving his Gift like a knife between her ribs, into her stomach, between her eyes… “Stop!” Kharme tried tapping into her Gift, but he was too determined to fall prey to her undisciplined attempt. “That will not work!” Jaara gasped in pain and frustration. “Then what do I do?” Kharme asked herself quietly. But she knew she had to at least try. She leapt into the struggle and started to search within herself. Necessity allowed her to find it quickly, and they were soon pushing him back. Kharme felt like a knife was carving out her ribs, slicing them apart slowly. She could only imagine what Jaara felt. “We have to go. Hurry!” This order came from Ravin, who continued to fight for the Hybrid and the boy. They were extremely outnumbered, and could not afford to waste much time. Jaara cued Kharme and they both pushed with their Gifts at once, so that the man landed on his back a few feet away. Kharme moved to help Daliah, but found the woman already on her feet with her cloak pressed against her wound. She had a strange look in her eyes as she reached for her knife. “We have to go.” Kharme pulled her away. “Is he all right? Is he hurt?” Daliah asked as they jogged out, though she limped slightly. “Is he---Oh, the boy.” Jaara took her other arm and tugged her faster. “He seems to be fine, but that will change if we do not leave now.” Daliah nodded and pressed forward, slicing out with her knife whenever one of the sailors came too close. It was a weak effort, but it helped some in combination with Jaara’s Gift and Ravin clearing the way before them as they fought their way slowly, laboriously, up the docks and toward Ratacca Korr. It wasn’t until Ravin procured horses in “the Fay-el’s name” that they were able to escape their enemies. Daliah began to black out again as she mounted, so she did not complain when someone mounted behind her. It comforted her that she would not have to latch herself to the saddle. She was grateful, but fainted before she could tell who it was. “..a lot of blood,” Kor was saying. “I think the great artery in her leg…” “Use your Gift,” Ravin snapped. All she felt was someone shaking her and gently slapping her cheeks as the horses’ hooves clattered against the stones of Ratacca Korr’s inner courtyard, and, somewhere, Jin cried---“Elam!” |
| Kor’s hands were slick with blood and its sickly sweet, metallic scent turned his stomach. He hadn’t seen this much blood since he’d found his mother’s body after the Eloin raid two years ago, and she’d already been dead then, her throat torn with a butcher’s knife from one ear to the other and her body cast aside like refuse. Daliah was still alive, barely, but her lifeblood was pumping from her leg in great gushes, bubbling between Kor’s fingers despite the firm pressure he was applying to the wound, and he knew enough about healing to know that he couldn’t heal this. Even with the palace guard pouring into the courtyard, giving him time and room to treat the wound in relative safety, he knew that there was nothing he could do. On the horse beside the roan Kor and the semi-conscious Daliah rode, Ravin cursed anew, uncaring about the presence of young Elam in front of him on the saddle. He too had seen enough battle wounds to know the severity of this one. “She needs the Mending, and soon.” Kor shook his head but did not say anything. Instead, he slapped Daliah's cheeks lightly, trying to bring her around. He didn’t want to admit in front of Elam that there was nothing he could do. The little boy was staring at Daliah from under his makeshift hood with very wide eyes. Thankfully, Jin, running with Terran at his heels from the palace courtyard full tilt toward his son with a terrified and elated shout, shot Kor an understanding glance as he dragged his son from the saddle into a rough hug, then fled with the boy back into the safety of the palace. Terran, on the other hand, ducked into the skirmish, his shitans raised before his chest to deliver a powerful cross slash to the first sailor who mistakenly got in his way. “Go,” Jaara snapped over her shoulder at Kor as she too shouldered her way between the guards into the fray. Even wielding a sword one handed, with her other arm in a sling, the attackers backed warily away from her. “Between the guardsmen, Kharme and I, we should be able to handle this.” She was pointedly ignoring the Dragonian blademaster. “Inside,” Ravin snapped, already pulling on his rein toward the reception hall. “We need to find someone to help with the Mending.” “I cannot do anything,” Kor said in a low voice to the Border Guard as the palace guards closed around them, blocking the attackers from Jin and Elam. He prayed to Kyda that Daliah was too far gone to hear him, or at least to comprehend. “She’s too badly hurt. But yes, we should get her inside so that she can have some peace.” “No, you blasted—“ Ravin’s voice trailed off and he flicked a glance over the men around them. None had more than a faint flicker of Gift, not enough for something like the Mending. Scowling, the Border Guard seized the reins of Kor’s horse and shoved his way through the head of the palace guard company. “What are you… we can’t take the horses in the---“ “We can and we will.” Ravin dragged horse and all into the main hall, ignoring the gasps and glares from the servants. His eyes jumped from person to person, searching. Kor, positively raw from his use of the Gift, gasped as Chrys and the royal loquiri appeared, the resonant thrum of the strange duality of their Gifts pulsing like an almost physical thing through his head, so that even his teeth ached in sympathy. Ravin felt the duality a split second before the loquiri’s form appeared, his Match behind him. Chrys’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever are you doing? What is all the commotion?” Kor thought it should be fairly obvious what was going on. He sat upright upon a sturdy horse in the Fay-el’s own hall with a rather harried-looking and decidedly armed Border Guard at his side, an unconscious woman leaning back against him, and the steady pressure of his hand on her leg probably the only thing keeping her alive. Obviously, they had not been sharing a cup of kolinar. “Elam is back,” he explained briefly, scanning the room for Jin and Elam. They were not to be seen. “His father is with him. We were followed.” He glanced down at Daliah. “And she needs… well… I need to make her comfortable, and have a runner sent out to find her betrothed, Layole, in Jin’s camp outside Crossroads.” “Elam?” Chrys said. Ravin saw Veritas wince, felt a flicker of Gift, suddenly smoothed. "And Guildsmen, eh?" The Fay-el continued. Veritas scowled. “Don’t you dare.” “I’m fine.” The loquiri sighed, but didn’t answer. He moved closer, eyes flicking over Daliah. “She is wounded, but the spark of life remains.” Veritas glanced at Kor, reaching for the unconscious woman. “If I may?” Using that little trick Ravin had taught him earlier, Kor tried to make sense of the Gift coming from this man, but could not comprehend why it felt strangely entwined with the Fay-el’s. His gaze slid to Chrys in curiosity. “Of course,” he said in confusion. He kept the pressure firmly on Daliah’s wound, but nodded to the royal loquiri. Veritas smiled. “Good. She needs to be on the ground first. This is difficult enough without trying to do it on the back of a horse.” Kor nodded, but Ravin was the first to slide off the horse. With the three of them, they managed to stretch her out on the floor. Her color was pallid, breathing rough and shallow. The loquiri frowned. Seizing his Gift, he probed her lightly. “She needs a very strong Mending,” he said. “More than I can give alone.” Ravin’s eyes slid to Chrys, but both Veritas and Kor shook their heads simultaneously and said, “No, he is still weak.” They glanced at one another, surprised. Kor did not grin at their shared words like he normally would have. “I do not know if I can help but… can I help?” He felt strange talking about such things, out of comfortable waters, without the proper vocabulary or understanding necessary to discuss matters of the Gift and Mendings. “You have the Gift?” Veritas didn’t finish the rest of the thought. A Hybrid? “He does,” Ravin answered. Veritas bit his lip. “Aye then, you may help, but do as I say. An improper Mending can wound more than heal. Seize the Gift.” The loquiri glanced at Chrys, aware of the burning eagerness flashing in his mind. If not for his presence, the blasted Fay-el would be out there with the guardsmen, hacking at the Guild. Sighing, Veritas reached for his Gift, and then Chrys’s. The latter snapped in his grip. He frowned. What in Kyda’s….oh. Veritas frowned. “Chrys, come here.” Kor’s eyes widened slightly at the commanding tone, but he held his peace. The Fay-el obeyed. He moved closer, standing at Veritas’s shoulder, eyebrows arched. “The stone,” the loquiri prompted. As long as he wore the stone, his Gift could not be used, only stored. Chrys’s eyes lit with understanding. He yanked the chain over his head, holding the dangling green gem away from his skin. “A dreamstone?” Ravin said. “Why would you need...” “Hush.” Veritas flicked a glance at the Hybrid. “Ready? Watch.” He traced the pattern of the Mending above her limp form, slowly and without power. “Trace the blessing points, plus two more.” Veritas filled with Gift, pulling from Chrys as well. The Fay-el flinched, but didn’t move. “Now then, trace the blessing points.” Kor had always had a good memory, which was largely the reason he’d been given bardic training as a child. Watching the royal loquiri trace blessing points once was more than sufficient to inscribe the strange ritual in his mind. But… “Plus two more? What two more?” he asked softly, afraid that his words would destroy the loquiri’s concentration and cause him to lose his hold on the Gift. Veritas smiled. “Here,” his hands hovered by each side of her head. He traced a thumb across her forehead, from left temple to right. “Those two are not blessing points. The source of the Gift, if she be such, or simply tapping into whatever life-threads she may have.” Kor nodded and repeated the pattern of the Mending perfectly. Veritas blinked. “That is half the work done. With control of your Gift now, slowly add strength,” the loquiri followed his own instructions, and felt the Hybrid do the same. “If it were only you, then you would also have to listen with your Gift, until you felt her…her ‘spark’ match with yours. But as we are doing this together, I will manage that.” He smiled slightly in Chrys’ direction. “I know the feeling quite well.” The headache that had been pounding dully in Kor’s temple crashed like a wave over him with each heartbeat as he struggled to hold onto his Gift as the loquiri commanded. How it was Veritas could keep expanding his Gift more and more in this way was beyond him. “Will I know when our sparks match? Or---oh.” He heard a low, dangerously quiet tone sweep through him and his headache peaked briefly. The loquiri glanced at him. “You know her spark already, good.” “It’s weak,” Kor pointed out. “Now what?” he grated through clenched teeth. “Wind the two pieces together,” Veritas smiled, “Like a well-written song, twine her spark into the pattern, and the pattern into her spark. It is similar to the Joining, but not as deep,” he added as explanation. “Joining?” “The loquiri pair-link, such as Chrys and I share.” Veritas carefully intertwined both pieces into one whole, allowing the Gift-fed pattern to drape over Daliah like a woven blanket. The Dragonian woman shivered, and then shivered again, the second most likely from Kor’s Gift. Once, when Kor had been little more than a boy but had been quite convinced of both his maturity and virility, he had courted a pretty young woman whose father owned a stall down by the wharf. He distinctly remembered walking on the seashore with her, his arms wrapped around her waist as they walked, and feeling ill at ease with their unsteady gait through the sand. She had been a beauty, and he had cared for her, but they simply had not fit together perfectly, and that had been uncomfortable. That was what it felt like, when Kor did as Veritas instructed and wound Daliah’s spark with the pattern. He had traced the pattern with his own Gift; in his mind’s eye, it formed seven deeply thrumming spiraling whirlpools over Daliah’s seven blessings and over her temples, and these whirlpools pulsed gently with the rhythm of the input from Kor’s Gift. They were a part of him, as much as his Gift felt like another limb, and meshing the pattern with Daliah’s “spark”, as Veritas called it, felt very strange and not at all comfortable. And all the while, the headache grew and grew. Glancing sideways at Ravin, he slipped another kolinar leaf into his mouth. Ravin frowned, but said nothing. He could not help and, obviously, neither could Chrys. Without the Mending, the Dragonian woman would die. She sighed, snapping his attention back to her face. Daliah’s eyes fluttered, and she groaned softly. Veritas pulled back and rested a hand against his temples. “Ah, much better. She will need to rest now, and heal.” “Aye,” Kor breathed, kneeling shakily beside her and checking the wound in her leg. The injury was far from healed, but the blood had clotted nicely, and looked as though it’d been healing for a week more more… despite the fact that Kor knew, rationally, that such wounds did not heal. Her color was not much better, but she breathed much easier and the beat of her heart beneath his fingers was stronger. She was not yet awake, but he felt he could move her safely someplace else to rest, with the assurance that she would wake later. He started to rise back up to his feet, but paused. “Ah. Ravin?” One hand thrust out the remaining kolinar leaves. The other kneaded his temple with a white-knuckled fist. “Take them? And up. Please?” Asking the Border Guard for help galled him, but there was certainly no way he was going to ask the Fay-el or the royal loquiri. Ravin grabbed the Hybrid by the wrist, hauling him to his feet, and then grabbed at his shoulder with the other hand as he staggered. Veritas gave him a worried glance. The Border Guard smirked. “Not much training.” “Ah.” The loquiri frowned disapprovingly at the kolinar leaves. “Take care with those.” “Aye, I am watching him. He won’t get more tonight.” Ravin smiled. “Daliah and he alike can rest.” Veritas nodded. “Good.” He turned, focusing on Chrys. “And so will you.” “I already have, with my thanks to that bard.” The loquiri stepped closer, slipping the retrieved stone over his head, holding his gaze. “Truly rest.” Another stand-off, but Veritas didn’t back down. Not until the pale blue of his surrender flickered in his head. Kor cleared his throat uncomfortably, unsure about what had just passed between the two men but feeling strangely as through he was intruding. “I need a clean room to move her to. And medical supplies.” He grinned tiredly up at Ravin. “You know what I need, I should think.” When the Border Guard scowled, he sighed. “Bandages,” he said, with growing impatience, rubbing his temple. “Water and a sponge. Hot water, that is, boiled long enough to burn away impurities. Valla. Lichen. Kapa. And, um…” His mind swam. “Anderberries?” the Royal Loquiri suggested. “Right, those.” Ravin fixed him with a narrowed gaze. “I’m not a blasted nursemaid!” The Hybrid rolled his eyes. “Of course not. That’s my job.” “But first,” Veritas interrupted, “You will rest, while she is sleeping.” Kor started to protest, but he cut him off. “That I will enforce. Sleep first. Nursemaid later.” Kor shook his head firmly. “The first few hours after an injury are the most critical. Prompt attention often means the difference between wound fever and a sound recovery. I can retire after her leg is clean and properly dressed. It shan’t take more than half a point, and,” his lip quirked, “I doubt I’ll need to resort to the Gift to work with linens, herbs and water.” "True." Veritas sighed. "But after that--" Kor's lip curled in something more akin to a grimace than a smile. "I am not a madman, sar, nor a masocist. After I see to the most basic necessities of care to ensure that she will not worsen, I will follow your wisdom and rest." “No he won’t,” Ravin snorted. “Ael Kinth lack the sense to---“ “Yes, I will,” Kor snapped. After I take a look at Elam, and check the status of the battle in the courtyard, he finished silently, but knew better than to voice that outloud right this moment. Where would Jin have taken Elam? It was good that the child was fully conscious and as ornery as ever, but still, it would be best to be sure, and soon. Afterwards, he’d have a message sent to Layole. And maybe, just in case, Turoc should come and see that Kor’s less experienced care was adequate, that he wasn’t overlooking anything… He glanced up at the royal loquiri who was watching him with narrowed, suspicious lies. Kor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, anyway, I’ll sleep Daliah after I treat. Kyda. I mean…” Veritas smiled. “May I observe? I have but little knowledge of healing without the Gift, and if my Match were ever injured, it would be wise if I knew more.” Not to mention being able to make sure you do as I ask. Kor scowled. “It’ll be much faster if I… oh fine.” He glanced at Ravin, who was staring impatiently at the door, and sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to go get the herbs myself. I’m hardly holding you here, Ravin. Why don’t you go see how Jaara and Kharme fare? I’m sure Lord Veritas and I can see to Daliah ourselves.” “Indeed we can,” Veritas said, motioning servants closer to help carry the unconscious woman. “Lead the way.” Kor led, sort of lingering near the wall, one hand tracing the rough pits and pocks of the stonework, more to help guide his untrustworthy feet in a straight line than out of any interest in Ratacca Korr’s admittedly-strange architecture. The exhausted mind and body were amazing things, he concluded, wishing he could just lay eagle spread on that fantastically strange floor. Kyda, yes, the hard, cold floor, with a bottle of good spiced wine and maybe that little Maran lass who was helping bear Daliah’s litter. Not, mind you, that the pretty little thing had anything but glares for his lowly Hybrid self. Still, he knew he could win her over, if he only had the time. And the energy. “Here looks good,” he directed, pointing one finger at the clean but narrow bed in the palace infirmary. He crossed over to the palace healer’s herb cabinet, methodically sorting through everything there until he found the familiar jars and bags from which he’d treated Chrys the other day. Veritas watched the Hybrid work with subdued interest. Chrys fidgeted uneasily out of sight, but not out of sensation, thanks to the pair-link. The impatient image of a sand-crab, midmolt, kept popping into his head. The Fay-el’s patience stretched thin as the Hybrid carefully cleaned and treated the wound. Though he had not seized the Gift, he kept repeating what he had done in the hall as they headed to the infirmary. Veritas knew Kor did not know the way to the infirmary, and yet still the man led, and as he led the air around him stilled, smoothing as if he held the reins of the wind, before relaxing again. And Kor, though he would probably deny it, seemed more and more unsteady as each moment passed. Yet they arrived at the infirmary. Another image replaced the sand-crab; a silvery fish darting just out of reach. Frustration. Veritas sighed, swiveling to give his Match a glare. Chrys scowled at him. And then blanched. Ice shivered through the loquiri’s spine. He shivered. That sensation he knew too. Chrys’ bent, recently indulged, pushed to be fully released. If Chrys did, he would continue to Foretell, jumping from person to person, place to place, over several hours. The Fay-el’s hand crept to his chest, two fingers resting over the dreamstone’s hiding place beneath his tunic. You should not have allowed me to dream. Veritas ignored the accusation beneath that statement. I did what I thought was best, for you and for Elam. I could not bear dreaming here, in front of yet another person. Somna? Veritas frowned. Absolutely not. A dragon-image hissed in his head. And then Chrys’ mind snarled. You have to do something. Not that. “My lord? Sar?” Both of their heads turned to glance at Kor in unison. The Hybrid grinned. “Do you two always do things at the same time?” Kor had never encountered anyone so odd before in his life, and here before him stood two such men. Hideously powerful, they seemed almost physically clothed in their Gifts, as though wearing heavy winter cloaks woven of power. They seemed to be closer than even brothers or dear friends, to the point where they almost felt like a single person, and yet at the same time they seemed so different, so strangely at odds with one another, the royal loquiri a well of calm, the Fay-el a seething whirlpool of impatience and frustration. He wondered if they were lovers, but something about their gestures, their shared glances, the casual ways they touched, and even the way their Gifts intertwined described a different kind of relationship, one Kor did not comprehend. Finishing wrapping a length of linen around Daliah's leg, he pulled the blanket up to her chin. She stirred briefly, but did not wake or even groan. Then he straightened, and already wondering where Jin and Elam might be in the palace, nodded politely to the loquiri and Fay-el. "Well, rest will probably do her more good than anything else right now, so I suppose I'll go find my bed as you wisely suggested," he lied smoothly. "Good eve, my lords, and I thank you for your assistance with Daliah. She has you to thank for her life, I've no doubt of it. Even if I'd known how to perform the Mending, I do not believe I would have had the strength." Bowing slightly, he slipped out the door, trying not to think too much of the strangely keen expression on the loquiri's face. He didn't get more than three steps down the hall before Veritas called out to him, "Kor, it is somewhat difficult to find your bed when you do not know where your bed is." “Ah…well—“ “—and you certainly cannot use your Gift, or whatever it is you’re doing, to find it.” The Hybrid wisely quit arguing and only sighed. Veritas smiled. “I may have used much of our Gift, but even I can tell when one is lying.” Kor flicked him a curious glance. “Our? Is that how you could do so much more than I?” Again, he called on his Gift, so that he could take a closer look at the two men. He quickly let it go once again, because even looking at the Gift with his Gift was exhausting, but with one resonant pulse he’d already seen enough to answer his question. “Your Gifts are strange, like… salt and water sitting together in one cup. Separate, different, yet they fit together almost perfectly, like two parts of one substance.” His tone was questioning at the end. The loquiri nodded, but did not explain. Kor wanted to ask what are you, but couldn’t imagine a tactful way to frame the question. Instead, he glanced off down the hall. “I suppose I can go back to camp and sleep there. Tis not a long walk, though it’s longer than I’d like, and I’d rather not risk wading through battle to get there. But first,” he said firmly, “I’m going to see how Elam is doing.” He couldn’t find his bed using his Gift, but he’d found the boy earlier and knew he could do it again. Drawing on the Gift once again, he sent his awareness out in a slow pulse to find Elam as he’d done earlier. Or tried to. The Gift slipped away from him like sand through fingers and he staggered, banging his shoulder against the wall, and cursed fluidly in Aquilan. Veritas was looking at him with a strange mixture of amusement, irritation and dismay. “You need to rest.” Veritas said simply. “Kyda…” Kor hissed through clenched teeth. “I know that.” “Elam is with his father and Chrys’s royal guards. If they cannot keep him safe, then you cannot either. Destroying your strength without cause is foolish.” Kor rested a shaky hand against the wall. “I must be foolish then.” “Not on my watch.” The Hybrid gave him a bleary glare, eyes narrowing. Veritas shook his head. “You are as stubborn as Chrys, and nearly as foolhardy.” Kor grinned fiercely. “Then you know you cannot stop me.” He pushed past the scowling loquiri, making his way down the hall in the direction he’d sensed Elam. He more sensed than saw the door before him, and ducked under the arms of the guards who moved to stop him. A familiar voice called, “Don’t!” and he turned over his shoulder to see the two men step away from him, lowering their weapons. Jin stood in front of Elam, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, where the boy sat, feet kicking idly, on a cushioned chair. “Kor, you look like Kyda’s wrath. Is Daliah…” “Resting and recovering,” Kor said, noting the Fay-el’s surprise and relief, “thanks to Veritas and your kinsman. How is Elam?” “I’m fine,” Elam piped, glaring down at the elderly man kneeling before him. “But Da won’t let me eat supper until the healer’s seen to me.” The healer was sponging dried blood from Elam’s forehead to reveal the tiniest of cuts. Kor breathed a sigh of relief. The wound---and it could barely be called that---was very shallow, and the sturdy child did not even wince as the healer cleaned away the last of the blood. It did not even need bandaging, although the palace physician was quick to spread salve over the wound. Terran, standing behind Jin by the door, was looking rather satisfied. “The Guild?” Kor asked. The bladesmaster shrugged. “Everyone that survived is in custody and will be questioned at the Fay-el’s pleasure.” Veritas pushed into the room and smiled at Kor. “There, you’ve seen for yourself that Elam is well and is properly guarded. Now, I’m sure Jin would be more than willing to grant the man who recovered his child leave to rest for a few---“ “I have to---“ Kor started, thinking of Jaara, Kharme and yes, even Ravin as he headed for the door once again. But Veritas, leaning casually against the doorframe, wasn’t moving out of his path. “The bloody Star take you! Stop nagging after me like you’re my mother!” “I will not allow you to harm yourself, even unintentionally.” Kor scowled, taking another step forward. Veritas’ eyes narrowed. “I would advise against trying to get past me.” Terran cleared his throat. “Kor, best listen to him. Even I would not attack a loquiri.” Flickering only the smallest of glances at Terran, Kor snarled, "What, he's not going to hurt me if he's so keen on not allowing me to 'harm myself'. Now, I have only a few things left to do tonight, and then, I promise, I will lay my pretty little head down on the first pillow I see. All right? What are you---" Kor was being sustained almost entirely on anger at this point. When the loquiri, eyes narrowed, stepped toward him, Kor thought he was moving out of his way. But to his surprise, the loquiri neither got out of his way, nor lifted a weapon to stop him. Instead, he rested his hand on Kor’s shoulder, as though to have a serious discussion with him, but Kor felt the other man draw on the Gift, and siphon the tension from him like pouring water out of a jar. “Oh… not fair,” the Hybrid murmured, and didn’t have the energy even to glare. Smile broadening across his face, Veritas caught the Hybrid as he slumped. The pair of palace guards both hid a chuckle. Most likely, they had experienced the Gift's use on them personally. "You can't win against a loquiri," Veritas said and then glanced at the guards. "There is a chamber prepared for him opposite the tata-kan's rooms. Make sure he gets there." And stays there. They nodded, obviously grasping the intent behind his words. The two of them helped the weary, staggering Hybrid out of the room. Veritas turned back to face Jin, and then winced at the sudden pressure of Chrys' mind. Where is the boy?! Scowling, Veritas headed back the way he had come. One stubborn mule down; one more to go. |
| Caylia touched the ring lightly beneath the thin fabric of her linka. The clinging fabric made her a little uncomfortable, however it was light and smooth against her skin, banded with color at the hems, and the rest of the palace servants wore it with ease. That is the point of all this I suppose. If this can be solved then the Mara won’t have to steal an heir from the wetlands. She had taken a chance with the Matron of Chambermaids. Speed was important and only she could accept the strange new comer and place her closest to where she needed to be. ”The Fay-el’s ring?” “Yes. I am to be a ladies maid, for lady Turina” Lips pursed, eyes suspicious slid back and forth between the bard and the ring, then a nod and the eyes measured her. “We may not have something that fits you.” “We’ll make due.” The matron had handed her a dress, two sizes too big, and the belt, as color banded as the hems, wrapped once and once again around her waist. The mistress tamed her hair, sniffed her approval, then hustled her down the hall and put her in the hands of a small, slight girl with large doe eyes, brown as mahogany wood. “First of the Ladies,” the Matron said and Caylia dropped her hand. “Alzira fa Hassan. You will report to her.” And then she was gone, nothing but her large shadow disappearing around a corner. “You will be third,” Caylia’s eyes came back to her. “There is already a second. Now come, there are tasks that must be performed and we must hurry especially if you are to help.” She on her heel and the bard turned ladies maid hurried to catch up. Despite her size and looks, the girl had iron in her veins. They went through one door, then down a set of stairs Caylia had never seen, into the bowels of Ratacca Korr. The First took a left and she found herself in a high arched room, ceiling painted with stars and the two moons of the night sky and she stopped staring wide eyed until the girl hurried her along. “You have never been to a place such as this?” Caylia shook her head. “Then it is understandable. It is the court of the Fay-el and you’ll become used to it.” “How old is it?” “The castle? Old. Shenan, the hostler says it ages the farther down you go.” “Into the bones of the earth, that’s what I heard.” The First quirked a brow curiously at the now Third and Caylia looked down. “In my old place…well they told stories too. We traveled a lot...it was the only thing to do.” “Stay away from Shenan then. And his assistants. The spit boys by the fires are too be avoided too. They have faces like melted wax.” They passed through another doorway into a passageway where servants dusted, presided over by a man whose linka was embroidered with a seal on his breast. “That’s Omani, in charge of the men. Make sure you are respectful to him. Although we serve my lady Turnia, you can’t ignore the hierarchy.” Another room, full of wash tubs. “This is where we do our lady’s laundry. Washed and dried and pressed. There will be some for you to do later today, as well as sheets, which I suppose you can manage.” “Pressed?” The First looked proud for a moment as she gestured to a small closet. “That traps the heat that comes up from the ground. We put the lady’s clothing there and then drag a piece of metal over it to get rid of the wrinkles.” Caylia raised her brows, impressed. “Down lower,” the First continued, lowering her voice, “there are hot springs that the Fay-el and his wife use for bathing or relaxing but…there are some of us that use it too when they are not around.” The bard tried not to smile at the girl’s tone, as if they were doing something illicit. There’s no harm in stealing bathwater I suppose. And I don’t think floating herbs in it would cause a miscarriage. “Will I get...” The lady’s maid was already off again and Caylia caught her as she was ascending another hidden stairway. “Will I get to meet my lady today or…” She sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately no, but don’t worry. She is very nice, very kind to us,” her smile slipped and she frowned. “I’m sure you’ve heard and half the known world has probably heard that she is not well. I wish they would give her some privacy.” Her delicate chin tightened. “She miscarried her third child and is not well and I am the only one who they are allowing into her sick room. “It’s…it’s a shame.” “It’s more than a shame.” What does that mean? Her brows furrowed and she tried to find a question as the stairs opened into a landing and they found the kitchen. Smells of figs and roast lamb, pistachio and grape leaves, twisted through the air and pans clattered on counters and floors. “New girl? Is that a new girl? Where’s she from? What’s she doing here? Is she alone?” “This is the lady’s tray,” the First was saying, “her food will be placed here but for now it is only tea. Our job is to take it up to her in her rooms. None of this lot is allowed to touch it.” Caylia nodded obediently, noting the placement of spoon and teacup when she felt a tug on her sleeve and a face leered at her. The First hissed and Caylia backed as meekly as she hoped a new ladies maid would, away. The spit boy leered once more and disappeared in the shadows. “Whose the new girl, Alzi, who?” asked a shorter boy clad in a linka tunic, carrying a tray. “New ladies maid. She’s with me.” He raised his brows. “First the fight in the courtyard and now a new ladies maid? What next?” The First frowned and Caylia’s heart jumped. Fight in the courtyard. Windrunner, what did Jaara do? No…if she started a fight it would end quickly, before one could even call it a fight. Hamen? Is he alright? “A fight? Here?” The First’s voice was disbelieving. “Yes. The heir has returned and his captors came with him. It was,” he grinned, “a very good fight. Shenan will talk of it for months. The Dragonian woman will probably die though.” “No!” A girl with a pug nose slipped a bowl of winter cherries, expensive in the desert, on a nearby counter. “She was healed.” The boy snorted. “Not by that hybrid.” “Of course not, never from a hybrid,” the girl agreed. “It was lord Veritas of course.” “Don’t worry,” the first said lowly to Caylia, mistaking her expression for fear, “the palace guards will make sure none get back.” She nodded. That wasn’t her concern. “Did…did anyone else…get hurt?” she asked quietly and the boy and girl both looked at her as if they suddenly remembered she was there. “Some guards…I think. Maybe.” No way I’ll know. she pursed her lips. I’ll have to trust what they say for now. “Enough of this!” The First flapped her hands at the two and they glared. She paid them no mind, picked up a tray and motioned for Caylia to follow. “And this is where my lady takes tea.” The First threw the doors open to a new room, light and airy with gossamer curtains, by a wood screened window. Caylia smothered a grin at the carving in the wood. She knew Ru’s work when she saw it. “Black tea with one spoonful of honey. No more.” Caylia nodded, but the woman had already turned. “These surfaces need to be dusted daily,” she said, running her finger along a desk, a chair, “including the crystal.” She motioned to the lunes inset in the walls. “Especially the crystal but you be careful. I will not think of mentioning what might happen if you break one.” She nodded dutifully, as she took a duster and watched the girl go back to the tea.” “Erm…midra does the lady take anything with her tea for her illness?” The girl nodded. “Yes but the healers administer that, so it’s not with her tea really.” Caylia paused. “So I don’t have to worry about giving her anything? Not even to help her sleep or..?” “If she needs something to help sleep she will tell you. However,” the girl paused and ran a finger down the tray. “When she is feeling better, there is this.” From a hidden pocket inside her linka, she drew a small box, decorated with flower petals. Her face soften and she gently touched a finger to the surface. “She really wants a child and…ever since the first miscarriage she’s been trying everything. I was in the market and the herb seller gave me these.” She gave Caylia a rueful smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I would never give my lady away but most people knew she lost her first. He said these would help. Supposed to allow for a healthy baby in the womb.” She frowned and murmured sadly. “Didn’t really work I guess.” “May I see them midra?” The girl nodded and held forth the can. Caylia took a large pinch between a thumb and two fingers, sniffed it, and then palmed half of it and returned the rest to the can. “So are we giving this to her now? In her tea?” “Not until she’s better,” the ladies maid sighed. “And Kyda willing it will be soon. She is getting stronger each day, the healers said.” Caylia smiled a little. “And that is a blessing.” She is innocent in all this, and the girl is loyal. Loyal or phenomenally stupid. I hope the Fay-el is pleased with that. The Guild however… She shook her head. Unless they were listening through the walls, the herb seller wouldn’t know the ladies maid had given him away. The Fay-el would be able to get to him. Now, she looked at the duster with a grimace, how to get out of this… |
| “Excellent,” Chrys said, rubbing his hands together. “Do whatever you must to find the man, and bring him to me. And…” he glanced at Hamen. “Perhaps, if you would accompany him? Between the two of you, whatever Gifting the man has should be easy to overcome.” The trainer dipped his head in silent assent, though glancing warily at Andros. The latter had a wounded expression on his face. “Sire, is there anything else you need? Questions that might need answering?” The Fay-el frowned. He knew exactly what Andros was trying to do. “I can’t stay, no matter my desire. And you cannot go with me. A Guildsman tagging after the recently attacked Fay-el would certainly draw suspicion.” Andros covered the eye at his wrist. “I could act as—“ “You are obviously a Guildsman.” Chrys shook his head. “There would be no hiding it.” Their eyes met. And then Andros looked away, shoulders slumping. His voice dropped to a whisper. “As you command, sire.” Kor scowled. “My lord, it is unfair to—“ he cut off abruptly. Chrys glanced at the Hybrid, and then shook his head. Veritas had moved into Kor’s personal space, eyes narrowed in a definite warning. “You’re making his bond tingle,” Chrys commented. “Might keep quiet.” He stepped around the Guildsman, who had extended his hand to “steady” him. Moving past Kor, Chrys left the small back room. Veritas came up behind him, shifting to his right side as soon as there was space for him. Smiling again, the Fay-el headed for his chambers. < > Veritas shifted against his shoulder. The motion made Chrys’ hand jerk, etching a jagged line across the parchment. He sighed. “Ver, you did it again.” “Sorry.” The loquiri stood and circled to his other side, before settling again, head resting against his shoulder. “Better?” “Aye.” Chrys replaced the messy scroll with a new one and started writing out his message. Again. After that bout with Andros and Kor’s accusations about the loquiri pair-link, Veritas had been just as needy as Andros. Being an older, more seasoned loquiri did not change his feelings. It had been nearly an hour, but the royal loquiri was finally losing that jealous haze across the link. The female Derk-ra, snarling above her litter, no longer dominated every sensation from him. Chrys paused, nibbling on the tip of the quill absently. Veritas nudged his hand down. “You look like a teething child.” The loquiri shifted away from him, though his hand still rested against his shoulder. “I’m thinking,” the Fay-el protested. “Don’t chew on things.” “Yes, Da.” Veritas chuckled. “I am six years older than you.” “Five years and eleven months.” The loquiri laughed. “I’ll give you that.” His voice turned questioning. “What are you working on?” “A letter to the Border Guard camp near Sharik Gorge.” Veritas leaned forward, partially to glance at the parchment, and partially (as Chrys well knew) to be closer to him. His hair brushed at Chrys’ neck. “A second one?” “Aye. To give strict command that they not harm or kill Gyas before he reaches Ratacca Korr.” “Good.” Veritas’ voice was close to his ear. “And then what?” Chrys gently nudged him back enough to turn his head. “What do you mean?” Veritas grinned. “If you want to see her, you should.” He blinked, and then frowned. “I was trying not to think about it.” “Not hard enough. You’ve pictured the Settar kolinar fields thrice already. Means she is on your mind.” The Fay-el glanced down, studying the wooden top of the table. “I want to see her, yes. But when I do, she always…” he toyed with the quill. “I worry about her.” “I know.” Veritas squeezed his shoulder. “Go to her.” Chrys smiled slowly. “Are you certain she has sufficiently recovered?” Veritas’ grin broadened. “You are better for her than any Healer.” < > Veritas settled into a corner in the reception room, waving Chrys on with a soft smile. The Fay-el took a deep breath. This was worse than kneeling before his blood-father Endry. To see her, the comely lass, reduced to a weakened state made his heart ache anew. It was his fault the Guild had done this to her. If he had followed tradition, such as Endry had, she would have borne a child already, in secret. He sighed, biting his lip. The Houses had been furious at the announced marriage, furious that he had so blatantly broken with tradition. Screaming the tenet at him as if he didn’t know it already. …that the heirs shall be born of seed royal, but of common stock; trained and prepared by men of uncommon loyalty. The Fay-el of all the Mara hesitated at the threshold, worry gnawing in his chest. Would his presence tire her? Make her unhappy? He should go. But he wanted to see her. Chrys raked a hand through his hair, straightened his shoulders, and stalked into the room. The First swiveled at his approach, eyes widening. “Sire,” she breathed and then dipped into a quick curtsy. He nodded his head at her. “Alzira, if you will leave us for a time.” “Aye, sire.” And she was gone. Chrys slipped the circlet from his head first, setting it on a nearby table. His dreamstone followed, then signet rings. Everything that marked him Fay-el. Satisfied, he stepped to the side of her sick bed and bent low, brushing his lips across her forehead. Turina’s eyes fluttered, focusing on him. He rested a hand on the lune closest to him, feeding it Gift until the light brightened. She smiled. “Chry-yis.” Only Athelia, Chrys’ mother, and Turina added the Lodear accent to his name. He smiled back. “Are you well?” “Better now that you are here.” Chrys picked up one limp hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. He studied her face, noting the lines around her eyes, the paleness of her skin. She was improving, but it was a slow process. His voice rasped. “I missed you.” “As have I.” Her hand crept up to rub his hair between her fingers, and then cupped the back of his neck, pulling his head down. Their lips met. He slipped his hand beneath her head, feeling silken softness drape over his hands. The kiss was brief and gentle. He would not hurt her for his own needs. Pulling away, Chrys studied her face. “Alzira is taking care of you?” “Aye. She is a good maid.” “Good. The Healers say you are improving fast. I’m sure you will be commanding me again soon.” She laughed. “Soon, Chry-yis. I will keep you in line.” He smiled and kissed her again, softly. She caught him before he leaned away. “You’re worried about something.” “Some.” She sat up weakly, leaning against his shoulder, before resting her head against his chest. “Tell me.” “You will worry.” “You already are.” Chrys laughed. “Aye, I suppose so. It’s Elam.” “The Dragonian boy—Karli’s child—the one they brought back earlier this morning?” “Yes. If it bothers you, I won’t—“ Her fingers brushed against his lips. “Shh. I know my womb cannot bear your children. I only wish you to be happy.” He smiled and leaned close to her face. “And I wish yours.” Her face lit with humor. “Well, then we are both satisfied. Let me guess what concerns you.” Turina toyed with his hair with one hand, a soft smile quirking one side of her mouth. “Keeping the boy here, in Ratacca Korr, with the Guild growing bold, might get him killed—and ensure Jin’s hatred for you, and the Mara in general. But, if he returns to Dragonia and an Eloin kills him—then the Guild will surely grow in power, perhaps overthrowing all the work that you have done, even your throne.” He snorted. “When did you become so versed in court affairs, love? Has Alzira been coaching you?” She laughed. “I know you. That is all I need.” Her eyes darkened with seriousness. “You’re afraid of repeating Endry’s cruelty.” Chrys sighed, looking away from her gaze. He studied the slowly fading lune. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Do I do what is best for the Mara? Or what is right to my kinsman? How can I choose between my blood and my homeland?” “You should….” She paused, and then continued on softly. “…should return to tradition.” He gave her a look of surprise. “Never. That is not fair to you, nor to those others.” “Perhaps not that tradition, but those of the Eloin kings?” He grimaced. “Concubines? I think not. Look where it has got the Eloin lords—inbred and ael kinth children ruling over their houses.” He brushed the hair away from her face. “I will not do such things to you.” “Sometimes we do what we feel is right.” Chrys cocked his head. His voice was husky. “Aye, sometimes we do.” Determination filled him. “You are a wonderful advisor, my love.” He cupped her chin with one hand and kissed her again. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers. When they parted, her face was flushed. He smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “I wish I could stay with you forever.” “But you can’t,” she gave him a playful shove. “Go. I want you to stay when I’m feeling better.” She grinned impishly. “And can please you.” Veritas cleared his throat subtly. Chrys felt the heat rise into his face. He stood and released her hand reluctantly. “Soon.” Turina smiled. “Yes. Very soon.” < > When he left Turina’s chambers, Chrys was both somber and exhilarated. Veritas could feel both fighting for control in his mind. He had been worrying about making Elam hate him as he had hated Endry, for days, but said nothing. Turina could coax the words out of him. Veritas tagged after the Fay-el as they headed down the corridor. Chrys kept checking each face, eyes narrowing as they passed him. Looking for Caylia. The servants bowed nervously, or wrung hands at his steady stare. You’re scaring them. They think you are angry. Veritas said. Chrys straightened, softening his expression. Where could she be? You will find her. First, shouldn’t you speak to Jin? Chrys stopped dead. Veritas grinned and watched him swivel his head to glare at him, eyes narrowing. “How did you—I mean, besides the…” “There is what is right for the few; and what is best for all. I have always known you would make the right decision.” The Fay-el scowled, but the heat of his anger was missing. Veritas hid a smile. Chrys spun. “Well then. Why don’t we find Jin and give him the good news.” He flicked him an annoyed glance. “But keep an eye out for that bard.” “Kor?” Veritas asked innocently. “He’s gone to the Dragonian camp. Seems the blademaster had some plans for him. I don’t think the Hybrid is having a good time.” Chrys snorted. “I hope not.” “Oh, Chrys.” He shrugged. “Come on. I want to get this over with.” “And get back to Turina,” the loquiri finished. “Should I have the servants prepare my room?” Chry’s face reddened again. “I—I don’t…that is foolish. She is still weak.” “And you have the Gift, and perfectly good knowledge of the Mending. Should I tell the servants?” The Fay-el looked very uncomfortable. “Ah…yes. That would be wise.” Veritas only smiled and motioned the Fay-el forward. “To Jin. And Caylia. And Turina.” Chrys growled a Lodear curse and stalked away. Grinning, Veritas followed at his heels. < > |
| Daliah found herself in the desert once more, though far hotter than it had ever been. She fancied that she heard voices around her, but saw no one. Perhaps it could have been, yet it sounded so human. How long have I been here? she wondered to herself. I must be losing my mind. She fell back onto the sand and watched the sky. A foolish choice, she knew, but she could not ignore its brightness and beauty. It seemed that there was an additional sun, so close she could almost touch it. She reached out. “Don’t.” someone yelled, slapping her hand away. “Once you try, there is no going back.” “But…” she frowned, finding the sun farther now than before. “I want…” She looked over, not as shocked as usual to find her father. He knelt beside her and took her hand. “As much as I would love to see you everyday, there is so much left for you to do.” he whispered. “In two summers there will be a child. Unless…” he sighed. “I do apologize. I can only see what could be, not what will. But I assure you, he will be beautiful.” he patted her hair gently. “Just like his mother.” Tears silently fell to the ground beneath her. “I wish I knew my mother.” “And someday you will. You will learn all soon, but know that we would be with you if we could. Also know that greater dangers will follow this one, and you must fight them. Remain true to your Dragonian blood, and it will not fail you. You must maintain the family line.” She nodded and closed her eyes. “I will.” He shook her again. “No. Do not while there are those that still love you. I…” he bit a cheek in frustration. “You are too weak now. I will have to help you. But once more I apologize… This will hurt.” He pulled out a knife and pressed it deep into her leg. ------------------ Daliah woke screaming. She was in a strange room in the Fay-el’s home, but that was not what made her pulse race. There was a new woman by her thigh, and it felt like she was tearing the wound anew. “Daliah!” Layole grabbed her arm, and another woman held her leg down. “The worst is over. You will be fine, now.” She read his face and could tell he was trying not to cry. “What happened?” she asked, leaning her sweat-streaked head back against the pillows. “The wound was infected somehow. Perhaps by dirty linens.” he shot one of the women a cold look. "Kor explained it at least. He said that when the body becomes infected, it has to grow continually warmer until the infection is killed... But you grew so hot, so weak..." he looked away. She squeezed his hand. "As you said, I am fine now." she sighed. "I suppose that all know of our betrothal now?" He gave her a small smile and played with the end of one of her curls. "We could only keep it secret for so long. But Jin will officially announce it once you are better, as well as announce my stepping down." She felt guilty for the loss of his position. "I am sorry." "For what? Surely they could find a better man than me." She shook her head. "No matter how hard they look. I know I could not find better." His smile grew wider, which caused her to show her own. "Well, I should finally get out of this bed." She began to rise once the women finished with her leg, but he pushed her back down. "Rest." he commanded. "No bride of mine will lose her leg because of a stubborn streak." She laughed. "I will not lose my leg." "I know. Because you will rest until it is healed." he glared at her warningly. "I will have archers at the ready if needed." "You will kill me to keep me in bed?" "If that is what it will take." They looked at each other for a moment before both laughed harder than before. Layole stopped first and kissed her forehead. "I brought some things that might make bedrest more bearable for you." Daliah knew better than to argue, so she instead pushed herself onto her elbow and rolled to her good side, which, luckily, faced him. "How bearable?" He grinned and reached to the floor, resurfacing with a book. "First, the chronicles of the past Fay-els. I have heard that you love tales of history." She covered her nose and mouth with a hand to still her emotion. It had been well worth fighting for life. Perhaps she should tell him of the child that would come in two years' time. No, it may hurt him if it did not come true. The door opened before she could decide, exposing Kor’s tousled hair. He must not have gotten much sleep in the past few days. “I was told she…” he trailed off as he looked over at the bed. “You must promise never to do that again. You almost killed us with worry.” She cocked her head teasingly. “A woman does what she can.” Her face took a more serious tone. “I hear I have you to thank. Please let me know if there is anything I can ever do to return your kindness.” His cheeks bore a faint blush. “I did not do much.” “Modesty becomes you.” she chuckled and glanced at the corner. “Maybe that is something you should learn, Ravin. It is not very kind to hide in corners. Checking on us, I suppose.” The Border Guard stepped out of the shadows, bearing his usual scowl. “I was sent to make sure you did not injure the servants, as well as see that your betrothed did not try anything until he is no longer second.” “Admit it, you were worried as well.” Kor snorted. “Usually he hides emotion better. Deny if you wish, but I saw your face.” The last was in return to an especially dark glare. “My worry was for the Fay-el and his wife. She is worse off than you, you know.” Ravin sneered, then turned back to Kor. “Perhaps you would like to watch the children, then. That way there will be no need for me.” He stalked away, slamming the door behind him. “He was worried.” Daliah concluded, absently tracing the binding of the book. It bore some resemblance to her own leather-bound history, come to think of it. Maybe they were made by the same craftsman, though hers bore no crest as this one did. “Kor, you may sit if you wish.” she winked at the man now standing awkwardly against the wall. “If we ask nicely, Layole might read to you as well.” “Now who is watching the children.” her future husband grumbled. “He saved my life.” she pointed out, batting her eyelashes prettily. He groaned, but pulled out a chair for Kor. Once the Hybrid was seated, he set the now open book on the bed and rested his elbow next to Daliah and leaned in to see the pages. “Now, then. We shall begin with the reign of the Fay-el Masaph, whose loquiri saved both him and his newly pregnant wife from an ambush by eighteen men…” |
| The soft, clean leather of Jaara's new boot met the man's stubble-roughened chin. His head snapped back, eyes widening from fitful sleep, to full wakefulness, to shock and pain all in an instant. "Azrael's slu---" he started to snarl as awareness came to his mud brown eyes and his gaze settled upon the Inquisita. "I trust you slept well," she cut him off indifferently, stepping neatly back away from him now that he had roused. Behind her, Kharme slipped uncertainly into the cell, stepping lightly around both Jaara and the Guildsman to stand well away from them both. Jaara folded both of her arms before her, having discarded the unsightly hindrance of her sling earlier along with her well worn, filthy travel garments. She stood before the incarcerated Guildsman dressed much like Kharme, her well-crafted clothing matching her noble station... although no skirts hid her form from the rabid traditionalist's view, nor obstructed her movement. At her ankles Khyr prowled, freshly washed, his scales glistening with oil. Cathbad's eyes narrowed. He reached for his Gift out of habit, and felt the jarring discord of a dreamstone. That worried him. Most would use somna to mar his Gift, but the drug would also make him drowsy, and better able to hide his feelings. Not so with a dreamstone. He forced the worry into tight control, masking his uneasiness with a smirk. The two women did not react, but the derk-ra hissed. "I slept well enough," he lied. Jaara did not return his smile. “Good. You are rested enough to answer questions.” Beside her, Kharme cleared her throat. The Inquisita turned slowly, a muscle twitching in her jaw, and raised an eyebrow at the other noblewoman in irritated inquiry. “It is late afternoon,” Kharme said demurely, crossing her hands before her and eying the filthy gravel upon the floor through lowered lashes rather than meet the Inquisita’s burning eyes. It was not fear, but an effort to mimic bland innocence, that bent her gaze downward. “The man has been here for hours with neither food nor drink, and it is a hot day. Perhaps a bit of water…” The Guildsman snorted. “Idiot girl, I’ve nothing to say to you or the Inquisita, water or no water.” Jaara regarded him with cool eyes. “We could just release you.” The Guildsman frowned in confusion at the answer, and the small, athletic woman passed the iron keys from one hand to the other pensively. Khyr settled in at her feet, laying languidly over the toes of her boots. “But do you really want that? Stay and you will answer our questions. But maybe the Fay-el will spare your life. But we let you go, you will end up like your friend Tyre before the day is out. Oh, you hadn’t heard?” Cathbad’s face had drained of all blood and it was only then that Kharme and Jaara saw the resemblance between the man before them and the---now dead---man they’d left bound and unconscious in his own home the night before when they’d sensed the disturbance at the docks. “What has happened to my brother?” the Guildsman demanded. Still the keys clanged from one hand to the other. “Found dead, this very morning.” There was no sympathy in her voice. Kharme was far gentler. “He died quickly, and quite possibly while asleep.” By ‘asleep’ she meant unconscious from Jaara’s rather sharp tap to his head, but she wasn’t about to say that. “The Inquisita and I were going to bring him in for questioning, but… well, your Guild got to him first.” “Sliced him from ear to ear,” Jaara contributed. Cathbad blanched. “Seems the price of failure in your precious Guild is death, Cathbad,” the Inquisita pointed out mercilessly. Jaara kept her face cool, but her stomach writhed a bit sickly as she watched the Guildsman’s face. Yet her sympathy only went so far. This man was a kidnapper and brutalizer of children. He did not deserve her pity. “We shouldn’t help you,” Kharme said slowly, but there was compassion in her voice. She sounded very young to Jaara’s ears, though in fact she was a little older. “And we may not be able to change your fate. You are a traitor, and the Fay-el’s justice falls swiftly on those who betray the throne. But we, at least, are willing to hear your story. Perhaps some arrangement can be made, even if it is only the promise of an easy death.” “We were both aware of the risk involved,” he said. He kept his face impassive. The rising grief, however, was not so easily quelled. Tyre and he were true-brothers, having the same father and mother. That their father had been allowed to sire two children spoke of his Gifting, and the rank he carried. “What risk? Planning the Fay-el’s assassination? Kidnapping the heir to the throne? Perhaps…” Jaara paused. She cocked her head, a slow smirk spreading across her features. “Perhaps trying to kill someone as Gifted and sly as Gyas?” She dipped her chin, pulling from her bag the golden chalice Veritas had given her leave to examine that morning. Her hands carefully covered in black leather gloves. Cathbad stiffened and then forced himself to relax again. How had she known what the device was for? “No need to bandy words with me,” he growled. “You have little hope of winning in that contest, not with a Guildsman such as I.” “This is not a game,” Jaara snapped, and Khyr sprang to his feet, pacing around and around her feet in agitation. She knelt before Cathbad, putting a hand out to keep the derk-ra back, and leaned toward the Guildsman to look intently into his face. “What use is there at this point in hiding the truth? Gyas is gone. He ran off like a dog from a derk-ra and will likely never allow himself to let down his guard around another fellow Guildsman again. The Fay-el is alive, and you can be sure he and the royal loquiri will be more cautious in the future. Elam is back, and doubtless your people will never be allowed near him again. So if you think your silence will help your cause, think again. It will not protect your plans, or your life. So talk.” “You know nothing,” he sneered. “Nothing at all. You speak in pretty circles, without the element of truth to weigh your words.” Cathbad focused on a mocking expression, though his heart pounded faster against his ribs. “Why should I care what happens to Gyas? It was but the child that we wished.” He smirked. “And you cannot guarantee he will be safe. Do all Guildsman advertise their presence?” Jaara snorted. “Hardly.” She rose to her feet, balling her hands into fists. She hadn’t wanted it to be this way, but she could think of only one way to proceed at this point. Kharme stepped in front of her and stared urgently down at the bound Guildsman. “But recent events have undoubtedly persuaded the Fay-el that the Mara is not a safe place for the boy. The Guild’s hands reach far, but they do not span the globe. And even if you were everywhere, well, the child will be well protected. And it is not as if a sensitive individual cannot sense the Gift. Where there is a strong Gift, it may be reasonable to assume there is a Guildsman… especially outside the Mara.” “That ael kinth seems… perceptive,” Jaara added lightly, nudging Cathbad’s ribs with her toe. There was a glint of viciousness in her eyes, and beside her, Khyr flicked a forked tongue across his teeth and stared intently at the Guildsman. “He found the boy. I’ve no doubt he could find a Guildsman. If properly trained. So,” she finished reasonably, “You’ve little to gain by your silence. And you may even earn your life if you speak. Cooperate.” It took bravery to sneer at Jaara the way he did. “Idiot girl. Do you suppose me an simpleton? If you have questions for me, then you do not know everything. That means there are still variables in this great equation that you have not yet accounted for. You want to frighten me, to convince me that you have the situation under control and that I am powerless, but you don’t and I’m not. You know nothing and you need me. Look at you, foolish women playing at a man’s investigative work. You should have left this to your betters.” He spat at their feet. “I will not cooperate.” Jaara said nothing for a long moment, only studying him with an increasingly-more grim gaze. Kharme, on the other hand, snarled at the man on the floor. “What makes you think we know so little? We knew enough to locate your brother. We knew enough to find the boy. And we know enough to have you sitting before us.” She cast a significant glance at the ground. “Lying before us.” “Precisely,” the Guildman snapped, leaning on his elbow as casually as a man with his arms tied behind his back and lying on gravel can lean. “You went after my brother, and now you have me. If you truly had any notion whatsoever of what was going on and who was involved, you would not be wasting your time with me. But you are. So here we are.” With a defeated sigh, Kharme glanced at Jaara to see how the other woman might want to proceed, and froze. The Inquisita’s eyes, already normally hard as flint, were now utterly devoid of life and her face had smoothed into an expressionless mask as cold and lifeless as marble. Her boot came down hard on the man’s jaw, and he howled in pain as she reached down behind him and grasped the knots of the ropes binding his arms behind his back. She wrenched them savagely upwards, and hissing, Cathbad rose instinctively to his feet to protect his shoulders. “What are you---“ he started to demand, but she slung the other end of the rope over the rafters above his head, and pulled it taut. Cathbad’s eyes widened in dismay and then pain as his arms were lifted from the wrists upwards behind him, and crying out, he stood on the very tips of his toes and bent forward to alleviate the pressure on his shoulders as best as he could. Stony faced, Jaara tied the end of the rope off at a iron loop near the ground in the far corner of the cell, which had apparently been placed there for this very purpose. “We’ll start here,” Jaara said curtly. “Tell me the names of those involved in the drugging of the royal loquiri and the attempted assassination of our lord Fay-el.” She did not hear when Kharme slipped out of the cell, face drawn and pale. Cathbad lost track of time. Though he had been trained to resist pain, it did not change the severity of it. Furthermore, he knew during his training that they would stop, if necessary. But would this Inquisita do the same? Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling between his shoulder blades. His mouth dried. He licked dry lips and shifted his weight carefully from the balls of his feet to his toes. But there was no relief. "Well?" He glared at Jaara with a scowl twisting his features. Her face's impassive expression never softened. "Who drugged Lord Veritas and Fay-el Chrys? Speak or remain. The choice is yours." "And when I have told you," he hissed, "You will only kill me and be done." She shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is surety if you remain silent. That is, if you survive the night like this," she gestured at the rope. "You might last several days." He closed his eyes. "Begone, thorla's mate." A blade dragged across his arm and he yelped, eyes snapping open again. Jaara was inches away from him, holding a bloody dagger. Her eyes were thin slits. Cathbad saw his own, slow death in her eyes. He swallowed. "You are a strong woman." "I have nothing to lose." She shoved the knife under his chin. Warm blood trickled down his throat. "Speak. Who wears a mask within Ratacca Korr?" "You promise my life?" "I promise a quick death. The rest is up to Lord Chrys' decision. Will you tell me their names?" "Aye." "Swear it." "By Kyda the great, I will tell you what you wish." Her expression didn't change. "What Guildsman believes in Kyda?" He felt his heart sink. She knew some of the Guild's ways then. By whom he did not know. Perhaps Gyas? Surely not. "Swear by the blood of your son," she continued. Cathbad blanched. If he failed in that one, she had Guild-right to slay his children. "I have no child." "Then you have no oath I can trust," her blade cut deeper. He winced. "I swear it. I swear." Jaara's face split into a slow grin and she withdrew the blade, and then whipped it toward his head. He yelped, expecting to feel its bite in his throat. The rope loosened and he tumbled to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he spit moldy hay and glared at her. She drove the dagger into the ground, inches from his face. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Speak. And quickly." "Lord Gyas created the idea of assassinating Chrys, using the royal loquiri and a depraved one as a fitting end. To banish the heretical king and his loquiri filth forever from our land." "Your land?" she hissed. "Does the Guild own all of the Mara?" He ignored her. "Tyre and I chose a different route. Neither Chrys nor Veritas deserve to live, but a death would only leave the throne empty, without a clear heir, or so it seemed. We contacted a Guildsman within the palace and had him follow most of Gyas' plans, but not all. The blood on the dys-knife was not the Fay-el's. And Tyre and I were never the enemies of the Fay-el." "Who was the Guildsman?" He hesitated. She danced the blade in front of his eyes. Cathbad closed his eyes. "You know the Guild will finish what you threaten." "I never threaten." "His name is Erastus. He was once a Border Guard. When he discovered he would lose his Gift to rise in rank, he joined us. He has often guarded the Fay-el's quarters." Cathbad snickered. "Ironic." "Who else?" "None that had any true knowledge. A few guards were bribed, a servant convinced to look aside. Very neat. Erastus arranged the rest for us." Jaara beamed at him, the smile never reaching her eyes. “Good.” She strode toward the door without another word. “Wait,” Cathbad gasped. Her gaze over her shoulder gave no hint to her emotions. “Your word?” Her lip curled ever so slightly. “Is good. If yours is.” He swallowed. “And my children?” She paused. Her face softened, ever so little. Even Khyr seemed to relax. “Will be cared for, one way or another. They will not be harmed. Though they may be removed from the control of your kin if they are Gifted.” He did not say anything then, only bowing his head with a sigh of relief, or perhaps of fear. Jaara left to find Kharme, and the others as well. |
Ravin left the Dragonian woman's room and slipped along the passages and halls, almost unaware that he was keeping in shadow as he went. Few said anything to him before he exited out into the courtyard. He took his time looking over where the fighting had taken place. He'd certainly done his part beforehand, but it was clear that he'd been as unneeded as he would expect to be if a boatload of Guildsmen had the nerve to attack Ratacca Korr. The servants had mostly cleared away the signs of battle, but the occasional slash where a blade met with stone was harder to disguise. From what he'd heard, the Gifted Guildsmen had been dealt with rather neatly. Disappointing. The Gift should have made more of a difference than that. He passed on through the courtyard, entering a small door in the inner side of the wall. The border guard made to climb the steps stretching upwards, but stopped at the sound of steps moving closer farther upwards. He waited patiently for a few moments, saving his energy, until one of the aerie watchmen got to him. "Thank you for saving me the trip to your post. What news do you have?" The watchman held out the tightly-scrolled message, to Ravin. He took a moment to read through it, then rolled it back up and thought for a moment before smiling. "Weeeell. It seems our friend Gyas is not having such a pleasant trip after all. You can return to your post, I'll deliver this." Ravin watched the man walk back the way he'd come with a smile. I do hate walking up all those steps. ***** Chrys stopped and turned back to look into the room he'd just passed, then stood in the doorway and watched the woman there finish straightening the linens. "Have you found anything?" Caylia turned, then smiled in relief at the sight of the Fay-El. "Yes, actually, I have. Should we talk here?" Chrys glanced at Veritas, who nodded and started quietly directing away any of the servants who tried to pass by the room. Chrys turned back to Caylia and snapped, "What did you find out?" In answer, the bard pulled a small phial from her pocket. "This is something your servants have been giving to your wife. They were told by the herb-seller who carried it that it was a fertility drug. Should such prove false, the seller in question would likely be able to point to the responsible party." Chrys's eyes widened as he took the container and the powder within. He looked at Caylia in silence, then smiled wide enough to impress Elam. "Thank you." He held out the phial, Veritas taking it without even looking. I suppose it's good that I had my room prepared, isn't it? Chrys nodded, still smiling. I need to tell Turina. Veritas nodded. You might want to wait until I am able to have this powder examined first, but yes. She will want to know, and I doubt you would be able to hide it if you tried. I haven't seen you grin like this in years. Patience suffused Caylia's features as she waited for their mental conversation to conclude, then Chrys turned back to her. "If this is what we think, you'll have my gratitude for the rest of my life, Bard of Settar. Thank you." He turned, striding purposefully down the hall. Caylia took a step to follow, then stopped when she noticed that Veritas wasn't accompanying the Fay-El. He answered her question before it was asked. "He is going to see Turina." The bard smiled, already writing the verse describing the smile of a Fay-El turned love-dumb. Ravin chose that moment to show up. "I see our fearless leader is in high spirits." "He is, and it may be good news for all the Mara." The loquiri chuckled and shook his head, trying to keep the infectious, childish glee he felt seeping over his bond from distracting him too much. Caylia smiled and mused aloud. "Reborn is the child in the lord of the land of the sand as the Mara rejoices... Perhaps a little less repetition, that line needs to be more dramatic." Ravin held out the message he'd read to Veritas. "Well then maybe I should save my own good news for some time when everyone's miserable so they can feel better." He continued as the loquiri took the hawk-delivered text. "Gyas has been sighted. He's moving much slower than we originally guessed, and on an unusual route." Veritas stared at the words, and then grinned. "He is avoiding anyplace that has a strong Guild presence." The border guard's smile was among his most genuine. It was not pleasant. "It seems the Guild takes to his failure about as kindly as we take to his betrayal. A group could leave as late as tomorrow at mid-day and still beat the Guildsman to the border by almost two days by taking a direct route." Veritas nodded. "Then it will be decided in the morning. There are more important things to attend to tonight." Ravin laughed aloud as he turned and walked back through Ratacca Korr. |
| Her old clothes were comforting, her harp even more so, but the dys knife felt like an aberration on her side, and so she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a familiar form come clattering into the courtyard through a carved screen. Quickly she slipped down the stairs passing linka clad servants who didn’t give her a second glance. Thinking over the last few hours, which had evolved into days without her noticing, she realized she needed more than anything, to rest. Her fingers brushed the dys knife. Soon…very soon. She stepped into the courtyard dust stirring beneath her feet as the rider halter. “You’re alive,” Caylia greeted her, as another young woman came reining up behind. Jaara, startled out of a scowl, quirked a brow. “You had doubts?” “When it comes to your job? No,” she shook her head, and the warrior slid from her saddle, muttering under her breath. “News?” the bard asked noting the stories behind the other’s eyes. “Where’s the border guard?” Jaara demanded. “There is a traitor within the palace.” “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a traitor under every stone. What traitor is this?” “One who guarded the Fay-el.” Her eyes rose, searching lintels and the shadows of the windows for hidden secrets. “He’s been working for a…sect of the guild and once I find the cursed border guard…No, I will handle it myself.” Her look had gone stony and Caylia smiled quietly. “I’m glad you are well, Jaara. As for the border guard, he is about to go riding after Gyas who should be in Sharik Gorge in a day or less.” “How do you know?” It was the other girl now who joined Jaara, whose milk pale skin and cultured voice spoke of nobility. Caylia bowed her head. And who is this that Jaara has picked up? Windrunner do people cling to this woman like cobwebs. Of all the people in the desert… “I am a bard of Settar, lady. Who knows where I find the words that I do.” Jaara snorted. “Or you’re being difficult. You’re sure about Gyas?” “And the border guard.” With a grunt, Jaara launched herself back into the saddle. “Give the Fay-el this,” she said, passing the bard a folded piece of paper. “It informs him of the spy. Gyas…that is my business.” The lady followed suit, turning her own horses head expertly around and Jaara frowned following Caylia’s eyes. “Kharme hasn’t gotten in the way…yet.” Convenient a stranger would show up at this time. Can we trust her? Granted she has survived Jaara thus far. “Wait a moment, Jaara. Where’s Hamen? And this…you might find interesting.” She drew the knife from her belt and held it hilt first to the Inquisita. “It’s guild work, and from what I’m guessing the knife that Naftis had. You, I think, may know more about this than I.” Jaara grew quiet and took it from her grasp, colors catching in the hot desert sun and spreading from hilt to tip. “Where did you get this?” “Veritas’s room. He took it from Naftis.” She examined it, slowly turning it, and murmured, “Not with the Fay-el’s blood…” then tucked it away. “Good. And I do not know where Hamen is…” “Trying not to get my blood sucked from my veins from a goblet,” came a good natured reply and Hamen himself strode into the courtyard, Maheen on his heels, hiding a grin somewhere beneath his hood. “And it appears we are all together again.” “Not for long,” Caylia noted, “our Inquisita is about to go hunting.” “Oh?” Jaara’s grip tightened on the reins. “Gyas. And justice.” “You know where he is?” “Yes, or where he is going. The border guard probably even knows more.” Hamen turned his attention to Caylia. “And you’re going along on this adventure.” She smiled and shook her head. “No, I need rest and would get in the way more than likely. Jaara can tell me the story later and the story on the ship. I’ve only heard wisps of that one.” “Other people were on that ship, ones who aren’t trying to catch a traitor. I’m sure they will also be glad to tell you.” She nodded. “Be sure to get some rest at some point “You are not my nursemaid.” The old argument and Caylia quirked a brow. “No, and when the Inquista falls from her horse, I’m sure it will be quite graceful.” And at Hamen’s chuckle, she withdrew. |
| Veritas stood quietly, content to remain in the shadows cast by the tents of the Dragonian camp. Terran and the Hybrid were busily sparring, with the latter looking thoroughly harried, but strangely alive and engaged. *** Kor wasn’t sure how Terran kept doing it. The blademaster had used the same Star-forsaken maneuver on Kor three times already, and yet Kor could not for the life of him seem to avoid it. With nothing more than a step and a whirl, the bladesmaster planted the flat of his blasted blade on Kor’s chest once again and knocked him to the ground with little more than a tap. Just outside of the practice ring, Joran laughed. "You're learning," Terran said as the Hybrid groaned on the ground more in frustration than pain. He could not imagine what the blademaster possibly imagined that he’d learned---other than that Terran was surely demon-spawn---and yet he had the sick feeling he’d be expected to demonstrate his newfound knowledge in a moment or two. "But you still need practice. Fundamentals. Stay in them unless all else fails." Kor spat dust and lurched back to his feet, seeing Terran step back and lower his left-hand shitan down beside his leg in Dragon Fang. "Why blasted Fundamentals only?" he demanded, seeing that Terran's head was, for the moment, unprotected and swaying toward him at an angle in Waving Grain. Kor’s right shitan traced an upward arc from his hip to Terran's face, but the blademaster of course saw it coming and was already dancing lightly behind Kor with a smooth step. The Hybrid felt more than saw the other man beginning to twist into Dust Devil, and threw himself hastily backwards in something he hoped passed well enough as an actual Fundamental not to earn him a disciplinary tap upside the skull. “Joran?” Terran invited. “Because,” Joran recited obediently, as Terran’s dagger passed a mere hair’s width from Kor’s throat, “If you cannot master the simplest thirty-two techniques, what purpose is there in bothering with others?” Terran cocked his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as he continued to press Kor back with rapid slashes. “You must be able to do them again and again, without hesitance or wobbling. Then, if you are ever wounded, drugged, or even sick with grief, you will not falter.” He whipped the blade toward Kor in a quick Scythe, but the Hybrid danced back out of reach even further, this time remembering to use a true Fundamental. With an approving smile that Kor didn’t have time yet to appreciate, Terran advanced on him, and Kor darted out of the way with an agile twist of the body, launching past Terran to earn himself some more room to maneuver. Back and forth across the circle, they whirled and stabbed, slashing and twisting. Kyda, the man was fast! Terran harried the Hybrid purposely, driving him relentlessly closer and closer to the edge of the circle. Kor continued to fight back, trying to escape the careful herding, but Terran did not allow it. Sweat beaded on Kor’s face. He was breathing hard, frustration finally beginning to gleam in his eyes. Terran twisted into the Dust Devil again and then whirled into Darting Fish. Kor sensed the sudden change and leaped back. When halfway through the Fundamental however, he saw the closeness of the line and wobbled to the side in an agile skipping step that he knew, with a sinking feeling, was most definitely not a Fundamental. His brother groaned. Here it comes, Kor thought morosely. Terran stepped, twisted and smacked him hard, sighing as Kor tumbled in the dust again, this time fully outside of the circle. “Do you see what I have to work with, Lord Veritas?” For a moment Kor thought Terran was going crazy, addressing the darkness like that. Then he noticed the glint of the campfire’s light on a blade’s hilt, and the royal loquiri stepped out of the shadows, free hand worrying his queue where it draped over his shoulder. Joran scrabbled to his feet, staring at the loquiri in awe. Veritas did not look to be in a particularly good mood. Restlessness flashed in his eyes. Something was wearing on him. The smile on the loquiri’s face was forced. “I see. But he holds his own. Somewhat.” Terran cast Kor a measuring glance. “Yes, he does. But he abandons the Fundamentals every time he feels cornered. In time, I will beat it out of him, but for now… thank you for coming.” The Hybrid arched an eyebrow. “I would hardly call what you’ve been doing beating it out of me.” he chuckled, exchanging a wink with his little brother, who looked doubtful. “More like tripping it out of me. Tapping it out of me. Tricking it out of me.” A vicious glint lit in Terran’s eye and Kor aimed his grin at Veritas instead. “Good evening, my lord,” he said, ducking his head in a polite nod. “That sounded like a challenge, blademaster,” Veritas pointed out, ignoring Kor except to briefly return the nod. Terran gestured Kor back into the circle with one shitan. “He has exchanged a few blows in battle and now imagines himself a warrior,” the blademaster said gruffly as his pupil trotted into the center and, still grinning, stepped backward with his front shitan raised above his head in Derk-ra’s Claw to signal his readiness. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten him, my Lord?” Terran said. Kor felt his face fall, and heard Terran bite back a laugh. “Why so glum? He is but a man.” “A loquiri,” Kor felt it prudent to point out. “If it please you,” Veritas said in a voice that was probably intended to reassure, but did not in the slightest, “I will not use my Gift, only what the pair-link imparts, which I cannot stop if I wished to.” The royal loquiri was drumming his fingers against the hilt of his sword. The eager gesture, for a loquiri, would be another man’s restless pacing. “Perhaps it will aid you in understanding your wrong regarding my kind.” Kor folded his arms. Carefully. It was not easy, with shitans in either hand. “My lord, I do not think poorly of your kind. I think poorly of those who seek to enslave you.” Something flashed in the loquiri’s eyes. Annoyance perhaps, or maybe just frustrated amusement. Whatever he was feeling, a smile twitched on the corner of his lips and Kor felt his heart sink even more. “Ah, well that matter cannot be argued in a practice ring. But I am sure I can demonstrate to your satisfaction that a loquiri is not impaired by his bond in the slightest, but is stronger for it.” Kor scrapped the edges of his blades against one another, considering. The sound was only slightly more pleasant than a Derk-ra’s hunting cry, and he stopped, sheathing his blades. “No, my lord. All it will show me is that you are a far more skilled fighter than I, not that your enslavement strengthens you. And with all due respect, my lord, I am already well aware of the fact. So if you do not mind, I would rather not fight you over some imagined slight.“ Terran cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. You thought you had a choice in the matter?" Behind him, Joran scowled as the blademaster nodded his permission to Veritas to enter the circle. The royal loquiri stepped across the circle’s line and drew his sword. “Would you prefer I use shitans? I rarely use them, so the match would be more fair. That is, if not for my link.” “It matters not to me,” Kor glowered, wishing that Joran would go back to his tent now and not witness his brother’s inevitable humiliation. But Joran’s eyes were riveted to the practice circle. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Good.” Veritas smiled and sheathed his sword, loosened the scabbard, and threw it outside of the circle. Joran caught it deftly with a look of surprise. “Terran, if you please.” Kor’s eyes widened as the blademaster tossed his shitans at Veritas, and widened more as the loquiri caught both of them without flinching or shifting his eyes from the Hybrid. Veritas chuckled. “I will not hold you to Fundamentals, Hybrid. But you may wish to keep to them. You will last longer. Your goal is to stay circle, on your feet, or at least fighting for ten seconds.” Kor snorted. That shouldn’t be hard. “Ready?” Terran interrupted. Veritas and Kor alike nodded their agreement and Joran scrambled to his feet to watch, still clutching Veritas’s scabbard. Terran grinned. “This won’t last long at all.” Kor flicked him an annoyed glare and then refocused on Veritas as the loquiri advanced in a straight-on charge. Kor danced aside in what he felt to be a very smooth Diagonal Step, but the demon-blasted loquiri was already shifting his stance into Scythe and Weaving Grain, looping them together back to back with effortless grace. The hilt of his right shitan connected with Kor’s wrist, sending his own weapon pinwheeling into the sand. Veritas twisted and drove the other at his legs. Feeling more than a little panicked, Kor threw himself desperately into Darting Fish to sidestep the blow, then tried to spin around the loquiri in something that was not really Dust Devil. Veritas countered with Kyda’s Bow, ducking his head and ramming his shoulder into Kor’s stomach. Even as he drove the Hybrid back, he followed the move with a slash across Kor’s forearm and a low Scythe. Finally, just to add insult to injury, he took Kor’s feet out from under him and left him sprawled in the sand. Joran groaned. Veritas glanced at Terran. “How long?” “Six grains of the hourglass.” Kor groaned. “Six seconds?” Veritas shrugged. “I warned you. The Fundamentals are the best.” Kor strongly doubted that. He could see that Veritas knew the blasted Fundamentals frontwards and backwards, upside down and inside out. He’d seemed to anticipate everything Kor was about to do before Kor himself realized he was going to do it. Obviously, giving the infernal loquiri something he’d see in advance was not the way to win this. Kor would have to be more innovative, or scars earned in training would make him look like a thirty-year veteran of battle before he’d even been fighting a year. “Ready?” Terran asked. “Ready,” Veritas said. “Aye,” Kor grumbled. He climbed slowly to his feet, swiping both of his shitans from the dust. It was only when he was halfway to one knee that he realized that he had definitely just signaled his readiness to fight, and the Maran devil was already coming for him. He kicked out a foot at the loquiri’s middle, and could not help but gasp at the serpentine way the other man twisted sideways in something that might have been Diagonal Step blending into Darting Fish… if Kor had actually been able to see it. He did, however, know that it ended rather abruptly not with the Little Rock grab Veritas used to catch Kor’s foot in both hands or the Uprooted Tree twist from hips to shoulders with which he hauled Kor bodily off the ground with the other hand bracing Kor's hip to prevent actual injury. Instead, it ended with Kor sailing through the air and landing, out of breath and aching with the impact, outside of the circle. He looked up into Joran’s scowling face. The boy was not looking at him, but rather at Veritas. “Two grains of the hourglass,” Terran announced stoically. “I think I can make it one,” Veritas said from his place inside the circle. He hadn’t moved more than a foot’s length the entire round. Kor stood slowly and grabbed his shitans, before stalking back into the circle. Veritas smiled. “Perhaps you would like to use the Fundamentals now?” “No.” “You must enjoy pain.” Outside the circle, Joran rolled his eyes. “Ready,” Kor growled, settling into a loose stance. Veritas shook his head. “You are nearly as hard-headed as my Match. Though I doubt you will do this as long as he. It took four days for Chrys. Perhaps you will learn faster than he.” “I doubt it,” Terran retorted. “Ready, my lord?” “Ready.” This time, he waited, watching bemused as the Hybrid charged him. Not a hint of Fundamental at all this time. Veritas didn’t move. Kor leaped to the side and then forward, as if he would tackle the loquiri diagonally. Veritas slid into Parting River at the last moment and hit the back of his head with the flat of his blade as the Hybrid passed. Kor plowed into the sand. “One grain,” Terran said. “Stop it!” Joran snarled. Kor rolled onto his back. Veritas bent over him, grinning. “If you keep this up, I’ll need to Mend you to continue our spar.” “I’m fine,” Kor growled, more to his brother than the two sadistic warriors conducting the lesson. He sat up, refusing to move as slowly or gingerly as he wanted to, then bounded to his feet. Veritas stepped back, and shrugging at Kor’s determination, returned to the center of the circle. With a smile, he sheathed his shitans and nodded to Joran. “I will not even touch him this time,” he promised, then glanced sideways at Terran. “Three seconds.” “You have got to be kidding---“ Kor started to say. “Ready,” Veritas broke in. “Ready,” Kor snapped, looking for the warm glow he knew should have been hovering over his shoulder. Veritas just waited patiently, one lip beginning to curve upwards in amusement, but true to his word, he did not touch Kor, or even advance. The Hybrid hurriedly imagined a bowl in his mind---no, a lute---and filled it with the Gift as Ravin had taught him. Then he strummed a couple chords, and pushed the “music” outwards in Veritas’s direction, intending to shove the loquiri out of the circle toward Terran. Veritas swayed only very slightly as the bell-tone of connection reverberated through Kor’s mind. Behind him, Terran and Joran were actually swept clear off their feet. The rushing sound in Kor’s mind expanded exponentially, seeming to pour back out of Veritas and becoming so loud that the Hybrid sank to one knee with a groan, actually covering his ears even though he could not really hear anything. The loquiri truly was a demon. “That was not really what I meant---“ Veritas started to say, but Kor bounded to his feet and, shouting “Ready!”, rushed at him with head lowered like a little boy in a fight with his fellows while the loquiri’s guard seemed down. “Ready,” the loquiri laughed, and was still laughing when, a moment later, he stepped nimbly out of the way of Kor’s leap and watched the Hybrid land in the dust, half in the circle, half outside of it. True to his word, he hadn’t laid a single finger on the Hybrid. Terran was laughing as well from where he still lay on the ground. He barely got the words out of his mouth. “Ah… half… half a grain,” he chuckled. “Stick to the Fundamentals, Kor!” Veritas stepped closer to Kor and nudged him with his foot until the Hybrid wearily stood. “You cannot use Gift against a pair-link.” “It seems so.” Poor Joran looked utterly confused about what had just passed. Veritas smiled. “I hope you’re prepared. Chrys is wide-awake now, and not too happy with you.” “The Fay-el?” “Flinging the Gift against me, while linked to Chrys, only split the flow like a river, parting around a boulder or sliding through a hole. Your Gift touched Terran and your brother, spread around me, and went through me to Chrys.” Terran snickered. “You’re very good at making people angry with you, Kor.” Joran was staring at Kor as though his brother had sprouted a fish-head. The Hybrid glared at the blademaster. Veritas cleared his throat, drawing Kor’s attention back. “This time, use the Fundamentals. Only. Anything else and, unlike Terran…” he allowed his Gift to touch Kor lightly, in a gentle warning. “I can punish you without leaving bruises.” He stepped back and returned to the center of the circle, arching the shitan across his chest. “Ready.” “What does that mean?” Joran asked uncertainly. His eyes were narrowed in Veritas’s direction. “I’ll explain later,” Kor said. “It’s alright.” He glared from loquiri to blademaster for a moment. When neither seemed particularly willing to let him go, he finally bit off the words. “Fine. Ready. I’m blasted ready.” Veritas, of course, did not bother initiating combat. Kor knew full well that if he had, the fight would have been over almost instantaneously. Demon-spawned loquiri. The Hybrid sighed and melted into Crow’s Feet, realizing belatedly that he probably should have preceded it with Waving Grass or at least Darting Fish, but not really caring overly much. In a second, maybe two or three, he’d just be thrown into the dirt again anyway, so what did it matter? As he expected, he was slightly too far away from the loquiri when he thrust both shitans out before him, crossed at the wrists. Veritas casually hooked his blade downward in Falling Star, catching both of his opponent’s knives and driving them downwards. He finished by stepping sideways and behind Kor, and hooked Kor’s leg with his own in Tangled Weeds. His other arm darted across the Hybrid’s chest in Snake Pursuing Prey, and it was a simple thing, really, to straighten the leg he trapped Kor’s own with, shove Kor’s shoulder hard, and drive the slighter man to the ground. Kor saw his opening, realizing he’d fallen conveniently close to the loquiri’s feet, and attacked instinctively. He swept his right leg out, followed by the left in a scissoring motion, and tried to catch the loquiri high by the knee. But the loquiri bounded lightly out of the way with a Sparrow Hop. Veritas held his Gift and, before Kor could rise, used his Gift to smack the Hybrid. Kor flinched and glared at him. “I warned you,” Veritas said. “Fundamentals only.” “I had to do something.” He hit Kor again. The Hybrid swore. Veritas smiled. “You’re smarter than that. If you understand the workings of a human body, it is certain that you can think of a Fundamental that would have helped.” Kor stood, lifting his shitan wearily. “Ready.” “Not yet.” Veritas cocked his head. “You tell me. What would have worked when you were at my feet?” Kor did not particularly relish being treated like a small boy sitting for his lessons. “Look, why do we not simply refer to what I did as a Diagonal Step, only in the air instead of---ouch!” That one had hurt a bit more, feeling like a knife driving between his shoulder blades. “Fine,” he gritted as the pain began to recede. “I could have waited until you ventured a little closer, and used one wing of Ravin In Flight to clip you with my shitan, or a reverse Reaper’s Scythe to slice upwards.” “Or?” Veritas prompted. Kor glared and began spewing ideas rapidly, with scarcely a breath. “Well, my lord, you were probably a little too far away to get at with a thrust from Crow’s Feet or a slash from Reverse Reaper’s Scythe, but you never know. I’m pretty sure I could get at the family jewels with a Reverse Falling Star, if you get my meaning, and if you got really close, I could have grabbed your leg with Little Rock and tried to pull you off of your feet with Uprooted Tree. Oh, and I suppose I could smack you with Offered Bowl or Refused Bowl, but I’d have to drop my shitans to form my hands into the proper ridges, and that would have been stupid. Given, all of this would be stupid anyway, because I would have had no choice but to allow you to get near me, which---ow! Oh right, or I could have used Tumbling Rock to close the distance between us, and then attacked.” “Then why didn’t you?” “Well,” Kor said, resisting the urge to draw out the word like that demon-spawned Border Guard, “I suppose I had better ideas at the time.” “They did not win you the round.” “Really?” Kor gushed. “Thank you for pointing that out, my lord.” Veritas smirked. “That tongue of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one day.” He lifted his shitans again in a mocking salute. “Fundamentals. Nothing else.” Veritas backed into the center of the circle. ”Stay in the circle—upright in the circle—for ten grains.” Veritas finished. “Ready?” Kor nodded glumly. “Ready.” The Hybrid advanced in a zigzagging Waving Grass with his back shitan held high as though to shade his face from the sun and his forward shitan guarding his thigh. Veritas dove forward in a headlong rush to meet him with both of his own blades held in one hand and the other darting toward Kor’s unprotected middle in a Refused Bowl strike with the heel of his hand. Kor, for once, saw that coming, and changing his footwork suddenly to evade with a lunge to the side, launched into Dust Devil in an attempt to slip behind Veritas’s back. However, his turn was too slow, leaving the back of his head exposed for an instant too long, and the loquiri’s closed fist snapped smartly down on the back of his head in a---thankfully---bladeless Falling Star. “Five grains.” Terran said. He humphed. “See what we mean? You lasted longer.” Kor had to admit that he had a point. Joran was beginning to look hopeful that Kor might actually meet the challenge set before him. Veritas chuckled, but only backed up and saluted. “Again?” Firmly resolving not to step outside of the Fundamentals even the tiniest bit, Kor slid toward Veritas in Darting Fish, then transitioned one after the other into Dust Devil, Rushing Bull, and Weaving Grain. Compared to his earlier attempts, they blended into one another beautifully, seamless and graceful. The Fundamentals combined in such a way as to lend him more speed than he thought himself capable of, but still, he saw Veritas raising his arm to block, and thought he was about to find himself sprawled on the ground again. But then Veritas suddenly jerked, and Kor watched in amazement as the loquiri fumbled his blade and it clattered to the ground. Grinning, Kor took that opportunity to return the loquiri’s earlier favor, slamming the other man in the forehead with the flat of his shitan in victory. Joran cheered in elated amazement. Kor must have hit the loquiri harder than he thought. Veritas stumbled and sat down heavily in the dirt, his other shitan dropping uselessly into the sand beside the first. Blinking, he scrubbed a hand across his eyes, then started to scramble to his feet, but Terran caught him with a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down to the ground. “Easy. Let your head clear.” The blademaster stared in amazement at Kor. “You rapped him pretty good, Kor.” Kor heard something faintly, like dischordant music. He shook his head slowly. “I’m sensing something else.” Carefully, he cupped the loquiri’s chin and turned his head so that they stared eye-to-eye. The loquiri’s pupils seemed to be reacting normally. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?” “No… you…” The loquiri shook his head slowly, but much to vigorously for someone who might have had a head wound. Kor was relatively positive the other man was uninjured. Joran cleared his throat. “What is going on?” Kor wasn’t sure if his brother was asking him, Terran, or Veritas. “Someone is attacking Chrys,” Veritas explained, his voice rising slightly in hysteria. He shoved away Terran’s hand and jerked his face out of Kor’s grasp, then darted to his feet. “What?” Kor demanded, rising as well and trying to catch the loquiri by the upper arm to prevent him from running off. Veritas wrenched his arm free. “He was hit. I have to go to him.” Kor moved toward him again, reaching for his arm. Terran grabbed him, shaking his head vigorously. “No. Leave him. A rampaging loquiri knows no difference between friend and foe.” At Kor’s puzzled glance, Terran sighed. “He will get to his Match by whatever means necessary. If you block him, he will kill you.” Kor swallowed. “It is that strong?” “Aye. According to history, there are tales of loquiri mortally wounded dragging themselves to their Match. It’s stronger than anything, even love or hatred. Don’t get in his way.” "I won't," Kor assured him. "But I'm going with him." Terran raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for? No offense, Kor, but between Veritas and the palace guards, the situation should be easily handled. And it may not even be very serious; loquiri have a way of blowing situations out of proportion." The Hybrid picked up Terran's blades from where Veritas had dropped them on the ground and handed them to the blademaster. "Perhaps. But Jin is back at Ratacca Korr, too." “That is true.” Terran frowned and shoved his blades back into their sheaths. “I will go with you.” “I can handle the situation.” “That is precisely why I’m going with you.” He grinned at Kor’s puzzled expression. “Because you think you can handle it.” Still smirking, Terran stalked past him, leading the way back to Ratacca Korr. They followed Veritas carefully, doing their best to stay within sight of the fast-moving loquiri as he dashed through the main hall and up to the second floor. There was a brief conversation with a pair of guards and then the royal loquiri dashed upward to the topmost floor. Chrys’ royal chambers. Terran sidled up to the guards. “I have never seen him act so. Whatever could be bothering him?” He said. One guard, amber eyes narrowing, spat, “The Dragonian Fay-el is a bloody idiot. That is the problem.” Terran and Kor exchanged a glance. “What do you mean?” Terran growled. Kor, for his part, resolved not to be offended. Yet. “Came up here, demanding to see our lord Chrys. Wouldn’t be turned away, though the Fay-el was not to be disturbed. Barged in, got right in the Fay-el’s face. That’s bad enough, but the our lord Chrys tried to calm him down, tell him he was overreacting, what’d he do? Struck the Fay-el full in the face!” Terran cursed. Kor craned his neck to look past the guards into the room. “Where is he now?” The guard threw his hands up in the air. “Still in there! They fight like brothers. I did not think it was my place to stop them.” Angry voices rose once again in the room. Something shattered. Terran pushed through, despite the guard’s weak protest. When Kor moved to follow, however, the blademaster shook his head. "I am certain I can calm Jin down, or at least protect him." His eyes narrowed. You have much work to do. And I expect it done when I return." Then he turned and stalked into the room. < > The blademaster took in the situation at a glance. Jin was stalking back and forth like a cornered Derk-ra. He was focused enough that his bardic training showed. Each motion moved in a slow, fluid, calculated balance of weight and muscle—as if he were lightly dancing across the floor. Terran moved closer. Chrys stood close to the far wall, glaring fiercely at the Dragonian Fay-el. His lip bled--most likely from the hit Jin had given him—and his shoulders, arms, and hair were splattered with silver fluid, its glow nearly gone. Terran didn’t understand that until Jin swore, striding toward Chrys with a lune in one hand and then hurling it, too, at the Mara Fay-el. There was already glass on the floor from the other one. Chrys ducked, swearing in a mixture of Lodear and Common. The second lune shattered against the wall behind him, and its fluid, too, pelted him, darkening the spots. Terran heard the rustle of motion, and then the grunt of someone suddenly checked. He turned his head. Veritas was held by the shoulders between two guards, the upward sweep of their eyes a clear sign of Lodear heritage. The royal guard then. Terran turned away. That danger, at least, was under control. For now. He inched closer to the shouting duo. At the edge of his vision, Terran caught sight of the T'Ollo bard, frowning at the two of them. Well now. Maybe she can get Chrys to back off. |
| Daliah sat at the window, with her good foot tucked beneath her, enjoying the sunshine. It was a beautiful day, and while she usually longed to be outdoors, she was content in her place. Perhaps the thought of seeing Layole was what made it easy to bear. She looked back down at her father's journal. So far, she had not made much progress from fear and distraction, but she knew that in order to be a good wife, it was important that she knew her heritage. It was more confusing than she thought, as if there was some sort of code she should know. She rubbed her forehead in frustration and shook her loosened hair from its knot, letting it fall across her shoulders. "Leave it." Layole appeared at her side as she prepared to tie it back once more. "It appears so serene when it catches the sun." Daliah laughed, but left it, for there was little he asked from her. Besides, she found she rather enjoyed his flattery. "What do you think? I do know the Old Tongue, but it still confuses me." she offered him her book, and watched as his face knit in concentration. "It is not like the usual records, much more informal. They are almost like letters. To you, if I am not mistaken." "It just makes no sense. There is talk of war and inheritance, but I have no recollection of such a thing. I have... nothing." She watched the sparring outside. "Nothing at all." "You were only a child at the time." "But how can I forget my own family?" He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, taking her slowly to the door. "I have a few ideas." "Where are we going?" she struggled to keep a quicker pace, nearly laughing at her own state. He did not answer, but watched her carefully as she stumbled along. She showed a lot of improvement, considering she could barely walk a few days before. At this rate, she would be at her usual speed within the month. Clearly this was not her first injury. They walked in quiet conversation for nearly ten minutes, gaining many curious glances from those they passed. Daliah was frustrated to find that she recognized very few of them. No doubt those she did know were preparing for their journey, which she could not join. At last Layole pushed open a door and led her inside. She steadied herself on his arm as she looked around, awed by this new sight. There seemed to be thousands of books and scrolls in at least twenty different languages. They towered around her, each with its own place, none forgotten. She had never been in such a room. If she had, then she certainly learn all of the world's secrets in just a few short years. "It is the best by far for miles." Layole told her, smiling at her happiness. "We should find everything we need here." She was far too shocked to object when he sat her on a chair and walked over to one of the shelves. "You appear to be Dragonian. Did you find any names in your book? That may help." "Maira. My mother, I think." "Maira..." The name was thoughtful on his lips as he ran his thumb along his jaw. He then pulled several books from the shelf and sat them before her. She took them and began to scan the names while he went in search for more. Some of them were familiar, but they belonged to lands she already knew, not her own. Hours passed, and still nothing turned up. Daliah put a hand over her eyes in frustration while Layole stood as if to stretch. But instead, he walked to a farther shelf filled with darker tales and folklore. They began the process over, though Daliah's head ached and her eyes began to blur the words together. She envied those that had the Gift. All they would have to do was grasp a feeling from one of the books, and they would find it. She sighed as she paged through what felt like the last book in the library when she suddenly came across the names. Lord Vasset and Lady Maira of Venne. Her heart pounded. This had to be it. "I think I found them!" she called. Layole ran back to her and watched as she traced their names with the tips of her fingers, unsure of their reality. Yet she knew, somewhere in her soul she knew. "Are you certain?" Layole gestured to the cover of the book. "The existence of Venne has never been proven." "Since when has my life made sense? It has been one unbelievable story after another, with no logical reasoning. But I know this in my heart. I just... know." He took her shaking hands gently and waited for them to steady, then clasped them under his chin until the crest of emotion passed. "Do you want to find them?" he whispered. She nodded and closed her eyes, seeing her father's face as he sent her back, seeing the little girl run from war. "I have to know why..." “Why…” he prodded. She looked him in the eye. “Why I am the way I am. Why I feel the need to fight like there is a balance of justice, as if I can somehow tip the scale.” “Then we will find them. I will find the other books, call for the pack horses, whatever it takes to ease your mind. But as far as I am concerned, the way you are is the way I need to be.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “You paint me far too kindly. Will you call on me after dinner?” “You know that you never have to ask.” -------- “Blue to match the eyes of the lady.” The seamstress held the fabric against Daliah’s skin, smiling at the flattering color. She frowned after, though, to see that the future bride was not as concerned with her work as she should be. She “accidentally” stabbed her with a pin to at least draw her attention. Daliah looked down for a few seconds as the pins began to form the dress around her torso, then returned her eyes to the window. Layole was sparring with Jin, showing his skill as it deserved. She folded her hands over her chest, pride glowing beneath them until they were swatted away. “Hold still.” Another sharp prick followed the command, causing Daliah to wince. How could she contain her excitement when the man she loved was besting another? She could have jumped up and down, clapping with each stroke of his blade, cheering him on. She wanted him to know how wonderful he truly was. “It makes no difference.” the seamstress grumbled. “He cannot see you. The window is too high.” “I do not care. Just the sight of him is enough for me.” For a second, the woman regretted her words. She was only as eager as any other bride, and she did not wiggle as much. But then the cloth slipped and she sighed in frustration. “After today, I will need you for one more fitting. That is usually the day before the wedding.” Daliah nodded, not taking her eyes away as her betrothed drew blood from Jin. “Now, what sort of embroidery would you like?” “Hmm?” The sound was far away and dream-like. The seamstress poked her again. “What sort of embroidery?” She had expected to have to lead her into the answer, as she did with many indecisive children, too young to be wives, but for once, the Dragonian woman knew what she wanted. “Trees.” she answered plainly. “We met in the wood. I want to remember that.” She looked back down as Layole was injured, not wanting to see him hurt in any way. “You really do love him.” Her lips tugged back in a small smile. “He is my everything.” The seamstress pulled out her gold-colored thread and held it up for inspection before taking the dress from Daliah. “Then we will make sure that you are worthy of him.” Daliah looked at the books on the side table. “I do not think that I ever will be. But I will spend the rest of my life trying. He deserves at least that much from me.” *People of Venne, soldiers all Kept the balance with silver swords But their pride led to their fall And cut away at their life cords The enemy came swift The night held no star They were forced to drift Through their final war No survivors ever found But they live on Whenever war hooves pound Under blood red sun Soldiers scream, yearn Waiting for when Their defenders return The soldiers of Venne* |
| That evening found Kor dodging a rock lobbed at this head by Terran before he even realized the rock or the Star-cursed blademaster were there. It clattered against the outcropping behind him, and he stared for a moment in resigned disbelief at the place it had connected, then turned to glare at the man responsible. Terran made his way down from the rocky overhang as nimbly as you please, like some mountain goat descending upon a spot of grass. “Will you stop that?” He contemplated the wisdom of throwing a rock back at the bloody man, but Eppa knew he knew he’d be made to regret it. Terran strode toward him, tossing a second stone up and down casually in one hand, as though contemplating throwing it as well. The muscles in Kor’s calves tensed against his will, half expecting to have to jump out of the way any minute. “I wonder… Does your Gift make you dodge so well, or are you finally paranoid?” “Blasted well both,” the Hybrid assured him with a scowl. “And it is not paranoia unless one’s concerns are not justified. Sir.” Terran nodded and abruptly changed the subject. “How passes your watch?” Of all the… With an impatient tap of the foot, Kor spread his arms in exasperation. “Honestly, it would pass better if I could, you know, watch without being distracted by random stones that occasionally seem to fly toward my head.” “Ah, but then you won’t learn to be watchful and wary, will you?” Kor massaged his forehead with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “What can I do for you, sir?” Terran studied him for a moment. “I started training you three days ago.” “Yes,” Kor said. “The time has come to decide if I should sponsor your Confirmation.” “Oh.” Kor felt his heart speed up a little. He was filled halfway with dread and halfway with excitement about what the blademaster might be about to say. “And what have you decided, sir?” “I believe you are a headstrong, arrogant Hybrid with a sharp tongue that will surely end your life or your manhood, depending on who you cross. Yet—“ Terran continued on, ignoring Kor’s interruption. “You have proven you have enough determination, persistence, and courage to do what must be done, no matter the cost.” He smiled. “Therefore, yes, I will sponsor you. If only to see what Kyda does with you. Or to you.” The Hybrid grinned, completely unfazed except for the surprising rush of relief though him. "So, then, when am I to become a man?" he chuckled. Terran’s eyes narrowed. “Tonight.” Kor's eyes widened. "What?!" Surely the blademaster was playing a joke on him. That, or Eppa was. "But first, you have to move the rocks for the campfires to the other side of camp. The city guard came down last night to say that our fires are too close to the walls of the city." The Hybrid groaned. "I thought I was done with this!" Terran fixed him with a significant look. "Oh, you thought it would get easier once I agreed to Confirm you? Or afterwards, perhaps?" "Well..." "You have no idea." *** Terran found Layole precisely where he expected the man to be: beside his sleeping bride-to-be in the chambers they’d been given in Ratacca Korr while she recovered. “How is she?” the blademaster asked, closing the door quietly behind him. Layole held a finger to his lips. “Still healing, but I think she will feel well enough later today to wander around a bit. I’m thinking of showing her Ratacca Korr’s library. It amazes me that she is up and about so quickly. I’ve never been so glad for foreign magics.” Terran frowned his confusion. “What?” “Kor said that the great artery in her leg was severed. Did you know he has the Gift? Only they call it the Shine or Glow or something like that, where he comes from.” “I know,” Terran grunted. “He tried to throw Veritas out of the practice circle with it.” ”He tried the Gift on him?” Layole asked incredulously. “On a loquiri?” “Yes, he did.” “Did it work?” “No,” Terran laughed. “He knocked his brother and I completely off of our feet, but Veritas did not even sway.” Layole chuckled softly, stroking Daliah’s hair gently like a child petting a cat. The woman looked far less fierce in her sleep. “So, are you going to sponsor his Confirmation?” “Yes,” Terran said. “There was never a doubt in my mind that I would.” Layole raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who put him through a three-day trial,” he pointed out. The blademaster shrugged. “My questions about him were of a different nature than those one asks oneself about a boy who is about to go through Confirmation.” The warrior straightened. “I thought so. That is what you’re here to talk to me about, isn’t it?” Terran nodded. “You are about to wed this woman. Has Jin released you from your oath as Second?” “Unofficially, yes. He will announce it formally before the tribe in a few days. You’re thinking of promoting Kor?” “Yes. Or Talen.” Layole shook his head. “Talen? He’s even brasher than Kor, yet lacks Kor;s instincts and luck. Also, he’s afraid to make decisions. He second guesses himself nonstop about long term decisions---like marrying Syra, remember?---and is even worse with snap judgments. And he’s very young,” Layole sighed. “But then, so is Kor,” Terran pointed out. “Younger than Talen, in fact.” “Really?” “Twenty-two.” “Hmm.” Layold chewed at his lip in consideration. “Young enough to train.” “And Talen, only three years older, isn’t?” Layole snorted. “Talen was set in his ways by the day he tumbled from his mother’s womb. No, he’s a fine warrior and sentry, but he is no Second.” “And Kor?” “Possible. I’d like to see how he and Jin work together in the sparring ring.” “Are you free in an hour? Jin is back in camp, for now, but I have Kor hauling rocks for the next hour to, ah, work off the beating Veritas gave him. He’ll be so thrilled to have yet more sparring before him.” Layole burst out laughing, then quieted when Daliah stirred slightly. “You’re very hard on him.” “I have to be. I want to be sure of him. If he becomes Second, he will have to learn much in a very short time. If he cannot handle---“ “He won’t be hauling rocks as a Second,” Layole grinned. “Precisely. If I make him Second, his duties will be easy compared to what I’ve put him through already.” Layole frowned slightly. "I would not call them particularly easy, not where Jin is concerned. But they are...different than what he has done before." Layole glanced at Terran. "There is one minor flaw in your plan." "Oh?" Terran grinned. "Enlighten me." "I fought at Jin's side, through several battles and raids. Proving that I was willing to protect him, at the cost of everything--even myself--I had already done." Layole cocked his head. "Though Kor has fought at the Fay-el's side, it has only been a handful of times. And never in serious danger. The other problem is the matter of Talen, or any other warrior. He is a relatively untried warrior, and a Hybrid. They will not accept his command." "You do have a point," Terran admitted. "So what are you suggesting?" Layole shrugged. "When I became Second, you made me part of the honor guard. And you changed my place rarely. With Jin’s rashness and my constant nearness, I had many times that I protected him in some way or another. I had my first encounter with a Derk-ra that way, remember?” "I already had him ride with the honor guard, remember? Are you saying I should send them out to hunt derk-ra together? Because Kor fights them alone…" "No." Layole scratched his chin. "But he needs to do something---fast---to prove to the tribe that he is willing to fall so that Jin might live. If he'd been with us longer, or if we had more time to wait for him to prove himself, I am sure eventually the tribe would witness him doing his duty. But we don't have the time. We need every loyal fighter we can get, as quickly as we can get them Confirmed. And we need a Second who nobody doubts." Terran frowned. "I wonder if Chrys---" "Probably," Layole nodded. "He and Jin may not be able to stay away from one another's throats for more than a day or so at a time, but he does not want to see his kinsman killed. I'm sure he'd be willing to help ensure that Jin's Second is up to the task." "A Guild attack, you think?" The warrior shrugged. "A single Guild assassin. Gifted, and a great swordsman. Good enough that Kor will know without a doubt that Jin does not stand a chance. If he does not do what must be done, the Confirmation can simply be a Confirmation and you can begin taking a closer look into Talen's potential as Second. If he does choose to protect Jin, then we will confirm a new Second as well." "Veritas will help if Chrys asks him." Terran nodded. "You go speak with them. I will notify Jin of my decision to Confirm Kor." *** Star take the man! Kor snarled inwardly as he marched into the practice circle and found Jin sitting there in the dust looking positively annoyed. At least Kor wasn’t the only one; maybe Terran had made the Fay-el haul rocks, too, and then had cheerfully informed him he’d better be at the practice ring in ten minutes, or else. "Where is that demon-spawned Terran?" he demanded. Something deserved a good hearty kick right about then, but there was nobody and nothing around but Jin, and that was a fantastically bad idea. Kor kicked the dirt instead, then scowled at the Fay-el. "He wants to put me up against you?" "No,” Jin answered, shaking his head slowly as though contemplating and failing to understand the blademaster’s labyrinthine mind. “He wants to see how well you fight at my side against him." It turned out Terran didn’t intend for Kor and Jin to fight him, but rather for the two of them to fight him and Layole. As the blademaster arrived with the Second in tow, Layole nodded politely to Kor and said, “Good day to you. At least, for now.” You have got to be kidding… Layole was not joking, as Kor discovered when he and Jin took up their places in the circle and signaled their readiness. Terran and Layole had both crossed to them before either Hybrid or Fay-el had a chance to even contemplate advancing. Terran’s Lizard’s Scurry was terrifyingly fast as he blurred toward Kor, and the Hybrid had barely lifted his shitan to meet him when the demon-bred man darted around him in a rapid Diagonal Step and twisting Dust Devil. Kor cursed, realizing he was going for Jin, and flung himself in front of the blademaster desperately, barely managing to keep from knocking into Jin as he deflected Terran’s blow with his shitan. Beside him, Jin was parrying rapidly as Layole rained blows upon him with sword and shitan. The Second was getting most of the attacks in by far, but Jin managed to sneak in an upward cut beneath Layole’s guard, forcing the Second to turn the blade aside with a quick ringing parry. Apparently the man took that to be a challenge, because grinning gleefully, he closed the space between himself and his Fay-el with a Scorpion’s Sting and Rushing Bull, and Jin hastily jumped away in a Sparrow’s Hop, landing safely away from the Second for a heartbeat but barely able to keep his balance. In the second it took to take note of what was going on between Jin and Layole, Terran slashed his shitan at Kor’s face, catching him just above the eye despite Kor’s desperately raised shitan. The cut barely even stung, but blood flowed into his eye, blinding him. He heard rather than saw the Star-cursed blademaster chuckle as he took advantage of Kor’s blind spot with a rapid Diagonal Step and another slash at the face. Kor managed to duck this time, barely, but felt a cold, sharp slap to the back of his neck. “Duck and twist aside,” Terran growled. The kinth was probably just upset that he hadn’t been able to blind Kor on the other side. “Just ducking will lose your head.” You know what? he growled inwardly, and began tracing a lyre in his mind’ s eye, filling it with song To his right, he heard Jin’s brief exhalation of pain. “You always do that,” Layole scolded. “I’m going to break that habit out of you, even if I have to beat you bloody to do it.” Kor didn’t get a chance to turn and take a look at what was going on, because Terran, ever the relentless taskmaster, slammed his elbow into Kor’s solar plexus, and stepped daintily around him as the Hybrid doubled over, out of breath. He half-turned just in time to see the blademaster cut at Jin’s legs, taking the Fay-el’s feet out from under him with a flat-bladed Scythe. Layole and Terran saw the opportunity at the same time to claim the kill, but Kor, grinning, was faster than them both for once. As Terran bent to plant his knee on Jin’s chest, Kor poured the rowdy “Tankard Ballad” through the lyre in his mind, and allowed the Gift to sweep out away from him in a massive pulse, throwing blademaster and Second alike from their feet. Kor grinned as Jin rolled away from Terran and bounded to his feet. That grin widened as the Fay-el turned to repay Layole for the blow he’d landed earlier, then fell from his face as Terran, moving like the snake he was, seemed to uncoil from the ground… directly behind Jin. The Hybrid shouted a warning, but it was too late. Grabbing the Fay-el’s hair in a rough grasp, the blademaster wrenched Jin’s head backwards and placed his shitan at the great artery in his throat. “Yield,” Terran demanded, as much to Kor as Jin. Jin’s throat moved. A moment later he got the words out. “I yield.” The blademaster shoved him away toward Kor, snapping, “Always watch your back. Always.” *** Later, sitting with Joran by the campfire, Kor noticed the Fay-el sitting by himself before a cold fire pit, massaging one shoulder. The Hybrid’s eyes narrowed; that was the shoulder that had been injured by Daliah. Calling on the Gift, he swept his senses gently toward the man, frowning deeper when the discordant music thrummed back at him. That was definitely pain Jin was feeling, and more than should have been earned during a sparring session, even at Terran’s hands. “Kor?” Joran asked. “Shinar to Kor,” Talen snapped impatiently. Kor blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” “You’re on ‘I will act justly’,” Joran prompted him. The oaths. Right. He nodded, distracted. “A moment, brother. Talen.” He rose to go to Jin. “How is the shoulder?” he asked, kneeling down on the ground in front of the Fay-el. “How do you think it is?” Jin growled. Clearly, his mood had not improved any. Kor pointed out the obvious, reasonably. “I think it hurts. It saw a lot of action today.” After the two of them had sparred Terran and Layole, the blademaster had sent Jin and his Second off to Ratacca Korr for an hour to work on Jin’s Rising Star. Obviously, it had not been a particularly pleasant learning experience for the Fay-el. “Did you sense that, with your Gift?” Jin asked. glaring at him suspiciously. Kor did not quite understand this distaste for the Gift, but he didn’t overly blade Jin; he himself knew how strange it was, and dangerous. “Yes.” He offered a smile and added, “And I saw you rubbing it. Do you want me to Mend it?” Did Kor’s little eyes deceive him, or did the Fay-el actually look nervous? No, surely not! “Ah…like what you did for Daliah?” Kor nodded and Jin looked even less comfortable, if that was possible. “Do I need to ah…lie down or anything?” Kor considered. Had it mattered that Veritas had had him and Ravin lay Daliah out on the ground when the loquiri had first offered to Mend her? He smiled and shrugged. “That is how I was taught, so just in case, I would suggest it.” With a sigh, Jin stretched out flat on his back. He flinched but didn't move as Kor leaned over him, fingers probing the ache. “Just some minor muscle strain,” Kor said reassuringly. “The wound has knit, but there is scar tissue, inflamed by over-activity.” He glanced over his shoulder for the glow, and barely resisted reaching out to touch it with one hand. Carefully, he began tracing the blessing points in the air above the Fay-el. Each was a little whirlpool, flowing naturally into the next. He marked smaller spirals over Jin’s temples. “This is a Mending?” Jin asked skeptically. “No, this is.” Kor poured the Gift out of himself slowly and Jin jumped. The song of the pattern and the answering roar of Jin’s vibrantly healthy spark warred discordantly. Grimacing, Kor changed the rhythm of the pattern to three-four and lowered it to E-flat. It was still too loud, though, and he pulled back on the Gift, changing the dynamic from fortissimo to forte. There. The pattern formed of Kor’s own Gift and Jin’s spark finally rang harmoniously in the Hybrid’s mind and he wove them together, then he gently lowered the pattern onto Jin. They both shuddered, and Jin gasped, eyelids fluttering as though he were about to lose consciousness. Kor’s heart skipped a beat. Had he done it wrong? “Did I hurt you?”. “No,” Jin said. “This is….amazing.” He was blinking, his eyes staying closed longer each time. Kor at back on his heels and smiled. “You should go to your tent if you want to sleep.” The Fay-el murmured something noncommittal, then seemed to come back to himself long enough to sit up and insist he was not tired. His yawn belied his words. “Go to bed, Jin,” Kor laughed. With a wry frown, Jin said. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll be up most of the night anyway.” Kor watched the Fay-el walk back to his tent, stumbling slightly in drowsiness. He shook his head, then wandered up to Joran and Talen. "What?" he asked. "Nothing," Talen said, shaking his head. Nodding goodbye, he left the two brothers to rehearse Kor's oaths. *** Layole glanced up from his book as the blademaster returned. Terran was grinning from ear to ear. “What has you in such a good mood?” ”Jin allowed Kor to Mend his shoulder. And then Kor sent him to bed.” Layole’s eyebrows arched. “And Jin obeyed?” “More or less.” Terran settled on the ground, arms crossed over his burly chest. “So, what did Lord Veritas say?” With a snort, Layole set the book down. “He was thrilled at the prospect of drubbing the Hybrid again. I think he likes Kor, in his own way. There is another matter he brought up.” Terran arched an eyebrow in question. “Kor’s Gift. I am not entirely sure why, but Kor knows how to recognize a pair-link.” “So?” “He knows Veritas is a loquiri. And he knows Guildsmen are… not.” “Ah. What does he suggest?” The Second dug through his pocket. Held up a small vial. “Somna. Little known loquiri-secret. This dulls the Gift. But you’ll have to figure out a way to get him to drink it.” “I’ll find a way. Perhaps I’ll add it to wine and give a... toast to a pupil’s completion.” He grinned. Layole laughed. “If Kor thinks you’ll leave him alone after his Confirmation, he has much to learn. You still scold Jin, and his was more than ten years hence. Better that I be the one to do it. I’ll bring him a nice cup of kolinar.” Terran shrugged. “As you will. So, when can we expect Veritas and Chrys to arrive?" “After nightfall—about midway through the Confirmation. When I left, Veritas was convincing Chrys to dress as a spice merchant.” "A spice merchant? A Lodear spice merchant?" Terran laughed. "Good thing Kor doesn't know the differences between the provinces." Layole smiled. "Agreed." He stood and stretched. “I am going to bring a nice cup of somna---I mean kolinar---to Kor and see if he has his oaths memorized yet.” Terran laughed. “You do that.” *** Kor took one whiff of the drink and then passed it back to Layole. “This isn’t just kolinar,” he said bluntly. Layole’s eyes widened only slightly, before he explained smoothly, “No, it’s not. It’s somna, with kolinar.” Kor scowled. “Why are you drugging me?” “You’re Gifted.” “Excuse me?” Layole sighed. “The Confirmation is a test of… martial strength. It would be unfair for you to have an advantage that others lack.” The Hybrid nodded pensively. “Makes sense. Kolinar is a stimulant. Somna is a sedative. They should counteract one another, yet still deaden the Gift. If the proportions are correct.” He cocked his head at Layole. “You could have just told me,” he pointed out, sipping from the cup. Layole was watching him carefully. “Sorry. I did not know how you would react.” Kor took another sip, and winked. “If I complained, I would hardly have a right to go through Confirmation at all, don’t you think? I respect your traditions.” Layole grimaced, but Kor did not seem to notice. “Feel it yet?” “A little.” “Good.” Layole grinned. “Once it takes effect, we should go practice your sparring.” “You have got to be kidding---“ “Yes, I am,” the Second winked. *** Jin watched the preparations, bemused. For once, he had slept well and undisturbed. The Keeper rested a hand on his shoulder and he glanced back. "It is time." Jin nodded and stood. The moons were within one hour of their zenith. If all went well, the ceremony would reach its height in tune with the height of the moons. He caught Terran's gaze and flicked his eyes aside, toward where he had last seen Kor. The blademaster nodded. As sponsor, he was to present the "boy". When Terran had disappeared from sight, Jin stepped into the circle, crossing to the center. The tribe was still conversing loudly, even when Jin took his place in the circle. But when Terran and Kor emerged a moment later, a hush fell over them like a wave, broken only by occasional whispers. Half were there to see Kor finally welcomed into the tribe. Others were curious about whether the Hybrid could actually do what was required of him to become one of the Shinar. It was said that Kyda would not allow a boy who was not Shinar at heart to pass through the Confirmation, even if that boy had practiced and perfected his Fundamentals and oaths for a thousand days. Jin, his arms crossed over his chest, addressed Terran and Kor from the remoteness of the center of the circle. “Guardian of the Shinar, Sair of untried boys, who is this stranger you bring forth to step within this circle of the tribe of Shinar?” “My Fay-el, his name is Kor na Quatian, son of Renji na Shinar, who in life was a warrior of the Tribe, and Evali na Quatian, who in life was a woman of the Aquilan people.” “He may not pass. Only one whose heart is pure, strength is true, and Kyda’s blessings resting upon him may.” “The boy has proven all of these, and more. What else must be said?” Terran responded. Jin stalked closer. “Can the boy speak for himself?” He turned, scowling at Kor. “Thrice I ask, and done. By what right do you make this claim?” Kor stepped forward. “By Dragon’s heart.” “But Mother’s name,” the Fay-el pointed out stoically. “Thrice asked and done. Child of Aquila, by what right do you make this claim?” “By strength of arms and past battle fame,” the Hybrid responded promptly. “Thrice asked and done,” Jin said, unmoved. “Son of Renji, by what right do you make this claim?” “By Blood and Light, which none can tame,” Kor answered fiercely. “So it has been said; so it has been claimed; so it has been done.” Jin stepped back. “Enter this circle, boy of Shinar and be welcome.” Kor crossed into the circle, and came to stand before Jin. “But be it known that a boy cannot serve his tribe. What boy can slay the tribe’s enemies or protect the wife of his heart? Are you a boy, Kor na Quatian, or a man?” “I am a man, Fay-el, and let any who doubt it speak their challenge now.” Talen appeared at the edge of the circle. “I will test the word and arm of this initiate.” Jin nodded gravely. “Enter, Talen na Shinar, then, into the circle, and let Kor na Quatian prove that he is a man of the tribe.” The warrior strode forward toward Kor and Jin, the latter of which stepped back just outside the far side of the circle. The two young men faced one another in the center, crossing their shitans over their chests in Brakir’s Shield and bowing. Their eyes never left one another. Slowly at first, then with steadily increasing speed and finesse, they passed through the Fundamentals in a rapid exchange that was far more dance than fight. Rarely did their blades actually threaten one another, but when they did the clash of shitan on shitan rang loudly over the assembled. Kor darted through the moves gracefully, all agile precision. Talen was slightly slower, but more powerful, as he encouraged the younger man toward greater heights of speed and artfulness. At last they broke off, having demonstrated each of the thirty-two Fundamentals singly or in succession, and stepping out of Derk-ra’s Claw, bowed again in Brakir’s Shield. Jin returned to the center of the circle. “The challenge has been given and the challenge has been met. You entered the circle, Kor na Quatian, a boy. Speak the words and leave, confirmed a man of Shinar.” Kor stepped across the circle’s line and advanced on Jin, pausing within striking distance of his Fay-el. He dipped his head in a respectful nod and began. “I do solemnly swear upon my honor, upon my shitans, and upon the blood that flows through my veins to be true to the tribe of Shinar, and to serve honestly and faithfully against all enemies whatsoever. I will go about my duties with integrity, that I may always be worthy of trust and confidence. I will act justly, and speak justly, for the betterment of the tribe. I will keep alert, stand firm in my oath, and be courageous and strong, that I may protect hearth and family, clan and tribe. I also solemnly swear upon my honor, upon my shitans and upon the blood that flows through my veins---“ “Hold!” Jin snapped, eyes widening in obvious surprise. His attention jumped to the blademaster, who was standing beside Layole, both men grinning ear to ear. The whispers of surprised tribesmen swelled. Jin’s eyes narrowed. “Terran, you are…” He trailed off. A shadow among the shadows moved, campfire glinted on a blade as the figure leaped over the circle’s line and charged, too fast to be normal, straight for the Fay-el. Kor, already confused by Jin’s sudden interruption of the oath Layole had taught him earlier, was taken by surprise by the charging figure. For a moment, he wondered if this was some kind of other unexpected part of the ritual, like Jin’s interruption. But it did not matter; nobody was supposed to be in the circle but him and Jin without invitation; Layole and Terran had both made that blatantly clear. It was obvious the man was here for Jin, not Kor, but the Hybrid was already beginning to move to intercept the man’s path as the figure charged. As soon as the stranger passed through the firelight, Kor knew without a doubt something was wrong. He caught a hint of deep-desert garb before the man, grinning beneath his hood, suddenly called on the Gift. Kor did not need to have his own Gift active to know what it was; everyone in the camp saw as both Kor and Jin were swept up by a massive pulse and thrown brutally backwards. The Hybrid crashed into the Fay-el and the two of them landed in a breathless heap on the ground. “Kor, get back!” Jin snapped, as the younger man bounded to his feet and, snarling, launched himself at the Mara. Kyda help us, he’s a Guildsman, Jin thought. His fingers reached for a non-existent janin. He had not carried his weapons with him. There was no need in Confirmation. The Mara attacker blurred through Fundamentals, too fast to make sense of which he used. Kor skirted, twisted, and was shoved to the ground. The Guildsman kicked his ribs brutally and leaped over him. Jin sidestepped the man’s charge, but he moved with him. The blade darted for his eyes. Twisting aside, Jin avoided the first hit, but not the following one as the man suddenly changed direction and rapped him with the hilt of the blade. Dazed, Jin stumbled and felt his feet get whipped from beneath him. He landed on his back, wheezing. The man planted a foot on his chest and jerked the blade high, into the Scorpion’s Sting. A killing blow. Kor was not really thinking what he was doing. All he saw was the fall of the assassin's blade, and knew that it could not be allowed to touch Jin. He surged to his knees and half fell over the Fay-el as the blade slammed downward. Kor’s weight pressed him into the sand, and then rolled aside. Jin jerked to his feet, eyes taking in the moment at a glance. The assassin had stepped back, blade hanging at his side. There was blood everywhere. Kor’s blood. Jin whirled and, dropping to one knee to grab one of Kor’s shitans, charged in Rushing Bull at his would-be assassin. The Guildsman whirled, jabbed an elbow into his stomach, and shoved him aside. “Really Jin, can we stop this? It’s hard to not hurt you.” Jin gawked. “Veritas? What – how – “ His voice sharpened and he glanced aside toward his blademaster. “Terran.” The loquiri laughed. “Aye. Who else?” Clenching his teeth, Jin whirled to crouch beside the Hybrid. The gash from Veritas’ blade ran from his left shoulder diagonally to beneath his right rib. Not a fatal wound, but the man would be abed for days while it knit. “Get Turoc,” Jin snapped. “No.” Veritas’s voice held sharp command. Jin swiveled to glare daggers at the loquiri. “Do not interfere with my orders.” “I can Mend, Jin. He’ll heal much faster that way.” “You’ve done quite enough already. And you too,” he growled as the blademaster came into view. Jin scowled and focused on the Hybrid. Kor’s eyes opened. “Jin?” He started to sit up, but Jin held him firmly. “I’m here. I’m fine.” “What?” He looked around. Veritas was standing behind Jin, amusement and worry warring in his eyes. “You,” Kor snarled, starting to rise again, but Jin caught him by the shoulders and shoved him down again, calling for Turoc and gesturing angrily for Veritas to get away. “Veritas,” Terran called. Chrys had appeared at his shoulder. The loquiri’s eyes slid away from Kor to the blademaster in annoyance, then back again. Terran called him again. “Not now,” Veritas snapped, then flinched and glared daggers at Chrys. “I don’t understand,” Kor hissed. Jin shook his head, glaring at the royal loquiri over his shoulder. “It is hard to explain,” he sighed. “Let me ex---“ Terran started to say, but Jin pointed angrily toward Turoc’s tent. “Get Turoc now!” “Don’t be stupid, Jin,” Chrys snapped. “Let us Mend him.” “I already said, you have all done enough.” “Jin,” Terran said reasonably as Turoc arrived, “Let me explain.” He waved the Fay-el toward him. As Jin rose and Terran led him away, Veritas and Chrys stepped closer to Kor. The elderly healer looked from nobleman to royal in confusion. "No," Kor groaned, echoing Chrys's earlier words to him. "Not you." “Hush, Hybrid.” Chrys said. He yanked the dreamstone over his head, holding it out in Veritas’ general direction. The loquiri took it with a frown. “Chrys, you really shouldn’t—“ “Leave me be. I want him well for my kinsman. Besides, I need to return a favor.” He grinned, his expression closer to Ravin’s smirks than an easy-going humor. “Go away! … my lord,” Kor added belatedly. “Turoc is perfectly capable—“ he gasped, wincing in pain. “I think you bruised a rib,” he wheezed. “All the more reason for me to help.” “Bloody….” Kor flinched again. He sighed. “I see why Jin would hit you.” Chrys snorted, but did not respond. He rested his hands on each shoulder, gathering his Gift. The Dragonian Healer was fretting behind him, obviously unable to grasp Veritas’ patient explanation of Gifts and Mending. Chrys ignored it. “Ready?” “Not rea—ah,” Kor blinked in drowsy amazement. Chrys took merely a fraction of the time it took Kor to summon the Gift, trace the pattern, match another’s spark, and empower the pattern to complete a Mending. Between one breath and another, Kor went from a pain-filled daze to a pain-free daze. Chrys hadn’t even traced the blessings in the air. “Better?” Chrys asked. Kor had lost a moment when Veritas returned his dreamstone. It hung once again around the Fay-el’s neck. He was leaning, wearily, against Veritas. “Mmm,” Kor murmured groggily. Veritas chuckled. “That was a yes.” Chrys smirked. “Better get him standing before he falls asleep.” The royal loquiri grabbed Kor’s arm and pulled him carefully to his feet, leaning the unsteady Hybrid against his shoulder. “Don’t move too quickly. The more wounded you are, the more weary you are after the Mending.” Jin tramped into view, sending angry glares Terran’s direction, who had followed close behind and now stood at easy attention. “It seems the blademaster wished to test you, Kor. Without my knowledge or permission.” Now that Kor was standing, Joran’s mother released him to run to his brother’s side. But before he could cross the line of the circle, Jin whirled, and throwing a hand out, shouted, “This Confirmation is not yet over! Everyone, clear out of the circle.” He glared at Veritas and Chrys. “Are you quite done?” “Aye,” Chrys said. “Then get out.” Veritas hesitated, but pushed Kor gently toward Jin. The Fay-el caught him by the upper arm, steadied him. The two Mara walked to the perimeter of the circle. “Kneel, and complete your oaths,” Jin said. He eased the Hybrid down. “Afterward, you have some explaining to do,” Kor said lowly. “Yes, I do.” He nodded for Kor to begin. Kor began again, slowly. It was clear that he was tired enough he was having some trouble recalling his lines, but still the words came out perfectly. When he reached the point where Jin had cut him off earlier, he glanced questioningly at the Fay-el, wondering if he was free to continue this time. Jin nodded. “I solemnly swear upon my honor, upon my shitans and upon the blood that flows through my veins to protect my Fay-el in every way possible; I will always put his needs and life ahead of mine, and if necessary sacrifice my own life. Be it known that I have entered into this obligation freely.” “Thrice sworn and thrice done,” Jin reminded him. “I do solemnly swear upon my honor.” Kor was already kneeling, but he bowed his head before Jin. “I do solemnly swear upon my shitans.” He removed one, handing it to Jin. “I do solemnly swear upon the blood in my veins.” With the other he slashed a shallow line across his palm. “Kor,” Jin said softly. The Hybrid looked up, weariness traced in his face. “I must tell you why Terran did what he did.” Kor’s eyes slid to Jin’s uncut palm and then back to his face. “Did I fail? Was that part of my Confirmation and I did it wrong?” Jin smiled. “No. Not at all.” He took a deep breath. “Terran was testing you, proving to himself that you would…that you had the quality of a Second.” At Kor’s look of confusion, he continued. “A man such as Layole.” Jin paused, thinking through how to explain the concept. “You understand the loquiri?” “A pair-linked, Gifted bodyguard.” “Well, a Second is kind of like that, except not pair-linked or Gifted.” He cocked his head. “Well, not usually Gifted. You’re an exception. Or will be. Provided you’re willing. Terran would have had you complete your oaths regardless of your consent.” His eyes narrowed at the blademaster. “But Terran is not Fay-el here.” Kor smiled wearily. “I have already given my consent,” he said softly, his hand rising to his chest. Jin smiled. “Aye, you have.” He took a step back and held his hand up, slashing his palm. Blood welled, spattering the sand. “I do solemnly swear upon my honor, upon my janin, and upon the blood that flows in my veins, to provide for you as long as you are within my service, to yield the respect and honor a Second deserves,” he smiled at the hiss from those around them at the word Second, “And to release you from my service as willingly as you have given it. I do solemnly swear upon my honor, upon my janin, and upon the blood that flows in my veins.” With that, Jin held his blood-smeared palm out and Kor clasped it. “Thrice sworn and thrice done,” the Hybrid rasped. Jin smiled and released him, stepping back. “So may the Keeper remember the Confirmation of Kor na Shinar naj Quatian.” |
| Ravin didn't need to yawn. He'd spent enough patrols on the border to be able to keep himself awake basically at need. He'd found more than a few uses for that particular skill. Most weren't so annoying. ***** "Explain to me again why I need to follow them? And try to make it sound like it makes sense this time." Veritas frowned at the border guard. "You are following them, out of sight, in case the Guild tries to ambush them. You are uniquely suited to going undetected by Gifted individuals, yet are more capable than most of those same Gifted individuals of sensing the Gift in others. You are an expert at both stealth and surprise, and you are an extremely skilled fighter. They might need you, but Gyas's crime is not something that any chance can be taken with." Ravin smirked. "Uniquely suited." He leaned towards the loquiri, letting honest fury show through. "You mean I am culled!" Veritas didn't flinch. "That's right. By your own choice, don't forget." Ravin fumed. Then he backed away. "They are leaving at dawn. And Ravin? Be very careful before you test the slack you are shown in this place again." ***** Slack? Bah. I do as I am bid. The three who were openly going after Gyas were certainly taking their time getting ready. They are so inconsiderate of anyone who might want to follow them. And just think, I may get to inform them of that after saving all of their lives. Ravin smiled at that thought. ***** The trip itself was uneventful, other than the two Derk-ra. Either they hated each other, or the big female was going to mount the smaller one soon. I'm sure the trainer would find that ever so amusing. Ravin wasn't close enough to hear their banter, but they'd need to stop for the night soon. He'd be able to get a couple of hours' sleep then. Then he saw the three of them stare off farther down the sandy road. After focusing his own gaze for a moment he spotted the rider they'd seen. He slipped closer, shuffling along the sand, winding and bending to look like nothing so much as a gust of wind in his cloak, close enough to hear what would be said. The approaching rider led a second horse and rider. Both wore hoods shadowing their faces completely in the evening gloom. The lead rider raised both hands as he approached, showing himself to be unarmed. His voice was husky. He's Guild, and not one of their polite types, either. "Greetings, messengers of Ratacca Korr. I have a message and a token to present to you." Ravin's shitan slipped into his hand comfortably. Kharme couldn't resist her curiosity. "A token?" Jaara glared her into silence, then spoke. "You know more than you should if you know where we ride from. Who do you ride for?" "I ride for the Guild." Ravin shifted slightly to bring his arm back. One twitch and his blade would cross the distance in the time it took that Guildsman to blink. It'll need to to stop his Gift before it starts. Kharme looked around them nervously. You won't see any ambush until it's done, little girl. "That's a very bold statement for someone who knows where we ride from. You must also know what has recently transpired there, and likely our mission as well." The Inquisita wasted no time. "Deliver your message and token, we have little time to waste." The rider bowed, and remained so as he spoke. "The Masters of the Guild humbly acknowledge their guilt in allowing such a heinous crime to be committed by one of their members. The Guild wishes to assure Ratacca Korr and those who dwell within that the Guild has purged itself of such treasonous individuals and the plots they had developing, whether against the High Fay'El or no." Ravin almost laughed. Kyda forbid your damn Guild actually take responsibility for its plots. The Guildsman stepped from his saddle, striding over to the horse he'd been leading. "I am also to give you a token of our goodwill, to offer proof of our sincerity." He slashed something on the side of the saddle, and the rider fell off into his arms. He carried the thrashing, and now clearly bound, body back towards them, then dropped it onto the sand before them. Jaara glanced at Hamen. He nodded and lowered himself to the ground. Maheen kept beside him as he approached the weakly struggling form. The border guard squinted. Whoever it is, they're gagged. They aren't doing more than groan. Hamen reached down, lifting the hood aside so he could look beneath, then stumbled backwards in shock. Kharme jerked, but Jaara held one hand out before her and waited for Hamen to find his words. He swallowed before speaking. "It's Gyas." Jaara glared at the Guildsman. "Does the Guild believe this will excuse an attack on the High Fay'El's home?" He bowed once again. "Of course not, the Guild acknowledges that it will be many years of dutiful service towards the betterment of all the Mara before we are forgiven. We can only offer this first token as a start." Jaara lowered her arm to her side, then jerked her head around behind her. "Get him on his feet, Hamen. He can walk back." She waved a dismissive hand at the Guildsman. "Go back to your masters. Your message is delivered, your token received. Now they await the pleasure of the Fay'El." He bowed and turned away. The trainer nodded at Jaara's command, then sighed quietly as Kharme spoke up. "Shouldn't we ask Gyas some questions now? For example: Is this man who delivered him telling the truth?" Jaara glanced at Hamen, then frowned when he shook his head. "Gyas can answer no questions we may have." "I don't understand. That sounds like a simple enough question, and if he's not conscious he's sure doing a good job of standing up." The trainer stared at Kharme, all but holding the former Guildsman and Lord on his feet. "To answer he would need a tongue to speak, and eyes to know who had brought him. The Guild has claimed both." Ravin narrowed his eyes. So that's their game. Take away everything but the actual legal punishment for the crime. No Guild secrets revealed, but they get to pretend it's a fair gesture. Kharme's eyes widened, then she visibly swallowed back something. Jaara only glared at the rider as he rose back onto his mount. "His eyes have seen things none outside the Guild may see, his tongue can say things none outside the Guild may hear. He forfeited them when he betrayed the Guild." "And his Gift? Was that a possession of the Guild's as well?" The most jealously guarded of all Ravin thought with a sneer. "Of course. He will not give you any trouble on your way back." Of course not, he's going to be too busy feeling hollowed-out by his loss of Gift. Raw fury seethed beneath Jaara's voice. "This is not a very generous gift you offer to your Fay'El, Guildsman. If I thought the Guild was afraid of Kyda I might say you just didn't want to kill him yourself." "It is not our place to deliver the Fay'El's punishment, only our own. Go in peace, and know that the Guild will ever be watchful to safeguard the High Fay'El in the future." The Guildsman bowed one more time, then turned his horse and rode back the way he'd come. Hamen sighed once he was out of earshot. "I suppose we should head back to that last batch of tents and stake ourselves out a spot far enough away from everyone else that we won't need to worry about Gyas here." Ravin tensed. No reason to put this off anymore. Just gonna get annoying soon. The trainer grunted, pushing the former Guildsman ahead of him, and Ravin threw just as he did. His aim was perfect. Hamen fell back with a curse as the blind, mute, and now dying man fell back onto him. Kharme screamed. He slipped out from under the man, biting back the curse he'd been about to level at him at the sight of the shitan jutting from his throat, blood burbling around it as Gyas tried to scream his last breath. His own dagger was out and ready to fly when Ravin made his entrance. "Hold yourselves. I'm not here to humble you, just to make sure you get things done. Aaaaaaand I seem to have done just that." Jaara glared daggers sharper than the one Hamen held at him as he trumped forward, brushing off his sand-cloak. He waved at Gyas's prone form. "Goodbye, Gyas. I enjoyed meeting you far more than most I am forced to meet over the course of my duties, if it's any consolation." Gyas's death rattle didn't sound very relieved. Kharme found her voice, and loudly. "You murdered him! We had him! We were going to take him back to Ratacca Korr! He couldn't even see, and you murdered him! Why!?" Ravin smirked at Jaara, then Hamen. "Oh? So no one else is going to state the obvious to our less-than world weary friend?" He chuckled, causing Kharme to gag. "He was going back to Ratacca Korr to be questioned. He was going to be tortured until we couldn't get any more information out of him, then he was going to be killed. He can't talk, or even see to write anything, so we couldn't very well do that. All that was left was killing him. So I saved us all the trouble of having to watch him stumble back." He smirked up at Kharme now. "Now we can tie him to a horse and drag him." Kharme sputtered. "You have no right to just murder him! Do you have so little respect for life that you would condemn him like that?" Ravin shrugged. "Clearly." His smirked shifted into a sarcastically apologetic look at the expression on Jaara's face. "Aw... Someone looks jealous. As the ranking Inquisita in attendance, it would have been your responsibility by default to kill him, now wouldn't it?" His cruel sarcasm vanished. "Unless another person was appointed to do the deed." Jaara ignored Kharme's ever-more-horrified stare. "If we return and find that you have overstepped your bounds, we shall see exactly how well a culled sand-swallower does in chains with a slighted Inquisita wielding the tools of her trade." "You should have added pregnant to that description. Now that's terrifying." Ravin laughed. It was going to be a much more enjoyable trip home. |
| Seated side by side at the campfire, Jin and Kor watched the proceedings, the latter with obvious weariness. Jin agreed with the feeling. If he had his choice, he would go to bed already. But he needed to remain, even for a short time, to ensure the festival ran smoothly and confidence soared high. The people did not need to worry at the condition of their chieftain, or his new Second. And Kor needed to be there to accept congratulations and answer questions. Not that he seemed particularly in the mood for anything but sleep. Sand rasped and Jin swiveled, and then scowled. “No, Terran. Not tonight.” The blademaster shook his head. He held up the ribbons—blue and scarlet; minstrel and chieftain—and sighed. “You need to at least look like you’re trying.” “No.” “Jin, quit being bloody stubborn. You know…” he bit his lip and dropped his voice softer. “Elam cannot inherit. You know it.” Kor glanced from blademaster to Fay-el, seeming only to really notice for the first time that a conversation was taking place over him. He blinked. "What is going on?" Terran smirked. Jin sighed. “It may not be so any longer, but at one time, the Confirmation was held as a large festival, for a week at a time, and all the tribes came together. The men who were unmarried threaded ribbons through their hair, and the women tried to free the ribbons. Those who managed were granted a dance. At that time, a dance invariably led to more, either wooing or…well….” Jin cleared his throat. “No longer do all tribes gather now, but the tradition remains.” He sighed again, deeper. “I am widowed, and thus unmarried. And desperately needing an heir, which they all know—“ he gestured at the people celebrating. “The blademaster here is insisting I do as I should, wear the ribbons and live with the consequences.” “You should.” “I love Karli.” Terran leaned into his face. “She is dead.” Jin flinched, but Terran only continued. “You must have an heir.” Kor quirked a sympathetic smile at the Fay-el. “It does not sound as though this game confers any obligations.” “No, but….” He sighed. “After a few dozen times, it can get tiresome. And I don’t…” Jin paused. “I wish sometimes they saw Jin the minstrel, not Jin the chieftain.” Standing, Jin jerked the ribbons from Terran’s hand and, pulling his own hair back into a neat tail, looped the ribbon around the end. “I should knot it,” he snapped. Terran arched a brow. “And repeat last time?” Jin grimaced. “No. I like my hair on my head.” At Kor’s questioning look. “They just tugged harder, didn’t realize it was knotted.” “They did free it though. Determined women.” “Terran—“ Jin shook his head. “Just be quiet.” And walked out into the celebrants. “So,” Kor said with forced lightness after a long moment of silence, “How long have you been planning… this?” “Your Confirmation? Three days.” Kor rubbed his temple. “You know what I mean.” Terran sighed. “I have been considering it for a few days. You and Jin have a… way of working together. That is important. The actual plans, however, those were solidified today.” The blademaster stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You will make a good Second. Just remember—“ He waited until Kor looked up. “You have the authority. Only Jin is higher than you, and… if necessary, you can command Jin. For his health and safety.” Terran smiled. “Ask Layole questions, if you must, but do remember your authority. If you push long enough and hard enough, even Jin will bend.” “Can I command him to go to bed?” Terran laughed. “Now, are you asking for his sake, or yours?” “Both.” Kor sighed. Terran smiled. "I am certain he is as tired as you." He glanced at the group, grinning wider as a dark-haired lass crept behind the Fay-el. "I would suggest waiting for a few minutes at least and then send him to bed." The lass shifted, and in obvious flirtation, laid her head on Jin's shoulder. He backed away, his feigned smile wobbling as he shifted her to arms' length. Terran chuckled. "I have a feeling he'll be grateful." ~*~ Fear. Surprise. Power. Breaths held with subdued shock. So may the Keeper remember the Confirmation of Kor na Shinar naj Quatian. A roar, shadows flickering with firelight. Ribbons adorn men’s hair. The ribbons are colored. Taken by women, giggling. Music, some odd flutes, horn, strings, a drum for the beat. With a last small dot of ink, Caylia folded her notes and stuck them in a small hip pouch to be recorded and written later in her own quarters at Ratacca Kor. Around her the Dragonian camp buzzed, and celebrated, oblivious almost to her presence. The music turned and her fingers itched to join in, to play, let the notes soar between the beat but that wasn’t why she was here tonight. She had lost Chrys and Veritas long ago, when they first came to the camp and her own curious feet took her to follow her own whimsy, but a camp preparing for a confirmation wasn’t the best incite into Dragonian culture. But the confirmation in and of itself was worth it. With a small, secret smile, she touched her hip pouch again. A Dragonian confirmation and the induction of a new Second. Of a hybrid no less! A story more precious than gold. She wished she could be there to see the faces of the Masters once they received it. If it hadn't come from her, would they even believe it? A young girl bumped into her and disappeared again, and Caylia remembered where she was. There was one more thing to do before she left. She found the new Second at a campfire, just away from the main celebration that was meant for him. At her approach, he whirled around, somewhat dizzily, then his shoulders relaxed as he saw a Mara that wasn’t going to attack him with a knife. He smiled before she could say a word. “Caylia, is it?” She smiled in return, hiding the surprise that he remembered her name. “Yes,” she affirmed. “I just wanted to take a moment to congratulate you. It is a great honor to be promoted to Second.” Kor shook his head ruefully. “I am still trying to get past the part where it is blasted confusing to be thus promoted, but yes, I suppose it is an honor, isn’t it? Even if one must be cut up to earn it.” He scowled at the Dragonian blademaster, and his confirmation sponsor. The blademaster in turn was too busy scowling out into the crowd. My isn’t everyone cheerful tonight. She couldn’t blame the new Second too much however. He looked ragged, and pale, even in the low light of the campfire. The Dragonian Fay-el joined them at that moment, breaking away from the other celebrants, and sinking down next to the blademaster, looking almost as ragged as his Second. Unlike his Second, however, he wore ribbons in his hair. It was odd seeing him not angry or throwing lunes. “What is this… game you play, Fay-el?” Caylia asked, nodding at the ribbons. Most of the young men of the tribe had them, the women stole them, but she would need more than that to expand her notes. Jin scowled, then seemed to remember himself. “A courtship ritual, of sorts,” he sighed. Healer turned Second yawned. “He hates it,” he said. “Aye, I do.” He glanced at Caylia and smiled. “You went to the School, yes?” She smiled as he skillfully changed the subject and dipped her head in response. “I did.” “Does Nyello still teach there? Or did he finally buy that oasis land and settle down? He’s been threatening to do that for years.” She laughed. "Trinity yes he's still there, but he shaved his beard in an attempt to look younger. So far he hasn't fooled a soul." Pausing, she cocked her head. "How did you know of him?" “He was one of my teachers. I remember his lessons all too well.” At that Caylia arched her brows and he cleared his throat. “I spent some time at the School. A few years, until…” A pause, a swallow. “Until Karli died.” A million words and a million questions battled each other on Caylia's tongue leaving nothing for the wind to take. Finally she found her voice again. "When? Why? I never knew..." she shook herself, trying to find her composure. "I'm sorry, Fay-el, forgive me. It's not unheard of for those outside the Mara to study at the School...but just not common." She looked at him again with a half smile of wonder and bewilderment. "You really studied there?" “Aye, I did.” He was fighting a smile at her expression. “I was born a second son, never meant to rule any tribe, only to continue the line of Bran-Kir, Brakir to you of the Mara, and bear future chieftains. With my betrothal to Karli, Chrys’ younger sister, the Fay-el helped to sponsor me into the school and I remained.” Jin shrugged. “When Corin died and Karli gave birth to Elam, the tribe became my responsibility. I—I have never been back since.” Corin had to be a brother, otherwise the tribe wouldn’t be his now. Karli a wife. News of the death of Chrys's sister had indeed reached School and now that he named her, Caylia remembered the news faintly. At least she thought it was this sister, the Fay-el had so few. Brother, wife, and parents were probably lost as well, and she felt a swell of compassion; that was a lot of sadness for one lifetime. She held him with her eyes for a moment. "I am sorry for your losses Fay-el, truly." Then she couldn't help herself and a question fought itself to her lips. "What instrument did you favor, if any, and do you still play? “I still play.” She grinned. She hadn’t been able to speak music with someone since she left Settar to follow a half mad woman into the desert. Now the Stargatherer had brought her music and memories from home in the strangest way. Cocking her head, silently questioning the Fay-el smiled and continued. “The hang I could manage to play, the sitar drove me to madness and sore fingers, thanks to Nyello’s gentle chastening.” The Mara bard smiled at a similar memory. Nyello never seemed to stop. “However, I have always preferred the Dragonian loya. I have kept one in good condition in my…” he paused, aware of someone behind him. He started to turn and then sighed as a ribbon slid from his hair. This time a girl with lighter hair than the first stood, rubbing the red ribbon she had retrieved between her fingers. Jin stood face flickering with exasperation and trying hard to stifle it. “Excuse me, Caylia. I shall return.” Kor said something, words garbled with sleep and tone mocking as the Fay-el moved away with the girl. He didn’t notice and neither did the girl, eyes too filled with Dragonian chieftain as he led the way to the dancers circle. Caylia held out her hands to the fire. It was getting cold now, even this close to the sea the familiar desert chill entered the air. The healer turned Second nodded in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness and the bard noticed he wore no ribbons like many of the men she had seen that night. A courtship ritual… The Fay-el had been purposefully vague. She would have to ask again, and ask if it was common for a hybrid to become a Second. And…maybe I can see his loya. The one they had at the School was so old it was about to turn to dust, in fact it did during one of my years of mastery. Maybe…Maybe he’d let me play it? And maybe that is asking too much. Music swelled from the dancers circle and cut off with a series of sharp staccatos then died, fading into the night. The speed at which the Fay-el returned made her grin. "What is this ribbon pulling?" she asked when he finally returned. "I asked once before but the answer was...general." “It is a….a game, more or less.” He settled by the campfire, eyes restlessly scanning his surroundings for a moment. At the lack of women, he visibly relaxed. “It’s a tradition from when Confirmations were held for a week and many, many Dragonians came together. The ribbons say that I am unmarried and of my profession—blue for bard and red for chieftain. If a maid pulls them free, then I must give her a dance. These women believe that they can awaken love, or at least desire, if they bother me long enough.” Or awaken desperation, which they seem to have accomplished.“Do they find you so much more attractive than the other men of the tribe?” Jin glanced at her, firelight flickering off the strong bones in his face. She had to admit that it could easily be a possibility. His eyes narrowed. “They find my prestige, power, and position attractive. All they desire is to bear my child, and thus be in the line of chieftain. Nothing more.” "That sounds very..." she searched for the word, "annoying Fay-el. However...unless you know the heart and mind of every woman in your tribe then that could be an equally heartless accusation to make. Both to them...and to yourself." She shifted to a more comfortable position. "And then again, tradition holds the past. You never know what may come from it, even if it does interrupt perfectly good conversations. Now I must admit,” she said, changing the subject. “I am surprised to learn that you learned to play the hang. It is a peasant’s instrument and insult to play for kings or...I guess in your case chieftains. But then again, it is one of the required instruments of the Beginnings even if you are who you are. So I guess maybe it doesn't surprise me that they had you learn. We in Settar are an eccentric lot after all..." A shadow detached itself from a nearby tent. Again? So soon? She felt a hint of disappointment lodge itself in her stomach. That's not fair...we just got started again. No wonder he has the attitude he does. Caylia's eyes darted from him to the approaching girl and frowned. "Forgive me Fay-el, but..." she lowered her voice, "I know you're hassled and we're in the middle of telling stories..." Leaning forward, she pulled the blue ribbon from his hair and wound it around her fingers. "Now maybe we can speak in some peace." Relief flooded his face. “Yes. For a time.” “A time?” “The ribbon signifies one dance. When that dance is finished, another can try. And they will. Believe me.” The last was said with emphasis and for the first time she noticed the shapes of girls flickering back and forth between the tents, eyes watching their prey. He, however, and already forgotten them and leaned forward, eyes shining. “Now I ask the questions. I know you play the sitar—I have seen you with it in Ratacca Korr. Is that your preferred instrument or another?” Her heart swelled a little. He had asked about her harp. Not many did. "My harp is my heart and my soul," she answered promptly. "I found it...somewhere. I can't remember now. Someone else had tuned it and it was tuned to something..." she wrinkled her nose, trying to remember back, "something sad. It took me a while but I gave it a new voice. I tuned part of it to the winds, each one has a slightly different voice you know. For others I sat at sunrise for three days in a row by one of the smallest oasis closest to the sea, tuning to thistle birds and the sound they make when the sun peaks over the ridges and turns the water to gold. It’s tuned to the desert, really, in different ways. And then I do have a soft spot for the hang. I think it has a beautiful voice." Jin smiled. “My loya is tuned to the sound of the camp at midnight, when the moon hangs low and full, to the soft whisper of a finger-brook of the Lodo River. One string carries the thrumming of the thunder when it whips the plain grass, and another bears the plaintively sad cry of a small owl in the Kaama Forest, and the last—the last I tuned to Elam’s laughter.” She smiled softly. "Those are good things to tune to Fay-el,” she murmured. “You'll have to play it for me some time. And, speaking of it, how is your son doing since...everything?" "Aye, I would like to play it for you, when there is a time and a place for it. As to my son..." His eyes clouded slightly. “He is…fine. The two of them—they keep each other company, I suppose. They’re out there now,” he gestured vaguely toward the wide desert. “Somewhere. Veritas has informed me it is normal, and safer, for them to stay away from other people, even people he is close too.” I miss him, his secret words said. "Veritas is wise. And," she hesitated, "how are you doing?" Jin hesitated. “I am doing…well enough. It is different, of course. The idea of a loquiri is hard to swallow.” “And why is that, Fay-el?” “Jin,” he corrected. “It is easier to say and remember.” Caylia was grateful as darkness hid the gentle sweep of a blush that crossed her cheeks. Now that was a break in formality. “From since I could remember,” he began, “since I was too small to ride on naught but a mare, I have been taught of our history and heritage. That of the great battles and raids of Bran-Kir, and of his loquiri.” He shifted uneasily. “I was also taught that the loquiri is not for Dragonia. The Mara may use them, but it is a barbaric practice. Forgive the term, but it is how we are taught.” "I never would have guessed you thought such a thing," she murmured dryly, then her lips turned upward in a smile. "Forgive me for that but...Some of these prejudices or teachings are skewed sometimes. Like this blood nonsense. It's been an open joke among some of us at the School..." she paused, remembering the strip of blue caught between her fingers. "Oh," she frowned, heart sinking. "I think you are overdue to have this back." He took the ribbon with a slight frown and then, with a smirk more fitting for his son, half-turned to reveal the other ribbon that he wore. “You could always take the other.” “But I should not take all of your time. And those women seem determined.” “If it makes you feel better, I will take you out there,” he gestured at the dancers. “I promise not to step on your toes.” "Out in front of the wolves?" She bit her lip weighing her options. It was indeed tempting and what harm would it do? Besides they were telling stories after all. "But then at least we would know where they all were," she said, finding a reason that even the blind Uhl could see through and slipped the second ribbon from its place. Jin turned back and stood, extending a hand to help her to her feet, before leading her away from the campfire and toward the other celebrants. A few of the women looked on and she caught an amused smile from Jin as he glanced their way, but not the jealous looks they gave. Other couples began to fill the circle as a new song readied itself. Among those, Caylia caught sight of the Dragonian woman she and Jaara and helped into the throne room, bloodied and beaten when Elam had first been kidnapped. She moved slowly, with a slight limp, but her fingers were wound with green and black ribbons, and the man to whom they belonged, tall and brown haired, supported her gently. The woman was the only one she recognized and she soon lost sight of her as the Fay-el tugged slightly on her hand and turned Caylia’s attention away. Into the circle they stepped, the other dancers seeming far away as he slid his arm around her waist, his other hand holding her hand in a loose grip. “As you were saying?” "What was I saying? Oh right. This blood nonsense we have here in the Mara,” she began eagerly. “This pure blood. We're scholars in Settar more than anything else and we know our histories. With that being said we've all had a good laugh about 'true blood.' We all know from our histories that this land was occupied before we came, and when we did come...well, that former Dragonian blood got mixed with those who already were here. You can even see it in our own Fay-el. So when we say our blood is pure, well, we're all a bunch of hypocrites.” It was common sense, in a way, and she was surprised she herself hadn’t thought of it, but it had taken Ru and Soren, both drunk on honey wine to bring it to her attention. “It's quite funny actually..." she trailed off and lowered her voice as she caught site of shadows on the sidelines. "Your wolves are whispering." Jin smiled and dipped his head lower. His breath brushed against her cheek, and a small spark kindled itself for a moment in her blood . “Let them whisper. I can dance with whomever I choose, and you have both ribbons now." His smile widened, his eyes gleaming with suppressed humor. "I have never heard of that. Perhaps my teachers did not wish to share that particular fact with a Dray. When you speak of Chrys—do you mean his eyes?” She grinned. "I do. Most from Lodear have that tilt. And they probably didn't tell you because you are a Dragonian, but don't be offended. They don't tell most people from the Mara either, and not all in Settar. It is not hidden knowledge exactly but it’s...it’s an idea I think many are not quite ready for. Especially among my people." “Agreed. The first time Chrys and I met, it did not begin well from that.” Her eyebrows arched. “I am always searching for stories.” He laughed. “Well. I was recently Confirmed, and brought with Corin to meet my future wife’s kinsmen. I had met Eastar before, but never Lodear.” Jin hesitated. Caylia nodded her head for him to continue. “I…ah, asked if he was a Hybrid.” Caylia blinked. "You...you asked Chrys. My Fay-el, the Fay-el of the Mara...if he was a Hybrid? Windrunner..." she began to chuckle, "and you're still alive? How did he take it?" "You know Chrys' temper." They matched grins. "Not well. Karli and Veritas alike spoke to him, calmed him, and my father did his best to redirect the conversation, and keep me quiet." Jin chuckled. "Enough of me now. Are you the Royal Minstrel?" "No. We, myself, Jaara, Hamen, and Naftis, only arrived in Crossroads the same day the assassination attempt on Chrys was made, and your son was kidnapped. It's the first time I've ever been to Crossroads. It has been...eventful." “I can imagine it would be.” The music swelled in a soft chord and then faded away. Jin loosened his hold slightly. “The wolves are going to return.” "Well...as I see it we have three options, Fay-el. I can leave you to them, go back to the castle and sleep. Or you can complain of fatigue from a long night and having to answer questions from an over curious bard and retire. Whether that would work I do not know. Or, because I am of course very ignorant of your ways I do not know that I am supposed to give these ribbons back to you and I could keep them for another round, or I simply take them again before anyone else. It would be rude but I am from the Mara and therefore probably a little bit barbaric so my actions are understandable." She shrugged. "Whichever you think would work best. These are your people after all." He was silent for a moment. “Hand me the ribbons.” Caylia held them out and dropped them into his open palm. Jin folded them neatly handed them back. “Put them in your hair.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are up to something, Fay…Jin,” she said at last, tasting his name on her tongue. “Aye. I am.” His expression was a boy’s impish grin. “If they want to play with tradition, then so will I.” "You must drive your tribe to madness." It was said in good humor as she twined them in her own hair. "There. Done. Now, with this red ribbon, am I a Dragonian chieftain?" “Not exactly.” He laughed. The music picked up again, a livelier pace and his eyes flashed to the sidelines for an instant, glinting, turning back to her. “You would have to do the Coro first.” Her eyes brightened. “A female chieftain?” “There have been four.” He explained, enjoying her look of surprise. “One killed an Eloin nobleman.” He paused. “Ah, let me guess—tell you?” He smirked. “During the battle, her Second was separated and she was captured by the nobleman. Instead of killing her off-hand, he had her taken to his tent for his own pleasure. When he came late that night, she whispered sweet endearments and waited for the right moment.” He tapped his thigh. “There’s an arrowhead charm chieftains wear—a broken arrow for protection—which her captors had not found. She stabbed him in the eye and, while he was blinded, took his dagger and gutted him from throat to navel.” “What was her name?” Caylia said. “Shavra.” Shavra… She swallowed the name, the story, and looked back at her dance partner. “Will I hear your song someday?” A pause, a flash of discomfort forced away, then, “Perhaps when this dance is over?” "Good. In return I'll tell you an alternate version of a tale of Brakir, since it is your heritage after all." "An alternate version?" She nodded, secretly pleased with the question in his voice. "You know the one with the battle with the dragon, yes? This is another one I came across, whether it is true or not...who knows but it is interesting. Less violent, perhaps, but interesting." That one had earned one of her intermediate stars, she couldn't remember which one. With everything she was learning tonight, she realized a bit ruefully, a hopeful bard probably could earn a Beginnings star or two, what the holes they had at the School in Dragonian history. Jin nodded his head in agreement. They danced and talked, words flowing and finding their way through the music as their topics moved through it like fish. The crash of music finally ebbed and he led her back to the campfire. Kor was still there, resting his head on one hand, and clearly asleep. Jin nudged him gently. When the Hybrid opened his eyes groggily, Jin gestured at the nearest tent. “Go to bed.” “Not without you.” “Kor.” “No.” “Fine.” Jin let it drop, shrugging at Caylia. “You promised me a song.” “And you as well.” He smiled. “I will find my loya.” "Wait," she held up a hand, suddenly remembering and silently cursing herself. "I left my harp back at the castle, for some unknown reason. It is already late Fay-el..." then she paused and forced herself to say his name. "Late and a trip back and forth will not make the night any younger. I will not tell it without my harp. How about we save it for the next time we meet, when your Second isn't so tired and I'm not quite so forgetful?" “If you wish.” He smiled, fingers brushing her hair away from her eyes. “Until then, Caylia.” And turning, he helped Kor to his feet. “Come with me.” She smiled and bowed, bidding the Fay-el of the Dragonians and his new Second one last goodnight before her feet took her away from camp and taking her back to Crossroads where Ratacca Korr rose sooner than expected in the dark plane of the sky. She still wore his ribbons in her hair. |
| Kor could barely stand, much less guard anyone at the moment. Of course, it didn’t really matter right now. Jin knew he was perfectly safe. They were in the midst of the Mara, with the shadow of Crossroads close nearby. No Derk-ra would come near. The Guild would certainly not attempt anything so soon after their fiasco. Especially with Gyas on the run, a loose thread they would snip as soon as they caught him. He nudged Kor down to the ground in front of the tent. “If you feel the need to guard me so desperately, at least stay out here. You only need to sleep near enough to hear my call—and you’re Gifted, so not even that close.” “Gift—not. Not tonight.” The Hybrid blinked groggily. “Gave me somna. Those two.” “Layole and Terran?” “Aye. Them.” He yawned wide enough to make Jin wince. “I’m fine. Good. Go to sleep.” Jin chuckled. “I say the same to you,” he said, and stepped into his tent. Stepping over the mess Elam had left, Jin smiled. He shoved aside the pile of half-finished script practice, a bent arrow, two feathers from a falcon or owl, and other little treasures the boy considered worth saving. Jin crossed to his own belongings, rummaging through the packing until he found his lune. It was small, fitting easily into the palm of his hand, but invaluable on late nights when oil was scarce. After rubbing at the smooth surface with his sleeve, he placed it on the ground close to the middle pole. In the morning as the sun rose, the lune would catch the light there and warm, giving it enough power to last another week. He slid out of his tunic and folded it neatly, but did not undress further. After being awakened many times in the dead of night, he had learned to be at least halfway ready to leap into action. Jin stretched out on his cot, draping a blanket over his feet, and hid a slender dagger within easy reach. It was an old habit borne by years of Eloin attempts on his life, but he would not break it now. With a sigh, Jin closed his eyes and tried to relax. Tonight was the first time in over ten years that he had slept alone. He had grown used to Elam’s warmth at his back. Is he well? Does the loquiri take care of him? Shifting uneasily, Jin pushed the thoughts away. If Caylia could be confident in a loquiri’s protection, so could he. He smiled at the thought of the Settar bard. It had been a long time since he could enjoy himself like that. He still missed the School sometimes, the comradery and friendly competition. The new songs he found, the stories he learned. There was no going back now, but he still had his memories. Her presence had only reminded him of all that he had enjoyed. Smiling to himself, Jin fell asleep. < > Kor woke to sunlight filtering in through his eyelids and the gentle nudge of Jin’s toe in his ribcage. That hurt a bit, and brought him to full alertness, although for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. Then once he determined that he was in fact lying in front of the Fay-el’s tent, it took him a few seconds to recall why exactly he was sleeping there at all. He blinked up at the Fay-el, wondering if the previous day had been a dream. “I thought you were a morning person?” Jin smiled, handing the Hybrid a mug of kolinar as Kor sat up and glared at the sun through squinting pale blue eyes. Someone had thrown a blanket over the Hybrid as he'd slept, and he pushed it aside absently. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Kor asked sourly, then sipped luxuriously at the tea. “Ah, Eppa bless you.” Jin put his hands on his hips with mock sternness. “Aquilian gods, the morning after your Confirmation?” he smiled. “I praise, curse, beseech, and take all their names in vain equally,” the Hybrid chuckled with a wince. Jin grinned. “I would have to agree with you, though I only know of two of the Aquila gods—Kratan and Eppa. The others you will have to teach me.” “With pleasure. Right after I teach that blademaster and former Second of an Aquila’s temper.” Jin laughed. “Not today. Mending or no, I doubt that wound is healed enough to battle either of them. And certainly not both together.” Kor squinted at him again, frowning. “You certainly are in a good mood. How much of this—“ he held up the kolinar, “Have you had already?” The Fay-el shook his head and stepped past his new Second. “Just one. Do not nurse-maid me yet. Can a man be pleased with a new day?” “Fay-el, if I did not know better, I would say you were drunk.” Jin laughed again. “You are utterly impossible.” Sighing at the earliness of the hour, Kor pulled himself to his feet and stretched his legs to catch up with Jin. He started to stand to the Fay-el’s right side, but Jin shook his head with a small smile and gently shoved him around to his left. “Sorry,” Kor murmured, head swimming with the strangeness of it all. “It’s alright, you’ll learn,” Jin said easily, and led him to the campfire. Few people were awake yet; those who were sat far back from the flames and the heat, eating porridge. They made room for their Fay-el and his Second, and passed them both bowls. The Hybrid frowned a little, nodding his thanks absently. “How will I learn?” he asked. “From experience, at first.” Jin grinned. “If you shadow Layole, all you’ll learn is how beautiful, and intelligent, and wonderful Daliah is. He isn’t worth talking to at the moment.” Jin glanced at the Hybrid. “You’ll mostly learn from Terran.” Kor groaned. Jin winced sympathetically. “I know, but he is the blademaster, my lieutenant if you wish to use those terms. At least he can no longer force you onto a watch.” Kor only shook his head. They ate in silence for a moment. And then Jin swallowed and glanced at him again. “He did come to me, early this morning.” “I’m already dreading what he wanted.” Jin smirked. “Just a spar, between you and I. It’s customary—to help us both learn strengths and weaknesses. I have enough bruises and scars from Layole already.” Kor swallowed. He really, really did not feel up to a spar. But he also knew Terran was not to be denied. Trying to get out of it would only make it worse. "When?" he asked reluctantly. Jin smiled a little. "As soon as you've finished your breakfast." Kor, cheeks puffed out with food, paused and glanced down at his bowl. He only had a couple bites left. "Oh." Jin glanced at the bowl, too. He laughed. "Hungry much?" His exhausted Second offered a fat-cheeked grin. "Well, give me a few minutes to finish mine, at least." Ten minutes later, their bellies full (but not quite full enough for Kor's satisfaction), they wandered toward the practice ring and Terran. Reluctant to spar or not, Kor found himself following Jin with growing excitement and curiosity. Both faded away the instant they rounded the boundary of tents and found both Terran and, of all people, Lord Veritas awaiting them. “Bassio clea wa shina’ni,” Kor snarled in Aquila, blue eyes narrowed at the loquiri in open hostility. “What do you here?” Jin demanded coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. Terran cleared his throat sharply. “I asked him to come.” He dipped his chin politely to Veritas. “There are some things I would like him to show Kor.” Jin’s jaw was very tense when he spoke, and he spat the words through clenched teeth. “The training of a new Second is a Dragonian matter. It is no concern of his.” Veritas cleared his throat. “When is the last time a Dragonian had a Gifted Second?” he asked politely but firmly. “I can teach him a couple of things that may help save your life, one day.” He nodded to Kor. "His too." “And yet you nearly took his life, and mine, just last night.” Veritas sighed. “I would not have killed either of you.” Jin did not relax. The loquiri shook his head and stepped closer. Kor immediately shifted, shitans drawn, standing between him and Jin. “Sand-crawler, begone.” His eyes narrowed. Veritas flicked a hand. Jin felt the prickle, but saw Kor curse hotly as the shitans jerked out of his grasp. “That is what I mean. Any Gifted man could do that.” “There are no Gifted enemies in Shinar.” Veritas’ smile mimicked Ravin’s own feral one. “Not so. Gifted Hybrids are being born. I have spoken with several Aquila captains who have been plundered by Gifted Hybrid pirates.” Jin scowled. Kor seized the Gift too. He felt Gift crawl at his side again and jumped. The shitans dragged across the sand. Veritas watched their progress with an arched eyebrow. “Still tired, are we?” Kor hissed something very unflattering in Aquila. Veritas didn’t flinch. “Well? Someone must teach you, and neither Terran nor Jin can. It’s your choice. Me or Ravin.” Jin rounded on him. “What do you care?” The even-tempered loquiri took a step forward, eyes narrowed. Kor fell into place at Jin’s left. “I care a great deal,” Veritas said, his voice very calm and quiet. “Enough so that I was willing to damage my relations with you, and betray my own values, by hurting him to ensure that he was willing to do what must be done to protect you. I did not like it, but it had to be done. I will not apologize, but I do hope you can see the necessity, at least.” “Necessity?” Kor snapped, and despite Jin’s hiss at him to be silent, continued. “You took a blade to my Fay-el. Perhaps it was merely to test me, but one misstep, and you could have killed him.” “Kor, I am very good at what I do,” Veritas informed him matter-of-factly. There was absolutely no boastfulness in his voice. “You don’t think I know that?” Kor snarled, one hand rising to his chest. “But I saw your blade falling. It was a killing strike.” “Which you intercepted.” “And if I had not?” Kor demanded. “Then I would have turned the blade at the last moment, or slowed its fall just enough to allow Jin the time to escape, or pretended to fumble the attack. I would have stayed around long enough to make it seem as though the two of you were overwhelming me. And then I would have turned tail and disappeared into the night.” He grinned. “You never would have found me.” “You had it all figured out,” Kor said bitterly. “Aye,” Terran spoke up finally. “There was less danger than it seemed to you at the time.” He nodded to Jin. “To either of you. Don’t you know I would not put him---or you---in real danger?” “I don’t know you,” Kor said coldly. Terran actually took a half step back, hurt. Jin, however, was feeling slightly more charitable. “Danger or no danger, it was a cruel test. But it is over now.” He turned to Veritas. “Teach him what you have to teach him. Then leave.” Veritas nodded. “Come here, Kor.” The newly confirmed Second crossed his arms. “I’ve had enough sparring with you to last me a lifetime, thanks. I’ll stay here.” “Hush, Hybrid. We’ll not be sparring today.” “What?” Terran asked, surprised. Obviously, he’d planned otherwise. Veritas shook his head. “He’s not fit right now.” He grimaced. “Did you see the wound I gave him?” He sat down in the practice circle, and gestured for Kor to sit across from him. “Are you feeling up to grasping the Gift, briefly? I will not have you do anything strenuous.” Kor scowled, but he moved forward and sat where Veritas pointed. “If I must.” “Good. Seize it and hold it. And I will do the same of my own. Chrys needs his rest.” Kor gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t ask any questions. Veritas held his Gift and felt Kor do the same. “Now, the first lesson is the hardest one to master. Control.” He slipped two small lunes from their hiding place and set them on the sand between them. “Feeding a lune is a simple exercise. There is but one, narrow channel that will allow Gift to pass. Both of these are long-dead lunes, starved for Gift.” Veritas cupped his hand over the one closest to him and carefully narrowed his Gift, until it was a slender arrow in his mind and the channel a target. As he drained his Gift down, the lune began to glow, and brightened to a soft silver. “The more Gift I feed, the more blue it becomes.” He glanced at Jin. “That is why Jin’s lune is silver only. Lunes can be fed with warmth and sunlight, but they are not as bright.” He cut his Gift short and the light winked out. “Now, you try. I have felt your Gift. You have power, but not control.” Kor picked up the lune and frowned at it, unsure of how to begin. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and visualized a lyre in his mind, filling it with a quiet lullaby to soothe the headache beginning behind his eyes. Then he pushed the song out of the lyre toward the lune in his hand. He opened his eyes. Nothing happened. "I felt your Gift," Veritas said. "Try again." "I don't know what I'm doing," Kor sighed. "You have to want it to glow," Veritas explained. "I do!" Kor snapped, shaking the lune. "Believe me, I want the blasted thing to light, but I don't know how, and---" He blinked. The lune was glowing. His head hurt. "Hold that," Veritas snapped in surprise. "I didn't sense anything," Jin said in confusion. "Precisely." The loquiri crept forward, grasping his Gift again. Or tried. "Huh." He crouched in front of Kor. "Now you're an odd one." The lune light faded. Kor sagged. "Me? Why?" "I've felt you do that before." At the Hybrid's confused look he continued. “When I first sensed your Gift, you did something strange. It was as though you simply trusted your Gift to get you out of trouble, and it did, with practically no effort on your part” He smiled a little. “My blade was falling toward you that time, too.” Kor remembered. “In Chrys’s Hall, when I ran toward Chrys after he was wounded.” “Yes. At that moment, you did something strange. You turned your back on me, though I was moving to strike you. It… silenced my Gift. Not my pair-link, mind you, but my Gift. Then, miraculously, my blade severed your bonds for you, and everything returned to normal.” He gazed at Kor pensively. “I just felt it again. I think when you use your Gift that way, not only do you somehow accomplish your own goals, but as an unintended side affect you also prevent others from using their own Gifts, if only briefly.” He leaned back on his hands. “I would like to see if my hypothesis is correct. Do you think you can do that again?” Kor shrugged and held the lune in front of him. He scowled at it, but nothing happened. Frustration glinted in his eyes. “See? It doesn’t work that—“ Silver-blue shimmered in the lune’s depths. Veritas felt the air still around Kor and then he felt nothing at all. The Gift quieted. “Don’t move. Don’t think.” He closed his eyes, reaching out to probe at the silence. He didn’t have access to his own Gift to probe. Veritas opened his eyes again. “If you could do that—“ he shook his head. “Even the Guild would fear you. What do you visualize? How are you quieting my Gift and still forcing yours to do what you wish?” "I... don't know," Kor said, sagging. "It's not something I think about." "But you sometimes can do it on command, it seems. Can you do it again?" Kor winced at him. "Maybe, while it is fresh in my mind. Can I have some kolinar, first?" Veritas frowned. "You hurt that much already?" Jin looked confused. "Kolinar?" Veritas ignored him, grasping his Gift and glancing at Kor's Gift. It shone steadily, a strong flame, but that flame was small. The loquiri frowned. "How many times can you seize a day?" Kor stared at him blearily. "Um... Six or seven before I need kolinar." Veritas shook his head. "If you can seize the Gift six to seven times already, I do not think you are newly-flowered. You must have been doing...whatever it is you do with your Gift... for years, but are only just now learning control." He sighed and counted on his fingers. "Still, you've only grasped four times this day. Are you not feeling well?" "He took your sword to his chest last night," Jin snapped. "What do you think?" Veritas frowned and nodded to Kor. "Show me." The Hybrid scowled, lifting his tunic. The wound had covered over nicely with a deep red scab, but still looked ghastly, with livid bruising around the edges of the long gash. Veritas looked slightly ill, and quite cowed. "That needs another Mending," he said softly. "I hate you," Kor growled, pulling his tunic down gingerly. "You'll hate your healer more. That's been allowed to go untreated all night." At Jin's and Kor's looks of confusion, he explained. "Mendings only heal the flesh, and only confer about two weeks of healing at that. If you are ill, or a wound is infected... it should be cleaned first, before I Mend it again." "I hate you," Kor said again. “I am sorry. All our palace healers know this, and any of them would have cleaned it after Chrys partially Mended the wound. But your healer—you do have one?” Jin nodded. “Turoc.” Veritas arched an eyebrow. “Turoc’s son?” “No, Turoc himself.” “But he’s…” “Old, I know,” Kor snapped. Veritas winced sympathetically. “I have knowledge of the basics, but not enough to truly be certain.” "Oh Kyda, please not Turoc," Kor groaned. "I won't let you mess up." Jin stood. “I’ll find kapa bark.” “A bloody lot of it.” Jin quirked a smile as he left. < > Jin returned a few minutes later, not only with herbs, but with water, a small sponge, and cloth too. "Turoc suggested I bring these, too." He handed the water and herbs to Veritas, then the sponge. "There's anderberries. And such." Veritas glanced at the herbs, nodded with a raised eyebrow, and handed the Hybrid a sliver of kapa bark. “We should do this away from the dirt and other people. Where is your tent?” Kor snorted. "Tent? Pah. I sleep under the stars." Veritas looked at him strangely, then shrugged. “Then the Fay-el’s tent?” He glanced at Jin, who nodded his agreement. Veritas set the herbs and water to boil over the small firepit at the center of the tent, then sat in front of Kor where the Hybrid sat on Jin's rug. "We cannot practice what I have to teach you at the moment, but I suppose we can speak of it in theory, at least," he said. He nodded toward the heating herbs. "Until they're boiling, that is." Kor shrugged. “I am a captive audience, at the moment.” Veritas smiled. “That is true.” He frowned for a minute, as if considering how to word what he thought, before speaking again, “I do not understand your way, this stilling of others’ Gifts and almost…almost guidance of your own. I only know the Mara way—seizing the Gift and wresting it to my control, as if I held the reins of a stallion. With my Gift, and those such as Chrys or others, once the flowering has come, new patterns and designs, like the Mend, are learned. But most of my teachers were focused on control and endurance.” "This sounds like madness," Jin mumbled. Veritas shrugged, then glanced at the herbs. "Almost." He returned his attention to the Second. "When did you first start...start feeling fate, or some such thing?" The Hybrid stared at him blankly. "I honestly do not know. I did not even realize, until I came to the Mara, that I had the Shine. The Gift. In Aquila, it is not as obvious as it is here. It is mostly commonfolk, like my mother and I, having a little extra luck in finding the herbs we need to heal the flesh and bone of our patients, or a fisherman bringing in an extra large catch, or a sailor becoming lost at sea and suddenly finding that if he trusts the winds, they will take him to land." "So you consider your Gift to be… luck? And trust?" "Aye." Veritas smiled. "And how long have you been having unusual luck?" The Hybrid shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I thought I'd always been lucky." He chuckled. "But now that I think of it… I suppose being too lucky in a day started earning me headaches when I was perhaps... twelve? Aye, twelve." Veritas nodded. “That would be about right. Most of us flower between the tenth and thirteenth year. An early flower is better than late, but mostly because of control and practice. You, for example, learned your own limit without realizing it. When this luck comes to you, what do you think of? What do you feel? A warmth, such as the Gift—an outpouring?” Kor shook his head slowly. "I feel a sense of everything being in its place. Of everything having a sort of... rhythm to it. It is like there is a chain of events unfolding in front of me, and all I have to do is sort of... ride it. It's like I harmonize my desires with this rhythm." "That is... somewhat terrifying." Veritas shook his head. "I am somewhat inclined to wonder what would have happened if you'd not been drugged with somna last night." Kor snorted. "I would have sensed your presence, greeted you by name, and then your cover would have been blown and we would not be where we are today." “But if you had not known me…” Veritas shook his head. “You do not understand. I have been trained, and well, against all forms of the Gift and its uses. A loquiri leaves his home when he sees his sixth winter, and spends the rest of his life in School, until such time that he is bonded, or when he sees his twenty-fifth winter. We are trained in our Gift during that time. And I—“ he shrugged. “As a royal loquiri, I was more heavily trained than that. And yet…I have no defense to your sort of Gift. If you had meant harm to Chrys in the Hall—I could not have stopped you.” Veritas frowned at some uneasy thought. He spread the cloth over a mug and strained some of the herbs through it, before handing the cup to Kor with an arched eyebrow. “You drink it as well, yes?” "Yes," Kor said, sipping. "Well, I'll drink half of it, and you can use the rest to cleanse the wound after the poultice comes off in a quarter point." Veritas nodded, wrapping the strained herbs neatly in the cloth, then placing it over the wound on Kor's chest. The Hybrid sipped again at the infusion. Sighing, knowing he'd need much more of it in him in a moment than he was getting so far, he plugged his nose with one hand, and gulped down half the cup. "Ugh," he groaned as it scalded the back of his throat. He handed the cup back to Veritas. Placing the cup nearby, Veritas closed his eyes and relaxed. If he had to wait, then he could at least see how Chrys was doing. He wandered across the pair-link, holding his Gift in steady control. Too sharp and Chrys would fully awaken, too soft and the echo would not return. Chrys yawned sleepily in his mind. He felt the subtle question in his thoughts—the muddled awareness of one nearly asleep before he had awakened—and then Chrys settled again. He was well, safe, and contented. It was enough. Veritas opened his eyes. Jin was looking at him curiously. “Will Naftis leave like that?” “Leave?” “You were not here. Not fully. Your face…I could tell.” “It is…complicated, Jin. Even a Master does not understand all the why.” He shifted closer. “However, I will try to explain it to you later.” Veritas glanced at Kor, smiling to himself at the Hybrid’s struggle to stay awake. “I suppose it has cooled,” he said, “I think it has been long enough.” "Aye," Kor smiled. "Good stuff, kapa. Numbing." The loquiri lifted the poultice away and set it aside. He took up the sponge and remaining herbal infusion and looked at Kor sympathetically. "Slow but gentle or fast but rough?" he asked. Kor frowned. "Both sound rather unpleasant, actually." He chuckled nervously at Jin. "Any more of that kapa lying about? No? Blast it." Veritas dipped the sponge into the cup and began dabbing at the wound. Kor hissed, wincing in pain, but held still. Veritas continued working slowly, ignoring the Hybrid's squirming, pinning him down by the shoulder when he needed to clean a particularly deep section of the wound up near Kor's collarbone. Finally, after a hellishly long time, the loquiri put aside the sponge. "Now the Mending," he said softly, resting both hands on Kor's shoulders. The Gift pulsed through them both. Kor blinked drowsily as Jin let out an amazed breath. "It looks as though it has been healing a full month," he murmured. "Aye," Veritas smiled wearily. "Now he needs to sleep for a few hours. He'll wake hungry, but much improved." "No," Kor groaned. "I'm supposed to stay at his side." He gestured to Jin---who rolled his eyes---and started to sit up. His eyelids fluttered, and he fell back. "Wha---?" His expression darkened. "Valla. When did you…” He scowled. “Turoc." "Aye," Veritas confirmed. “And the Mending. Both together will guarantee your rest.” He stood and then cocked his head. His expression softened, as if he were looking into the distance. And then he blinked and the inward glance disappeared. “Ah, he is awake.” “Chrys?” Jin asked. Veritas nodded. “But not for long. He’s already falling asleep again.” Jin dipped his chin to Kor. “And he’s completely out,” he smirked. < > Veritas settled again in a relaxed posture at Kor’s side. The loquiri waited patiently for Jin to speak his mind. The chieftain’s slight pacing was distracting, but very telling of his mood. Finally, the Fay-el sat down heavily, crossed his arms, and scowled at him. “What should I expect?” “With what?” “With Naftis and Elam. How should I treat them—what should I be doing?” Veritas smiled. “Ah, I see.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his head on his knees. “The first step is to deliver them both into the hands of a Master.” “Who?” With a sigh, Veritas hesitated. Explaining what he had always taken for granted was more difficult than he had expected. “A Master. A loquiri who was bonded and now is no longer, as his Match died of natural causes. He will…” he paused. Knowing Jin’s feelings toward loquiri in general, implying that it was not permanent yet would only encourage his hostility. “He will ensure the bond is not so sensitive.” “Jin?” Terran’s voice. The Fay-el sighed. “Come.” The blademaster stepped through the tent flap and shot an annoyed glare at the snoring Hybrid. “I see he’s been Mended already.” “Aye. And dosed with valla, courtesy of Turoc.” “I suppose we will drill him tomorrow then. Or tonight?” he glanced at Veritas, eyebrows arched. The loquiri smiled. “Aye, he will be fine in a few hours. Hungry, irritable, but fine.” The blademaster clasped his palms together with a resounding thud in delight. “Excellent.” He looked truly pleased at the prospect of future opportunities to put the Hybrid through the paces. Jin cleared his throat. “But first, you, Kor, and I will be having a sit down. You know, the kind that is not accompanied by the clash of weapons.” Terran grunted. “About what?” The Fay-el shrugged. “Layole was inducted to his duties long ago. And he was raised Dragonian, with a full understanding of what a Second was to do. Kor lacks that education. He doesn’t even realize that he’s not on duty during the day.” He glanced down at the sleeping Hybrid with a frown. “We had to drug him, to make sure he’d leave my side long enough to rest and recover. I do not want him thinking he needs to be at my side every moment of the day. I welcome his company, but he must have a life of his own.” “You’re just worried about him taking on too much responsibility too quickly. Could it be you’ve come to enjoy Layole’s distraction with his betrothed?” Jin actually looked thoughtful at that. “I admit I have enjoyed the little bit of privacy I’ve been able to have. And I do mean little bit. But that’s not why I’m worried about him taking responsibility too fast. He’s not trained, Terran. Right now… if someone were to attack me, he would do what he could to protect me. And he would die.” Terran frowned. “He has more skill, or at least natural sense, then you give him credit for.” “And he is Gifted,” Veritas interjected. Terran smiled. “See?” “However,” the loquiri continued, “He lacks control and endurance in the Gift. And you know as well as I that he needs refining in the Fundamentals.” The blademaster frowned. “You’re no help.” Veritas chuckled. “It is true.” He turned his attention to Jin. “Besides what Terran can impart, I can teach him the Gift, or at least try to.” Jin nodded. “The faster he learns, the better it will be for both of us.” Terran smiled. “Agreed. Tonight then? At least for my part.” “Aye.” “With that settled, I am returning to Chrys,” Veritas said. Jin nodded. "Very well." He glanced at Kor, then at the loquiri, knowing he should thank Veritas for his help, yet resentful that help had been needed at all. If not for Veritas---aye, and Terran too---Kor would not have needed a Mending, let alone two, in the first place. Veritas seemed to understand. Rising from the snoring Hybrid's side, he dipped his head politely to Jin, then to Terran. Even with his head lowered, he was a towering presence in the tent. "Well, good day to you." "Good day. And thank you," Terran, at least, said. The loquiri left. Jin sighed, then turned to Terran. The blademaster returned his gaze steadily, well aware of what was coming. "Why did you not tell me you had decided to promote him to Second?" Jin demanded. “I did not think it necessary or wise.” “Necessary!” Terran sighed. “I needed to test him without foreknowledge or preparation, to see where his loyalties lied. Even a true-blood tribesman may not be willing to die for you, not truly. A Second must be.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” “It does.” Terran smiled. “Jin, you are much like your kinsman. You do not deal in deceit or subtlety.” “I would not have said anything.” “Fay-el, you cannot lie. I have seen you try.” He shook his head. “You can’t.” Jin glowered at him. "I can, when it is really necessary." A small smile quirked on Terran's face. "You're lying. And you're doing a poor job of it." He let out his breath slowly. "It needed to seem real to him. He needed to see real surprise and fear on your face. If you had not seemed worried, he might not have felt it necessary to protect you. And..." He glanced down at the sleeping Second. "He needed to know that you were not involved. I know he feels I betrayed him. I think he understands that it needed to be done, but still, no man likes to know that another---his own mentor, no less---not only allowed him to feel the bite of another's sword, but demanded that that sword fall upon him. I could not allow him to believe that you had commanded such a thing. It is as important that he trust you as it is that you trust him." “That seems true. It does not mean I should like it.” “No, it doesn’t. But it has been done.” “Aye.” Jin frowned. “Does he mistrust Layole as well? He will need to learn some things from him.” “I do not think so. I am the commander, so if I had ordered Layole to do what was done—“ Terran shrugged. Jin nodded. “That is true also.” He glanced at Terran from the edge of his vision. “What do you want of me now? Work on Rising Star?” Terran grinned. “No, Kor will work on that later.” Jin groaned. “Why do I feel I’ve traded one nursemaid for the other?” Terran chuckled. “At least he can Mend away whatever he does. Layole could not.” Jin scowled. "That just means he can be all the more violent in his teaching." Terran snorted. "This one? Kor is not violent by nature. I suspect he has other ways of teaching." "The Gift?" Terran shrugged. "I do not even begin to understand that part of him. I have no way of knowing what he is capable of. But... he does not think, or act, like most other men. Maybe it is because of that Gift of his. Perchance it is just his personality. Mayhap it is because he is Aquila. I do not know." "He is Dragonian," Jin corrected softly. "Kor na Shinar naj Quatian. Do not deny him his heritage. I do not think he would appreciate it." Jin had not thought of it like that. “You are a wealth of news today,” Jin muttered. He glanced at the blademaster again, face suddenly pensive. “Do you think Elam—his heritage…it is so…mixed.” “Let us worry about that when the time comes. He is not ready for a Confirmation for a few years yet.” Jin nodded. He glanced once again at Kor. "Huh." "What?" He nodded to the sleeping Hybrid. "Kor is Confirmed now." Terran snorted. "Really? I had not realized." "He can sponsor Joran's Confirmation." “Not yet.” Jin flicked him an amused glance. “He is Confirmed. He can.” “By law and tradition, yes. But Joran would then lack whatever training Kor lacks now.” “I know that, Terran. I didn’t mean now. But soon.” Terran shook his head and shifted to his feet. He rested a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Soon is a vague term. Not for a few months at least.” Jin scowled. The blademaster chuckled. “Let the man adjust to being Second first. And you—“ he grinned at Jin as the Fay-el’s expression soured further. “I would rest or practice for tonight. Your choice.” With a shrug, Terran left him there. |
| Kor woke in the late afternoon feeling rather refreshed. And rather ravenous, too. He ducked out of Jin's tent, and immediately began prowling the camp for food, finally coming upon a fire where an early meal was being prepared by a rather homely but friendly old woman who was more than delighted to feed the new Second despite the earliness of the hour. Terran found him there, and smirking, nodded at the nearly finished bowl of stew. "I hope you're not too full, or sparring with Jin this evening will not be fun for you at all.” The blademaster offered one of his rare grins. "I have him practicing his Rising Star one thousand times." Kor sighed. "You should not do that to him. That shoulder of his... it is mostly healed, but overuse---" "Well, then I suppose you had better help teach him to do it right, hadn't you, so that he need not learn through repetition." Terran jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Looks like you've finished that stew. Come." < > Jin crouched slightly, janin at his side, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He breathed slowly and pictured an opponent ready to skewer him in the blink of an eye as he shifted into Dragon’s Fang. Stalking forward, he slashed into a deep Reaper’s Scythe and then jerked high into Rising Star. The instant he did it, Jin knew it was too high. He tried to correct it in a quick slide. And Terran’s voice broke in. “That one doesn’t count.” The Fay-el sighed and turned to face the blademaster. He smiled at Kor, dipping his head in greeting, then scowled at Terran. “I am tired. That is all.” “You’ve done that same mistake every time I’ve watched you work with Layole this week.” Jin sheathed the janin. “Perhaps so.” Terran grinned. “Trying to lie again?” Jin shot him an annoyed glare. Rather than answering, he headed for the edge of the practice circle. The blademaster shifted into his path. “Not yet. You have a new Second.” He gestured at Kor. “Spar with him. I will watch.” “And criticize every move,” Jin muttered under his breath. "That's what I'm here for," Terran informed him matter-of-factly, and crossed his arms over his chest. He nudged Kor toward the circle with one shoulder. Jin's eyes flickered over Kor, examining his face for signs of weariness or pain. "How do you feel?" The Hybrid flashed a grin. "Great. Much improved." He gestured to the center of the practice circle with one shitan. "Shall we?" "After you," Jin grumbled. They took up their positions, bowed in, and began circling one another. Kor seemed to be in high spirits and nearly bursting with energy. He danced agilely around Jin, clearly more interested at the moment in giving release to that energy than in performing particularly well. Jin took his feet out from under him once, and the Hybrid landed with a thud in the dirt, but merely chuckled and bounced back to his feet, then launched toward Jin, driving both shitans toward the Fay-el's face and twisting around him at the last moment. Jin had started to raise his janin to deflect the blow to his eyes, but found himself having to twist sharply around to meet the follow-up jab of the hyper Hybrid. Kor waited for it, seizing his Gift as he'd felt Veritas do in the past. Jin's janin came up in Rising Star, too high. Kor reached out with his Gift held like a tiny needle, and jabbed that tiny tendril of power at the Fay-el's somatosensory cortex. Jin winced and stumbled, and Kor delighted in the fact that he did not even have to hit or injure him. "Got you." His eyes darted for a second to Terran. "You're right. We need to break him of that habit. If even I saw it..." “Then another will. Aye.” Jin groaned inwardly and backed away from Kor’s advance. The Hybrid’s high energy, however, made him come on much faster than the Fay-el expected, forcing him to take not one, but several steps back. The shitans darted toward him and Jin reacted in the first Fundamental that came to his mind. As soon as he pulled up into Rising Star, he swore, a moment before Kor’s Gift hit him again. He grunted and circled aside. Kor was grinning at him, coming toward him before he had a chance to catch his breath. “Gods. What did you give him, Terran?” Jin ducked as the shitan swiped the air where his head had been, though turned to the flat of the blade. The follow-up slash he barely deflected and then retreated again. “I thought Veritas said he’d be grumpy and tired when he woke!” Terran chuckled. “Stew. Nothing more. I have a feeling he’s always like this. You better get used to—“ his voice trailed off as Jin did the Rising Star again, lower this time, but still too high. Grinning, Kor aimed slightly lower for a small spot in the Fay-el’s somatosensory cortex, triggering ghostly pain in Jin’s leg this time. Jin winced, staggered, and then Kor jabbed an elbow into his stomach as he twisted around the Fay-el. “You’re not getting the point.” “Thank you, Kor. I didn’t notice,” Jin snapped. And the shitans came toward him again, above and below in the same move as Terran from that first spar. This time, Jin Sparrow-Hopped to keep his feet from being swept from beneath him. Terran said. “Now look at that, you can get something through that thick skull of yours.” Jin favored him with a glare. Then jerked back in surprise as Kor used the Falling Star in a quick motion that forced him to react blindly into a counter Rising Star. Memory of the previous touch of Kor’s Gift stalled his hand, and he only rose halfway, deflecting the blow. "Good!" Terran actually called. "Keep going!" They continued trading blows. The Fay-el lifted his Rising Star properly the next three times he tried it, then winced again as Kor sent ghostly pain through his gut when he fouled up the fourth one. "I'm going to tell you a secret, Jin," Kor said. "What?" the Fay-el scowled, skirting out of the way of the Hybrid's rush. It seemed that the madman was, finally, beginning to slow down. "I'm Gifted." Jin spat. "Bloody---" "And you can use that fact to your advantage." "Hold!" Terran called. Both men obeyed immediately, weapons falling to their sides. The blademaster strode toward them. "Explain," he told Kor. "Your Gift gives your opponent an edge?" The Hybrid stretched out tired muscles with a smile. His blue eyes sparkled. "Aye. You see, there is a limit to my Gift. And severe consequences for its overuse, far in excess of, say, overuse of a wounded sword arm." He nodded to his Fay-el. "I suspect it is so with other Gifted people. So a smart man would count down each time the Gift is used. And a brilliant man would make me use the Gift, and use it often, while making me believe it was my own idea." Jin regarded him calculatingly. "And how many times can a man use the Gift before he suffers these consequences you mention?" Kor shrugged. "I personally managed six or seven before I, uh, passed out." “So this is the third time I have felt your Gift. One or two more should be enough.” Kor chuckled. “If you can force me to use my Gift.” Terran rested one hand on each shoulder. “Let us see how well it works. Get in the circle.” Shaking his head, Terran crossed his arms and nodded as the Fay-el and his Second took their places. “Ready?” Kor didn’t wait for Jin’s response, but charged on his Fay-el in Rushing Bull. Jin responded into Dust Devil and then a quick Scythe. They roamed back and forth across the circle, Terran shouting and cursing depending on what they did, or what they failed to do. The offensive did not work. Kor just cut closer and darted faster, and forced Jin to back away. With a frown, the Fay-el began to feint at him, dodging the attacks the Hybrid rained on him. He twisted around him, and did a quick Diagonal Step. Kor frowned slightly at his sudden motion out of reach and moved to attack. Jin evaded him again. The Hybrid’s eyes narrowed and he leapt forward, Gift prickling. Jin felt it and couldn’t stop the smile. Ah. That works. Again, Kor came for him, slower this time. Now it was Jin dancing around the tired Hybrid, worrying his side, his eyes. He slipped around Kor, janin coming for Kor's eyes, and deliberately left himself open for a slash at the face. Kor took the bait, grinning, knowing Jin would be forced to block with a Rising Star. The Fay-el deliberately fumbled it, lifting it a few inches too high. Kor stabbed out with the Gift in punishment, but this time it was he, and not JIn, who stumbled. Smirking, even knowing that Kor probably had deliberately chosen to "fall for it" to show his Fay-el what he meant, Jin pressed the advantage, ducking under Kor's weakened swing, grasping his hair in one hand and shoving him to the ground. Releasing the Hybrid, Jin glanced at Terran, eyebrows arched. The blademaster nodded his head. “Yes, Jin. You can stop.” The Fay-el stepped away and out of the circle, before settling crosslegged on the sand. He heard Kor sheathe his shitans and walk through the sand at a weary pace. His hand rested on Jin’s shoulder. Before he could shift to glance at him, Kor dragged a hand down his shoulder. “Sore, huh?” “A little,” Jin muttered. “Blame Terran and the blasted Rising Star.” Kor’s hand dropped away. “You need to rest.” Terran nodded. “Take five minutes, Jin.” “No.” The blademaster did not even scowl at Kor, clearly unable to comprehend that the Hybrid would even dare contradict his orders. “No?” Kor shook his head slowly. “He’s done for the day.” With a snort, Terran corrected him. “He still has six hundred fifty….?” He glanced at Jin. “Six,” the Fay-el said, shaking his head in weariness. “Six hundred fifty-six Rising Stars to perform.” “Well,” Kor said dryly. “He can do them tomorrow.” “He should do them now, with it fresh in his memory.” “He will do them tomorrow.” Terran did scowl now. “I am the blademaster here. He can rest, for a moment, and then do them.” “And I am his Second,” Kor stated emphatically. “And a healer besides. I have the authority, don’t you remember? There is no help in him repeating that Fundamental and weakening his sword arm. Let him rest.” “Bloody ael kinth! “ Terran hissed. “You have been Second all of a day and you already know more than—“ He trailed off as Jin stood. The Fay-el was staring intently at the horizon. Terran followed his gaze. Two figures approached at a slow pace, one twice the height of the other. Jin murmured one word, “Elam.” And then he was striding through the sand toward the two. Terran pointed a finger at Kor. “We will talk about this later.” “No we won’t,” Kor tossed over his shoulder, striding after his Fay-el. They met just outside of the first sentry ring. Clearly, Jin wanted to drop to one knee and take his son’s chin in hand, make sure he was well. But Naftis, stiffening at the boy’s side as his Match’s father and Second approached, was too tense for Kor to allow such. He grasped the Fay-el’s arm and pulled him back a half step in a gentle reminder, so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Terran. Jin’s jaw clenched, but he nodded slightly. “I know,” he said in a low voice. He nodded to Naftis with restrained politeness. “I thought you were going to be out in the desert for a few more days yet.” He assessed his son from a good arm’s length away. Elam looked exhausted, but quite content, leaning slightly on the loquiri. Naftis ruffled the child’s hair. “Aye, that would be best. But the desert is not a good place for a child this young. Not at this time of the year.” The Hybrid glanced at Naftis with a slight frown, flicked a confused glance from Jin to Elam, and then questioned, “You were with him? The man who nearly killed Chrys, spent what—a day and a night, and possibly more—out in the desert with my Fay-el’s son?” “Aye.” Kor’s eyes jumped to Jin. “You allowed that?” Jin frowned. “I could not have stopped it if I wished. And Veritas thought it best.” “You allow Veritas to command you regarding your son, but not your own kinsman?” Jin scowled. “Veritas knows more about this ,” he gestured at Naftis, and his drowsy Match, “Far better than I.” “You’re not making any sense.” The Hybrid shifted his narrowing blue eyes back to the loquiri. “At least tell me you kept him safe. You were with him the whole time?” Naftis smiled. “I could not leave his side. Not ever.” He wrapped his arm around Elam’s slender shoulders, pulling him closer. “And he will be safe as long as I live.” Kor stiffened. Jin felt the icy prickle of Gift briefly, before it faded away. Horrified understanding spread across the Hybrid’s face. “You… he,” he sputtered, staring at Elam, then at the loquiri. The child was Gifted. Worse, Jin had somehow, inexplicably, allowed his son to bond with a loquiri. Kor could feel their Gifts, loosely but irreversibly intertwined, like Chrys and Veritas. “Yes,” Jin said, rubbing his forehead as though he had a headache. Kor bloody well knew the feeling. “Jin!” Kor snapped, “this is wrong.” “Kyda,” Jin breathed, “I know. I do not think this arrangement is good for Elam. But---“ “You are allowing your son to enslave another human being,” the Hybrid snarled. “A loquiri bond is no slaver’s chain,” Naftis snapped. “I chose him.” “You are bound to him, your own spirit woven into his. I would call that slavery of the highest order.” “Ael kinth, ” the loquiri hissed. “You are meddling in what you do not understand.” He rested both hands on Elam’s shoulders, as if ready to jerk the boy out of reach. Elam swiveled slightly to glance at Naftis, worry spreading across his face. “What’s wrong?” Naftis shifted, hands moving to loosely wrap around the boy’s chest. When he glanced down, his expression softened. “Nothing, Elam.” He tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind his ears, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Nothing at all.” “Nay,” Kor snapped, “there is something quite wrong.” He stalked forward. “This is a…a terrible practice!” Naftis tensed, eyes on the Hybrid’s unaware advance. “Kor,” Terran said softly. The Hybrid was still growling out profanity at the increasingly quiet and still loquiri. Like a Derk-ra preparing to pounce. “Kor, you need to let it be.” “How can I?” His head swiveled to Jin. “Do you want him to be like Lord Veritas and the Maran Fay-el? Always bound, knowing full well that when one dies, the other follows by his own hand?” “Some bond twice,” Naftis snarled, though is voice was low and deep, steady with lurking danger. "And what you think is not important to me. Only that my Match is well and safe.” “If he is bound to a demon-bred, Eyrie-spawned loquiri kinth ,” Kor hissed, moving forward with fists clenched. “Then he is not safe. And far from well.” Jin saw Naftis’ eyes narrow. “Kor, back off now!” The Hybrid glanced at his Fay-el in obvious annoyance. “He deserves to know my opinion of him, as well-deserved as it is. There is no need to—“ A loquiri naturally moved fast; a bonded loquiri used speed that only a few could surpass. Naftis lashed out at him, a firm rap with a knuckle to his head, and a following thump of his elbow into Kor’s stomach. With a grunt and a gasp at air suddenly driven out of his lungs, the Hybrid stumbled back and landed heavily in the sand. “Don’t get too close,” Terran snapped as he bent over him. “You, of all people, should know that.” “What’s done is done,” Jin said softly. “You cannot undo a loquiri pair-link.” Kor stood again and glared daggers at the loquiri, but did not advance. Naftis ignored him. Instead, his attention seemed to be fully on his new Match. Elam giggled as Naftis said something to him, head dropped close to Elam’s face as if in a conspiratorial whisper. Even as he spoke, the loquiri slid a hand across Elam’s shoulders and then down his back, pulling him closer. There was almost no space between them. Kor squirmed in obvious discomfort. "This is not right," he mumbled, more to himself now than to the others. Naftis was not well. Kor had seen it, had seen the man mere days before, heavily drugged with Derk-ra venom to prevent him from taking his own life. The loquiri seemed more functional now, aye, but he could not possibly have overcome his pain so quickly. And now that he'd been forced into this unhealthy arrangement... Kyda, how could he possibly heal? Jin sighed as he glanced from his Second to his son's loquiri. "Veritas suggested that we go to a Master at once, and have this matter... seen to. Clearly, he is right. I cannot have the two of you at one another's throats nonstop. It is like to drive a man mad." Mad indeed, Kor thought, eyeing Naftis pityingly. Elam yawned, and sighed sleepily. “Naftis, come see my bow, and Da’s lune, and…” he yawned again, and then grinned. The loquiri glanced at him and ruffled his hair lightly. “You need to go to bed.” The boy frowned drowsily. “I’m not tired,” he insisted. Naftis chuckled and held out a hand. Elam interlaced his fingers with the loquiri’s and did not resist the gentle lead away from the others. Naftis paused for one moment, glancing back at Kor with a narrowed glare, and then to Jin. “When do you wish to leave for the Master?” Jin sighed. “In the morning. I want this over and done before you kill somebody.” Naftis nodded. “Aye. We’ll be there.” Jin heard his Second’s intake of breath, and cut him off before he could speak. “No discussion. Not tonight.” He gave Kor an annoyed glare, “And if you still have energy after Terran’s lessons of the day, I would speak to him. I’m sure he can find something for you to do.” With that, Jin walked away from the practice circle. What Kor did now was not his concern. < > With Elam on the horse in front of him, leaning back with his head against the loquiri’s chest, Naftis could not be happier. He closed his eyes in weary contentment. Naftis held the reins with one hand, and with the other brushed his fingers through the boy’s hair. Elam stirred slightly, and yawned. Last night, the boy had chattered excitedly over anything and everything, and insisted he show his new “Loker-me” the bow, Derk-ra claw, and other trinkets the boy had found in the desert. Elam had not calmed down and finally slept until very late, but Naftis had enjoyed listening to him too much to stop him. The loquiri shifted on his horse and glanced around again. Jin was here already, looking more uneasy with each passing moment. That blasted Hybrid was walking toward them, with anger in his stance. Naftis closed his eyes again as his link tightened defensively. The sooner they were bonded, the better. He could barely stand Kor’s presence without longing for a dagger to lop his head off. "You're like a blasted sand cat," Kor growled, glaring at Naftis. "In Kyda's name, why are you loquiri always touching everyone? It's bloody odd." Naftis froze, and had to take a slow, deep breath to avoid biting off a retort. Although it was none of the Hybrid's business, and was personal besides, he could tell that Kor was not the only one interested in the answer to that question. Jin, riding parallel a good, safe distance away from his son and the loquiri, glanced at Naftis out of the corner of his eye, clearly waiting for the response. "I feel like half a person," Naftis explained softly, "when I am not near him. The feeling goes away with physical contact." He turned and looked directly at Jin. "It won't be such a problem after we see the Master." His gaze shifted to Kor and he finished darkly, "We won't seem so odd, then, you'll see." Not that I care what you think, ael kinth. "And what is the Master going to do?" Kor demanded. “Bond us.” “You’re already bonded.” Naftis sighed. “I am forming a pair-link, yes. But it is not completely intertwined yet, and thus makes me…sensitive. In a year, I would find my life-threads bound to him permanently, but not until then. But we no longer do that anymore. Instead, a Master will aid us to weave our Gifts and life-threads together.” “So you’re not truly his loquiri yet?” Kor said. His expression brightened. Naftis glared. “I am not fully bound, no. But I will be.” He allowed a threat to linger in his voice. The Hybrid scowled. “Not if I can—“ “Kor! Hush,” Jin snapped. His eyes flickered with a darker emotion. Naftis brushed his Gift across the Fay-el, and caught his misery and confusion, a moment before Kor poked him with his Gift. The loquiri winced. Kor was suddenly in his face. “Don’t touch my Fay-el!” Naftis jerked his wrist, the hidden dagger popping into his hand before he could think. Inwardly, his mind shrieked at him to stop. But his pair-link was screaming louder. And then Jin came riding up, grabbing Kor roughly by the hair and dragging him back. “If you don’t calm down,” the Fay-el hissed, “You’ll be the only Second to die the day after making his vows.” "This is bloody madness," Kor howled. "This--- Let me go!" He wrenched his hair out of his Fay-el's grasp and spun around, jabbing a finger toward the tense loquiri. "This man is dangerous, and you allow him near your son?" "He is not dangerous to Elam," Jin spat in exasperation. "He is dangerous to you. How is it you cannot get that through that thick skull of yours?" Kor bristled. "I can bloody well take care of myself." "No," Jin said. "Not against him, you can't." Naftis’ eyes narrowed. “I would kill you. I would feel sorry afterward,” mildly sorry “But it would happen out of my control or desire.” “I am Gifted,” Kor snapped. “I could Mend.” “Not if I cut your throat. You would bleed out before anything could be done. That is the only way to effectively kill a Gifted man.” Kor still didn’t look convinced. Naftis scowled, voice softening into a low, menacing tone. “I have killed Guildsmen before, Hybrid. Three of them in one night. All Gifted.” Kor was impressed despite himself, but did not say so. Instead, he snorted. "I have defeated Guildsmen, too." Helped defeat them, in any case. "And I am only just learning what I am capable of." "Good to know," Naftis said lowly. "Look," the Hybrid snarled, "if you want to be a blasted slave, have it your way, I don't care anymore, but do not threaten me!" "Will you just---" Jin started to say. Elam looked distressed enough to cry, and the Fay-el was not sure who he'd rather hit more; Kor, or Naftis. Elam twisted slightly to glance up at Naftis, worry flooding his features. “Am I hurting you, really?” Jin clamped a hand over Kor’s mouth when he heard him take a breath. The Hybrid swiveled to scowl at him. The Fay-el gave him a stern look he reserved for insubordinate sentries, until the Hybrid’s tension eased slightly. Naftis’ voice was gentle. “No, Elam. I am not being harmed by you. You’re the best thing that happened to me.” “Are you sure? Cuz I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. Meanies do that. Eloin and bad guys do. I don’t.” The loquiri smiled. “You’d know if you hurt me. I’m in your head, right?” A nod. “So do you feel how I feel—like an echo?” Elam scrunched his eyes for a moment. And then opened them again with a grin. “Yes. I do!” “Good.” Naftis chuckled. “Am I hurting?” He shook his head. “Do I feel sad, or unhappy, or upset?” Elam started to shake his head again, and then paused. “You’re mad at Kor.” The loquiri flicked a glance at the Hybrid, who Jin had released and was now glaring menacingly at him. “Perhaps so.” “I hope not too long. Everyone gets mad at him—just cuz Kor does stuff.” Jin muffled a laugh. Elam glanced at him, but then returned his attention to Naftis. “But Kor is nice. He took me to the sea, and to eat dates, and he sings pretty,” his voice rose in excitement. “And—and he even saved me from those nasty men. With the triangles on their hands. Didn’t anyone ever tell them not to write on themselves?” Jin had his head bowed, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Naftis rested a hand on Elam’s shoulder. “I will…will try to be less angry at Kor. Maybe after the Master has helped us.” “Promise?” The loquiri sighed, rolling his eyes. “Aye, I promise.” With a wide grin, Elam turned around and leaned back against him again. Kor couldn't help but smirk at the loquiri in silent victory. Jin's head swung from side to side equally silently, urging the Hybrid to hold his tongue. For once, Kor obeyed. The rest of the ride, comparatively, was blessedly silent. < > It took several hours of weary riding, but finally the loquiri community crept closer to them. An arm of the Rim, its stony tendril reaching from where Ratacca Korr had been hewn, spread lazily across the sand in lower slopes. One peak had been narrowed into a spire slightly taller than the surrounding rocky lumps and small round houses at the base of the mountains. Lanterns burned faintly near its top. Even though the Guild threat had faded over the years, loquiri still kept watch from their towers to ensure the safety of all that dwelled there. Naftis slowed his horse to give time for Jin and his Second to come abreast. Kor gaped slightly at the tower. He would be able to guess how much time it had taken, how much effort, to shape the rock like that. “Most of that tower was made at the same time as Ratacca Korr. We only hollowed out the topmost chamber into a larger room, to give room for our sentries to sleep when their watch ended,” the loquiri said quietly. “The Guild has killed too many of us for the loquiri people to rely on simply Border Guards and a Fay-el’s law.” Naftis gently nudged his horse and moved on. They passed through the slim gates, accosted only once by two un-bonded loquiri, who studied Naftis with puzzled recognition but did not stop him. Hooves clattered on stone. Naftis dismounted, and Jin and his Second did the same. When he held out his hands, Elam slid into his grasp, giggling as he pulled him from the horse and set him on his feet. The boy glanced about, eyes wide with awe. “This is so pretty.” Naftis smiled. Most loquiri workmanship was finely done, with a flair for delicate or detailed designs. The more time and concentration a project required, the less the loquiri could think of his lack. The small courtyard bore a seven-pointed star in a vivid gold, spreading out across the stone as if embracing the land below. Twin moons, crescents curved toward each other like the horns of a bow, rested above the star. Naftis pointed to the elaborate script scrolled around the images. “When Star arise and Loha glow, Amid the dark and night…,” he read softly, “That is the first line of the Kel prophecy.” Elam frowned. “But when the moons are in the sky, the Star can’t be seen.” “One day, it will be.” Naftis rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face a long building, flanked by two smaller, adobe towers, sans the sentries. “That is our hall, such as Chrys has. The stables are that way,” he pointed to the left, “And where loquiri sleep and study is over there, deeper within the village.” “Where will we sleep?” “In the hall. As Seekers.” Elam glanced at him, puzzlement making him frown slightly. Naftis laughed. “I will explain. Later. I think your Da is tired and ready to take a meal.” “And Kor too.” The loquiri sighed. “Kor too.” < > Chufa, the steward, greeted them as they stepped into the main hall. “Hail, Seekers. May you find rest, peace, and companionship here.” Kor said something under his breath with a snicker, though Naftis caught a reference to a man who dealt with harlots. Thankfully, Chufa did not hear it. The steward smiled at them, and smiled broader when he was close enough to see. “Naftis? We have missed you, my friend. Though we were told…” his voice trailed off. “You are well?” His eyes scanned their party. “Where is Roth?” Naftis gently nudged Elam forward. “What you were told was true. This is Elam.” Chufa glanced at the boy, holding his Gift lightly, and then released it to give Naftis a relieved look. “I am pleased for you. Not all get a second chance.” Naftis nodded once and then shifted to point out the others with him. “This is Jin, a Dragonian I am sure you have heard of, Fay-el of the Shinar tribe and kinsman to Chrys. And the other is Kor.” The steward dipped his head at each, though with a puzzled glance at the shunned Hybrid. He gestured to a young man standing respectfully nearby. “Take them to prepared rooms, and have another bring them water to cleanse the sand.” He gave them his attention again. “In a point, Master Govan will return and sit down for the evening meal. You are invited to eat with him.” After they’d been led down a broad hallway, from which twisted narrow passages to the heavy oak doors of rooms, there was a brief but loud argument over who, precisely, would sleep where. The young man they were following tried to lead them to three different rooms---one for Elam and Naftis, one for Jin and one for Kor---but found that the mere suggestion was enough to incite a fight between the visitors. “Two rooms will be more than sufficient,” Kor said, crossing his arms and pressing closer to Jin’s left. The servant bowed his head politely. “As you wish. Come right this---“ The Fay-el shook his head, giving his son a long glance. It was impossible for anyone to mistake the sorrow and trepidation in his eyes. “No,” he said softly, offering his son a small smile, which the boy returned cheerfully. “We will all sleep in one room. I’ll not be separated from Elam until there is no other choice.” “In that case---” the servant began. “Fay-el, if I may---“ Naftis interrupted, but the Hybrid stepped forward in front of Jin and snapped at him. “No, you may not!” Naftis took a half step away from the Second, nudging Elam backwards with one elbow, his other hand releasing a dagger from his sleeve. Even Elam saw the blade, and became very quiet and still, eyes as wide as saucers. The servant held up a hand, quietly urging everyone to please be calm as he cast a nervous and knowing glance at the loquiri and his new Match. “There is really no need to---” “Hybrid, you try my patience,” Naftis warned in a low voice, his eyes narrowed at Kor as he ignored the servant completely. He inched a step to the left, blocking Elam even more fully from view. Jin threw his arms in the air. “Really, can you two not leave it be long enough to---” “You try my patience,” Kor growled back, one hand resting on the hilt of one of the shitans at his waist. “Put the bloody dagger away and leave that child alone.” Trying to alleviate the situation, he tossed the words over his shoulder at the servant, eyes never leaving the stiff loquiri in front of him. “One room,’ he spat through gritted teeth, “as the Fay-el says.” Glancing at Naftis and Elam, the servant tried to explain that such an arrangement really was not a good idea until after the Bonding, at which point Kor snapped, “Stars and Crescents! Fine then, two rooms! The Fay-el and I will share one, and Elam and his blasted Kyda-forsaken slave can have the other.” The servant’s eyes widened in shock and his mouth opened to speak, but now the Fay-el jumped back into the argument. “Really, Kor! I am quite safe in my own room. Don’t worry so much!” The Hybrid snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that.” “Bloody ael kinth,” Naftis snarled. “He is perfectly safe. No loquiri would---” “Aye, as the blasted dagger in your hand well proves, I’m sure!” And Elam started crying. Jin moved toward his son, concern painted across his face, but the servant placed himself bodily in the way. “No, my lord.” His Second clamped a hand around his arm, echoing the servant. “Hold, Jin.” Anger still radiated from the Hybrid. “That bloody man would kill you,” he growled through clenched teeth. Naftis snarled wordlessly. His body completely blocked the way to Elam now, and he was nearly dragging the boy as he stalked back away from them. His eyes were wide, almost feral. The servant’s expression was close to panic. He whirled on Jin, leaning into his face, ignoring the hiss of the Hybrid beside him. “You must stop this. An unbonded loquiri will frenzy twice as easily as an active one. If he does, he will kill you both, and anyone else, until the link eases.” Jin took a deep breath and then released it slowly. Kor shoved his way between the servant and his Fay-el, fingers on his shitan hilt. Jin seized his hand. “Let it be, Kor. No!” He cut off the Hybrid with a wave of his hand. “Let it be.” The Fay-el glanced at the servant. Resignation laced his tone. “Do what you think is best.” With a nod, the man motioned for them to follow. Five steps away and Naftis visibly relaxed. A few more feet and the loquiri shifted aside to allow Elam to see. The boy stared up at him with wonder and confusion, then back to his retreating father. Naftis patted him on the head and turned him around, leading him into the closest room. Jin watched, biting his lip pensively. A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned aside, following Kor's gentle nudge. They walked in silence for a while, before being led into a room slightly farther down from where Naftis and Elam were staying. The servant bowed at the waist and pointed to a rope dangling by the door. “If you have need of anything, that will summon one of us. A maid with water for washing should be here soon. Rest well.” Jin sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Kor walked toward him, feet tapping on the stone and then softening as he crossed over the woven rug. The door closed quietly. With another sigh, Jin stretched out on the bed. The Second rested a hand on his back lightly. “Don’t you want to wash the sand?” “I don’t want to wash, or eat, or be here, Kor,” he said softly. “Just let me sleep.” His Second sighed, sensing another battle coming. “You need to eat first, at least.” The Fay-el’s voice was muffled by the pillows in which he’d buried his face. “Leave me be, Kor.” “No.” “Kyda take you!” Jin cried, pounding a fist into the pillow. “Can I not have control of my life for just one moment? I said leave me be!” Kor ignored the words, focusing instead on the concerns behind them. “First your son taken from you by Chrys, then by Gyas, then returned only to be taken by Naftis? Then Layole taken from you by Daliah, and replaced without your consent, by me? And now even the choice of whether or not you want to eat is being taken from you?” Jin was quiet for so long, Kor seriously thought the man had fallen asleep. Then finally the Fay-el mumbled. “My betrothed. My land. My child. My Second. Aye, even the bloody food. Am I not a Fay-el?” Kor sighed. “You are Fay-el. But with power comes sacrifice.” He quirked a smile. “And with stubbornness comes hunger, if you insist upon not eating. Nothing like a complaining belly to keep you from the sleep you so desire, Fay-el…” “I will eat with Govan later, and rest now. Go exploring. No—don’t.” He turned his head to glare at the Hybrid. “You do that and you won’t survive. Just…find something to do. Perhaps someone here can help you with your Gift, such as Veritas tried before. This is where he spent his childhood.” “You really should eat.” “Go away.” "No. You can eat and then sleep. Or I can be my usual annoying self. Make your choice." "Kor! I am not in the mood---" The Hybrid rolled his eyes, and stood up. "Unfortunately for you, Fay-el, I am." "Kor," Jin growled, sitting up. Kor tore the covers out from under him, tossing them on the floor. Jin glared through narrowed eyes. "This is not amusing." "I know. It really is not amusing that you are so stubborn you will not take care of yourself and thus, like a child, have to be cared for. But it is no matter, because I'm your Second, and I am not tired. I can bug you all day." "Get out!" Jin snarled, pointing at the door. "No." Kor started humming the Drinker's Ballad, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the Fay-el. "Fine," Jin said in resignation. "I've slept through worse." He rolled over, and buried his face in his pillow. Kor grinned, and started jumping on the bed, singing in Aquila in a full baritone. "Ack I sold me shirt, me bloody bloody shirt, just to 'ave some ale and some women..." Jin jerked to his feet. “Crescent-blinded, blasted, bloody Hybrid!” He clenched his fists, frustration boiling. He wanted to hit that smile off his face. “Just leave me alone!” Kor, still smirking, shifted to the second verse. Jin groaned and threw his hands into the air. “Gah! Fine. Get me something. Anything. Just be quiet and leave me.” “After you have eaten.” “Yes, yes. Please just get on with it.” Kor pulled on the dangling rope and, when a knock sounded on the door, stepped out. Jin sat back on the bed and closed his eyes. Whatever the servant had brought, Jin heard Kor set it on a small table and then cross to his side. “Rise and shine, Fay-el.” Kor shoved him to the floor. He glared at him from the undignified position. The Second laughed. “Come on now. Don’t make me sing again.” “Kyda—you are the most annoying man I have ever met.” “Aye, and I’m going to be by your side for many years to come. So eat and let’s not argue, eh?” He handed Jin a bowl. < > Later, there was a soft knock on the door. Kor, sitting back against the oak with shitan in one hand and a crudely carved whistle in the other, stood up and opened the door. The same young man from before stood there, his face carefully composed as he found himself facing the rowdy Hybrid. "Supper is in fifteen minutes. I will show you to the dining hall, when you and the Fay-el are ready." "Very good," Kor said. It was easy to wake Jin. The constant, legitimate fear of Eloin assassins meant the Fay-el's nerves were sharp as steel; Kor had not even bent all the way down to rest his hand on Jin's shoulder before the Fay-el bolted upright, hand reaching briefly beneath his pillow for a dagger that was not, in fact, there. The Hybrid noted that; it would be wiser to wake Jin from a distance in the future, rather than risking physical contact and a dagger to the face. "It is time to get ready for the supper." “Good. I can see Elam again, and speak to the Master.” “And eat.” Jin rolled his eyes. “Aye, that too.” When both of them were as ready as they could be, Kor led the way out of the room and into the leadership of the young man waiting patiently for them. “This way.” Naftis and Elam were already there. The latter grinned at his Da and at Kor when they entered, the former glared. The servant gestured for Jin to sit across from the two and Kor to sit farther away, but the Hybrid sat down at Jin’s side with a sour scowl at the young man. He sighed and only shook his head. They were at a slightly higher table than the rest, set apart from the other men that slowly trickled into the hall. At the far corner, there were some women clustered at one table, grinning and laughing. But all the rest were men, varying in age from a young boy barely Elam’s age to a man who looked older than Jin himself. Two of the older men bore queues, such as Veritas wore, and seemed preoccupied. Kor was frowning at them, eyes flicking from those with the queue to those without. The Master’s arrival, however, prevented any questions. Govan, as it must be, stepped into the room and it quieted. The Master smiled, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He held up a hand and quoted some sort of invocation—perhaps a prayer?—and then continued his path to the table where Jin and his group waited. The buzz of conversation began to rise again. He sat down and brushed white-streaked hair behind his shoulders, no queue but a neat tail instead, and glanced at each of them in turn. His eyes were an enigmatic color, at once blue and then green as he turned his head. A trader in Crossroads had mentioned it once—hazel he had called it. When his stare fell on Jin, the Fay-el realized, with a start, the man was blind as well. “Welcome, Fay-el Jin and Second Kor to my table. I trust you are well?” Govan turned his head to smile warmly at Naftis and Elam. “And praise Kyda for your return and new beginning, Naftis, and bid you a pleasant time here, Elam.” Elam huddled closer to Naftis, staring at him in unabashed surprise and a little fear. Jin felt slightly uneasy himself. How could the man see them, or at least know where they sat? Even Kor had switched places, so none could have told him beforehand. Was it this Gift that Kor used? Govan seemed satisfied and nodded to the servant who had led Jin to the hall. He left, returning with the steward, who directed him in placing food before them all. Jin and Kor received wine, but he saw the drink in the flagons for Naftis and Elam was green, and smelled them even before he could see them. Kolinar. Kor scowled, and flinched when Naftis encouraged the boy to drink the bitter brew. “Why are you giving him that?” he demanded. “Kor…” Jin sighed. “It’s perfectly harmless, Hybrid,” Naftis snapped. “He’s a boy,” Kor argued. “Ravin said kolinar is addictive, and if it is, as I suspect, a stimulant, if given to children it can cause nutritional deficiencies, growth retardation, difficulty concentrating…” Naftis gave him a wilting glare. “Aye, all that is true. Which is why I will not permit him to have kolinar regularly. But in case you have not noticed, Hybrid, today is somewhat of a special occasion.” Jin put a hand on Kor’s arm. “Just leave it be,” he said quietly. Kor let it be and sipped his wine petulantly. At least it was not drugged. The supper wore on. Apparently it was not the custom of these people to discuss business over a meal, or any matters of import or interest at all. Kor fidgeted at Jin’s side as Master Govan discussed the weather, burning with questions and profoundly discomfited by the dead stare of the elderly man before him. How was it that a blind man could be so aware of his surroundings? Kor did not feel the Gift… At least he did not feel the Gift from this man. But it swelled around Naftis and Elam, until they were practically cloaked in it. And if that was not bad enough... Kor shuddered as the Gift touched him gently, then receded. A servant asked, “You are not eating, sar? Would you like something else?” Kor swiveled to glare at the young man who had come up behind him. This one was barely out of his teens, although in truth only a year or two younger than the Hybrid himself. He had no queue. “No,” Kor sighed, trying to behave. “The food is excellent, thank you.” Jin gave him a stern frown. “Fay-els are not the only ones who must eat, Kor.” “I’ll eat,” Kor assured him sweetly, picking up his spoon. Again, that Gift washed over him, warm against his back. Kor’s eyes narrowed and he put the spoon down. The servant had leaned closer. “Would you like more wine, or…?” Kor gritted his teeth. “No. Thank you.” He squirmed in his seat, trying and failing to put some distance between himself and the blasted loquiri. There was just nowhere to go, and so the Gift pressed in on him, at once comfortable and familiar and yet too much so for comfort. At the edge of his vision, Jin saw the servant lean closer again. He was nearly hovering around the Hybrid, fussing worse than a new mother. Kor hissed something. The Fay-el only shook his head. “Leave it.” The Hybrid glared at him, but didn’t move as the servant took his cup and refilled it, ignoring Kor’s scowl, and then returned it to its place. In doing so, the youth brushed his shoulder against the Hybrid. The Second recoiled. But the youth’s expression changed, from mildly curious to a definite contentment. What in Kyda’s name is going on? “Please,” Kor said, with careful restraint. “Do not touch me.” The man’s expression was a perfect mixture of confusion and embarrassment. “Forgive me.“ He was still hovering very near, as though unsure or unwilling to go about his other duties, and now the Master had turned his blind gaze to them both. Worse, Naftis had noticed, and mild alarm, annoyance and amusement flitted across his face all at once as he looked from the Hybrid to the loquiri. “Ah, found a friend?” Kor growled something about the loquiri’s parentage. He only grinned. “You’re Gifted. It stands to reason that one of these many loquiri will find a Match in you.” The Second’s eyes widened. “What?” Goven interjected, his voice in careful modulation. “You are Gifted, and all these men un-bonded, unless they bear the queue. Your presence has stirred one, or more, of them.” He leaned forward slightly. “If the link be true and strong—then he will find you again. If not, it will fade as you leave and he will forget and find another.” The servant rested a hand on Kor’s shoulder. The Hybrid tensed, but didn’t take the man’s head off with a shitan. For that, Jin was thankful. “I don’t think I can handle two of these…two loquiri in my tribe,” he addressed it equally to Govan and to Kor. The former looked bemused, and the latter shook his head and pushed the servant’s hand aside. “Never fear. I have no intention of bonding one of these.” “Ah,” Master Goven said, “a loquiri is not for you?” “You have no idea,” Kor said darkly. “I would not ensla---“ “Kor is my Second,” Jin interrupted before the normally diplomatic man could say something truly disastrous at the table. “The closest thing a Fay-el has to a loquiri in my tribe. It would compound matters… like a loquiri having a loquiri of his own.” “Yes,” the Master agreed, dipping his white head. “Hardly a convenient arrangement. Nevertheless, it is a shame.” “Not really,” Kor mumbled. Jin kicked him beneath the table. Kor flashed him a dark glare. Quickly changing the subject, Jin gestured to Elam and Naftis. “When will you…will they be—“ “Bonded?” The Master smiled. “An hour after supper. Do you plan to be there?” “If I may,” Jin said softly. “He is my son.” Govan cocked his head. “If you wish, you may. Provided you do not interfere. However, you are not Gifted. It would be meaningless for you.” “He is my son.” The Master sighed. “You will not be able to see what we do, only perhaps their reaction.” “Kor…” “Kor can see and understand, somewhat.” Govan smiled. “He can explain what he sees, perhaps, but that can wait until after as easily as during.” “I want to be there.” Kor really had no desire to witness the Bonding. In fact, the very idea of seeing such a thing made him feel physically ill. However, Jin was going, and Kor would not deny a father the right to be there for his son... even if that son was, unwittingly, committing an atrocity against a man whose only crime (other than being unforgivably irritating) was that he'd been born with some manner of spiritual... deformity. The look Naftis was giving Kor suggested the man was aware of Kor's thoughts, and the Hybrid quickly composed his face back into something resembling bland curiosity. He turned back to his meal, forcing himself to eat. He suspected he would need his strength for what he would soon be witnessing. < > “Are you certain you wish to come, Jin?” Govan asked lightly. They had stopped at a corridor, and obviously, the preparations were close by. “You will not be allowed to interfere.” “I am certain,” Jin’s voice was barely audible. The Master gave him a gentle smile. “You can wait until it is done.” “I want to be there.” “As you wish,” Turning, he disappeared down the corridor, footsteps too soft to be heard. They tagged after him and turned aside into the room he led them to. It was not a small room, but neither was it large and imposing. Naftis was already there, sitting at the far edge of the room, sipping at a mug (undoubtedly with kolinar) and eyes dancing around the room. A loquiri with a queue stood close by, his attention solely on the uneasy Naftis. “I thought you could not separate them?” Jin said quietly. “For a time, we can. He is not happy about it, and Elam undoubtedly is unhappy, but it is what we must do.” Govan gestured to the left. “If you stay there, you can watch it all without interfering.” Jin crossed to where he pointed and folded his arms, looking more and more worried by the moment. Kor shifted to his left side and glanced curiously about. Lune glass was set in the center, a flattened plate of greenish-blue that did not glow. Besides the Master and Naftis, two loquiri, bearing a queue, stood nearby. The first by Naftis, and the other at the Master’s side. The latter disappeared after a moment, and returned with Elam in hand. The boy was wide-eyed, but smiled at his Da (who responded weakly) and then at Naftis. The loquiri stood and moved toward the center. Jin felt the prickle of Gift and flinched. Naftis spoke now, gently. “Do as I showed you, Elam. Hold the sun.” Kor shifted uncomfortably as Elam, too, seized the Gift, joining Naftis and the Master in holding their "suns". The Hybrid smiled a little despite himself; the term was a clever way for describing the sense of the Gift to a child too young to fully understand its intricacies. In fact, Kor rather liked the term. Sun, he thought pleasantly, tasting the term in his mind. Much better than Gift or Glow or Shine or--- He shuddered as the Gift in the room tangibly increased. The two queued loquiri---Kor could tell that was what they were, for he could feel the same entanglement of their Gifts with anothers' that he'd sensed earlier with the royal loquiri and Fay-el Chrys---had seized their Gifts. Although it seemed nobody was doing anything yet, the sensation was nevertheless uncomfortable. Even Jin was scowling and shifting uncomfortably, and he was not even Gifted. The Master gave them one last glance, warning in his eyes, and then moved forward. He held a small crystal in his hands, tapered to a point at one end and smoothly rounded on the other, handing it to Naftis, whose attention was on Elam. “This is a focus point, it does nothing of itself, save to aid in giving the Gift something to be aimed at, as it were,” he said, directed more at Jin and the Hybrid than the already-once bonded Naftis. When he slid a small knife into view, Jin hissed in dismay. The Fay-el did not move, though it was obvious he did not approve either. The Master nicked Naftis’ thumb and then moved to Elam. The boy, like his stoic father, did not move or cry out, only winced as the blood began to flow. Naftis held out a hand and the boy clasped it, before being guided to rest his bleeding thumb against the crystal, opposite Naftis’ own. The Master took a deep breath. “If you wish, Kor, you may seize the Gift to see what happens. Now we are ready.” Disgust and curiosity warred in Kor. He did not want to see, yet part of him truly needed to witness what was going to occur, if for no other reason than to commend the abomination to song or history. He felt sick, watching the blood well on the thumbs of both loquiri and child, and sicker still as they pressed blood and flesh to that accursed crystal. It was one thing, to commit this atrocity. It was another entirely to bind the thing in blood, to make it legal within the tribe and before the gods. No matter that he and Jin had both cut their hands to seal the vows made to one another during Kor's Confirmation a mere two eves before. That had been an honorable contract between free men, thrice said and thrice done before the eyes of the tribe. But this... this was a perversion of the Gift, an abomination, this enslavement of a man's very soul to a child too innocent to understand the wrong being done. Yet aye, he would watch. Someone had to watch, someone who understood the evil that was occurring here today. Jin could not witness it, not fully. Elam could watch and, indeed, participate, but he was too young to understand. And these loquiries... Well, although Kor did not blame them entirely, because they'd been raised to believe they deserved nothing more than the enslavement to which they now condemned poor Naftis, still... they were allowing this thing to happen to another man. Kor grimaced, seizing his Gift. As was he. < > Naftis reached for Elam as he had done for the last few days, feeling the Gift intertwine with his own. He felt the Master as a vague pressure. Elam, unlike older Matches, had very little training in his Gift, or even how to control it. Doyen helped to push them together, to guide Elam into the pattern of a Bond. Their Gifts danced around each other, life-threads dragged along behind them. Each time the Gift whirled into the pattern, it was tighter, the space between life-thread and Gifting smaller and smaller. Gift burned and ebbed, rising and swirling into tighter and tighter mesh. From a distance, Doyen’s voice rasped like soft steel. “His heart, his mind, his body, his Gift—bind him to you. Bind him. Tighter.” Naftis could feel the Master’s Gift’s presence, guiding and pressing them both into a closer weave. Other voices, other Gifts, but only one note rang clear. He focused on it, bringing it upwards with him. Their Gifts rose. This was the necessity of the kolinar. To Bond truly, the amount of Gift must be high. His spine ached, bones on fire with the surging harmony. “You must be one. One note. One song. One Gift.” Naftis strove harder. Closer. Deeper. There. The pattern clenched, the last bit of space vanishing. Elam hissed once, feeling and not understanding the sudden shift of the Gift. Only death could sever the tangled knot of life-threads and Gift. The loquiri felt the Gifts change, line up, perfection in notes. He slid within and felt the same within himself. A presence. An awareness. A deep well of thoughts, emotions, and images exploded into his mind, screaming loud. He winced and instinctively tamped down, slowing the flow. Surprise responded, but not his own. A gentle touch rubbed against his awareness, inquisitive and questing. Closing his eyes, Naftis reached for him and felt the echo return. “The bond is still very tender,” Govan said softly. “It will last for at least a week, sometimes longer. You won’t be able to tolerate him out of your sight, you’ll keep him within reach at all times.” The Master smiled. “If anything, you’ll have to keep touching him, as if reassuring yourself he is there, he is real. Believe me, I have done the same.” “They already were,” Kor snapped. The Master gave him a weary, but patient look. “After living and aye, growing used to existing with only half of what you are—to suddenly have that fulfilled can be confusing. The touching will slow as the hours pass, but it will never end.” He shrugged at the Second. “You have seen Veritas and Chrys?” “Aye.” A slow nod from the Master was his response. “If a loquiri should feel needy, or a Match uneasy—then they will draw close again, until the feeling passes. Give them time and space to recover, and they will be as normal as they can be, once again.” |
| “Ugama?” Chrys chuckled. “Where did you hear of those?” Late morning saw Jin and Kor once again in Chrys's hall. Between the struggle for an heir to the Mara and loquiri, and Gift the main purpose of their trip to the Mara had fallen to the wayside. Now, however, was time to ask although now it seemed as if Chrys wouldn't be much help. “The woman Daliah, and in legend,” Jin responded. “We also found large scales on the edge of the desert.” Chrys laughed again, shaking his head. “Jin…kinsman, there are no Ugama. No dragons of any sort. The only creatures of the Mara worth their weight in battle roam in Apollar.” His eyes narrowed. “You wear their crests yourself.” Jin sighed. “And you expect a Dragonian to train them ourselves? To keep such creatures as that in our camp? We have no knowledge of them. It would only end in deaths on both Derk-ra and Dragonian sides.” “I did not say to take wild Derk-ra.” Chrys scowled. “Those Derk-ra Gyas gave me…” he glanced at Veritas, eyebrows arching. “Those are already trained, are they not?” The loquiri nodded. “They are. That man…Hamen is with them, taking them through their paces.” “Ah, see?” He glanced at Jin again. “Two problems solved. Take those. I have no need of them, and see if this Hamen will help you or suggest someone who can.” “They are no use to me.” “Jin, there are no dragons. They are legend, such as the people of Venne. Use creatures of reality, not monsters of myth.” Jin sighed. "I will take a look at them and speak with Hamen. If he can assure me that they will be under control and will not slow us down... I will consider it." Chrys waved a hand idly. "Do what you will. Go well, kinsman." "The Star bless you, Chrys," Jin responded. Kor cleared his throat as they walked toward the practice yard, jolting the Fay-el from his thoughts. Jin arched an eyebrow at his new Second, then chuckled. "I know Kor, I know." The redhead shook his head vehemently. "No you don't." He rubbed his arm ruefully, remembering fire and leaden lethargy. Chrys and Veritas may have Mended every trace of the past few weeks "adventures" to naught but scars, but Eppa knew that the Hybrid still remembered. Vividly. "The only place a Derk-ra belongs is on a shitan. In pieces." Jin smiled. “I would agree, in most cases. But I have seen them in action. They are formidable in battle.” "Precisely!" Kor said, index finger jabbing at the air. "Do you want to keep something around that not only is strong enough to take down grown men, but also seems to think those same grown men make especially tender treats?" “And do you think this Ugama of Daliah’s will be any better?” Jin frowned. “At least these I know I can kill. If this Ugama is anything at all like the legends…” He shook his head. “A Ugama could devour an entire tribe. Do you truly want to search for that creature?” The Fay-el had a good point, although the sudden change of subject left Kor's head whirling for a moment. "I for one am not so convinced that the Ugama even exist. Every story of them I have ever heard describes them as... glorified Derk-ra. Bigger, smarter, meaner, and more poisonous, but essentially the same idea. It seems to me that if they were in fact a different creature entirely, something in a story would set them apart." He cocked his head. "But... I would prefer not to be eaten by any beasts, legendary or not." “I would prefer not to be dismembered and my children gelded,” Jin said darkly. “Hence, I will use Derk-ra, if I must.” Kor wisely held his tongue. Jin’s mood was rapidly spiraling downward. He could already think of the problems having those creatures in the camp would cause. If he wasn’t ensuring that the lizards survived the night unscathed, he would have to make sure those same beasts did not devour horses or worse, children. In a few steps, the sound of feet shuffling in the sand, heavy panting, and the low hiss of Derk-ra met their appearance. Kor moved slightly forward, shifting to his left side. Jin glanced at him, bemused. “I am quite certain this Hamen has them under control.” The Hybrid shrugged, but did not move. Jin smiled and kept walking. Kor did not know what he despised more; the way the beasts kept flicking their eyes toward Jin, as though just waiting for a good opening, or the sound of their bloodthirsty screams as the beast-master Hamen put them through their exercises. "Jin..." he said nervously, as the Fay-el stood at the very edge of the practice ring to watch, arms crossed. He really, really did not want to have to come any closer to the snow-white beasts, but if Jin was not going to step back, then he had no choice but to join the Fay-el at the perimeter of the circle. Every muscle tense, he took his place at Jin's left. Though Jin carried little fondness for these beasts, he had to admit they moved with a sinuous grace at once alluring and feral. He had never seen one in full daylight, with sunshine shining on scales and teeth. It was….interesting. When the pair suddenly whirled on Hamen, in a combined attack that surely would end with the beast-master bloodied and pinned, Jin moved to step into the circle and felt Kor’s arm on his shoulder. The next instant, Hamen twisted and brought his staff around in a complex move, with a shouted word of desert dialect to punctuate the action. And the Derk-ra changed direction in a flash. He flicked a glance at his observers, and snapped another command. Both Derk-ra dropped to their belllies. Kor glanced from the crouching Derk-ra to the beast-master. He'd seen Derk-ra similarly cowed when that surly Maran woman had brought her "pet" into his tent for treatment, but that creature had been smaller. These... well, they were very large, and their eyes glittered with intellect he did not care for at all. His gaze slid sideways to Jin as the Fay-el nodded to the beast-master. “Perhaps. My kinsman, Fay-el Chrys, has granted me these beasts. However, I have little knowledge of how to control them. Nor wish to bring danger to my tribe. Do you know of a man who could help me satisfy both problems?” Hamen shrugged. "I could, of course. I can solve the first one very quickly. You can't control these beasts. If they go into battle, they won't stop killing until you put them down." Kor nodded. "Why doesn't that surprise me? I told you these creatures wouldn't work out." The trainer sighed and shook his head. "You misunderstood me. Derk-ra themselves make amazing battle partners. They fight differently from any human, and it's almost impossible to defend against the attacks of both trainer and lizard at the same time. It's those two specifically that won't work out." He turned to Jin. "There are three ways of getting a white Derk-ra. The first is that they'll occasionally be born albino, but those are small and almost never survive to be a year old. The second involves generations of inbreeding, leading to unhealthy, deformed creatures. The third is, unfortunately, the most common. Have you ever seen a crest with white scales?" Jin nodded. "They are rare, and are normally considered a good omen." The trainer shook his head again, smiling in spite of himself. "They certainly imply a beast that was lucky before meeting death. White scales imply scar tissue." Jin frowned, but Hamen pointed out to the two beasts where they crouched, Maheen seated between them watching the trainer regally. "A deep enough wound will cause white scales to grow in the place of colored ones. Those creatures have stab wounds covering over half of their body to get all of their scales white like that." Kor's eyes widened. "Is that considered acceptable treatment? I don't even like the monsters and that's outrageous!" "They've had the defiance beaten out of them at the same time as they had Gyas's aesthetic needs met, but if they were told to attack people, they'd got nuts. I'm going to try to train some of that out of them, but no way will they be able to fight alongside soldiers they've not spent days with." Jin cursed. "Dragon-blast that Guild-lord. Even now he's only causing trouble." He crossed his arms. "Well? Any other options?" Hamen shrugged. "If you want Derk-ra for battle, it's best to train them fresh. I can show you how to catch and train them, and would be willing to train the first few personally, but it's not going to be a quick thing. It'll be months before the Derk-ra are ready to fight, and at least a week longer to get them trained to fight with your soldiers. A Derk-ra battles alongside, not alone. I will not train packs of hunting beasts, I will train battle partners the likes of which none of your crest-wearing warriors have seen." He smiled. "And I won't even charge you anything other than living expenses until I'm done and you're satisfied." ~*~ A courier found her in the hall as she went to request fresh water for Jaara. The woman would be stalking the corridors soon enough so the bard had decided to give the servants more time with their walkways pregnant Jaara free. The man slid the letter into her hands, and disappeared again, as she turned over the seal in her palm. Ru... She smiled warmly and tucked it in her belt. Water from the servants splashed again into the basin and she returned it to her companion's room. The woman was gone. Apparently she hadn't saved the servants much time at all. Frowning, she slid the basin back into its place. Jaara was certainly able to take care of herself, she chided, and she had been Mended. She was allowed some freedom. Besides...She idly touched the paper in her belt. She had played for the Fay-el during his morning meal, but after he held court he had retired, which granted Caylia the rest of the day free. Which meant she wouldn't be playing that evening when Jin had promised to come. She frowned and adjusted the instrument on her back as a chord of disappointment struck, slowly faded and she sighed. In an absent hope she settled in a main hallway, where large carved screens dabbled the floor with light and shadow and into an alcove built into the marble streaked stone. Pulling the letter free she broke the seal. Caylia, Ah it's been good to hear from and all the adventures you've been having. I had guessed you were dead by now, or stolen by a story, but I always guess that when you disappear. But then you always turn up again, half covered in sand or with something new clinging to your fingers. We all miss you here, there haven't been any new notes playing among the gardens in a while. That would change when she returned. Most of what had happened had, in letter form, reached the school, and her formal writings would once they were finished. Dealing with Ravin however might be a challenge, or rather when and in what context should she write of what he was. Her attention went back to Ru's letter, and his script filled with gossip. A master ran off with a student, you'll never guess which one. Haili's passed to some advanced level for economics. I don't know how those bloody people work, but she's of a mind to go to Crossroads, but I'll try to get her to stay. I don't fancy a trip. The Uhl fell ill a week ago and hasn't seen much improvement. She paused, frowned, read it again. The Uhl? Footsteps echoed down the corridor, a tall shadow darkening the light thrown on the floor. She smiled and skimmed the line one last time before refolding it and quickly finding her feet. Fay-el!" She called at Jin's back. As he turned and his face changed, she saw the quirk of amusement and almost said her curse aloud. "Jin. Sorry, I apologize. Etiquette classes at the school are more intense with each level, but..." She trailed off, noticing the pale pattern of bruises against his jaw, her eyes softened and she reached a hand as if to touch them. Abruptly she remembered where she was and let it drop. "No lunes this time I hope?" “No lunes,” he smiled, leaning his shoulder against the wall near her. “It started as a friendly spar, but it ended quite…differently. At least Chrys looks worse than I, when last I saw him.” “Oh?” His smile broadened slightly. “I had an elder brother, whose temper matched my own. It is a wonder we did not kill each other as we grew.” Jin shrugged lightly. “Chrys, however, had sisters but no brother.” She paused. None that he knew of at least. "Yet...I am sure there are those among his retinue that...could easily serve that function." "And be allowed to lay hand on the Fay-el?" "Perhaps. It would be interesting." And brought up a more interesting question. Had Ravin ever gotten away with it? She wouldn't doubt it, the man seemed not to care if Chrys were Fay-el or street vendor. "I'm sure you know Chrys has retired early this evening?" “Aye. I doubt he wishes anyone to see the marks I left on him, and wonder who put them there.” He shifted closer. One hand idly played with the ribbons dangling from her harp. They had found found their way from her hair to the harp the night of the confirmation in honor of a memory and of a debt of words. “I do believe you promised me a tale, yes?” Apparently he remembered too and he remembered his ribbons. Heat unbidden fizzed lightly beneath her cheekbones and she dropped her head concentrating instead on Ru's neat script and refolding the letter.“Ah…yes….on Bran-Kir,” she responded surprising herself with her level tone, “and a decidedly less bloody tale as the one your people share.” One finger slid beneath her chin, tipping her head up. “I would love to hear it,” Jin said softly and everything stilled for just a moment. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and he withdrew his hand, taking a step back. “Perhaps you could tell me while we sup? I have not eaten a midday meal yet.” She found her voice she had dropped somewhere near her letter. "Of course," she swallowed. "Of course. If you insist." "I do." "Well then," she tucked the paper away and shouldered her harp with confidence again. "Don't forget, you owe me as well. A tale for a tale, and I will hold you to it." “Ah, and with my lola at camp no less.” “Then we should go there.” Jin flashed a grin. “And risk the wolves?” Caylia laughed. “If we can survive their clutches once, surely another trek cannot harm us. And I tend to think the last was much more dangerous.” “Perhaps so.” His face turned serious again. “I cannot say our fare is as fine as the palace.” She shrugged. “I have traveled through the provinces with but only my harp to earn my bread and in many parts of the desert, or where the best stories lurk, nothing but some basic rations. Nothing your people fix could be as bad as dried Derk-ra meat.” Jin chuckled and motioned her on. They left the safe shadows of the castle and out into the bustling market place, where the sun grew warm above them and she drew the linka head cloth around her hair to protect her scalp from its rays. They spoke of the School at Settar, it had been many years since he had last been there and since that time it had grown; both the justice school and the builders school had expanded and the village surrounding the school had also grown beyond its former bounds. It was about the right time for the grapes that grew over the market bazaar to be harvested and it was then that she realized how much she was beginning to miss it. The conversation turned to music and the proper ways to harp, versus a lyre, versus a lute, and the best oils to use on the wood. They were having a genially debate between rose and orange oil when a vendor worried out of a nearby shop by some commotion, almost stumbled into them, veered, and swerved away. Jin had laid a hand on her arm then, steadying and protective at once, and she had to beat down a new flush, as his eyes followed the man warily and the moment passed. Passing through rows of tents, Caylia settled at the edge of a dead campfire, where Jin had insisted she wait. He returned with two bowls of stew—lacking Derk-ra meat entirely he joked—and handed one to her, before sitting down to enjoy the meal. When they had finished, Jin stretched once and then lay on his side, head propped on one hand. His emerald eyes were alight with curiosity and good humor. “Now for the tale of Bran-Kir, lacking his faithful dragon. I wish to hear your harp, Caylia.” “Oh no, you misunderstand me, Jin,” she grinned, moving the harp into her lap and unclipping the strap she used to keep it firmly on her back. The Dragonian camp was a curious place, now seen by the light of day. Why were they even here? She turned her attention back to the Fay-el's very green eyes. “There is a dragon in this one as well.” “Oh,” he suppressed humor. “Forgive me.” She settled the harp, tracing its lines with her fingers. It was a beautiful instrument, carved from cherrywood from the wetlands and twisted with whirls of birch, white edges of bark standing out sharply here and there against the richness of the body. When she had brought it first back to the School, questions had buzzed about it that even she couldn't answer. “The story that most know is the story of Bran-kir's son's fight with the dragon in the snow. The fight in the ice where the fang was forged into the janin. There is a quieter version, a simpler version...or perhaps it's more complicated, but it still has the dragon. And it's before any son of Bran-kir. Or even Bran-kir himself.” The desert is the spirit of everything, the old woman said through smoke as Caylia sat with watering eyes across from her. Everything and anything, even into the wetlands. Her fingers moved to the low notes, breathing the familiar undertone of the desert, its heaviness, its music, its dryness. Slowly she accented it with a higher note. Mystery perhaps, curiosity piqued. “The desert is a wild place, an untamed place and Bran-kir's mother was just a maid when she found herself trapped in the borderlands after a storm drove her family away from the shelter of the plains like so many birds on the wind. She herself got lost, wandering amongst the golden sand and low sage bushes. The sun was hot and fierce and soon she took refuge in the shadow of a great arch of sand stone, molded from wind and the breath of the gods.” Her fingers moved up the strings, across, weaving, binding. “The dragon came around sunset, molding himself out of desert sand and lengthening shadows. He was able to change, flickering from beast to man and back again except for his eyes like polished stones. She was inexplicably drawn to him and then three days later returned to camp and bore a son in the shadows of the Rim. And so dragon blood got into the line of Bran-kir, re-emerging now and again in their ancestors, in maybe the color of an eye or a temper or a look. And as for the janin,” She tempered the tune, the lowest strings whispering secrets beneath her fingers, “a strange claw shaped piece of metal was left at the camp next to the tent where the boy was born and that night the guards swore they heard the sound of sand.” She let the notes fall away, and waited for Jin to come back to life again. “I think that's more of an ancient Maran tale,” she spoke, before he could say anything. “At least judging by the original language. Also such a tie of the Mara to the...origins I guess it were of Bran-kir may be a bit of pride.” She shrugged. “But one never knows.” “Perhaps. But there might be a speck of truth, or more than that, in the tale.” He shifted, eyes drifting as he thought. “Within our history, our tales speak that Bran-Kir fostered among the Mara.” Caylia leaned forward. “I have not heard that.” Yet it would fall into place with other hints, other clues and pieces to the puzzles she had come across in her travels. Jin shrugged. “In the years surrounding his birth, Bran-Kir was in more danger from Dragonia than the Mara. We were just throwing the yoke of the Guild away, and any man who bore the Gift was duly slaughtered with fear. When Bran-Kir flowered, his parents were afraid for his life and journeyed with him to the Maran borderlands, and there they left him, in the charge of an aging Border Guard to train him in the Gift and its use.” The Fay-el glanced at her sideways. “When he was of an age, he came back to his people, but the stories say the desert always sang in his blood--and that his Gift was not a breath of cool, but the searing heat of the Mara lands.” "But then...why do not more Dragonian's come to the Mara? Unless they do and I've been really oblivious to things these past years. And then if Bran-kir was gifted then why are you Dragonian's more uncomfortable with it?" Even if it had been bred out of the Dragonians, surely they would respect the origins. In fact it was the essential ideal of oneness and identity that made the Marans who they were. And why bards were so respected. Another thought came to her and she paused and appraised him, taping her lower lip thoughtfully with a forefinger. "How far, exactly, did you get when you train at the School?" Jin’s voice turned teasing. “Which question first?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but said instead. “Dragonia and Mara have grown apart—the Rim first with its dividing line, and then our distance by virtue of our nature. As to the Gifting…we still fear the Guild, fear what they did and the treachery of that first oppression, when Dragonian Guildsmen and Eloin were bedfellows.” He shrugged. “And the School?” Caylia prompted. “You cannot slip out of that one so easily.” He flushed and dropped his head, sitting up and staring out at the horizon. “I had three white stars—I have them now, with my lola—and was to test for my first gold in a fortnight. And then the message came. Of Shinar, and my betrothed and…” He took a deep breath, and sighed. “I never came back.” The enormity of what and who he was came back for a moment and she suddenly realized that she was sitting with a Fay-el and how little it mattered. She moved a little closer, to keep their conversation among the sand of the dead campfire and not beyond, and followed his eyeline out to the edge of the desert. “With something like that, you weren't supposed to.” She touched a string on her harp. “There's no dishonor. Besides you've taken it with you, your training, the notes, the movements, the intonations in your voice. I can tell- like knows like. Unless you stay to become a Master, all bards leave sometime, for commissions or other things.” “But usually that is at the hour of our choosing.” Caylia shrugged a little and shifted uncomfortably. “Aye...aye that's true. But then we still have the choice of keeping and using what we have.” She paused and shook, her head. “Ah this is getting awfully serious. Please, may I see your lola?” “Aye. I will show you. Wait here.” And he was gone again, rising to his feet with a fluid grace and walking away. When he returned, he held a sealskin-wrapped bundle, the expense of such a covering spoke volumes of how much it was treasured. Jin unwrapped it carefully and cradled it against him, and she raised her brows slightly. Oh you beautiful, beautiful thing... It was darkwood that took the sunlight and never returned it, polished and burnished so it looked almost new. She had been able to play a lola twice at the school. The one there, though was in poor condition and the strings had since lost their life. Jin lightly brushing his fingers over its strings. Deep and melodic, the tone was rife with sorrow and solemnity, then rose softly to the brightness of a wide expanse, kissed with sunlight. He glanced up and studied her face, tipping the last string. Its tone was high and sweet. Caylia smiled. “Elam’s laugh?” Jin nodded. “Do you wish to play it?” He said quietly. It was like offering water to a thirsty man who had been left among the dunes for days. Her fingers itched and burned to know its voice, bring out the tones and it took every effort of will Caylia had to shake her head. “Not until you have given me the song you promised. A song for a song.” She would never be able to bring out the full strength of its voice, at least without her gift, without knowing or understanding what it had been tuned to. “Ah.” He hesitated, tuning strings absently. “Is there any tale or song you wish to hear in particular? Perhaps some aspect of Dragonian lore that you find intriguing?” She laughed, bright and musical. “I guess anything and everything is too broad?” His lips twitched slightly. “I suppose that was a foolish question.” “Maybe a little, Fay-el,” she agreed. “The more I learn the more I realize how many more things there are to learn. If I had my way you'd be telling me stories until the sun set and even then into the night.” She shrugged a little. “I think I'm a little too curious sometimes.” “That's not always a bad thing. But if you have any questions I will try to answer them, but I may only be able to answer them one at a time.” Amusement kindled in his eyes again and she bit her lip. Curse the man, one at a time was always a difficult thing. Carefully tasting questions on her tongue she spread her hands toward the tents. “So...would this be a normal Dragonian...homestead? Always set up like this?” “Aye. We face west, toward our homeland—Shinar. And it is laid out always in a circle. The shape is important to us and so we retain it. I and my heirs stay in the center, the old and the young spread around the outside, and the warriors and the sentries spread in a broader circle about. Wheels within wheels.” “Why?” He smiled. “Somehow, I believe you say that word often.” Jin gestured toward the sky. “In deference to the Loha—the holy month that proclaims, if the tales be true, the Kel one day. The crescents, curved toward each other, form a circle. If we had the shaman any longer, he would stay at the southern end of the camp—taking the place where the Star is said to be when the Kel is here.” "What happened to your shaman? Dead? And if you have none then does it upset any balance? Could that even be dangerous?" His eyes narrowed, face hardening in distaste. “I do not allow a shaman. They placed protective charms in all Shinar, dreamed that Tanniyn’s demands—if met—would instill trust and safety.” He frowned. “And they too dangled from the gallows. I do not trust shaman any longer.” Caylia raised her brows. "Ah. But perhaps those words had other meanings, or maybe your gods had other plans. Or maybe even the Eloin had their own sorts of charms." “I do not know.” Jin shrugged. “Only that they all died, with everyone else, and that I never added another shaman. I sometimes give blood, or a tithe of grain, when I feel it necessary.” She sensed the undercurrent and let it lie, instead leaning back on her hands and burying her fingers into the sand. "Well you're in the Mara now, the realm of the desert gods, no matter what some think. During the first migration," she explained, "when people brought Kyda with them into the borderlands and first into Eastar, some of the lesser gods fell, you can even see their cairns in the desert. But the Stargatherer took them and their souls and placed them in the sky in memory and as a reminder that they, the trinity, are still here even if half the realm uses Kyda's name. The desert is still theirs and here they take precedence. It is a different place from the wetlands. Which,” she cocked her head, “makes me wonder. Why are you Dragonians even here?” “We winter here, at times. Chrys allows me to bring my people here, for a time. I also came because of a legend.” He smiled sheepishly. “Perhaps you have heard of it. I have grown tired of running and hiding from the Eloin. I heard tales of the Ugama—of the creature that sired Bran-Kir in your story. I hoped that maybe those of the Mara knew where it’s lair was.” Jin shifted and gestured toward where Ratacca Korr lay. “Chrys made it quite clear that they do not exist, but he did gift me Gyas’ pair of whites. Hamen I have spoken with as well. He agreed to come with us, for a time, and help us learn how to use these creatures. Perhaps these little dragons can take the place of the Ugama.” Her brows rose again. "So the dragonians come to the desert seeking dragons, led by a man whose name refers to dragons in the Maran tongue, and with janins whose origins in legend are from dragons as well." She laughed. "That's perfect! Oh you must see how perfect that is? I wouldn't be as sure as Chrys that they do not exist but controlling one would be hard. But derk-ra...that is an idea. They are strong creatures, worth several men and those not of the Mara would be unfamiliar with them. But how useful would only two be, until they whelped of course." “Aye.” Jin laughed. “The dragon with dragon-fang comes to the Mara seeking his kin. And returns with the hatchling.” Caylia smiled. “That is a tale to be recorded.” He nodded his agreement, and then responded. “How useful they would be I am uncertain. We need more than two. That is why I requested Hamen to come with us. He spoke of a place in Apollar, where many gather, and said he would take us there, and teach us how to train them and work with them.” Jin hesitated, and then met her eyes with his own. “I plan to start breeding and training them, as I would horses. Then, perhaps, we can reclaim our land.” Caylia nodded slowly, turning it over in her mind. "It's a good plan...a very good plan," she agreed, then flashed a grin. "But you do realize that you now have a bard coming with you to Apollar?" She could smell the story, it called to her blood. It would need to be recorded and set in the great libraries throughout the Mara. His eyebrows arched. “I do?” “Oh aye,” her grin widened. “I cannot pass up such an opportunity as this.” “You will be coming with my tribe?” She half expected a denial, or an argument but instead surprise and pleasure competed across his face. “I would…I’m sure the tribe will be…be pleased, to have you.” Surprise on top of surprise. "I only meant to join you to Apollar, and hopefully you wouldn't take your entire tribe through the deep desert. But...if you would allow me to...to travel with your tribe after that. Windrunner...I'd have no words!" In the Mara she could go where she willed, but to travel with a tribe into the wetlands would of course need the permission of the Fay-el but if he were willing to grant it... “Aye, not the whole tribe, I’d leave what I could.” His smile warmed, voice softening ever so slightly. “You can travel with us as you please. I would....would like it very much." He cleared his throat. "To talk about the School of course." "Leave as many as you can. Water for this many people is hard to come by." She was beaming now. Half the bards at the school would be jealous. "Trinity to travel with you...even into the wetlands! I've never been to the wetlands...and our section on Dragonians in the library is poor there is much I can do. And of course you'll be able to answer any questions I have so the level of accuracy will be high! And we can speak...of the School of course, but of Dragonian legends too." She smiled warmly at him. "You have made my day Fay-el." He leaned forward, brushing the hair that had slipped from its linka hood out of her face. “Jin. Always call me Jin, Caylia.” His eyes shifted and then he pulled back, in his face as well as his body. He cleared his throat. “Ah, I did promise you a song, however, did I not?” She flushed a little again and smiled. "Jin, of course," she breathed. "Jin. And in your time for the song, otherwise the notes will be twisted and its voice lost." “My song—that of my life—must wait. I…I am not ready to share it, yet, but those of my people I am willing to sing.” She dipped her head in understanding; that sound she would not push. He strummed again, more determined. A quietly somber tune, with a mocking riff at its heart. “The tale of Fiona should be something you have not heard. I will do my best to give it justice—it is usually not told entirely on a lola.” The spark of a new name lit her interest. "What else do you need then?" she asked, brows furrowing. "I have a small mouth harp with me, and my own harp of course. Chrys does have a small amount of instruments back at Ratacca Korr. Of course if you are up to the challenge then please, entirely on the lola if you will." He blushed, and dropped his head to hide his face. “Ah…it is not…not more instruments that I need. Most…most of the older Dragonian stories are told…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Not with music. Not all music. There is some…some dancing involved, to tell the tale.” "Yes...yes I've actually heard of that. As a result of the Eloin oppression, yes?" Second intermediate, history of music. That she remembered and it had struck her as interesting then. She suddenly flashed a grin and raised her brows. "Come now Jin, you danced well during the Confirmation of your Second, I'm sure you'd do just as well now." “I…it’s…” Jin sighed, eyes closed, as if coming to an inward decision. He started to play again and opened his eyes. “You will have to play then—if you wish me to tell the story the way it was written.” Caylia nodded and dutifully watched as he played the tune—at once somber, but mocking, before rising into a sprightly chord that faded down into the quiet tone again. She found the rhythm of the music with in the first few notes and followed them, feeling them twist and turn and recreating them in her mind almost as soon as he finished. She had not become a High Master on simple favoritism, but he didn't know that and played it for her several times to be sure she had grasped it. Finally, he held the lola out to her and straightened. “As you play, I will tell the story. If you truly wish to see me…to—“ She nodded and strummed the opening chords. “I am certain you will do well.” Jin took a step back and arched his arms above his head, left foot back, as if frozen into an opening pose. As she played, he began to move in a slow circle, tapping out the rhythm with his feet. After a moment, he began to sing. The song began mournful, speaking of a dying son and an Eloin raid on their land—and he accompanied it with a slow, sweep of hands and legs, fingers nearly dragging on the sand. When the mocking began—the woman returned to find her advisors ruling in her husband’s stead, rather than riding to his rescue—he had his hands up, fingers splayed, the rhythm of the moment beating faster as she condemned them for cowardice. At the last, when Fiona declared she would ride out whether alone or not, and face the attackers—stealing a blade from one of the advisers—Jin shifted into the first Fundamental and then two other afterwards, but with a sway to his hips that suggested a woman performing sword-play. In the corner of her awareness, she noted a few watchers from among the tribe, stopping their work to see. The tale ended with her at her husband’s side, life draining from him, but he pressed the janin hilt into her hands and declared her a “More fit Second to me than all the men,” and breathed his last. He whirled on light feet, hands moving as if he sheathed a heavy weapon against his back, before he shifted into that same graceful pose that had begun the dance. And then he relaxed and turned to face her. Excitement competed with hesitance in his eyes. He spread his hands lightly, eyebrows arching. “It is different than any other way to tell a tale, is it not?” She let her fingers drop from the strings and rested her cheek against the heel of her hand. “It is indeed. It's beautiful, different to read about than it is to see, to hear, to feel. Tangles perfectly with the music and makes it three dimensional and I bet it would be even better with a drum or two. Especially during the middle...” She smiled shaking lingering notes from her mind. “Thank you. It was wonderful.” “You’re welcome.” He was nearly beaming. Jin settled at her side in a relaxed crouch. “Anything else you wish to know—besides everything there is?” She shook her head and squinted at the sun. "No...I'm sure I've bothered you long enough." She handed him back his lola, a little reluctantly, and rose to her feet. "I should get back. I've been gone long enough. Thank you for the meal, Jin." “You’re never a bother, but I’m sure you need your rest.” He bent closer. “Thank you for the company, Caylia.” His Dragonian accent rolled her name, pronouncing it with a gentle emphasis. She bit her lip, smiled, nodded. “And you for yours.” She took a breath. “Until next time, which may be on the way to Apollar.” He walked with her to the edge of camp and there they departed. To Apollar... There was a lightness in her step as she approached Crossroads and another through struck her. Apollar was Jaara's homeland as well. Maybe the woman would be able to go home. |
| When Jin awakened, he was startled to see dawn had been several hours earlier. His Second was long gone; breakfast over and done. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed for his clothes. He had not overslept like that in a long time. He did his best to look presentable and occupied, not like he had been sleeping through the morning. The arm Kor had jabbed twinged with slight pain, and both throat and head ached absently. Probably from oversleeping. Jin wandered through the camp, finding a few other late-risers nursing mugs of kolinar. The hot brew soothed his sore throat, for a time. Jin returned to an empty tent—thank Kyda—and tried to work on his daily tasks. There were no new messages from Chrys, or from anyone else. Jin worked on a few messages for other chieftains, but found the ache in his head—which had spread across his forehead and into his nose—made concentrating on the careful nuance of respect and command in his wording impossible. He really wanted to go back to bed. With a sigh, Jin left the messages behind and headed for Terran. The blademaster was all too happy to drill him. And quickly grew frustrated with him. On his stomach with a mouthful of sand, Jin could not decide if the aches in his body were from Terran’s lessons or remnants of this morning. A shitan rapped him lightly and he rolled onto his back. The blademaster glared at him. “You are very distracted.” “I know.” Jin sat up. He spit out the sand, but something still tickled his throat. Jin cleared his throat, wincing at the pain. The tickle turned into a nagging cough. He wheezed unhappily. Terran grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, shaking his head. The blademaster pressed a hand to his forehead. Jin jerked back. “Leave me be.” “You’re warm.” “Just tire…” The rest of his words were lost in a mixture of painful coughs. Terran took his shoulders in hand and turned him about. “Enough for today. I’ll send Kor.” “I don’t need…” He sneezed. “Don’t need anyone.” “It’s him or Turoc,” the blademaster responded. Terran nudged him forward. “Don’t argue.” Kor, sitting on the ground in Jin's tent---his blasted tent!---poring over his growing stack of parchment (also Jin's), glanced up when the Fay-el stalked into the tent. "What do you need?" Kor asked, smiling a little. Ah, apparently Terran did not think to find him here. "Can a man not enter his own tent and find it free both of his Second and his bloody Second's mess and incessant questions?" Kor arched an eyebrow. "Touchy touchy. Did Terran beat you into the ground so soon? I thought you'd be drilling with him for another hour, at least." "No, we finished early." There was a tickle in the back of his throat, and he swallowed carefully to quell it. He just wanted Kor to go away. He gestured to the tent flap. "Out." "Out?" the Hybrid asked, glancing down at his infernal charts and diagrams. "Aye! Out! I've a mind to take a nap and you're giving me a headache." Kor's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "You woke only two hours ago. And slept through most of the morning. Are you feeling well?" Jin wanted to snap at him again, but knew if he spoke, he'd give himself away by coughing. He nodded instead. "Uh huh," the Hybrid said dryly. Jin felt the Gift prickle and glared. "Don't you---" He broke off into coughs, followed by a sneeze. “You’re not well at all.” Kor pushed him onto his bed, eyes narrowed. “You’re feverish and achy, and…hmm.” Gift prickled again. He shivered slightly as Kor's Gift swept over him. The Hybrid's eyes were narrowed and distant. He nodded to himself once. After a moment the Gift faded away and he smiled at Jin. "Malaise of the sinus," he concluded. "Ugh," Jin said. Kor patted his back. "I'll give you some anderb---" "I do not want anymore of your 'remedies'," Jin growled thickly. "Your bloody needle's what got me into this, I'm sure." Kor frowned. "Neither Derk-ra venom nor calaba cause..." He sighed. "Why don't you lie down and rest while I go borrow anderberry from Turoc?" "And have him come over here to poke and prod me as well?" Jin groaned. "Please do not." Kor placed his hands on his hips. "Stop being a ra," he scolded. "It is just malaise of the sinuses that's brought you low, not the bloody plague. I doubt Turoc will even concern himself with it once I explain." "Let me jab you with that bloody needle and we'll see if it is just malaise of the sinuses," Jin growled. His Second sighed. “It is not the needle, Jin. You’ve worn yourself out by not eating or sleeping well, and now your body is forcing you to do both.” He smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll get the anderberries.” “Sure, Kor. Do what you wish,” Jin sighed. “I have a feeling you always will do exactly as you please.” His Second laughed and was gone. Whatever he brought with him did not taste as pleasant as kolinar, but the warm liquid against his scratchy throat felt heavenly. “Bless you, Kor,” he croaked. “Drink it all, Jin.” “Yes, sair.” Kor’s lips twitched in a suppressed smile. Jin drained the rest of the mug and handed it to his Second. The Hybrid patted the bed. “Lie down now.” “Hmm. Not like that.” Kor tugged on his shoulders, propping him up against his pillow. He was neither lying down nor sitting up now. “Better.” “Thank you,” Jin muttered. “Now go away.” “My pardons, Fay-el and Second,” Naftis’ voice broke in, “But I believe Elam needs your attention, Kor. I do not trust Turoc.” "What's wrong, Elam?" Jin asked, eyeing his son from bed. The boy offered a weak smile. "My head hurts," he croaked. Kor nodded and knelt in front of the boy. "Seems something is going around." He glanced over his shoulder at Jin with a smirk. "That has nothing to do with needles." Naftis frowned a little in confusion, but decided to ignore the remark. "He was sneezing and coughing all night, too. I fear the last few days have been hard on him." "May I?" Kor asked, holding his Gift lightly and arching an eyebrow at Naftis. "Please," the loquiri said, although he had braced himself, as though for a blow. Kor reached out with his Gift and touched Elam gently. Naftis shuddered more than the child. After a moment Kor released his Gift. "It would appear you and your Da have the same thing. But never fear, I've something that will make you feel right as rain in a day or two." He frowned. "Or rather Turoc does." He was beginning to realize he'd need to set about building his own stock of herbs soon. "Can I stay with Da?" the little boy asked. “Aye. With your loquiri’s permission” Elam glanced at Naftis, who only nodded. The boy stretched out next to Jin. The Fay-el smiled, tucking him close. Naftis shivered, but did not react. < > When he returned with the anderberry, he found Elam and Jin talking softly. About needles. "I am surprised I did not come down with something worse," Jin was saying. "Pricking people with needles. A barbarous custom." Kor handed Elam the warm anderberry infusion. "The needle is not to blame!" he said in exasperation as he straightened. "You do not think it a little strange that the morning after you stabbed me with your bloody needle, I became ill?" Kor rolled his eyes. "And how do you explain your son?" "He became ill before you. Then you caught the same illness." Elam giggled hoarsely. "Like catching beetles in the sand!" Kor frowned thoughtfully. Jin laughed. "Drink your tea, ra. It'll make you feel better." He glanced sideways at Kor. "What?" Kor shook himself a little and came back to himself. "Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking." "I'm beginning to hate when you do that," Jin grumbled. Kor grinned, and the Fay-el sighed. "Thinking about what?" he asked reluctantly. "Illnesses," Kor said. "Normally, we think of an illness as a collection of symptoms. Yet we speak of them as being 'caught', and we know they travel between persons. But what travels? Not the symptoms, certainly..." “I don’t know.” Jin sighed. “Maybe tiny, tiny beetles that Elam breathes out and I swallow down.” He rolled his eyes. Kor glanced at him, eyebrows arched. The Fay-el frowned. “I was not serious.” “I know. Just working things out in my mind.” He groaned. “Which is not a good thing where I am concerned. Are you going to start jabbing me again?” “No.” He winked. “Not yet.” Jin sighed. “Could I at least sleep first?” “For now. I need to…to doodle.” “On my parchments. In my tent.” “Aye,” he said cheerfully. “Go to sleep.” “Easier said than done,” Jin muttered. When Elam snuggled closer, he patted the boy’s head absently and sighed. With nothing pressing to do right at this moment, and his son close by, it was easy to close his eyes, and easier still to slip away into a pleasant sleep. < > Jin awakened to Naftis grumbling, and opened one eye. Kor was helping the loquiri lie down on a pallet by Jin’s bed. The man was coughing miserably, eyes scrunched in pain. “Give me something. My head.” The Hybrid fluffed his pillow and spoke soothingly. “In a moment. Let me see now.” Gift flared into the room. Naftis held still at first, and then squirmed, before grunting uneasily. “Little…deep.” “Looking for something,” Kor muttered. “Just….watch it. Don’t get too close—“ “To the pair-link, I know.” After a moment, he released the loquiri and flashed a grin. “I have no anderberry to give you now. I’ll have to head to Crossroads first. But for now, you need to rest with them.” Elam stirred and then slid to the floor. He rested his head on the loquiri’s chest. Naftis smiled and patted his back. When Kor turned to Jin, the Fay-el bit back a groan. “I am beginning to hate you.” His Second smiled. “Now is that the way to speak to your healer?” The Gift prickled. Jin groaned, and flinched slightly as the Hybrid probed him again. "Stop it." Jin flinched again as the Gift brushed harder. "I do not like it when you---" "Sorry," Kor said absently in a light, almost singsong voice. "For your own good." Jin squirmed in discomfort. "Kor. Stop." He coughed. "What are you doing?" "I almost saw it," Kor said. "In Naftis." "Saw what?" Jin asked, coughing again. "The illness," the Hybrid said. "But so small... how can anything be so small?" Now Naftis was coughing, too. With a sigh, Kor released his Gift. He glanced sideways at the loquiri. "I'd better go to Crossroads now. You three try to get some sleep, but at the very least stay away from other people so I am not having to buy anderberry for the entire camp." "Aye," Jin said drowsily, brightening a little at the very idea of Kor going away for a few hours. It would be bliss. < > Kor mumbled quietly to himself as he strode across the camp. "Fact: A living person is a conglomeration of sparks. These sparks seem to fall into two categories: the majority, which are homogeneous in their resonances and the minority, which are heterogeneous in their resonances." He approached the arena where all the camp's horses were penned and smiled politely in greeting to Hamen as the beastmaster put the painfully scarred white Derk-ra through their paces in the adjacent arena. Gently, he swept his senses over the Derk-ra trainer and nodded his head when the Gifted man started and glared at him. "Just seeing if you are well," Kor said. "The Fay-el and some others have come down with something. Hopefully, the entire camp will not catch it." "You could have just asked," Hamen said. "Yes," Kor said absently. "You're right, I'm sorry." The Derk-ra trainer was perfectly healthy. "Fact," Kor mumbled to himself again as he spotted his mare at last near the back of the pen, stretching her head through the fence to reach a speck of greenish-brown weed in the dry dirt beyond. "A healthy person has far fewer of the heterogeneous sparks than does an ill person. Hypothesis: the homogeneous sparks constitute the person himself and the heterogeneous sparks are foreign." "Keddina!" he called out, smiling as the mare flicked her ears back toward him. He ducked between the bars of the fence into the arena and crossed to his horse. "Fact," Kor continued. "Many of the foreign sparks in an ill person seem to be present in the nose, sinuses and throat, but there are also foreign sparks in the stomach and intestines. Fact. A healthy person also possesses foreign sparks, but these seem to be located primarily in the stomach and intestines." He caught Keddina's halter and pulled her head up, rubbing her white blaze. "Hypothesis," he said to her conversationally, "The sparks in the nose, sinuses and throat of an ill person are responsible in some way for making them ill, whereas the sparks in the stomach and intestines are benign." The horse snorted softly, as though to express equine agreement or to ask him why he was telling her all this. Kor led her to the edge of the arena, unlatched the gate, and brought her out, closing the gate before some of the other horses could follow. "Fact," Kor added with a grin as he attached the lead rope to Keddina's halter and then began to wrap the halter gently around her muzzle and neck to form a war bridle. "Things with sparks are alive and so can die. So hypothesis: If I kill the foreign sparks in the nose, sinuses and throats of Jin, Elam and Naftis, the illness should go away in all three." He mounted his horse bareback, and turned her nose in the direction of Crossroads. He'd get the anderberry just in case it would actually be needed, but his heart thumped in his chest in excitement; he might not need the herb at all ever again in order to treat a patient. The real question now, of course, was whether he had enough Gift to snuff millions of illness-causing sparks in three ill people. And, of course, whether Jin and Naftis would allow him to use the Gift on them in this way, let alone on Elam. "We'll burn that bridge when we get there," Kor muttered to himself, smiling. < > Hunched over his second message of the day, Jin squinted wearily at his script. “Ah, Jin.” Kor stalked into his tent. The Fay-el started, hand jerking in surprise. A jagged line marred his message. Jin dropped the quill, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kor, you have impeccable timing.” “I know,” the Second said cheerfully. “I have an idea.” He grabbed Jin’s shoulders, turning him around to face the Hybrid. “I’d like to try it on you first, then we’ll see about Elam and Naftis.” “Like that bloody needle?” Jin scowled. “Absolutely not.” "This is more brilliant than the needle by far," Kor beamed at him. Jin glanced at him suspiciously. "What will it require?" "I have no idea," Kor said, smile widening. "I am not even sure if I have the strength to do it completely. Um... for now, I suppose, go ahead and continue working on your letter. You'll feel my Gift a bit, but that's all." He smiled. "Ready?" Jin scowled, taking up his quill and a fresh piece of parchment. "Aye. I suppose." < > Gift pushed and prodded at first, as if a bird settling into its nest, before it smoothed into a distant annoyance. Jin continued his letter, utterly ignoring Kor as he muttered and shifted behind him. “There," His Second finally said. "I took out all those foreign sparks in your sinuses. Do you feel any better?” Jin flicked him a sidelong look. And sneezed. Kor’s face fell. The Fay-el shook his head. “You wasted your Gift on this moon-bred idea, and for nothing. What do sparks have to do with illness?” “I’m not sure. It just seemed like these sparks were smaller living things, like those tiny beetles you joked about, and that maybe they carried the symptom. You have it in your sinuses, and Elam, and Naftis. But not say…Hamen, who is not ill.” Kor shrugged. “I’ll keep thinking.” “Unfortunately.” Jin folded the parchments neatly and set a lune atop to keep them from being blown aside by an errant breeze. “I think you should go talk to Turoc about things you can truly see, or spar with Terran, or…something that does not entail you bothering me.” Kor grinned. “Want to practice Rising Star?” “No!” Jin snapped. “Good gods, Kor. I need to find you a wife just so you can annoy someone else.” Kor managed to look hurt, but the humor in his eyes was not well hidden. Jin threw his hands up. “Just…do what you please. I am going to find Elam, and some kolinar.” “Eat something too. Kolinar on an empty belly is not good for you.” “Did I ask for a nursemaid?” “No, but you have one,” the Second flashed another grin. “Make sure you eat something.” Jin rolled his eyes and left him there. He avoided his own tent for as long as he dared, and finally returned late that night to find it empty. For a time. The Fay-el followed his routine. He placed the lune by the pole, undressed to the waist, tucked the dagger under his pillow, and was nearly asleep on his bed when the realization hit him. Jin sat up, blinking in the darkness. The headache was gone, as was the miserable itch in his throat and nose. He took a deep breath, but no cough or sneeze rose. Had whatever that bloody Hybrid done worked? “Kor.” He slid to the edge of the bed. “Kor!” Kor, who had at that time been sitting outside Jin's tent staring up at the stars and contemplating how terribly boring a Second's duties were when not sparring with or protecting his Fay-el, started and leaped for Jin's tent. "What?" he asked, washing his Gift over Jin when he saw that the Fay-el was alone, but on his feet, expression excited. "Oh good," he said in relief, "You're well." Then he paused and raised his eyebrows with a broad grin. "You're well!" Again, he swept his Gift over Jin, and this time the Fay-el did not complain. "I did not even think anything of it, since feeling normal is not unusual." Kor grinned. "I'd like to assume that it is my Gift that did the work, but I'd better check on my controls." "Your what?" Jin asked, but was already nodding in agreement. "Naftis and your son," Kor smiled. "I did not use the Gift on them this way, so we can assume if they are still ill, my Gift did in fact make a difference." They tromped back out into the night and crossed to the smaller tent Naftis and Elam now shared. The loquiri started awake and practically uncoiled from the ground to his feet with that alarming loquiri speed, but wilted slightly when he saw that it was just Kor and Jin. "What?" he asked grumpily, nose sounding stuffy and throat scratchy. "Allow me?" Kor asked politely, Gift flaring into his grasp. It was clear Naftis still suffered the symptoms of the illness that Jin had earlier as well. The true question was whether the foreign sparks were still present. "Aye, if you must," Naftis said, slumping back down onto his pallet. As Kor's senses swept over him, the loquiri frowned sourly and massaged his throat. "Do you have anything to help our throats? The little one cannot even find his voice." "I think I can do better than that," Kor said, nodding to himself as he sensed the still-present sparks. "I am going to probe Elam now, alright?" "Very well," Naftis said, tensing slightly. Elam stirred a little in his sleep and coughed, but did not wake as the Gift washed over him. "Aye," Kor said, grinning at Jin. "They're both still ill." Naftis scowled. "This is a good thing?" Kor patted his shoulder. "Only for scientific progress." He sat down on the ground beside Naftis. "Jin is completely well. I used my Gift earlier to rid his body of what was making him ill. I would like to do the same for you and Elam now, if you will permit." Naftis's eyes were narrowed slightly as he glanced from Jin to Kor. "Tell you what. Do it to me, first. And then I will tell you whether or not you may do it to Elam." "Fair enough," Kor said. The loquiri lay flat on his back, eyes closed, braced as if expecting something painful or unpleasant. The Second patted his shoulder. “It does not hurt. Ask Jin.” Naftis only grunted. “Get on with it.” This time, Jin noted, it did not seem to take as long for Kor to clear out these “tiny sparks” and sit back on his heels, eyes flashing with satisfaction. Naftis opened his eyes and gave the Second a stern glare. “I don’t feel any…” he sneezed. “Any different.” “It takes time. But by morning, I think you will feel better. Much better. May I do the same to Elam?” Naftis sat up. He glanced at the boy and then back to Kor, before shrugging wearily. “If it pleases you. There is no difference that I can feel. It is simply wasting your Gift.” Kor smiled, but said nothing, only moved closer to Elam and swept his senses over the sleeping boy. Naftis glanced back at Jin. “Is he always this hyper, even in the middle of the night such as this?” Jin scowled slightly. “Always.” “How can you stand him?” “I’m not sure yet if I can.” Neither of them spoke again, until Kor straightened and returned to Jin’s side. “That should be all that I need to do,” he said. “You both should feel much better by morning, after a good night’s sleep.” His eyes slid to Jin. “Speaking of sleep…” The Fay-el sighed. “Yes, Kor. I’m going.” < > Morning found Kor stretched out on the ground in front of a dead campfire, head pillowed on his hands as he glared up the the brightening sky. Naftis's face fell into the little patch of the heavens the Hybrid was staring at, and Kor quirked an eyebrow at the loquiri, then smiled as Elam came into view as well. His mood immediately brightened. "Good morning to you." "Morning," Naftis said back. Kor sat up. "And how are the two of you feeling today?" He could tell, even without probing them, that both were greatly, if not completely, improved. "Excellent," Naftis said. "We are both fully recovered." He grimaced. "Thank you." It was as though the words were a tooth that had to be yanked out of his mouth. Kor nodded. "You are welcome." Naftis cleared his throat. "I was thinking... if your experiment with the Fay-el proves successful, if he permits, I would like you to give Elam immunity to the Derk-ra venom." His eyes narrowed. "If it works." "Oh, I will," Kor grinned, to Elam's scowl. The loquiri and his young Match tromped off. Kor stretched, thinking it was far too early to be up and about. But he rose anyway, with a grumble. Jin found him a half point later as he picked at his food lethargically. The Fay-el sighed in greeting. "You look to be in a bad mood." Jin frowned. "Are you feeling well? You did not catch whatever the rest of us had, did you?" He smiled a little. "Although I suppose if you did, you would be able to deal with it rapidly enough." Kor sighed, then lifted an eyebrow in thought. "Hmm... I wonder if I did catch it. I hope so." He cleared his throat. Was he detecting a slight tickle? The faintest pressure of an eventual headache? "You hope so?" Jin asked dryly. Kor grinned. "Should not Chrys's healer know how to do what I discovered yesterday? What better way to teach him than to give him a case to treat?" “Does that mean you’d be gone for a few hours?” Jin asked hopefully. Kor laughed. “Aye. Ready to be rid of me so soon?” “Always,” Jin said, with feeling. “And what are you going to do without me?” He shrugged. “Terran informed me that our unfinished work of yesterday would be finished today. I am not looking forward to it. “Jin?” Terran appeared, flashing a grin at Kor and then a surly scowl at his Fay-el’s back. “Come on. Quit stalling.” Kor smirked. Jin rolled his eyes and turned aside, following the blademaster as they headed for the practice circle. Terran glanced over his shoulder at Kor. "I'll see you later." The Hybrid smiled sweetly. "No you won't. I've other business this day." "Find time," Terran responded, equally saccharine. Kor sighed. "Oh fine." < > Yasej frowned in a friendly sort of way upon seeing Kor wander into his clinic, Gift brushing over him lightly. "I did not expect to see you back so soon, young man. How did your experiments fare?" Kor shrugged. "Two were dismal failures, one is a potential success although I will not know for sure for another couple days, and the fourth was a success." Yasej looked impressed. "I had not realized you had more than two ideas you had planned to test." Kor quirked a smile. "Well, what can I say, I am a well of ideas, good and bad." "So what can I do for you?" Yasej asked. "I'm afraid I am out of kinsleaf for the time being. Is that one of the experiments that failed?" "Aye," Kor said. He slumped down in the healer's only chair. Yasej arched an eyebrow. "I do not need more kinsleaf just yet. I'm actually here for an entirely different reason." "Oh?" Yasej asked. Kor grinned. "I think I'm getting sick. Or will be getting sick." "You... think you will be getting sick?" Yasej asked with confused humor. "You look well enough to me..." Kor shrugged. "Aye, for now. But there are these sparks, see. And I'm just beginning to feel them. And Naftis and Elam, and my Fay-el too, all had them but now do not. Because of my Gift, you see. So I thought... I am explaining this poorly, aren't it?" Yasej nodded. "I must confess myself utterly lost. Sparks, you say?" “Here, perhaps if I showed you rather than tried to explain…” Kor relaxed slightly. “Probe me.” “I already did, and you seem well. Perhaps slightly sore in the throat, but no more than what the sand and wind might do.” “No, probe me deeper. Look for something very, very small.” The Healer cocked his head. “Your ideas are very…unique.” Kor shrugged. With a sigh, Yasej seized his Gift and probed the Hybrid firmly. The Aquila flinched, but managed to grunt, “Deeper. Throat and nose. Small sparks. You see?” Yasej frowned and moved closer, resting a hand on Kor’s shoulder and pushing deeper. “Aye…I think. Yes. Though I do not understand their purpose.” “Some are homogenous—that is, they belong. The others do not. Yes?” “The ones that do not belong…” Kor squirmed as Yasej shifted his Gift. “Yes. Some are in your stomach, some in your nose, your throat….hmm.” “The ones in my stomach—all have them. So far that I have probed. But the others---they should go.” Yasej pulled back slightly. “And that will not harm you?” Kor shook his head. “No. That will stop the illness before it starts.” “Are you certain? Sparks are…delicate things.” “Aye. Jin—my Fay-el—and his son, and his…retainer, were all sick. I did this to them, and now they are well in less than a day.” Yasej bit his lip. “Well then, if you are certain…” "I am," Kor said. "Have at them. They die fairly easily. It is almost... diverting." He grinned. "Well, I confess, it is diverting." Yasej rolled his eyes. "You would do well to take your craft a little more seriously." The Hybrid arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I do, believe me. But can one not also enjoy one's craft? One's profession. One's calling in life. One's Kyda-given Gift. One's..." "I am beginning to think you'd recover from this illness you've yet to actually suffer much more rapidly if you rested," Yasej said dryly, his Gift held threateningly, ready to strike. "No no no," Kor said, holding his hands up. "I'll be quiet, I promise. Swear." The Gift brushed over him lightly. Kor relaxed with a sigh. "You are much to hyper for your own good," Yasej said quietly. "Now these sparks... how do I kill them?" "The same way you muddle a Mending. By failing to harmonize the sparks. They will disappear with a little pop of light. Really quite satisfying." Yasej sighed. "You must wear out your Fay-el. I am not surprised he became ill." Kor put his hand to his heart. "You wound me," he pouted. Yasej fought a smile. The Maran Healer said nothing for a long while, and then pulled back with a sigh. “There are no more that I can find. Is that all?” “Aye. I should not even get sick at all.” A mixture of thoughtfulness and controlled interest flashed across the Healer’s face. “Those sparks…I wonder if they are in any ill person?” “I would assume so. At least, mostly.” He shrugged. “I know different illnesses can be spawned by different things, so perhaps not always. But at the very least, any illness that is caused by these sparks you can cure quickly.” “Aye.” Yasej tapped a finger against his desk lightly. “I know there are two Border Guards in the soldier’s infirmary, abed with an infection of some sort. If your theory is correct, then it should be an easy matter for me to clear out those same sparks, and have them well in a few days or less. Kor nodded. "Would you like me to see to one of them? I had to rest my Gift after treating my Fay-el last night, and was quite worn out after repeating the work later that night on Elam and Naftis." Yasej smiled a little patronizingly, but it was gentle enough that Kor did not mind. "I have had the use of my Gift for quite some time, young man. I am not tired at all. But if you would like to help, then come. The best way to gain endurance is to exercise your Gift whenever possible." At the door to the soldier's infirmary, Yasej paused. "Come here," he told Kor. The Hybrid obeyed, arching an eyebrow. Yasej rested his hand on his shoulder and Kor felt the Gift flare through him. "What in Eppa's name is that?" "Precaution," the older healer said. A smile graced his features briefly. "Something I myself developed a few years ago. It will temporarily help your body withstand illness, just in case your sparks are not to blame this time." Kor nodded. "Show me later?" he asked hungrily. "Aye," Yasej said. He patted Kor's shoulder, then released him. "Later, if you have any Gift to spare." He led Kor inside. Together, they separated the benign sparks from the foreign and each cleared the sparks from their respective patient. Both men were then given a mild dose of mint and allowed to rest. By the time they were finished, Kor knew he could not use his Gift much more today. Yasej seemed satisfied with the condition of his patients. “I do believe you were right, Kor. We shall see by morning, but if this works so well on other illnesses…” he laughed softly, “Any more experiments you have in mind, I support whole-heartedly.” Kor dipped his head. “I thank you, sar.” “And do tell me if your other plan—the one that is a potential success, works.” “I will. And that trick you did earlier?” he prodded lightly. Yasej smiled. “You are too weak to do it yourself now,” he grinned at Kor’s frown, “But—I will show you the pattern, and you may empower it on your own time, when you have rested. The Aquila healer watched carefully as Yasej formed the familiar pattern and held it steady. After a moment, Kor glanced at his face with a broad grin. “I think I have it. I’ll try it on my Fay-el at another time.” Yasej shook his head. “I hope Jin has become a more patient man than the last I knew him. If not….heaven help you both.” He patted Kor’s shoulder. “Unless you have more questions or needs, I will leave you for a time. I have a few other patients—not willing to stay in the infirmary—to attend to.” He arched a brow teasingly. “Ah, such as a hyper Fay-el?” “Perhaps.” Yasej smirked. “Or a Lord who is overly fond of wine.” Kor chuckled ruefully. That ailment he knew quite well, and quite personally. The smile faded from his face as the thought of hangovers brought a sharp jab of memory of his last days in Aquila, the taverns and inns where he sang and drank and tried to argue for resistance to the Eloin, until there was nothing to do but give up and depart for Dragonia. Now there was bitterness, aye, and worse than the taste left in one's mouth after a night of hard drinking. He shook his head lightly, then offered a small, polite bow. "I thank you for your teaching, and your company as well. I too had better go, and leave you to your patients." He frowned. "I believe a certain blademaster back at camp may be expecting me soon." Yasej smiled mildly. "Best not keep him waiting, lest he teach you all the harder for your tardiness." "Aye," Kor nodded, flashing a rueful grin. "Good day!" < > Every muscle in Jin’s body ached. His blademaster was taking genuine pleasure in thrashing his Fay-el into submission. He could feel bruises atop bruises, and a gash on his thigh trickled blood. His wobbling Fundamental, thanks to the twinges of pain and weariness, spawned another firm thwack from Terran. He hit the sand with a grunt, the janin jerking out of his grasp. “Good day, Terran.” Kor called out. Jin recognized his Second’s cheery voice. The Fay-el propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead. “Praise Kyda! He can beat on you for a while.” A toe jabbed him in the ribs. “I am not finished with you.” Jin grunted and stood to his feet, scowling at the blademaster. “A break would do well for both of us.” Terran’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me old, ra?” Jin shook his head. “Nay. Simply stating…that is…” “Go on. Shoo.” Terran waved a hand dismissively. “You’re just digging a deeper pit with your mouth. I will gladly tire your Second out for you, and then you again.” “I have sparred enough today.” “That was yesterday’s spar,” the blademaster corrected. “We have not even started on today’s.” Jin groaned lowly. He stepped out of the circle and flopped onto his back, panting. “Beware, Kor. Terran is in a very good mood.” "So am I," Kor smirked. When, an hour later, Terran had thoroughly beaten the good mood out of the Second and several new bruises into him, Kor finally collapsed to the sand beside Jin. The Fay-el was now sitting up and stretching reluctantly. Terran, hands on hips, looked sternly down at him. "You would do well, in the future, to practice your Gift after I am done with you for the day." Kor scowled. "How did you know?" Terran smiled dryly. "Someone like you should not be tired so easily by midday." Kor bore his teeth. "True. But if I had not used my Gift, I could not have repaid the other healer for his services, and would likely be sneezing and miserable like Jin was yesterday. And then I would not have been well enough to spar at all, now would I?" Terran grunted. "I let Jin off yesterday because he's the Fay-el. You I would have made spar, ill or no." Jin laughed victoriously at his Second. "Aww, no fair," Kor pouted. "A Second's duties do not disappear just because he catches a cold," Terran said sternly. A grin spread across Kor's face. "Well, fortunately, that is now irrelevant." “Oh, and why is that?” The blademaster crooked a finger at the Fay-el. Jin sighed but moved into the circle wearily. “I found a way to slow, and sometimes stop an illness. Most illnesses at least, by removing the bad sparks.” Terran arched a brow and glanced at Jin. “Another of his strange ideas?” The Fay-el nodded and crouched into the first Fundamental. Terran shook his head. “Shitans now. Your Second can hold the janin. In fact…” he flicked an assessing look at Kor. “Each of you should be able to use the other’s weapon.” “If you try to have me use the bow again—“ Jin began. “No. One time was quite enough.” Terran grimaced at Kor’s arched brow. “Jin has absolutely no talent when it comes to archery. Both I and his father gave up when he managed to shoot a target behind him.” Kor snickered. Jin rolled his eyes and shoved the janin, hilt first, toward his Second. He took the Hybrid’s shitans as he held them out. The blademaster tapped his foot in the sand. “Come on, Jin.” He shifted into Dragon’s Fang and waited expectantly. The Fay-el slid into Brakir’s Shield. Kor watched in weary amusement as Terran began thoroughly trouncing the Fay-el. "Well," he said, "about my ideas..." "Kor," Jin sighed, darting under Terran's attack, "Not now." "Anyway," Kor continued, as though Jin had not spoken, "I was thinking. A man can gain an acquired immunity to Derk-ra venom over a lifetime of exposure. But Talen mentioned once that---that Rising Star is still too high, Jin!---Talen mentioned once that being bitten a couple times in rapid succession confers a more rapid immunization." "Yes," Jin grunted. "And I am sure he said it just like that." Kor rolled his eyes. "In any case, I started thinking that perhaps a man could gain a similar immunity in a more controlled fashion if he were exposed to the venom in small doses over a series of nights. So I stabbed Jin with a needle coated in calaba and Derk-ra venom, because, you see---" Terran dropped his shitan arm. "You what?" Jin darted in and tried to slap the blademaster with the flat of Kor's shitan, but Terran merely swayed out of the way. Kor grinned. "That was about Jin's reaction. At least until I poked him, and he realized that the venom and calaba did nothing more than briefly make his arm numb, then shaky." He frowned at Jin as the Fay-el lifted his right hand shitan into Rising Star again, too high. His Gift darted out, stabbing, and Jin gasped and glared over his shoulder as he dodged Terran's follow-up swing. "Don't worry, I won't do it again," Kor said sweetly, massaging his temples. "I don't believe you," Jin grumbled. "Terran, can I spar him next?" “Certainly.” Terran twisted away from a sudden Scythe and, when Jin did not turn about fast enough, rapped the top of his head with the flat of the blade. “Maybe Kor can get you doing your Rising Star correctly.” He smirked at Jin as the Fay-el backed away from him, gingerly rubbing his head. “You enjoy this too much.” Terran flashed a broad grin. “Aye.” They sparred for a few moments more, with Jin taking the brunt of the blows. When the blademaster finally shoved the Fay-el out of the circle, planted a knee in his chest, and threw both shitans out of his hands and reach, Terran grinned in his face. “Ready for Kor now?” “Please,” Jin wheezed. Terran laughed and stepped away. “He’s all yours, Kor. Make sure he can do his Rising Star.” "Can I at least have my janin back?" Jin asked, hands on his knees and breathing hard. "But of course," Kor said graciously. "After all, I cannot use the thing." A grin hit Terran's face like lightning. "I'll remedy that soon." The Hybrid suppressed a groan and snatched his shitans from the sand, then handed Jin his janin as the Fay-el at last straightened. "Kindly do not make me use my Gift," he warned. "Or I won't be Sar Nice Hybrid anymore." "Are you ever?" Jin said, shaking his head. He gave Kor's backside a shoving kick. "Get in there already." "You'll pay for that!" Kor promised with rolled eyes. Just after they bowed to one another and took up their starting positions, Terran called a halt. They both stared at him, Kor glancing over his shoulder with an arched brow and sardonic smile, and Jin with a tired glare. "I changed my mind," Terran said casually, then gestured between them. "Kor, you'll use the janin. Jin, you the shitans." "You've got to be kidding---" Kor started. "You seem to say that a lot," Terran said. "Switch. Now." This time it was Jin's turn to smirk. "At least I know the shitans." "Bloody---" "I know, I know." They switched weapons. Jin laughed at Kor's imitation of his grip on the sword as they once again took up their positions. "Ready," Jin called cheerfully. "Kor?" Terran prompted as the Hybrid scowled up at the tip of Jin's sword. Kor's eyes slid back down the length of his weapon and glared across at his opponent. "Bah. Ready," he grumbled. Jin darted toward Kor, whipping one shitan at his face and the other toward his middle. With the hyper Hybrid, he would only have a few moments to wear him down before weariness caught up with the Fay-el himself. The Aquila Diagonal Stepped and arched the blade toward him. Unfortunately, the force he used was perfect for a shitan, and too much for the janin. He stumbled as his balance shifted, overreaching. Jin nicked his side and stepped out of reach, laughing. “First blood.” “Bah.” Kor brought the blade up into Brakir’s Shield. And nearly rapped himself in the face with it. He glared at the offending sword as if it were at fault. Jin lunged at him. The air fell apart again as Kor darted into his Gift to narrowly avoid being shoved out of the circle. Jin frowned at him. "I felt that. Was that the Gift, too?" Kor frowned back. "Not telling." The Fay-el flashed a brief grin at him and with several light, agile stabs, drove him backward toward the opposite boundary of the circle. "Then I suppose I'll just have to make you do it again and find out." "Please don't," Kor groaned. The headache behind his eyes was already making it difficult to concentrate. Terran sighed as Kor narrowly avoided being shoved out of the circle again. "Kor... You're not to touch shitans for a week." The Hybrid's head snapped to him. "What?" The flat of Jin's shitan slapped him lightly over the temple. "Pay attention." Snarling, Kor stepped back away from him, sword in Brakir's Shield before him. "Because," Terran sighed, "You'll be focusing on the janin for a while, I think." “Why?” Kor snapped. “Because Jin uses the janin and you have no skill with it.” The Aquila scowled, but settled into Dragon’s Claw and stalked toward his Fay-el. The spar continued with a subtle rhythm. Jin was not as comfortable with shitans as with his janin, but compared to Kor’s skill with the janin, his shitan work was well-performed. Jin continued to march Kor back and forth, from one end of the circle to the other. The Aquila managed to dart out of reach or out of danger each time, but the speed at which he did so slowed as well. After a quarter point of watching Kor try to smack himself in the face or stab himself in the foot with his Fay-el's sword, Terran finally called a halt "Eppa," Kor gasped. His fingers seemed to have released the hilt of the sword without his permission, which was all well and good; it freed them to clutch at his head. "Yield, Kyda blast it," Jin grated again. He was exhausted, only one step away from planting a shitan in the sand and leaning on it. Instead, he held one of the blades to Kor's throat, and kept the other ready. The Hybrid was a tricky one, and did not seem to have the sense to know when to give up. Jin did not trust him to admit defeat until he had actually, vocally admitted defeat. In answer, Kor merely continued clutching his head. Terran sighed. "I think he is done, Jin. Let him up." Frowning, Jin stepped back from the Hybrid, and both shitans pointed back away from him, planted his hands on his hips. "By Kyda, I swear he is going to snap my janin in two, or something. Mayhap stab himself with it. Have you ever seen such poor handling?" "Aye," Terran said dryly. "When you hold a bow." He glanced down at Kor with a frown. The Hybrid had dug his knuckles into his eyes, like a crying child. "What are you doing?" "Brain... coming out eyes," Kor hissed in pain. Jin rolled his eyes. "I thought the Gift was supposed to be an advantage?" "I am certainly glad I do not have it," Terran added. "Must you two talk so loud?" Kor growled. “At least we know your Second does not have a bottomless well of Gift,” Terran said. Jin laughed. Kor only groaned. His Fay-el crouched down by him, taking his janin back with a smirk. He set the shitans on Kor’s chest and cocked his head. “I am confused, however. Last time, it took me four times before I had you wobbling, and obviously, the fifth would have been enough. Just now…you didn’t wobble until five or six, and finally collapsed. Does the Gift get stronger?” “Must we discuss…anything…right now?” Kor muttered. He sat up, wincing at even that slow motion. Retrieving his shitans from where they had slid to the sand, he tucked them away and held out a hand. Jin grabbed his wrist and hauled him to his feet. And then caught him as he swayed. “It drains you much more than I thought.” “Aye….” Kor moaned. “Much more.” “Can you still keep going?” The blademaster commented. The Hybrid glared at Terran blearily. “Say what?” “Can you still defend your Fay-el, even in this condition…more specifically…” A smile curved across the older man’s face. “Can you spar?” He groaned lowly. “Why do I know where this is headed? Terran motioned at the Hybrid. “Come back to the circle.” His eyes flicked to Jin briefly. “Go eat. Your Second will find you.” The Fay-el grinned. “I bet you will sleep well, Kor.” He snapped an Aquila insult at Jin, who only grinned wider. “You should not use your Gift so much.” “I … can’t help it. It just….happens.” “I have sat an entire day while Chrys and his loquiri hold court, and neither they, nor the lords and servants, used their Gift in my presence.” “ That is the Maran way,” Kor grated. “I am Aquila.” “Then perhaps you should use the Maran way,” Terran drawled. “That or learn how to deal with headaches.” He frowned at Jin. “Leave the janin.” Kor sighed. Jin smothered a laugh and left him there. Terran had made him fight through Derk-ra venom’s lingering affects before. The blademaster would have mercy on the Hybrid...eventually. Jin found his way back to the camp, and collapsed before one of the fires. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his tunic to his back and belly. He suspected he smelled like Kyda's wrath. He'd managed to scarf down almost two bowls of stew when he heard a welcome voice chime behind him. "Da!" Grinning tiredly, he swung around, opening his arms as Elam fell into his embrace. Behind him, Naftis approached politely, closing his eyes only briefly as father and son hugged. The little boy wrinkled his nose. "You stink." Jin ruffled his hair. "You would too, if Terran had put you through the paces as long as he did me." He grinned broadly. "Kor will smell even worse than me, I bet." "Your blademaster is training the Hybrid?" Naftis asked. "Aye. Right now he is teaching him the janin. And trying to see if Kor can fight even when impaired by his Gift." Naftis smiled a little patronizingly. "Impaired by his Gift?" Jin gave him the expression right back. "Oh aye. A man who is weary from Gift-use does not fight well at all." Still, the loquiri smiled. "But sire, the Gift... one seizes it, at will... and stops seizing it at will... It is difficult to push someone to the limit..." "Not Kor," Jin snorted. "He said something about the Maran Gift being different than the Aquila Gift. He seems to use it instinctively, when cornered. It makes sparring him a little easier, although it just barely counters that infernal energy." He grinned. "I pushed him to collapse, today." He smirked. "He seemed to think he was done, then, but Terran wants to be sure he can continue to fight past the headache he seems to get." Naftis frowned. "He collapsed? Kyda... how many times did you push him to use his Gift?" Jin shrugged. "Six, perhaps seven?" The loquiri's eyebrows lifted yet further. "But I did not have to push much. As I said, he seems to use it against his will whenever corner---Where are you going?" "Stopping your blademaster from killing your Second," Naftis said, pausing briefly as Elam darted up from the campfire and caught up with him. < > Naftis frowned as he came closer to the practice circle. It was quite clear Kor was dragging, barely deflecting the blows sent his way though, by Kyda, he was deflecting them. He breathed raggedly. “Halt.” They both stopped automatically, and then the blademaster scowled at him. “I did not ask to be interrupted.” “You need to stop. Now.” “I know how to train warriors and Seconds.” “Not Gifted ones,” Naftis added. He took a deep breath, consciously trying to stay respectful. “Sar, if you continue to push him to use his Gift, and wear his body as well, you will kill him. Gift can be overused.” Kor’s eyes widened. “What?” He slumped to the sand, panting. “It can? Ravin never said…” “You were being taught by that arrogant…no wonder you barely know how to use this Gift of yours.” The Hybrid scowled at him. Naftis ignored it. Until he felt Elam’s mental sigh. The loquiri closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, Kor. It is no fault of yours that you were not trained. Anymore than it is Elam’s fault that he is not the type normally Matched.” Terran glanced from one to the other. “So I tire him, perhaps more than is good. Kill him, you say?” “Aye,” Naftis said bluntly. Terran's eyes darted to Kor. "I... How do you feel?" The Hybrid's head was in his hands again. "Head hurts. Lightheaded. Weak." He glanced up a little as Jin came marching toward the practice circle. "Back for more so soon?" he mocked half-heartedly. "I see you're all right," Jin said dryly. Naftis nodded. He glanced from Terran to Jin, hugging Elam close. "If he, or any Gifted person, ever seems unable to focus his eyes or becomes disoriented and weak after Gift use, keep him on his feet and awake and get kolinar into him as quickly as possible." He frowned, and glanced at Kor assessingly. "I do not think he's in any danger, if he stops now, but a little kolinar will help." He smiled sourly. "Unless you'd rather keep him quiet and out of the way for the rest of the day. I would not blame you." Kor glanced up a tiny bit in professional interest and blatantly ignored the loquiri's barbed comment. "Dosage? Can he sleep safely afterward? How long does it take to recover?" Jin frowned. "Kor... Do not experiment with this." "But---" "No. That is a command, Kor. Do you know the word? Command?" He sighed and turned to Naftis. "Do you know how to safely teach him control?" Naftis scowled at the Hybrid. "Sire..." "Also not a request, Naftis," Jin sighed. "You are teaching my son. You will teach my Second as well." Hybrid and loquiri glared at one another. Shaking his head, Jin stepped between their gazes and dragged his Second to his feet. Kor reeled, but craned his neck a little to continue glaring at the loquiri. "Stop it," Jin sighed. "Or I'll not give you kolinar." "Don't give me kolinar," Kor said sweetly, "and when my needle finds you next, it will be coated in a little extra calaba and venom. Just for you." "You are more trouble than you're worth," Jin grumbled. "Come along." < > After several bowls of stew, a mug of kolinar, and Kor’s pleading for more stew, the older woman who had served them smacked his arm playfully and shook her head. “Do you starve the poor boy, Fay-el?” “No,” Jin muttered. “He’s got the body of a man and the stomach of two.” She laughed and, when Kor reached for the pot again, tapped his hand lightly with her spoon. “I see. Well off with ya for now.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “Come back when you’ve bathed.” The Hybrid grinned. “That’s a promise.” Jin stood with a sigh. “Come on, Kor." His Second shook his head. “I’m not tired now.” The chieftain scowled at him. “I am.” His eyes narrowed. “Remind me not to give you kolinar often, not if you recover so quickly.” Kor shrugged. A sly smile spread across the Fay-el’s face. “Well then, if you feel so much better, you should find Naftis. You should start your lessons as soon as possible.” The Hybrid’s face fell. Jin laughed. “Just don’t bother me.” < > Kor contemplated his options. None seemed particularly good, but Terran was a far cry scarier than that annoying loquiri. Muttering Aquila profanities under his breath---wa sho'a ninwas by far his favorite, not only for the way it rolled off the tongue, but also because of the amusing, rather impossible image it conjured in his mind---he tracked down Naftis. He found the loquiri in the practice ring, putting his Match through the paces with Talen and Joran looking on. The warrior snapped at Elam to keep his hands up---Naftis was helping him practice his Fundamentals, but both boy and man were unarmed, stinging slaps and jabs replacing the minor cuts and gashes adults would inflict on one another---and sighed at Kor. "I'm training them both" --- he nodded down at Joran --- "but I cannot exchange blows with Elam yet. That loquiri is very... twitchy." "He's worse than that," Kor mumbled. "But he's adjusting. I've seen it myself, and the Maran Fay-el is able to spar people other than his loquiri, probably on a regular basis. Kyda, Lord Veritas stood back and watched while Jin and Chrys beat one another into the dust, and let me tell you... that was not a spar." Talen nodded distractedly. "Arms up, Elam!" He sighed again and shrugged at Kor. "Still, it's not bloody right," he muttered. "They do not even speak to one another, half the time. And when they do, it is as if they've been carrying on most of the conversation in their heads. The Gift... it makes no sense." He glanced sideways at Kor and blushed a little. "Begging your pardon." "No need," Kor said. "I agree wholeheartedly." He turned to his brother. "How are you, Joran?" "Well enough," the boy said, somewhat stiffly. His eyes slid from the practice ring to Kor. They were narrowed into dark gray slits. "I never see you, anymore." Kor sighed. "Aye, I know. Learning to be a Second and Healer at the same time is... well, I will try to find more time to spend with you in the future. And our little sister, too." Joran smiled a little and nodded, but his eyes were still narrowed. After a moment, he glanced at his brother curiously. "You are studying under Turoc?" Kor blinked. "Huh? No.... Oh. No no, nothing like that." He grinned. "My Gift. Tis a healing bent, so it is. I've been learning how to use it, and its... limits. Speaking of the Gift..." Naftis and Elam were walking toward them. Elam grinned at Kor, but the loquiri only scowled. "Oh, don't look so disappointed to see me," Kor said sweetly. "No," Naftis said. Kor blinked. "No?" "No, I will not train you today." At Kor's confused frown, he shook his head. "If you are under my tutelage, you will not be relying upon kolinar. It is medicine, not a tool with which to keep using the Gift past its limit. You will only learn from me while you have the Gift---naturally---to spare for the training. So no." Kor sighed. "It is you, or Terran. Jin's orders." Naftis offered an unsympathetic smile. "Well, then I suppose you'd better report back to Terran, hadn't you?" He placed his hand on the back of Elam's head. "Come, Elam." "Bye, Kor!" the boy piped, and then he and the loquiri walked away. "I hear you are...trying... to learn the janin, now?" Talen said tentatively. Kor arched an eyebrow. "My, how quickly news travels." The warrior laughed. "I am teaching Joran the janin, as well. I will work with you both, if you'd rather avoid Terran today. Perhaps if you are shown the weapon's use a little slower today, Terran will not have to give you so many bruises tomorrow." "Aye," Kor grinned. "Thank you." < > Jin was a light enough sleeper, when Kor stepped into the tent to check on him, sweeping the Gift lightly across his body, Jin rolled over and scowled at him. “You still stink.” “Good to see you too, Fay-el,” his Second said dryly. He leaned the janin against the wall, within reach of Jin, and rummaged in the growing pile of junk the Hybrid seemed to accumulate. “Just what are you doing?” he asked sourly. “Looking for something.” “I am trying to sleep.” Kor flashed him a grin. “This first.” “What first?” The Hybrid had already returned to pawing through the parchments and his bag, before sitting up with the bottles of venom and calaba. Jin groaned. “You can wait until the morning.” “Nay. I said tonight. It won’t take long.” “You’re tired, certai |
| “You know, I am not technically married yet.” Layole whispered, his voice teasing. “I still have to wear the ribbons.” “We will see about that.” She laughed as she leaned forward and tugged the green and black things from his hair, one by one, until she thought she had them all. With a defiant gaze, she twined them around her fingers, looking down for a second to make sure they were securely tied. “There, now the women will just have to make do with the other eligible suitors. However, I do think I will be the envied one to marry one such…” she glanced back up, noticing for the first time just how close they were. He was mere inches from her face, staring at her eyes intently. She felt numb in that moment, lost inside her own head, where the sounds of the beginning dances were muted. Colors swirled and blurred, dull in comparison to him. He took her hand and raised it to his chest, where she could feel hie heart beating calmly, then brought it back to his hair. “You missed one.” She pulled the last ribbon away, glad for an excuse to feel his warmth again. If she had to, she would be more than content to just sit at his side until the dances ended, but they had an obligation, for he had his duties and she had not appeared to the tribe for some time now. They walked over to Jin and Kor, who were for a moment free from other well wishers. Jin offered his congratulations and warnings about Jin to Kor, while Daliah nodded her head. She was excited for the hybrid, though not as surprised as she should have been. She had felt his energies when they sparred, and there was no one better suited to follow Layole in this position. That she told him once her betrothed had finished, then they stepped aside so that others might offer their words. They paused just outside of the dancing crowd. Layole played with one of the ribbons in her hand, grinning. “Well, it appears that I owe you several dances. That could take a lifetime, or at least the rest of the night.” “Then stop talking and begin dancing.” she laughed. He led her into the dance, though they lingered toward the outside, as Daliah’s leg was still not completely healed. They clasped hands and began to move with the others, weaving in and out like the ribbons. She went under his arm; he spun her like the twisting thread. All the while they both smiled happily. “You are better than I expected.” Layole commented as they completed a turn. “Why?” she challenged playfully. “Did you think me completely inadequate?” “No.” he stammered. “I just did not think you were taught to dance. That is all.” She shook her head, which led her to notice Kor and Jin over his shoulder, sitting along the side. Kor was beginning to look rather annoyed, but Jin was deep in conversation with a woman, who seemed somewhat familiar to her. Daliah could not help but wonder, as he looked more relaxed than she had seen him lately. Also, he had laughed. She had not seen that from him since they arrived here. Perhaps this was a time of second chances for all of them. Layole noticed her stare, and turned just in time to see him leave with a hopeful girl. He sighed and they continued dancing. “You should talk to him.” Daliah was shocked. “Why not you? You were his Second, it is you he trusts. It is not my business. He hardly knows who I am. Who am I to give him advice?” “But you know what it is like to fear love, and to find it again.” He ran his thumb along the back of her hand. “At least promise me that you will think about it. He always had a hard time taking advice from me, and it will mean more coming from someone that can relate to the situation.” She groaned. “You have a way of making me agree to anything. I am not sure whether or not I like that.” He looked at her hopefully. “Fine. I will talk to him after the wedding. But if it does not go well, then I will be sure that he knows you were the one who sent me.” He kissed her hand. “That is all I ask.” --------------------------------- Daliah stepped outside, enjoying the small breeze that ruffled her curls. It was a glorious day, and she would not spend it inside while Layole was speaking with Jin and Chrys. She stretched her newly healed leg, a wedding gift from Kor, then looked at the sparring ring longingly. She had brought her weapons with her today, hoping that she might have a chance to practice with them. Unfortunately, though, it did not appear that she would be invited as easily as she might have hoped. Her hands curled into fists restlessly. They itched to grasp her blade once more, even if it was only a spar. She placed a foot inside the ring and waited, watching each person as they fought. Some appeared to be Gifted, while others appeared to be as she was. So was the greatness of Ratacca Korr. At this point, however, she would take what she would get. To her surprise, she spotted another woman across the ring. She wore men’s attire as she did, though hers was black instead of earth tones. Like Daliah, she was observing the fighting, one hand placed over her stomach. She found herself wondering, so she began to walk around the circle. Her eyes were trained on the woman, even when they were separated by a pair that fought with no other weapons than hands and feet. The other looked up as she drew closer, taking in the similar appearance with a raised eyebrow. “I assume you must be Daliah.” she said by way of greeting. She tried not to show her confusion, for the woman looked only vaguely familiar. “I do apologize. I am afraid I do not know your name.” “Jaara.” she crossed her arms and looked at her leg, which was now able to support Daliah’s full weight. “I see that your wound has improved.” “Inquisita. I remember you, now. Your talents are something to be admired.” Jaara grunted. "To be respected, perhaps." She jutted her chin toward Daliah's blade. "Do you spar?" The woman glanced down at the sword sheathed at her hip with a wry smile. "Yes, and more." "Good." The Maran turned abruptly on her heel and strode toward the sparring circle. "Come." Daliah arched an eyebrow at the tone, but followed, drawing her sword as Jaara did the same. They bowed to one another. "I hear you're to be wed," Jaara said, as they walked slowly around one another, testing each other with easy lunges and clashes of their weapons. "Tonight." "I am," Daliah said, smiling happily. "I suppose then I should go easy on you. A bride should not come to her husband for the first time marked with cuts and bruises." Daliah chuckled a little and offered a feral smile. "You'd have to land them first, Jaara. But do not go easy for my sake; we've a healer now in the tribe. Gifted, like you. He should be able to heal any unsightly marks." Again, Jaara grunted. "Ah yes. The ael kinth." Daliah shook her head at the phrase, easily parrying a blow. Jaara was beginning to loosen as she realized that the supposed Dragonian did have more skill than she appeared to, even with her excitement at her marriage. They began to become more aggressive, and performed some of the trickier fundamentals. It began to hit her how much she truly missed a good spar. There was nothing like the breathless feeling of vigorous exercise, surrounded by the sounds of clashing steel. It was almost enough to make her forget technique, but she was trained too hard for that. She observed her opponent carefully, noting her fighting style and adjusting as she needed to. “You fight like a mother.” she commented to Jaara. “Are you pregnant?” She nodded and fought a little harder. Daliah had obviously struck a chord with the woman, but whether it was a bad one, she did not know. She was still curious, yet she would let it go for now. If Jaara wanted to continue their conversation, she would listen, but she would not press about that she did not understand. Jaara finally broke the skin on Daliah’s arm and smiled with satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Daliah retaliated, and there was a new red cut along the Maran’s hand. Both of their eyes sparkled, happy to find an equal opponent. She blocked Jaara’s blade as it swept towards her legs. With a growl, she twisted it up and grabbed the woman’s arm, which brought them close enough for her to feel the other’s breath. Jaara pushed her back and attacked again, this time delivering a blow that forced her onto her back. Daliah rolled away as the weapon came toward her again, finally deciding to take the offensive. Jaara was slowly driven to the edge of the circle, and it became apparent that they were attracting an audience. Daliah was annoyed by this. She hated serving as entertainment. Jaara, on the other hand, seemed utterly oblivious to the assembled viewers. Her attention was fully trained on her opponent, and her Gift was held in rigid control; she was well aware it could be an unfair advantage against a un-Gifted opponent, and besides, it was beneficial to practice her skills without relying upon the preternatural senses and reflexes her Gift gave her. Khyr crouched on the sideline where he'd been abandoned, but watched anxiously as his mistress and her Dragonian sparring partner exchanged blows and pressed one another from one side of the circle to the other. At last Jaara called a halt, then stood frowning at her derk-ra for a moment as she and Daliah caught their breath. "Would you like to practice fighting alongside a derk-ra?" she asked at last. "I am given to understand that Hamen will be training some of your warriors in the Apollar art of pairing with a derk-ra. It takes months to learn, but Khyr's eager and could teach you a thing or two, I think, before Hamen begins his teaching." If Daliah was unsure, she did not show it. She nodded, her face now hard. It would be interesting to fight at a derk-ra’s side, instead of against it. But if there was a new technique, she would have to learn it. At his master’s command, the beast swaggered up to Daliah, looking her over with a keen eye. She eased her stance, feeling respect for her former opponent. When she thought about it, it could be a rather experienced warrior. Well, she would see how this trial fared before she made any decisions. She swung her blade in her hand, observing her new partner’s reaction. How were they to fight each other if they did not speak the same language? “All right.” she turned her attention to Jaara. “How do we begin?” Jaara stood, legs in a wide, casual stance, at the edge of the circle and crossed her arms. "Khyr has been trained to fight at your shield arm. It is not so with all derk-ra, but it is so with him. Take a starting stance, and watch." Daliah fell immediately into Derk-ra's claw, sword raised above her as though to shield her eyes from the sun... or swat the sun from the sky. Khyr immediately pounced into the shadow cast by her sword, and crouched low, three clawed feet digging firmly into the packed sand, one lifted slightly like a runner ready to sprint. "I will play your opponent, again." Jaara crossed into the circle, and took up her place opposite of Daliah. She squared off against Khyr briefly, arching her spine and snapping, "Kai, Khyr!" before gesturing sharply to Daliah. Then she drew her janin and brought it down low along her leg in Dragon's Fang. "Watch," she said calmly. "Do not react." She snapped toward Daliah's right in a rapid Diagonal Step, arcing her janin upwards toward Daliah's head in a Reverse Reaper's Scythe. The blade stopped an inch away from Daliah's eye, but the other woman did not flinch. The derk-ra did not move a muscle. Jaara lowered her janin. "He does not respond to me when I attack you from the right. That side is for you to defend on your own. But now watch." She stepped back to her original place, then performed precisely the same move, only on Daliah's left side this time. Khyr reacted immediately, scurrying toward her in a blur of scales, nearly taking her feet out from under her as he performed his own version of Rushing Bull. She avoided him by leaping over him with a Sparrow Hop, then nodded to Daliah. "You see?" It was all Daliah could do not to smile in excitement. The derk-ra was truly a powerful ally if all were so responsive as this. She was tempted to pat him in encouragement, but refrained, for she did not know how he would react to her touch, nor how tame he should become. She turned to her opponent with a raised eyebrow and readied herself in the Flagellant’s Scale. They fought again, with Khyr charging and leaping whenever his partner’s left side was approached. Daliah and Jaara did not spar very hard this time, since they were more focused on getting used to the new technique than beating each other. The derk-ra seemed to enjoy the fight just as much as they did, for it gave him an opportunity to exercise his abilities. If he ever smiled, he was most likely doing so at that point. Daliah found that she had to watch Khyr almost as much as Jaara, or else she would trip over him. This would definitely take some getting used to, but she looked forward to more training. “So, Hamen plans to train all derk-ra in this manner?” she asked, slipping into Darting Fish to avoid a well-placed strike. “Yes. Well, some of them, anyway.” Jaara replied. “Hopefully, the Dragonian soldiers will accept this technique.” “You have my endorsement, for what it is worth to you.” Daliah straightened as the round ended and nodded out of respect, first to Jaara, then to Khyr. Jaara nodded back, tersely, but with a small smile. "Khyr," she said, and the lizard came, falling into her shadow obediently. Now that he'd been through the paces and had worked some of the aggression out of sinew and bone, he was relaxed and content, his movements more akin to a dog's than a derk-ra's. But, Daliah would have been remiss if she failed to notice, his mistress did not kneel to pet him, or speak words of encouragement to him. Whether that was due to the Inquisita's nature, or the lizards, it was impossible to tell. Jaara sheathed her janin smartly, then stood gazing at her former opponent with her hands placed firmly on her hips. "Well, you look none the worse for wear, at least, though the dust of the circle is in your hair and upon your face." "And the sweat upon my brow, as well," Daliah added with a smile, sheathing her. "It is good to be well enough to spar again, and to go against another woman!" She frowned a little. "Marans and Dragonians alike seem not to value a woman's fighting skill, yet here you and I are." Jaara grunted. "We are what we are." "Yes," Daliah agreed. "Warriors, women and wives. Well, I will be soon, in any case." She smiled. "Very soon." Then the smile slipped from her face and she cocked her head at Jaara. "What is wrong?" Jaara shook her head. "I must go. I will see you tonight, however; Caylia, apparently, is going to your wedding, and suggested I accompany her." She nodded as the Maran walked away, confused at the apparent pain in her eyes. What had happened to her? “I see that you have kept yourself busy while I was away.” Layole strode up to her. “Yes, it was quite...” she looked up at him. “Something distracts you. Is everything all right?” He shook his head. “We spoke of much, but there is nothing we must worry about now.” --------------- “Are you ready?” the girl looked at Daliah expectantly. She nodded. “I have loved this man almost from the moment we met. I believe that I am ready.” “But did you practice your vows? Have you memorized them?” “Well, let us go and see.” Daliah lifted the flap of the tent slightly so that she could see outside. The other fussed behind her, but she did not, could not pay attention. She had caught sight of her betrothed speaking with Jin, and could not look away now. His brown hair, though tied back, still stirred slightly in the wind. His face was bronzed and shining, shining for her. Her heart pounded hard and she felt as though she could not breathe. Could this all be real? The seamstress came up to her side. “It appears that they are beginning to form. We shall only have a few moments left. Have you prepared your basket?” She nodded. She had already given it to one of the children, who she saw standing by another with a similar burden. Their faces were excited and their feet restless, much as children are when faced with an important task. If she had her way, Elam would have carried it, but he seemed difficult to find lately. Jin was reluctant to speak of it, and she did not press the issue. “Well, I must say that your figure is much improved when you are in a proper dress. Perhaps you will discard your men’s attire from now on.” the girl smiled hopefully, smoothing the skirt with a practiced eye. “But how will I fight?” she did not look away. “You still wish to fight? With a husband to think about?” the woman was always amazed by such plans. “Whatever for?” Daliah sighed and covered her head with her hood. “You talk far too much.” Somewhere the soft music began to play. It was time. She sucked in her breath and stepped outside, the sand tickling her bare feet. Her blue dress billowed in the same breeze that ruffled his hair. The seamstress was a wise one, for the color did match her blue eyes, and the embroidery matched the dark and light tones of her hair. For once in her life, she looked and felt truly beautiful, and Layole was the one to thank. All must have thought she was mad, for she could not stop smiling. Yet Layole might detract from it, for he was a grinning fool as well. The ceremony circle was already drawn in the sand, sacred though simple. They stood and the edge and stood perfectly still as cleansing spices were thrown on them and water was trickled over their heads. A small amount slipped onto Daliah’s face, and she was tempted to sneeze as some of the spiced swirled around her, but she did not mind. They were now cleansed and worthy to enter, that the rites might continue. She held her breath as she and her betrothed crossed into it from opposite sides, in perfect time as they had rehearsed. It was not Daliah’s doing, however, for she had been taken by the fact that the sunset light brought out breath-taking highlights in his hair. Neither was it Layole, who was distracted by the now exaggerated shadows of her form. Jin cleared his throat to draw their eyes away. “By entering the marriage circle, these two have agreed to bind themselves together in the presence of the Dragonian gods. Thrice spoken and agreed. Layole and Daliah, are you prepared to enter into this most sacred of unions?” “We are, by the wind that blows, the heart that beats, and the spirit that whispers.” they both smiled ecstatically. “Thrice said and thrice done. Have they been found worthy?” he asked the tribe. Daliah’s heart beat hard against her ribs as they answered: “They have. Their hearts are already entwined by the blessings of Kyda, the strength of their spirits, and the ever reaching breath of the Dragon.” He nodded with approval. “Thrice asked and answered. Do you promise to give all of yourselves to one another and serve each other by the rites of Kyda?” “We do promise these things.” It was now underway, for he turned to Layole. “Layole, your ancestors have equipped you with tools that you might share with your bride. What do you provide for the union of this marriage?” A child handed him a basket, similar to Daliah’s, and returned to his mother. The man lifted the cloth, withdrawing each object as he explained. “I promise to use my weapons to both protect and provide for her. My hands will build a home for her and hold her when she is unwell. My horse will take her wherever she needs or wishes to go. My light will ensure that she always knows where to return when she is weary. I provide these things to my wife. They are a symbol that I will provide, love, and protect our family always.” “Thrice promised and thrice fulfilled. Daliah, your ancestors have equipped you with tools that you might share with your groom. What do you provide for the union of this marriage?” She took her basket gently and uncovered it, her head reeling from the words of her betrothed. “I promise to use my boots to follow him wherever he might go, without question or complaint. My weapons will be used to fight at his side, to fight for him when need be. My hands will warm and care for him when the night falls. My past, present, and future will belong to him. I provide these things to my husband and home. They are a symbol that I will care for you and love you always.” “Thrice promised and fulfilled. You may exchange your baskets.” They handed them to each other as they were told, their hands brushing briefly. Daliah felt heat rush up her arm to her face. Their eyes met, and she began to smile once more, her nervousness melting in the coolness of the night and the fire of his eyes. Yet she had to force herself back, for it was time to lower their baskets to the ground and clasp their hands. “Now you will feel no rain, for you will be shelter to each other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there is no more loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two bodies, but there is only one life before you.” At Jin’s prompting, Layole squeezed Daliah’s hands and recited his vows with heart. “I, Layole, shall take you, Daliah, as my wife. I do solemnly avow my love for you. I will comfort you, keep you, love you, defend you in the storms and Dragon’s fire, seeking only to be with you until death parts us. All these things I pledge upon my honor as a man, my blood, and my life’s breath.” Daliah smiled and repeated the vow, a single tear tracing her cheek. Though none but Layole had ever seen her cry before this time, she did not care. All she saw was him, his adoring eyes, strong face, even that ridiculous lock of hair that refused to be tied back. She loved every part of him, and was still amazed that he wanted her above all of the others. Life was truly a gift. “Now, as you Layole and you Daliah have consented together to be forever bound, it is your duty to share your life in an honorable way. “ They raised their hands and stepped closer, waiting upon Jin’s final words. “Now you are one in body, breath, and blood. Thrice asked and thrice received. May you kiss now to seal this most sacred of unions.” Their lips met eagerly. Daliah had never imagined that it would be so wonderful, even if she had been waiting for so long. She shivered, though she was far from cold. She was lucky that he was holding her, for she now found it very hard to stay on her feet. This was every dream completed, every wish fulfilled beyond asking. Life and love spilled out of her like the overflowing of sweet wine poured by a generous hand. She could only wish that her father could see her joy. Yet her desires for Venne fell away for a time. If it was to be, she would find them and the answers she had searched for all of her life. But if it was not, her heart was satisfied in remaining at his side in the tribe, traveling as a Dragonian, giving him the traces of her history. She no longer cared what she did, as long as she might be near him. If he asked her to abandon her sword, she would, though she knew that he loved her far too much to ever ask for such a thing. All of her fears and hopes were replaced by this newfound happiness. She was a wife, her love was her husband. There were no disappointments, no shadows from the past to interrupt this most wonderful of days, as she had expected based on her past experiences. Memories flashed behind her closed lids. She saw once more the first time their eyes met, with no suspicions that they might someday be here. She saw their first argument, when he used Elam to keep her with the tribe, without admitting his true feelings. She saw the first time she admitted both her weakness and love, and he took them without question. She saw the moment he asked for all of her for all of her for all of her life, even after learning the darkest of her secrets. She saw the look in his eyes that told her more than anything that she was all he wanted, that he would give anything to see her happy. She saw their future together, whether in vision or wish she did not know. She saw herself pregnant and swollen, with Layole’s head resting on her belly to hear the baby moving for the first time, excitement filling his face as she looked on. She saw the birth of their first child, saw it grow and start a new life, carrying on the essence of the both of them. She saw their hair turn to grey, then to white as time passed. She saw Layole holding her hand as she breathed her last, old and wrinkled, contented with the life they had shared. She saw life. Love had conquered all, love had conquered her. Her heart felt like it was stopped in her chest, never to beat unless her love commanded it to. If he did not, if she were to die in this moment, she would have no regrets, but be satisfied that their kiss was the last of her memories. He took her breath, was her breath. He was a part of her now, and she of him. They were bound, like the circle, with no way to tell where the individual began and ended. It was everlasting and true, and could not be broken by any earthly forces. He drew her hood back that her married head might be seen and they parted at last, but stayed close so that they might keep this moment in their mind though other moments would follow. This was the most important. This was the beginning. Neither heard the cheering or the final blessing, though Jin delivered it well, finally seeing what joy they brought to each other. They were not part of the rest of the world, only of each other, at least until they were pulled away to join the festivities. “What did you see?” Layole whispered in her ear as they danced. “I saw our past and future. It is wonderful, and I cannot wait to share it with you. That is, if you will still have me.” “A little late now, do you think?” he chuckled. “I would have you every day. I saw us surrounded by children, you dancing with them. You teaching them to fight, me teaching them to admit weakness. Eventually they will move on with families of their own, and we will be left to each other, two happy grandfolks, forced to share wisdom with any else that will listen. But I will have to die first, of course, for I will not be able to live without you.” “I shall challenge that. In my vision, I was the one to pass on first.” she teased. “Well, we have plenty of time. We will see.” “Agreed. But first we must live.” she felt his hand slide over her stomach. “It will soon carry your child.” “Our child.” he corrected. “But I must place two conditions on it.” She raised a brow. “Oh?” “First, the girl must be named after you, for it is the most beautiful name that I have ever heard, and I should like to hear it every day. Secondly, when pregnant, you must refrain from throwing yourself into battles and getting sliced open. That is, unless you absolutely cannot help it.” She pouted, and he curled her hair back over her ear, sighing. “It will be very hard to say no to you, I can see. If our daughter is anything like you, I will have nothing left.” “And if our son is anything like you, then I will forever be working to make sure he is perfectly happy.” “Then perhaps we should not have too many children.” “No, we should. For I will see you in them, and that is all I shall ever need.” He kissed her softly. “I love you.” She had never loved any words as much much as those three. |
| Jin wound his way between the celebrants. Normally, he would nibble at some food, share a drink or two with some of the warriors, and work his way out of sight, unless Terran caught him. He was nursing a flagon of honey whiskey when he saw her. Caylia, fingers dancing over the strings of her harp, nestled between two other musicians. Jin grinned and strode that way. The Maran bard saw his approach. She smiled at him, dipping her head respectfully as her hands stilled. “Good day—er, night to you, Fa—Jin. And Second.” The Fay-el scowled. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” Caylia nodded. Jin sighed. “Just him?” A flush crept across her features. “No. Terran is coming this way too. He has ribbons in his hand.” Jin groaned lowly and sat down beside her, flicking his Second an annoyed glare. “Stay there. You don’t have to hover.” His glare softened to a slow grin when he turned his attention to the bard. “Don’t stop on my account. I just wanted to listen.” “And hide from the wolves,” she pointed out. The flush brightened and she looked away, plucking a few notes. As she lost herself in the music, her cheeks lost their redness and her body relaxed. Jin tapped his fingers lightly as the rhythm flared and dipped, biting his lip when he caught himself humming. He kept an eye out for the blademaster and, when Terran finally reached them, growled, “I will not wear those tonight.” The blademaster shrugged as if unconcerned. “I had no intention of bothering you, Fay-el.” He straightened, arching a brow. “You’re not going to coerce me into that terrible tradition?” “Certainly not. You’ve made your wishes clear.” Jin frowned. “What are you up to?” Terran scowled and turned away, ignoring his comment. “In fact, I brought these for your Second.” Kor arched an eyebrow and smirked. "The maids need not pluck ribbons from my hair to convince me to bed them!” he chuckled. Jin glared at him over his shoulder. Terran laughed in surprised relief. “Well, at least you're more cooperative than our Fay-el! Still, it is tradition. Here.” He handed Kor a yellow ribbon. “That marks a Second.” He frowned at the Hybrid. “But you've other professions, aye?” His hands sifted through the ribbons. “Green for healer…” He glanced up at the night sky, thinking. "But you're Gifted, too, so maybe the other ribbon should be for that. I will have to ask the Keeper what the color used to be. It has been... generations. Silver perhaps? But you’re a musician too, are you not?" He scowled at the ribbons. "What is your bloody profession, Kor?" The Hybrid smirked. "Just give me a random handful, aye? If nothing else, it will ensure more dances, with more girls." Terran rolled his eyes, pressing the handful of ribbons into Kor’s hand. “Just try not to get them all with child, will you? I’m not sure Jin can deal with the idea of a new, Gifted generation of tribesmen just yet.” “Definitely not,” the Fay-el said with feeling. Kor winked. “I know how to give a maiden a good time and still halt the fun before there’s a risk of a child being conceived.” Terran’s face fell. “Ugh. Just go, will you?” The smirking Hybrid wheeled around, tying an entire fistful of ribbons into his hair, and a few from his belt. He strode toward the dancers. Two young women came slinking through the dim light. Though they winked and grinned at the other warriors, their eyes kept shifting to Jin. He did his best to ignore them, but could almost feel the burn of their gaze as they worked their way toward him. He waited until they were close enough that their intentions could not be denied, and then lightly ran his fingers through his hair. No ribbons. Jin hid a smile as their faces fell. One tossed her head as if he had personally rejected her and stalked away. The other frowned, nibbling at her lip. Her eyes wandered, narrowing with disdain at Caylia. An unexpected surge of anger fluttered in Jin’s chest. He shifted to stand and then froze, relaxing again when her gaze shifted. A wide grin spread across the woman’s face. She cocked her head coyly and glided away. Jin watched her out of the edge of his vision. When she reached his Second, teasing a ribbon out of his fiery hair, the Fay-el smirked. I wonder how much he will like this tradition. Kor was absolutely delighted with this tradition. Who would have imagined that it would be the woman's job to court men, and not the other way around? All he had to do was stand there, and wait, and one by one they came. The first maiden twisted the black ribbon around her finger and smiled up at him. "A Second and blacksmith, aye?" Her eyes fell over the other ribbons doubtfully. "I'm a man of many talents," Kor winked. She cocked her head, smile widening slightly, then wrapped her arm around his waist and led him a few steps away into the dancing circle. They parted after one dance with a quick kiss. "I'll be back later," she promised. Her brown eyes glanced down at his belt and then she glanced up at him again, smiling boldly. "Perhaps I'll snatch this ribbon next," she said, finger flicking the orange ribbon there. "Cooper." And that was just the first. After he had danced with, he was sure, pretty much every willing maiden in the camp, he finally sighed and returned to Jin, ready for a---brief---break. By then, the Fay-el was lounging in front of Caylia, a blissful expression on his face as he listened to the lively notes of her harp. Then Kor spotted a woman he'd not danced with yet, and he grinned. "My good woman!" he said politely enough, shouldering up to her. Caylia glanced sideways with a small frown when her scowling companion greeted the Hybrid with a curt, "Yes?" "Jaara, right?" He grinned. "Am I right?" "It is no great feat to remember a person's name," Jaara frowned, then sat down beside the campfire. "But yes, that is indeed my name." Kor frowned a little. She wasn't supposed to sit down. He stepped a little closer. Jin, he noticed, was shaking his head slowly at Kor behind Jaara's shoulder, mouthing the word "no" over and over. Kor ignored him. "How do you fare this night?" he asked. He shifted a little, so that the light of the fire would fall on him more fully. Perhaps she just needed to see one of the ribbons nearby, to have the courage to take it... "Quite well," Jaara said after a long pause that suggested to everyone but Kor that she really wished he would stop speaking to her. He nodded, awkwardly. "I am doing well as, um, well." Now Caylia, too, was warning him off, shaking her head to encourage Kor to leave Jaara be. He would not be so easily defeated. She just needed to warm up a little toward him. "I must say, if the, ah, stars in the heavens were as beautiful as your eyes, they'd be..." His heart thudded suddenly in his chest as he realized he'd worded that wrong. "They'd be... um... really... beautiful." Jaara actually glared at him for a full second or two before she rose and simply stalked away toward the feast table. Jin laughed at his Second's crestfallen look. "I would never have imagined that something... quite like that... would come out of your mouth." "Yes," Kor said sourly, "Well she caught me off guard." "Uh huh." He collapsed by the Fay-el's side with a tragic sigh. "Women." Jin glanced at Caylia, then back down at Kor. "Can you... Look, why don't you go dance with some more women?" Kor didn't want to do that. Jaara would surely be coming back, eventually, and she would take a ribbon this night, if he had to wait all eve for her to do it. "Ah, no. I'm... quite tired. I think I'll rest here a bit." He glanced at the flagon in Jin's hand. "What are you drinking?" He grinned. "And where do I get it?" Jin grinned back suddenly. "I'll show you." < > Jin guided his Second to where a barrel occupied the corner of two feast tables. A few men glanced at him curiously, and then grinned and motioned him to join their group. Dice and money, or varying possessions, were scattered across the table. Kor glanced at them, and then arched a brow. The oldest man there—brawny Rometh—pointed to two younger boys, with cups scattered all around them. One was barely standing, and the other didn’t look much better. “They insist they can get roaring drunk and still do the Fundamentals. So we’s been betting on which will.” Rometh smiled. “Care to join?” Kor shook his head and sat down. “I doubt either of them can do much of anything soon, so I will keep my money safely in my pocket.” He chuckled. “A good choice.” He stepped closer to the barrel, filled a small flagon, and handed it to Kor. The Second sniffed appreciatively and then downed it in one quick swallow, before staring mournfully at the empty glass. “I suppose I get so little because I’m on duty?” he asked. Rometh blinked. “Nay. Few drink theirs so fast, nor want more after.” Kor grinned. “Ah.” He glanced at Jin. “Can’t hold your liquor, Fay-el?” Jin’s smile was feral. “Perhaps. If you want more, you have simply to ask.” The Hybrid glanced back at Rometh. “May I?” The man’s eyes shifted to Jin, questioning and confused. “Sire?” “Give him as much as he desires.” Jin patted Kor’s shoulder. “I’ll be with the musicians.” “With Caylia.” Jin scowled. The hand on the Hybrid’s shoulder tightened painfully, before he released him and walked away. Kor flashed a grin at Rometh, cocking his head into a playful angle. “So…may I have more, if you please good sir?” Rometh frowned at him, then frowned more when Kor put the flagon aside and snatched up a tankard. It was not the Hybrid's first time drinking mead, nor would it be his last, oh no. ‘Twas his favorite drink, by far. "You be careful with this, Sair," the man said, dipping the tankard into the barrel and handing it, dripping, to the Hybrid. Kor bowed a little over the cup. "It should be careful with me," he grinned. He downed half the tankard, coughed a little at the way it burned down his throat---now this was how mead should be!---and then downed the second half. Rometh shook his head as Kor handed him back the tankard. "You've guts, youngling." He dipped the tankard, then handed it back to the Hybrid. "Let's see how long it takes you to puke them up." Kor grinned. "Never say an Aquila cannot hold his drink," he smirked. "Just go eat something before you drink the rest of that, will you?" Kor bowed again with a little flourish of the tankard. None spilled; he valued the stuff too highly. "With pleasure, sar." He started to head to the other feast table, eyeing the roast javalina there and hoping whoever had hunted it had not mistakenly cut into the beast's musk glands. The meat was gamy enough as was, but properly cooked, it could be better than pork. Before he reached the table, his eyes fell on Jin's group again, and he noticed that Jaara was back, nursing a small tankard of ale. He sauntered over her way with a grin that faltered only a little as he tried to find his words. "You're back, I see." "Yes." Her dark eyes were not friendly, but he ignored that. "Ale, eh?" "Yes," she said again. He tsked. "And you with child? Not a wise idea, methinks." She frowned at the tankard, then at him. "Why ever not?" He downed a couple swallows of his mead, then smiled at her wisely. "Because occasionally babes born to mothers who are inclined toward strong drink are, you know, malformed." He sipped a little more of the mead, and felt a pleasant rush of warmth through his body. "I see," she said, then promptly overturned her ale, allowing it to flow toward the sand. Kor smiled in satisfaction, then frowned as she walked away with nary a word. "Wait! Where are you going?" She ignored him walking toward the feast tables. He saw her speaking to Rometh, who nodded and filled her tankard with fig juice. To Kor's dismay, she did not return, but instead crossed her arms, and watched the two youths over yonder busily drink themselves into a stupor. "She will dance with me," Kor said quietly. Jin sighed. "Well, why don't you go over there and convince her?" The Second frowned. "Because, Fay-el, you are over here and I'm on bloodly duty. Bloody. Bloody duty." He grinned. Aye, the mead was good indeed. Jin rose quietly and nudged him toward the table once more. “Then, for your sake, I will go halfway. Will that work?” Kor frowned. “I don’t know if…” “Most of the way. If I go most of the way that direction, will you talk to Jaara and—“ he tipped the tankard down to glance at it, “Might as well refill that too.” “Aye.” Kor grinned. “That will do.” The Fay-el crossed to the first table and stood quietly, hitching a shoulder toward Jaara, who had not noticed their approach. Jin suspected if she had, she would run off again. If Kyda were with him at all today, she would not until Kor had refilled that tankard and drank a little more. Rometh frowned at Kor, but did not argue. Nursing his drink once again, Kor crossed to Jaara and started chatting once more. The fact that the Second was swaying slightly on his feet made Jin grin. Still smirking, the Fay-el crouched low and crept back toward Caylia once more. This time, she had moved to a feasting table. Jin settled across from her and started pointing out some of the more unusual dishes. Their conversation naturally flowed through dates, mangoes, prickly pear fruit, and different ways to prepare them. Dragonian spices, his dislike of cinnamon, and to favorite dishes at the School. And then Kor’s Gift pushed against him, probing but not as gentle as he normally did. Jin flinched. "Ow. Bloody Hybrid." Caylia frowned. "Jin?" "Just my Second. My Gifted, annoying Second." He half-turned. Kor came striding…or rather staggering…up to him. “Where’d ya go? ‘Sposed to stay there.” “The whole time?” The Second blinked at him dully for a moment. And then shrugged. “Giss nut. Guess…n’ver mine.” He turned his head, grinning once again as Jaara strode toward the edge of the circle. “Ah—going there.” He wagged a shaky finger at Jin. “Stay.” The Fay-el said nothing. The Hybrid smiled and turned aside. Jin sighed with relief as Kor chased slowly toward the ill-tempered Maran. Jaara turned the coldest frown of her life upon the approaching Hybrid, but it did not stall him in his tracks as it would have done to other men. "What?" she snapped. He bowed his head at her, pointing a finger at his hair. He found himself sinking a little more toward the ground than he had perhaps expected; his muscles felt very wobbly and distances seemed to be crossed with jarring abruptness. Suddenly, he was upright again, swaying slightly. "Th' ribb'ns, you see?" He flashed what he hoped was a charming grin at her. The world was tilting alarmingly, and so he stumbled sideways a bit, into a wider, stronger stance. "I see that you are drunk," she said coolly. Kor grinned. "Aye. P'haps I am. Better me 'n you, eh?" "What do you want?" she demanded again. He gestured vaguely at the ribbons. "Yer Maran, not Dray, aye, so you p'haps do na know. But yer s'posed t' take un." "I do not want to dance with you." She started to turn away. "Course you don't," he mumbled to himself, wilting as the world spun around him. "Cold's you are. How a man e'er put a babe in your belly, I'll ne'er---" He thought she'd been walking away, and that his voice was too quiet for her to hear. But apparently the Inquisita had sharp ears. She whirled on him, too fast for him to react to even if he had not been soused. Which he most definitely was. White light exploded in his head as her fist slammed upwards into his chin. His back struck the sand with a much softer sound than it would have made had he landed on packed dirt, but he was hardly able to be appreciative of it. He did not lose consciousness, precisely, but he did lose some time as the white light faded into streaking moons and stars across the sky above him. His limbs utterly refused to obey his commands. As the world finally settled into a wobbly balance, Kor blinked in confusion as a familiar face bent over him. The blademaster frowned and kicked him in the ribs. “Get up.” Kor sat up quickly, and then winced, clenching his teeth together to keep his meal where it belonged. “I see you’ve been drinking. Quite a bit, I might add.” Terran grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. “And managed to insult one of our Maran guests. I don’t know how you manage to get yourself into these situations.” “I’s just…lucky, s’pose.” Terran sighed. “And just where is Jin, may I ask?” The Hybrid turned, gesturing vaguely, and then frowned. He peered back and forth for a moment. When Kor returned his attention to Terran, a scowl had darkened across his features. “I told ‘im. Stay. Always hidin’ me.” “Ah, is that it?” The blademaster nudged him forward, away from the celebration. “Who showed you our fine brew?” “Jin…course. Plenty—all I want,” he swayed on his feet. “Good mead…good stuff.” Terran sighed by his ear. “Not mead, Second. Honey whiskey. Very sweet, and with a kick like a mule.” They stumbled on until they reached the horse pens. The blademaster shoved the staggering Hybrid toward a horse trough. “You’ll be ready for duty in no time at all.” “Eh?” Burying his hands in the Second’s tunic, Terran pushed him down and held him under the water, counting calmly to ensure he didn’t drown the tipsy Hybrid. Just when it began to feel as though Kor's lungs would burst and panic began to cut through the drunken fuzz of his mind, Terran let him up. Kor gasped, coughing and sneezing water, as the blademaster steered him away from the trough by the back of the tunic. "Ep---" He coughed a little more, shaking his head wildly. "Eppa!" A couple ribbons floated now in the water; the rest hung limp in his wet, streaming hair. Terran spun him around. The Hybrid glared at him, wet and beginning to swell at the jaw, but not swaying quite so drunkenly anymore. Terran gave him one more assessing glance, grunted, "You'll do," then spun him around again and marched him back toward the celebration. "Now," Terran said, as they came to stand before the feast table. Rometh and the blademaster exchanged looks, shaking their heads slowly at the sight of the damp, drunk Hybrid. "Where is Jin, Kor?" Kor's gaze swung from one end of the celebration to the other. "I d'no." There was a long sigh behind him. Then Terran shook him a little by the back of the collar. "Use your Gift, Second." "Ah," Kor said, nodding sagely. "Right." It took a few tries---very well, more than a few---to lock onto the wobbly warmth over his shoulder, let alone force it to behave according to his command. He did not have the control to send out a nice, gentle probe, so he simply sent his awareness out in a rough pulse, and was pleased when it crashed up against Jin's resonance. He pointed with a grand flourish. " 'E's o'er there, so 'e's." Terran nudged him forward. “Lead the way, Kor. I want to speak with Jin myself, and you should be by his side.” They made an ungraceful pair as they wove past the feast tables and dancers, Kor wobbling and Terran firmly holding him on his feet. As they approached, Jin scowled at Kor. “Is there a reason you must nearly knock the breath from me with that bloody Gift?” Terran stepped out from behind the Hybrid. The Fay-el’s face fell. The blademaster didn’t wait for him to speak. “He wouldn’t use his Gift if he stayed by you.” Terran grabbed Kor and shoved him to the seat beside Jin. “Then again, it is not entirely his fault. Did you happen to mention how strong our whiskey can be?” Jin shrugged and looked away. “He did not ask.” “I see. And just how is he supposed to protect you, when you’ve got him so drunk he can barely stand?” Jin shrugged again. Terran seized his shoulders roughly and leaned into the Fay-el’s face. “You listen then, if you won’t speak to me. You want your privacy, and that is perfectly understandable. However, on my part, I wish you to live to a long, full age. The Guild and the Eloin both want you dead.” Terran sighed and stepped back. “Kor is here to ensure their wishes are not fulfilled. But if you prevent him from doing what he swore to do, then it is as much your fault as his. Do you understand me, ra?” “Aye.” Jin snapped sullenly. “Good.” He jerked a hand at Kor. “Your Second is going to be with you until you go to bed, and then guard you as he should. If you wish to speak to another or be given some room, then tell him so and he will give you some leeway. But he will do his duty tonight.” Kor fixed Jin with a smile of such brightness that the Fay-el had the sudden, shocking urge to backhand it off of his face. "I 'ill do ma duty t'night," the Hybrid echoed Terran, making the words simultaneously a promise, threat and absurd joke. Terran cast one last assessing glare from Kor to Jin, then nodded politely to Caylia and strode away. Jin watched to blademaster go, then turned to scowl at Kor. The Hybrid either ignored him or did not notice, instead craning his neck to scan the dancers and folk assembled about the feast tables. "Where Jaara?" The Fay-el gave Caylia an exasperated look. "The Inquisita returned to Ratacca Korr." Kor cursed, then waved a hand vaguely at Caylia. "Beg yer fo'giv'ess, sae." She offered a small, polite smile. "Never fear, I've heard worse. Sung worse, in some of the lays." Kor's eyes flashed with interest. He twisted sideways in his seat to look at her more fully. "I could teach ye some new’ns, aye, s’ I could!" Jin groaned. "Kor! Please!" He shook his head. "I gave you three bloody tankards of honey whiskey. Why are you even still awake?" Kor offered an absurd grin. "Pah! I'm Aquila! Ne'er let 't be said an Aquila cannit 'old 'is drink!" Caylia laughed. “Well, I would like to hear some Aquila lays and drinking songs, but only when you’re feeling….ah, more yourself.” The Hybrid blinked as if he didn’t understand what she meant. Jin patted Kor’s shoulder. “Never mind. Why don’t you eat something?” “Stayin’ wit you.” “Kor, I’m quite certain you can fill a plate and return long before any man can harm me.” Jin sighed. “And you will be within earshot of me. Eat, or find a woman, or something---just go away.” He managed to look hurt, but his mouth twisted into a wry grin anyway. “Eh…you’ll wa’m up ta me. I’m not all ‘ad.” Kor ruffled his Fay-el’s hair teasingly. Jin cringed and jerked his head away. “I liked you better when you were not drunk.” Kor did a half-bow, stumbled, and straightened again with a wobbly smile. “Sure…good. Donna go anywheres.” Jin scowled. “Don’t coddle me.” “You’s the one keep runnin’ ‘way. Shoulda tied ya up.” “You try that one and I’ll give you a much larger bruise than Jaara did.” Kor shrugged blearily, still grinning, and staggered a few feet away. He plopped down in the sand and scrubbed at his eyes. Jin watched, bemused, as two of the girls crouched by him. They held out a plate of food and alternately cajoled, coaxed, and pouted food and unfermented drink into him, as well as sliding most of the ribbons out of his hair. He stood once, holding out his hands as if to dance, but they shook their heads. One leaned in close to whisper something and he nodded enthusiastically. Jin could only guess what they had accepted in place of the dance. First one woman kissed Kor, then the other. Jin rolled his eyes in disgust and amazement. "How that drunken sod is able to... Kyda!" Caylia grinned. "Jealous?" His eyes widened. He patted her hand, briefly, and had to retrain the urge to hold it, to trace the length of her fingers with his own. "No, certainly not. Confused, is all. I feel like a man would feel if... a sand mouse were to suddenly fly up toward the moons. This... just does not make sense." "Oh, I do not know," she teased. "He has a sort of... foreign charm. And he's certainly willing enough for your wolves." Jin shook his head as the two young women grasped Kor's arms and hauled him to his feet. "I almost feel bad for him. 'Tis like watching a lamb being led to the slaughter. I do not think he realizes that they are more interested in bearing a Second's child than in the Second himself." Caylia smiled wryly as the Hybrid swayed drunkenly and kissed one, then the other woman as they laughed and tried to keep him on his feet. "I am not so sure as you who is the lamb, and who the wolf in this case." She lowered her voice as the two women led the staggering Hybrid back toward Jin and Caylia. "In any case, wolf or lamb, he is going to have a massive headache come morning." The women deposited Kor beside his Fay-el, then left him there with lingering kisses like promises. The redhead sighed happily, then turned to Jin. "Miss me?" “No.” Kor frowned. “Not e’en a lil bit?” “ No.” Jin said emphatically. Kor smiled again. “Ah well. Wot else we doin’ now?” “We? We are doing nothing.” Jin stood and glanced over the celebration. It was still going strong, though the hour was very late. He flashed a grin at Caylia. “Perhaps you and I could speak more in the morning, while our shared pest is busy with Terran.” The bard grinned. “That might work better. How early should I return?” He hesitated, glancing at the dark sky. “Why don’t you stay the night? That way, you can sleep well and do as you please in the morning.” She bit her lip. “I—I suppose so. But I brought nothing with me.” Jin smiled. “You could spend the night with Rowan.” “Who?” He grinned wider. “I will introduce you. I think you and her will get along very well.” Jin scowled at Kor. “Come along, and behave yourself.” The Second lurched to his feet. Jin started to move toward him, ready to catch the Kor before he fell down again, but the unsteady Hybrid managed to get his feet under him with the delighted grin of a man who enjoys being drunk. " 'm all right, thank ye Fa'el." Jin rolled his eyes. "Uh huh." He turned to Caylia with a smile and put the Hybrid right out of his mind. "Right this way." He led her to the women's circle, where tired young dancers and a couple women with babes in arm sat quietly, sipping cool tankards of juice and ale. One of the dancers glanced assessingly at Kor, pouted a little at his unsteadiness and lack of ribbons, and went back to her ale. The group was presided over by a dignified middle-aged matron, gently curved with the bearing of children but not so old to be wrinkled. She smiled as Jin and Caylia approached, with Kor sort of wobbling behind them. "Greetings, Fay-el," she said. “Greetings, Rowan.” He smiled and held out a hand toward the Maran bard. “This is Caylia, a Settar born bard of the School. She has graciously played for us and now needs a place to spend the night.” “Ah,” the woman smiled warmly. “I would be honored to share my tent with you, Caylia.” The bard half-curtesied. “Thank you. I do apologize, as Jin—the Fay-el I mean, suggested I stay quite unexpectedly. I have brought nothing but my harp with me.” Rowan glanced at Jin briefly and then back to Caylia, a subtle glint to her eyes. “Well, that is fine, my dear. I have all that young women need. I’ve been a saie—a mentor—“ she translated at the bard’s slight cock of the head, “for many years.” The older woman glanced up at Jin again, whisking her hands in his general direction. “Now shoo. I’ll take care of her. No need to fret.” The Fay-el frowned slightly, but he obeyed. With Second at his heels, Jin returned to the celebration. The music seemed to have lost something in the process. It was not as bright or exuberant as he remembered, nor the ribbons as gay in color, nor the food as tasty. Not without someone to share it with. Jin stood abruptly. That thought had come from nowhere. “I’m too…fidgety to sit still,” he muttered at Kor. “Follow, if you must, but give me room.” They paced around the camp’s perimeter, checking on sentries, and then back through the middle of the celebration, before he wandered toward the horse pens. Doblo snorted when they approached, but Jin’s stallion had little interest in either of them. He flattened his ears when Jin called him and pranced away. The Fay-el smiled and leaned on crossed arms against the fence. “I don’t know how much of what I say you’ll remember,” he glanced at him, eyebrows arched. “But never get in there with him. He accepts me, and tolerates Elam, and hates anyone else. Even Terran won’t try him.” With a sigh, Jin shifted away and headed back toward his tent. He was halfway there when he spotted Caylia by the side of a dying campfire, scribbling hurriedly. Though the celebration was only now winding down, most of the fires would be allowed to go out. There was no need for the excess and, on the wetlands, smoke drew less animal predators and more the human. “Writing another song?” he asked quietly. She twitched and turned about, smiling at him. “Well, I’m trying to do so, or at least some idea of the happenings here, but the light is dimming. I’ll have to finish in the morning.” Jin shook his head. “You’ll have forgotten some by then.” Caylia shrugged. “It cannot be helped.” An idea wiggled in his head. Jin held up a hand. “Wait here. I have something you’ll like.” She smiled, bemused. But Jin had already turned and was striding away. Kor came right behind him. The Second was having a much harder time walking a straight line. By the time Jin reached his tent and had rummaged through his pack for the item, Kor looked like he was going to topple at any moment. The Fay-el rested a firm hand on his shoulders and pushed him to the ground. “You look awful.” Kor’s look was dull and unfocused. Jin sighed and planted a hand on his chest. “Go to sleep.” He brightened slightly. “Idea’s great. Good. ‘Ood stuff.” Jin leaned closer. “Go. To. Bed.” Kor blinked and nodded once, stretching out on his back in the sand. Jin straightened and waited until his Second was snoring, before stalking back to Caylia’s side. With a gentle flourish, he tapped her shoulder and cupped the lune in his hands. The warmth of his palms spurred it into sapphire brilliance. Caylia beamed with delight and took it from his grasp. Silver ribbons veined the blue, a response fueled by her Gift. “For me?” “Aye.” Jin grinned. “You need it for your songs.” “But…” she frowned. “Don’t you need it for your duties?” He stepped closer. “Nay. I much prefer listening to your songs than any duties of mine.” She flushed and dropped her head. Jin tipped her chin up, and found the words he had meant to say fled from his mind. “Ah…g-good night, Caylia. Sleep well.” “You too, Jin.” He stepped away and headed for his tent. Resisting the urge to check over his shoulder to see what she did, Jin paused when he was close enough to see Kor, crouched outside the tent. “I told you to go to bed.” Kor offered a lopsided grin. "On duty. Terran said." "You..." Jin sputtered between laughter and frustration. "You're too drunk to even walk straight! How are you supposed to do your duty?" Kor's Gift came toward him slowly and lazily, spiraling drunkenly like a bee. It did not send pain shooting through Jin's body as it sometimes did during bouts of sparring, but it did take him clear off of his feet. The Hybrid smirked a little as Jin cursed from where he lay in the sand. The Fay-el scrabbled to his feet. "Fine," he snapped. "Well, I am going to bed. You can sit out here and wobble, and fling your Gift at imaginary enemies, for all I care." "Oh I ill. Will. I will." Looking at the slightly unsteady Hybrid, Jin thought the former more likely, but shrugged. He started to duck into his tent, and then paused, eyes suddenly distant and appreciative. Kor glanced over his shoulder. Jin watched Caylia pass from the campfire to Rowan's tent, a smile curling across his face whether he wished it or not. Kor frowned at the expression on Jin's face. “Ye're well?” “Hmm?” “Ye look far 'way. Di'ya need somepin—or….” The Gift brushed over him. Jin scowled at him. “I am well. Don’t you think I would tell you?” "Ye?" Kor snorted. He rolled his eyes. "Ky'a, no. Ye're closed as an iron trap, sumptimes." Jin frowned. Was he really? Briefly, he considered apologizing, but then Caylia came walking from tent to campfire again, speaking on the way to a little boy who had apparently carved a crude flute from a length of wood. All annoyance about Kor faded away for a moment, as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was an exceedingly graceful woman... even when she tripped when the child got underfoot. He laughed softly. "Jiiiin?" He blinked, then turned to look at his Second. The drunken Hybrid looked mildly annoyed, and Jin wondered how long Kor had been slurring at him. "Wha're ye thinkin' 'bout?" Kor asked, and then his eyes followed Jin's own gaze and he gave him a good natured grin. "Ah, th' Maran bard. She's a pretty lil thing. Very skilled wi' that harp o 'ers. Though I wonder..." He winked at the Fay-el, "Are those fingers o' 'ers as agile 'n th' tent as they are o'er th' strings?" Anger, white-hot, flared so fast and so sudden Jin didn’t know where it came from. Only that he whirled, furious, and struck out at his sharp-tongued Second. And that Kor did not duck fast enough and landed sprawled out on the sand, staring up at him in unfeigned surprise. “Don’t speak of her like that. Not ever.” Jin growled. Realization dawned on the Hybrid’s drunken face. He did not look particularly bothered to have been struck by his Fay-el. “Ye’re keen on 'er!” he exclaimed, rubbing his jaw. He'd have matching bruises on either side of his face, unless he figured out a way to Mend himself. Jin’s jaw tensed. “Kor---“ “You! Fa'el o 'ternal bach-ee-lurs!” He sprang to his feet, wobbled, and clapped Jin on the shoulder. “When this 'appen? Eppa, ye really dinna tell me everythin', do ye?” “I am not keen on her, as you put it. She is a fine lady and should not be compared to loose women.” Kor smirked. “Ye dinna lie well 't all.” “We went to the same School, Second. Nothing more.” “Uh-huh. She still 'as yer ribbons, tied to 'er 'arp f' everyun t' see, an' ye’ve ne'er asked f' 'em back. Not once.” Heat rose into his face. He turned away, stiffening his shoulders. “I enjoy talking with her. That’s all. If she wishes to keep them, as mementos of your Confirmation, what is that to me?” “ 'Ow're yer ribb'ns on 'er 'arp mem... memtos o' my Comfiration?” Kor laughed. “Just… be quiet,” Jin growled. "So," Kor smirked, "Wha else 'ave ye gi'en 'er? One o' those pale lil desert flowers that only bloom at night? Or, I know, ye've 'ready moved to th' glass beads!" At Jin's glare, he stomped his foot like an impatient little boy. "Cumon, Fay-el, share wi' yer trusty Second!" “I have…have not given her flowers. I did sing for her, because she asked me too.” The burn of his face was getting hotter. He shifted uncomfortably. “An' th' beads?” “I gave the….I---that is…she works on her songs all the time, even at night. She needs to be able to see.” “Wha di'ye give 'er?” Jin sighed. “My lune.” Kor’s eyes widened. “Yer… ye---“ he sputtered. “Quiet,” Jin warned him again. The Hybrid smiled beatifically. Mimed sewing his lips together. And began humming a quiet tune, only slightly off-key. “Would you stop that!” Jin snapped. “Just leave me in peace.” “I’m sorry th' m' 'usical talents er not as honed as Caylia’s,” he cocked his head. “Nor m' looks quite as pretty.” “Kor,” Jin growled. He heartily disliked the direction this conversation was going. “I was not criticizing your voice. Only your…timing.” “Ah, Caylia, m' 'art sings f' thee. When thou playest th' lyre, thou affeceth meeee.” Jin flinched. “I’m going to gag you.” Kor only grinned wider. Jin barely resisted slapping that look from the Hybrid’s face. Instead, he turned away. “Fine. Guard me. I’m going to bed.” "Ah ah ah, no ye're not. Not yet." "Kor," Jin snarled in frustration. The Hybrid merely swayed past him, pushing into his tent. Jin groaned up at the sky, then followed him. He found his Second kneeling beside the little pile of parchment, bottles and herbs the Hybrid had stashed in the corner of his---Jin's, not the bloody Hybrid's---tent. "Oh no," Jin said, stepping back as Kor fished out a needle and that infernal calaba and venom. "No no no, tomorrow, Kor. You're more likely to poke me in the eye than in the arm right now." "Pah," Kor snorted. "Am na." He glanced at Jin. "Need ye t' come o'er 'ere. Canna chase ye t'night." Jin sighed, then knelt beside the Hybrid. He cringed as Kor's unsteady hand approached his arm. "Oh Kyda," he groaned. Kor slid the needle into his bicep, more roughly than he had the night before, but not nearly as painfully as the first time he'd jabbed Jin. Then he grinned, dropped the needle, managed to pick it up, and dropped it again. Finally, he picked it up and held it carefully on the dull side. "I'd bet'r ga pass this thoo th' fire," he said cheerfully. "Yes," Jin said in relief. "Yes, you go do that. Just leave me in peace." The Hybrid stumbled outside, mumbling over his shoulder as he went, "G'nigh, Fa'el." "Night," Jin grunted. "And good riddance." |
| The white derk-ra hissed, turning their bodies sharply in response to a tug on the tight leather leash. Hamen, reaching out with his long cane, turned their noses aside and made a harsh clicking noise with his tongue, each move an act of firm controlled delicacy. “They haven’t screamed yet.” “Would you if you had been struck every time it happened? It’s been bred out of these two.” Caylia’s brows rose. “Ah.” Hamen nodded at the expression on the bard’s face. “They haven’t been treated well and so I’m trying to retrain them in a way that would be suitable for the Dragonians. It’s easier than it should be, for any Derk-ra. But I’ll get more of a challenge soon enough, don’t you think?” “Aye,” she nodded. “Speaking of which, Fay-el Chrys provided extra water skins. I know you already have a tent.” They had been traveling together for weeks, and like her, the Derk-ra trainer owned a low lying desert tent, with a smooth rather than peaked roof to prevent wind from catching at its fabric and sending it tumbling through the desert sand. “Ah good. I’d thank him but…these two…” he pulled on the leash again. Another hiss and Caylia followed its sound away from the white lizards and to a different one. Maheen was crouched a short distance away, polished black eyes watching the two new Derk-ra unwaveringly. Hamen flashed a smile. “She’s a little jealous I think.” The bard grinned. “Probably,” she agreed. The Derk-ra had taken an almost unnatural liking to Hamen and with jealousy women could be worse than men. I could find out… she realized and shifted. It was why she had come. “How do you plan on doing it? Catching the Derk-ra I mean.” Hamen sighed and tied the leash to a wooden picket. “That’s what I’m figuring out. I have an idea and well, we’ll see how it works.” He shifted. “A single Derk-ra, by itself, is easier to capture than a group, so instead of using a single lead we’ll use a net instead. We already know a place where the Derk-ra gather so we’ll sort of…herd them. Drive them into the net. Also if they hunt in packs there must be some sort of alpha, a leader. We can use that too.” “And they’ll stay there? In a net? Hamen…I’m no fool. They have very sharp claws and very sharp teeth. If I were herded into a net, I’d be using my weapons to get out.” He grinned at her. “Ortho leather.” He returned her blank look with one of surprise. “You should know about it, your Builders at the school invented it.” “The builders are sometimes hard to keep up with.” “Ah well,” he waved a hand. “It is made from the desert fox, cured and dried for several nights, then washed in a mixture of brine, and cured again. It’s incredibly strong, well holds up against Derk-ra teeth and talons at any rate.” She was surprised. And why hasn’t anyone made some of this stuff into armor? Windrunner that would be handy to know. But then again perhaps the knowledge of it doesn’t go far out of Settar, sometimes we are protective of our ideas. The theory wars that sometimes broke out between factions or even different divisions of the School were a mark of that. She was lucky to have only seen one in her lifetime. “Anyways, after that I’ll be working with ‘em until as we travel back to the wetlands. I hope to at least get them a little more willing to travel with us by then. But it might be some slow going. I doubt wild Derk-ra will want to cooperate.” Caylia shifted, eyes finding Maheen again. “That’s…sort of why I’m here to talk to you Hamen. I think I might be able to help.” His brows rose and she sighed. “My Gift…my bent is dealing with emotions. Normally I use only a touch to help…enhance the listening experience but I have used it before to calm people down or cool tempers. I shy away from using it too much because it can be very…” she guestured, “invasive. Controlling how someone might feel and then act. And then emotions are also a gateway to explain what someone might think. But anyways, I was thinking I might be able to use my Gift to make the Derk-ra happier to travel with us, or at least slightly more docile for you to work with. Or to travel with.” The trainer was drumming his fingers on his staff. “Aye…aye that’ll help. A lot actually. But how long would this helpfulness last? Only as long as you’re holding your Gift.” She winced slightly. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried working with animals before. Which is another reason I came to speak with you. I see the Gift as music and if I’m going to be working with Derk-ra I have to get used to their sound. What their jealousy sounds like, what their anger sounds like, what their fear sounds like. I do not know if I will be easily able to identify it or if I will be able to just…know it. Or if it is entirely different.” “When it comes to matters of the Gift…Naftis is probably a better person to speak with than I.” “I know,” she held up a hand. “I wanted your permission to listen to these Derk-ra. Get used to their sound so I’m prepared when you capture the wild ones in Apollar. I’m not as rude as that Second, poking and prodding people with his Gift constantly without asking anyone ahead of time.” Hamen laughed. “He’s new with his Gift though. And even if he wasn’t…I really don’t think he’d change.” Caylia quirked a grin. “Aye I think you’re right. I’ve heard the word ‘annoying’ floated around a lot among the camp. Anyways…” she gestured to the Derk-ra. “Of course.” She drew on her gift, a thin finger of it and focused on Maheen. Drums formed a base, then a rattle began buzzing lowly, almost dangerously. The Derk-ra was focused on its white brethren. Jealousy? But a rattle…if it’s purely percussion. This might be difficult. “You know,” Hamen was saying, “this could have potential, this Gift of yours. You could let me know…know if well…if they’re happy, doing well. You know…” he shrugged. “Aye,” Caylia answered absently. The rattle she realized was actually a myriad of different instruments, several octaves lower than what she was used to. Ah more complex than I thought, however… Maheen’s head whipped toward her with a sharp hiss. Oops, easier to manipulate than I thought. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage many at once?” “If I can find a common string,” she muttered, pursing her lips at the Derk-ra, “which is why on the trip I’m going to try to work with all three if I can.” Hopefully it’ll just be a matter of getting used to them. But then holding the Gift for the better part of the day…I’ll have to work something out. She released the Gift and rolled her shoulders. “Hopefully what I do, if I do it long enough, might have a lasting effect. But again I don’t know. I’ve never done it before. It will be an interesting experiment.” “Interesting.” He chuckled. Far off, a Derk-ra cried and Maheen jerked her head, hissing low. The two white creatures didn’t move. The trainer frowned at them. “Men can be as cruel as Derk-ra sometimes. Anyways, I need to get back to them. There is a lot of bustle and packing going on in the camp here and I’d rather continue to stay out of it.” She grinned. “Aye, that’s probably a good plan. However...the whole tribe will be leaving soon. I want to see how they manage it, carrying their entire lives with them. I think I have more observations to do. I will catch up with you, and your Derk-ra, later, Hamen.” < > “Terran is not here. Give me my janin.” His Second smirked, clenching tight to the blade hilt as he stepped backwards over the circle’s line. “Jin, Terran insisted you and I practice using each other’s weapons.” Jin scowled, took a quick step forward, and yanked his sword back from the Hybrid. “Do you plan to tell that bloody blademaster?” Kor arched a brow. Jin nodded firmly. “Neither will I.” He joined his Second in the circle and shifted into Dragon’s Fang, janin arched above his head. “Ready?” Kor unsheathed his shitans, his stance that of Ravin in Flight. “Ready.” The Hybrid had plentiful energy, which he used to good measure. It did not help that the bloody Aquila was slowly noticing Jin’s little tells when he shifted from one Fundamental to the next. Twice, Kor moved to block his Fundamental before he had even finished the change in position. By the time they stopped, briefly, to catch their breath, sweat dampened his hair and trickled down his spine. Jin doused his head with some of the water, but it did little to ease the heat on his skin. Frustrated, Jin stripped out of the linka cloak and hood. He stalked back into the circle. The Hybrid simply shook his head and followed him. They sparred again, Kor shouting out instruction as they moved. “Your left side, Jin…watch it. There ya go.” The Scythe nearly connected with his scalp as the Fay-el ducked beneath his swing. He wheezed, panting for breath and then, with a growl, slipped out of his tunic. Kor simply grinned wider and pressed close again. “Move that right foot back. Good. Bloody…” Jin scrambled into Rising Star, too high, and felt the prick of Kor’s Gift. He stumbled, Diagonal Stepped away from Kor’s next slash toward his middle, and did not see the second shitan until it flashed for his arm, opening a shallow slice down his bicep. “Ow! Kor!” His Second stalked closer. “I am going to beat that habit out of you,” the Hybrid snapped. “If it takes me leaving you black and blue.” He crouched. “Ready?” Jin’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.” They moved in that deadly dance of sword and body, darting past defenses and striving to reach the other. He caught Kor once, when he pressed him to the edge of the circle and the Hybrid was stupid enough to step out of a Fundamental. His stumble would have been enough—if not for that bloody Gift. Kor managed to scramble out of his reach again. “Fundamentals only, Kor.” His Second rolled his eyes and then pressed him close. He did the Rising Star as a quick defense—wrong of course—and Kor’s Gift jabbed his gut. Jin jerked back, and Kor’s shitan took his feet from under him. He hit the sand with a thump, wheezing as the air rushed out of him. He blinked, head reeling. When his vision cleared, Jin sat up, scowling at his Second. “You’re as bad as Terran anymore.” Kor grinned, but someone else laughed lightly. Jin knew that sound and half-turned, smiling at the bard who stood at the edge of the circle. “You enjoy watching this ael kinth torture me, eh?” "Of course," Caylia grinned, "I'm sure someone has to put you in place now and then. Granted if I knew this show was going on I would have come earlier. And brought something to eat." Jin chuckled and rose to his feet, muscles bunching beneath his skin. No wonder his tunics fit him so well. Caylia bit her lip. Watching the rest of this would probably be a little interesting. Perhaps even to compare to Maran techniques, all for her notes of course. “Well, I can’t let him torture me for much longer can I?” the Fay-el said, taking a firm stance in the center of the circle. His janin came up, paralleling the forward leg, and Kor with a little snort mirrored him. With a slight nod they engaged again, the Hybrid pressing close for an instant, but the Fay-el stepped diagonally, twisted, and caught Kor’s feet on the way, taking advantage of the other man’s momentum. The Hybrid stumbled, recovered and Jin smirked, then winced as Kor rushed him. “Showing off?” the Second grumbled. The other shrugged lightly, his janin came up suddenly in a quick upward jab and just as quickly he found the desert sand, a fresh cut in his shoulder. “Too high…again,” Kor chided. “See?” he called over his shoulder to Caylia. “He says its torture…well I say he’s torturing the fundamental. Too high every time.” They went at it again moving in and out of stances, sometime matching, sometimes not. Kor didn’t leap high enough for one stance—and Jin took his feet from under him with a grin. And once he stumbled in the midst of another and Jin gave him a mark on his shoulder. But mostly, the spar consisted of Kor’s constant refrain: “Too high,” sand flew. “Too high.” It was a pattern, a shift of movement, strung together to be a dance. She watched with fascination as they moved (and fell), and over and over again Kor had to draw on his Gift or Jin hit the sand. Something about that move… Something about it seemed so familiar. Maybe she had seen it when people practiced with their daggers in Settar? No, maybe. Something about it she knew. Something.. As the dance began again it hit her, another dance flashed before her eyes. A dance at a dead campfire back in Crossroads. She let them finish the technique before she voiced her thoughts. At the sound of the bard’s voice, Jin half-turned, smiling once more. “Say again?” “That move—um, Rising Star?” He nodded. Caylia motioned with her hand. “I think…it looks very like that—when you danced for me in Crossroads, one of the stances of the dance resembles this Rising Star a great deal.” At his shoulder, Kor arched a brow and moved closer. “Dance?” He glanced at Jin, chuckling. “Why Jin.” “Be quiet, Kor.” He growled. “Ah, Caylia, my—“ he started to sing, but the rest was lost when Jin jabbed him with his elbow. The Hybrid grunted, flashed an annoyed but bemused look at his Fay-el, and fell silent. Caylia shook her head. “You certainly earn the name ‘annoying’.” The Aquila beamed as if she had complimented him, then cocked his head. “So what was this. A certain dance move, you say?” She nodded, eyes sliding to Jin hesitantly. “I don’t know the move exactly. Could you step into it—so he can see what I mean?” “Ah…” color rose into his cheeks. “I—I suppose.” Jin set the janin down on the sand with care and then took a deep breath. Sliding his left foot back and arching his spine slightly, he moved into the first position. “This?” “No. Keep going.” Heat rising further into his face, Jin did the next few positions for the dance he had shown her at Crossroads, though at a much slower pace. He was halfway through the fourth stance when the bard spoke again. “There. That’s the one. Do you see, Kor?” Caylia asked quietly. She moved closer, her scent wafting over him. Jin swallowed, closing his eyes, but held still. “Aye, I see it.” His Second’s voice was mildly annoyed. “It’s almost the exact same stance as Rising Star—save too high, of course.” “Where should it be?” “At his shoulder, rather than above his head.” Kor snorted. “Now, how to fix it.” “I…don’t know,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “That’s more your department…or Terran, that’s the blademaster right? Terran’s job. Maybe though, Jin, it’s easier now that you know where your body is remembering. Muscle memory holds a long time.” Kor flashed a grin. “I could always keep thwacking him with my Gift. I really don’t mind.” “I would.” Caylia shifted her eyes back to Jin. He was looking more than a little uncomfortable. “Oh…ah…you can probably move now.” Jin relaxed, straightening. A bead of sweat eased its way down from his temple, over his shadowed jaw, her eyes following it idly as it dripped to his collarbone and began to run. Suddenly conscious of what she was doing, her eyes flicked quickly away. He noted the bard’s sudden unease, mixed with a rising red to her face. Jin cocked his head, frowning slightly. “It’s fine, Caylia. I am used to holding a position for a time.” He reached a hand up to absently brush at the clinging sweat. And froze, realization crashing into him. His fingers were on bare skin. He had not slipped his tunic back on yet. Blood rushed to his face. “Kyda!” Kor flicked him a questioning glance at his explosive outburst. Jin shook his head and scanned the ground, but his tunic was still strewn several feet away. Dashing for it would only make things worse. She kept her eyes elsewhere, counting tents, watching the dust. Oh Windrunner... Now it was even worse that his attention was on it. "Erm, I can...let you two get back to this..." she gestured, word lost, “spar. This spar...thing." She winced. When did she lose her eloquence? Jin’s eyes were on the ground. “Aye…the spar…practice ah…Rising Star. Maybe you could—Rowan…maybe…” “Aye. That is…I think…good day, Jin.” He kept his attention locked on the ground, until her footsteps whispered away. When he glanced up again, Caylia was striding toward the tents of the camp. His Second took one step, glanced at him, and burst into laughter. “Your….your tunic is—Eppa,” he snickered, “—over there.” “Shut up, Kor.” He stalked to the circle and grabbed his tunic, yanking it over his head. Sheathing his janin with a frustrated clatter, he scowled at his Second. “I’m hungry. You can stand there and snicker until I return, if you like.” < > Caylia made her way swiftly back through the small makeshift camp, dodging around the tents and keeping her head low. She found Rowan sitting next to the campfire by the tents the three women had clustered together and sat down, flushed. “Is it normal?” she asked almost immediately. “Is this what your Dragonian men do? Sparring half-naked I mean. I wouldn’t have guessed it, not from everything else this culture suggests.” Rowan arched a brow. “Who was half-naked, my dear? Or is this just a question that occurred to you?” “Ah…Kor and…and Jin were sparring. And the Fay-el…” the bard’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Is that normal?” “In the heat of the summer, perhaps, when the men travel alone. It is likely they did not consider our presence.” Rowan tipped her chin up. “Were both of them sparring that way?” Caylia flushed. “Um…no…just…. him.” Rowan smiled. There was no denying which man she referred to. “Ah, sorry.” Caylia scrubbed at her face with a hand. She was losing herself way too often. Perhaps she was just tired, using her Gift too much. Just tired…“That makes sense. It just…took me by surprise is all.” But it took me a while for it to really set in she thought to herself with a wry smile. Better not mention that. “It’s odd,” she said again, aloud, “coming originally from the same peoples, many things are different between our cultures. I’m only just beginning to see the start of them I think.” “Aye. There are many different things.” Caylia nodded, shifting her weight. “Yes. Like, I have never seen a Fay-el so quick to present gifts to someone who would—would be more of a foreigner to him, as it were.” “Oh?” Rowan stood, motioning for her to come as they retreated into the coolness of the tent. “Well, he gave me his lune first, because I needed the light. And then Lunra, because of the journey. And yesterday—“ Caylia glanced up, smiling. “He showed me some parchments with songs on them he said he had borrowed from the Keeper.” The widow glanced back, eyebrows arching. “Did he now? Just like that.” “Aye.” Caylia frowned. Rowan’s tone had been mildly amused. The bard could not hold her curiosity. “What is it?” The Dragonian turned back to face her, patting the ground. “My best answer would be to tell you a story.” She smiled. “Not a fancy lay, mind you. Just a simple tale of my younger years. Would you care to listen?” “Aye,” the bard said, settling herself comfortably, “I would love to. Fancy or not, it doesn’t matter. I will always listen to a story.” She felt herself begin to relax a little as new words by a new voice began. “I remember the first time my Saie allowed me to go out among the young men, to pluck ribbons from their hair. There was feasting and singing and, far more enjoyable, the dancing.” She smiled softly, eyes softening with the memory. “I plucked ribbons from this one and from that one, and we whirled about. But one in particular—he was strong and yet gentle—careful that he did not hurt me, even though he was so tall and broad. I could feel his strength, but held in check.” Caylia nodded carefully. “What color was his ribbon?” “Black.” “A blacksmith?” “Aye.” Rowan grinned again. “I searched him out later in the night, and took a second ribbon from him. And then a third later on. And at the end of the celebration, as the music slowed, I reached to my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. He blushed so prettily, but he kissed me back and…ah…” Rowan sighed. “Did you end up marrying him?” Caylia asked. The widow gave her a bemused smile. “Patience, my dear.” The bard laughed softly and settled back, leaning back on her hands. “The next morning, I stepped out of my father’s tent and stumbled over a bunch of flowers, wrapped in one of his ribbons. There were others—flowers and beads, but I noticed his right away and leaped for it. As my Saie had taught me, I picked up a few others, but oh—I knew whose I wanted.” "Wait," she frowned, confusion flashing for a moment across her face. "So the young men you danced with...left things for you outside your tent?" The widow nodded. "It is part of our ritual." "And they didn't get ruined in the night?" Another thought flared in her mind. She swallowed. "Did it mean anything...when you took them?" “Aye. Each one I took was a man I would like to speak with again, who had pleased me in some way. If, perhaps, he had trampled my toes or tried to kiss me without my consent, then I could decide to refuse his gift. Some would try again, but if I refused them more than once, they understood and their gifts to me would stop.” “Oh. Um…” Caylia cleared her throat. “What happened next?” Rowan slipped her linka free and began to neatly fold it. “The same as before. Each morning I hurried to see what he had left, and the others. The gifts would vary. From pretty things—like beads and flowers—to marks of his ability to provide for me, such as a deer or hare. There was fabric for a dress, a basket of herbs, all sorts of things.” She turned her attention to Caylia once more, eyes on her face. “But each one was marked in a way that told me whose it was, a ribbon or a mark or perhaps—a sign of the profession. The blacksmith drew a horseshoe, well-hidden, on every item.” “Was there a…a pattern?” Color was blossoming in her cheeks. Rowan nodded. “Each item grows more expensive, and more specific. Flowers and beads first, then fabric or baskets or needles for sewing, then things such as jewelry, spices, scented water, and others. Deer or hare or other food, but large and requiring some skill as a hunter. And lastly, the most expensive items. My elder sister—wooed by an apprentice Healer—was given a basket of herbs, worth a week’s wages.” “What did your blacksmith give you?” Rowan smiled to herself. “A horse with a fine harness, made by his hands.” “Ah.” And yet now she was in possession of a very fine horse, so there was no pattern to the gifts Jin had given her. Of course not, silly thing, gifts for a traveler, at least that’s what the horse was for. He did have a point that I’d need one. The lune for light. And we’re bards…we enjoy sharing stories and talking. Yet, a piece of the puzzle was missing. Why would Rowan be telling her this story? Was it simply to tell her the ins and outs of Dragonian courtship? Or did she have some sort of knowledge that saw, in her time with the Dragonians, some young men might start laying things at her tent. Good thing she told me then…I’d probably step on them, or not notice them, or think the things strewn about the ground had been dropped during some sort of drunken fit. Then Windrunner I’d offend everyone. A small smile crossed her face at that thought. “That’s…very sweet,” she said, realizing her simple ‘ah’ sounded a little less enthused than the woman possibly wanted. She smiled and was about to ask her more when another thought struck her, froze her and chilled her. He offered me these things but he didn’t offer Jaara…or Hamen. Trinity… Blood rose in her cheeks again and she dusted her palms nervously. “Did you…forgive me for asking, did you not talk at all of any of this with your future husband at the time? Did you ever interact…or even just talk, or was it all just secret things in the night?” “Not exactly.” Rowan ran her fingers through her hair, pausing as if deciding how to put it. “We did speak together, and I spoke to other young men as well. That was how some of them knew what I needed, or desired. But we were shy, uncertain. Young,” she shrugged. “And sometimes they were working in their duties and could not come to see me. But ah…they could manage to place gifts. That was at night—when their duties had ended or were just beginning.” “I see. So…how long…like, is it a year that this is done, or more. Or even less?” Rowan shrugged. “It depends on the pace the woman sets, sometimes. Or perhaps how bold or how shy the man is. Normally, it is about three months before a wedding is announced. But, as you have seen with Daliah, it can be faster.” “Ah,” Caylia said again, then grew silent, lost her in her own thoughts for a moment. “Would…where would something like,” she gestured vaguely, “a lune say, fall in that? If even a lune was such a gift.” “A lune would be an expensive gift from some men, as a sign of great affection. But from others, who perhaps have more than one or can afford them, it may be a gift more like jewelry or a finely woven basket.” She nodded slowly. Her head was beginning to hurt, a small far off ghost pain that threatened to grow. “Alright. In your tale, your future husband gave you a horse with the handmade harness, correct? That’s normally a big gift yes? Or again is it like the lune where it depends?” There were two things…two things doesn’t make a pattern… Was her heart beating faster? Rowan smiled softly. Her eyes glinted with a gentle light. “Aye, it depends. For say—the Second Kor—a horse would be expensive. He has but a small herd, and little wealth. But say…our blademaster. His herd is larger and he has accumulated rank and wealth. The horse would belong closer to the scented water, the spices, things of that nature.” Two things doesn’t make a pattern…travel necessities. Two things don’t make a pattern… She tried to speak again, words caught in her throat. “So that’s somewhere in the middle.” She shook herself, and smiled a little. “I guess it’s hard to leave a horse outside a tent in the middle of the night.” It had been only two things, hadn’t it? And none of the things Jin had done really matched the process Rowan had stated. But when in all your studies is something always exactly the same? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to tamp down the surge of emotion in her belly. "I'm sorry, Rowan," she apologized. "It's been a long day is all. Sometimes even with explanations, I feel as though I still don't know enough, I'm still a little on the outside." “It is perfectly normal, my dear. Even Karli felt as such, though….” The widow trailed off, sighing softly. “In the Mara, perhaps, it is not the same. But here, for a woman to be visibly with child—and yet have been absent from her betrothed until the wedding a week before…” she shrugged. “The other women avoided her, somewhat.” “But surely…” Caylia leaned forward, brows knit. “Surely they knew that it had not been her doing?” Rowan smiled fondly. “Dearie, just how would they know? Should Jin tell the tribe of her shaming, of the humiliation of what Dameon did to her? Would Karli share the terrible thing he did to her, the pain and misery she felt, with people she barely knew? Would you, Caylia?” The bard drew in breath, heart hurting for a woman she didn’t know. “No…no of course not,” Caylia finally managed, voice a little soft, hoarse. “That’s…that’s so cruel…what happened to her I mean. But…surely with everything that happened, there had to be some idea it wasn’t her doing. Wasn’t there some compassion?” Another riddle surfaced. “And who is this Dameon?” “For those who knew, yes, there was compassion and understanding. But many did not know, and only saw a woman who had proven unfaithful. Jin tried to defend her—but what could he do?” Rowan shrugged helplessly, before continuing. “ Dameon is the child of King Tanniyn and some unfortunate woman. His father likely cared little for the Hybrid, and his mother—I doubt she was the loving example he needed. He leads a small clan of Hybrids in Kaama Forest in the wetlands.” The widow turned aside, fidgeting uneasily with the already-neat linka. “The Eloin hired his men as mercenaries, drawing Jin away with a false meeting and massacring Shinar. Karli had come early, for preparations, and stumbled upon them in the midst of their attack.” Rowan clenched her eyes closed, obviously, the memory was not a pleasant one. “Jin had presented her with his final bridal gift—a pendant formed of a violet gem, etched with an emerald dragon. Dameon recognized the emblem—he had faced Jin in brief skirmishes before—and so the Hybrid decided to make sure Jin knew exactly who had attacked Shinar. He took Karli for himself, kept her for weeks, and…and released her only when her belly swelled with child. Sent her out without horse or weapon, driving her from camp and giving her a general direction to catch up with Jin’s scattered group.” “Oh Windrunner…” were the only words she could think of. Too much sadness…I can hardly breath. “If…then if it hadn’t been for Jin’s gift, would she have been recognized?” Rowan shook her head sadly. “It is unlikely they would have known who she was. Jin knows—he blamed himself, and probably still does, for being drawn away—for the gift that condemned her fate. For most of the terrible times.” The widow cleared her throat. “If the gift had been absent, Dameon would have killed her outright, or taken her as a slave to join his harem when she was older. She was a year younger than Jin.” Caylia’s eyes went very wide. “If Elam is ten, and Jin is twenty-six now…” “Aye.” The bard closed her eyes, sympathetic misery flashing across her face. “No wonder giving birth killed her,” she whispered. Rowan rested a hand against her shoulder. “True. But she was dead, inside, long before the child was born.” She sighed. “I watched her break Jin’s heart day after day, unknowing.” Caylia said nothing, only looked up at Rowan once more. But unspoken question and…though the bard would surely deny it….concern for Jin spread across her face. Rowan hated to speak of those sad times, of the terrible weeks and months, but if Jin—as she suspected—had any interest in this bard, Caylia needed someone to answer her questions and tell her of those events. She leaned forward, fingertips brushing the hair out of Caylia’s eyes. “When Jin did this, Karli would jerk back. He could not kiss her, he could not touch her, he could not do any that a man would do to show his love to his wife.” The widow sighed. “After the first month of their marriage, Jin did not sleep in the same tent with her. He would sneak out at night and come to my tent, stretch out on the floor and sleep until daybreak, before slinking back.” The widow sighed. “And so she broke his heart. His laugh disappeared, his smile.” A slow smile crept over her face. “I have seen it returned, faintly, with Elam. And now…now you have brought his music back. His laughter. I have not seen him so happy until now.” The heaviness in the air surrounding them, the ones that threatened to choke her and drown her eased somewhat with the last. She drew her Gift lightly, and followed the downswing of the chords, thrumming in the air around them brought them lower until they only murmured in the background, as a faint reminder and she found her breath again. “I’m…I’m glad for that then. Truly.” She rested her elbows on her knees, propped her head against a hand. “I don’t know how…but truly I’m glad I can bring something good back.” She stared a long moment at the floor, eyes seeing nothing. “He’s a good man,” she murmured finally. Her instincts at that moment wanted her to rise, leave the tent, find him and…what? Nothing. Just be there. Make sure he really was happy as Rowan said. Just be there, friend or more- at the moment it didn’t matter. She paused again, looked up at the widow. “He knows…” she paused, swallowing “he knows I’m not Karli, doesn’t he?” Rowan stood, brushing her own hair back from her face and pinning it back. “I think that he does.” Her smile was gentle and warm. “Why don’t you speak to him?” “Me? But…no…that would be…inappropriate.” “Not about Karli,” she corrected lightly. Though it would not be a bad idea. “Just speak to him, be a friend for him.” Caylia smiled a little softly. "Just speaking...that's not very difficult at all. Words always just seem to find their way out when we're together." She paused, flushed gently, then rose fluidly to her feet. "Thank you, Rowan. For..." she quirked a smile, "for being very wise." < > “Sire?” Jin and Kor glanced up at Talen’s voice. The warrior frowned, distaste already creeping into his features. “It is sunset, sire.” Kor beamed and unfolded from the ground, darting to his packs. Talen watched him go with an annoyed glare and brought his feet together, standing in a nearly stiff attention. The warrior had already made quite clear how much he disliked Kor, or at least Kor’s ideas, but made sure he still he reported in every day for the last three days. “You should not need to do this any longer, Talen,” Kor said, grinning. “Then the Derk-ra can gnaw on you as much as you’d like.” The warrior flicked him a narrow-eyed glare. Then jerked his head away as the needle glinted in the light of campfire and lantern. When Kor caught his wrist to hold his arm steady, Talen flinched, but did not move. Jin shook his head and rose. “You are a stubborn man, Talen. If you were more evenly matched, I would have let you two spar a long time ago.” The warrior scowled, but said nothing. Jin sighed. “I am going to check the sentry circles, Kor.” “Jin, you’re supposed to…” “You finish with Talen. And eat some supper first. Then find me.” The Hybrid frowned, eyes narrowing. “Jin.” “No.” Jin ended the argument abruptly by stepping out of the tent. He heard Talen yelp and winced in sympathy. Distracting the Hybrid was a bad idea. Kor muttered an apology to the warrior, but, judging by the string of curses, did not ease his pain. Jin ignored it and continued on. “Jin?” He paused, and relaxed when she melted out of the shadow of a nearby tent. Linka gone with the sun, she smiled warmly at him. “Good evening…” She shrugged for a moment, losing words then flicked her eyes around. “Your Second?” He smiled at her. “With Talen.” Her brows rose. “Ah. So you brave the desert alone?” His smile broadened. “Not anymore.” Caylia’s cheeks took on a reddish hue. “If…if I’m bothering you, I could—“ “No—no,” Jin grinned. “I want you to be near me, Caylia.” He coughed. “I mean---your company is never annoying…not like Kor.” She laughed. “He’s not so bad. He’s not so…still as some others I’ve met. He adds a bit of life to your tribe I think. I’m sure Jaara would disagree with me of course.” “Life,” the other grumbled. “That’s one word for it. He’s taken over my tent, he has his own tent now, but he’s still taken over mine.” She grinned, falling in step with him. “Aye, but I’m sure part of you enjoys the company.” She sensed a slight hesitation, a shift in thought perhaps in the man next to her. “Where are you heading?" she asked. “Oh…just….out there,” he shrugged and then glanced at her, eyes thoughtful. “When there are issues in the tribe, problems that I feel I need to correct, I like to go somewhere and just…just move beneath the stars, and think.” “Do you dance then?” “Ah…” He winced at the heat in his face and bit his lip. “Sometimes. Or pace. Or ride Doblo. I just have to…have to get away.” He sighed. “I know that sounds…star-struck.” She shook her head slowly. “No…not at all. I feel, for me at least, when you’re in one spot, the thoughts and feelings and moods of everyone else clamor in your ears. You lose yourself, or for me what I’m trying to do. I can’t compose like that. I just need…to hear everything for what it is. Find the rhythm of the desert again, so…” she paused, grinned. “I can show you.” “Show me?” She rested a hand lightly on his arm for a moment. “Aye. Come with me.” Her hand rested longer than she meant it to and she let it drop reluctantly, but he nodded. “Sneaking me out then?” “I didn’t think you’d mind.” After the afternoon with Rowan, she didn’t realize how good it felt to see that smile. It wasn’t hard to leave the camp without notice, joking as they did about wolves that weren’t female, and avoiding edges of firelight. She took him to the nearby dunes, which rose like stunted mountains to the north of their campsite and around to the leeside where, besides the wind, they were the only things that moved. She touched his shoulder, briefly and pointed toward the horizon, where thin spires of rock rose far in the distance, piercing the sky. “Ah, the Needles. I forgot we were relatively near. They say that’s where an ancient king is buried and those are the swords of his guards. His guards, I think,” she murmured with a hint of humor, “must be giants.” “But anyways,” she waved a hand. “I come to somewhere like this, with no fire light, and…well I don’t really move but I just…watch.” She tilted her face up to the starlight. “For the constellations, waiting for certain ones during certain times of years. Wondering,” she blushed a little, “if…for example, there’s the Serpent,” she outlined a pattern of stars, “he and the Bear and dancing around each other, readying to fight. If the Bear doesn’t rise will the Serpent look for him here on the ground?” She shrugged, awkwardly. “It may be a little silly but…it’s calming. So you see? It doesn’t seem all that star-struck to me.” “Aye. I’m glad you think so.” He chuckled lightly. “Terran tells me it’s a waste of time, and dangerous. He’s probably right.” “I don’t think so.” Jin flashed a grin her way. “Not dangerous?” “If the desert knows you, and you know her, she is not nearly as fierce as people say.” His smile faltered slightly. “And the Eloin that seek my life?” She hesitated. “They…are what they are. I guess if you didn’t find them fierce or dangerous then that would be a bit foolish. But underneath everything they’re still men, who fear and love just like you or I.” Frowning, she shifted awkwardly, “I just think their hate is especially harsh. Cruel." “Aye, some of them. But not all.” Caylia arched a brow. Jin waved a hand vaguely. “The Lord who was over Shinar a few years ago was that way. Cruel and spiteful. He would torment captives and take slaves and…” Jin shifted his weight. “But this new Lord…ah…Aretas. Lord Aretas is one I would like to…well…” he glanced at her. “I would like to speak with him, face to face.” “Why? Would he not kill you?” Jin grimaced. “And there is the problem. Aye, he would, so it is only fanciful thinking. But what interests me the most—since he has come, every one of his victims are killed cleanly.” Jin frowned. “I have never seen his men mutilate a body, or torment a man to death. Not once. Their necks are broken, or their body thrust through. But no more than that.” She raised her brows. “So he shows some compassion, or at least some honor. Interesting…” she trailed off for a moment, and tapped her lip in thought. “Perhaps then he would also respect some sort of diplomatic meeting? Or…” she shrugged a little, “one that’s not quite so diplomatic. If he’s guarded well enough he may not be able to kill you. Do you hope to gain…your land? An ally?” “I doubt they will return my land, and no Lord would risk Tanniyn’s wrath.” Jin shrugged lightly. “I am just, well, curious. It is an unusual thing for an Eloin Lord to show any sort of respect or honor to Dragonians. Nor has he ever pursued me into the Mara. The Lord before him once chased me through the borderlands, and only retreated when a Shitan came to our rescue. But Aretas…it’s as if…as if he is only interested in driving our people out of the plains, and no more. I find it…” he smirked at her. “Interesting.” She grinned a little. "Aye. But if you intend to get your land back you'll meet him eventually. One way or another. But...not right here, not right now." “True.” Jin sat down on the sand wearily, patting the ground beside him. “I would rather not even think of the Eloin, or Hybrids, or any other of my problems.” She settled at his side. “And what do you want to think about then?” “Nothing. Everything.” He laughed softly. “I suppose that is too much to ask.” Jin slumped forward, elbows on knees and head in his hands. “It’s so quiet out here.” “Aye.” He tipped his head back, studying the stars as they slowly brightened in tune with the sun’s last fade into the night. Pointing at one cluster, he asked quietly. “Which is that one? What is the story behind it?” “What do you see?” “A horse—no…yes. A horse with a warrior on its back, perhaps. Battling some other creature—a bear.” Jin turned his head, smiling at her. “I fear I have no idea what that means.” “If it’s a portent, I don’t know either, I never knew those things. But…you’re right, it is a warrior, there’s a couple tales speaking of him. One says he has a twin,” she leaned closer, pointing just to the West of them, “see that group. His twin, malformed, and he’s paving his way to make the route through the sky easier. In another tale he searches the sky for his Lady, who sits on a chair braiding her hair. But she’s part of the summer sky, not the winter, and the warrior sleeps in the summer time.” Jin shifted beside her. “Will he ever find her then? Or do the tales tell of that?” She shrugged. “Not the ones I know. Maybe he will when the Kel comes and the sky is in disarray.” “Perhaps.” Jin leaned back on his hands, and yawned slightly. “The Kel…whether he comes or not does not concern me. I just wish to….survive.” Neither of them said anything more, and yet, each was content in companionable silence. The stars moved overhead and the few insects of the Mara spread their music over the night. Jin took a deep breath, and then another, releasing it in a long, slow sigh. The tension drained out of his body. Slowly, his head drooped, weariness overtaking him with this quiet darkness. Jin slumped more and slid to the side, eyes closing as his head rested against something. It was warm, and soft, and had a familiar smell---and darkness swallowed him whole. At first she sat very still, just letting him rest, letting him sleep against her. His breathing became deep and slow. Gently, she shifted and placed an arm around him, almost protectively, and rubbed his back in a small circle. “Sleep, Jin,” she murmured softly, “right here, right now, it’s safe.” And the stars continued to wheel above them. She didn’t know how long they had been sitting there, him asleep against her, and she with her arm around him, when she felt the slight prickle, probe of the Gift. Kor… As immediately as it was there it was gone, and with alarming speed Jin jerked awake. Scrubbing at his grainy eyes with the palm of his hand, Jin sat up, confused and muddled. This was not his tent, but he had been asleep. The last remnants of prickling Gift faded. Kor must be looking for him—but if he had been asleep, then Kor would know where he was. So then no Gift. Where was he? Someone’s hand was against his back, and then suddenly it shifted away. He felt the lack and turned, a slight frown on his face. Caylia smiled at him, head cocked slightly to the side. Jin blinked. Understanding dawned as a slow, creeping chill. “Oh…Kyda…I’m sorry,” he raked his fingers through his hair, looking away as his face flushed. He could almost feel where her hand had been on his back. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. I…I’m so sorry—“ Her hands returned, squeezing his shoulder, and he twisted to face her again, eyes wide. She granted him that special smile, warm and soft. “No need to be sorry, Jin. You only did what a tired man might do. And…” Her hand moved from shoulder to by his face, hesitated, and then she gently brushed at the hair that had fallen over his eyes. “And you were safe, with me,” her voice softened, nearly whispering. “I didn’t mind.” Jin studied her wordlessly for a moment. His heartbeat had risen once more, so loud he was certain she could hear it. His breathing quickened. “I…I wish I could be with you all the time,” he said quietly. Her eyes brightened. “Aye. It is nice to have someone to talk to.” “Very much so,” his voice rasped, deepening. One hand came up without his thought, cupping her chin again. “To be honest,” he muttered huskily, thumb tracing her jawline lightly. “I don’t want to share you with anyone.” His head bent slowly, lips finding her mouth with tender gentleness. His hands slid around her back, pulling her body closer, and the other trailed through her hair, freeing pins as his fingers wandered down the silken strands. She melted against him, pressing back, feeling the need, the desire, held in check for so long, flow from one to the other. The spicy masculine smell of him was around her, everywhere and his grip tightened for a moment before they surfaced for air. He rested his brow against hers as they both found their breath. She reached up a hand, ran fingertips lightly over his temple, his cheek. “How do you do that?” she murmured softly, “How are you able to make me lose my hard-fought words so easily?” “Maybe because you just don’t need them.” And he took her words again, but as gently and sure as before, and she wound a hand around his neck. When they broke again, she leaned into his hand, brushing hair back from her brow, and smiled a little weakly. Quietly, haltingly, she murmured, "I...haven't known what you wanted for so long. Or...if I were imagining things." A smile curled across his mouth. “I did not know what I wanted. Was it a schoolmate, to speak of those I left behind? A friend, to tell me the truth, no matter what rank I still held? But now…now I know.” He framed her face with his hands. “Ah, Caylia….” Jin said softly, his accent pronouncing the word with the gentlest of lilts. “All I want is you—by my side.” She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again. "What...what about Karli?" she finally breathed. His face clouded and his hands loosened slightly. “Karli.” Caylia nodded mutely. Jin bit his lip and let his hands drop to his sides, before sighing quietly. “I—I do not know. Elam is all that I have left of her, and I love him…I love him so.” He closed his eyes. “But…but I have been so…so lonely,” Jin finished, voice bleeding with open pain. Gently she took one of his hands and cradled it between hers. “You don’t have to know now, or tomorrow, or the next week even. I just…just want you to know that I’m…I’m not her. I’m,” her shoulders lifted and fell. “I’m me. Just a bard from Settar.” Caylia squeezed his hand tightly. “And I’m here so you’re not alone now. I promise you, you’re not.” “Thank you.” He interlaced his fingers with hers, thumb rubbing across her knuckle gently. “You have no idea how…how much that means to me.” “Probably not,” she agreed softly. She had an idea, with the deep currents of sorrow running through the man at her side, but the full extent, she probably didn’t know. “Besides,” she murmured with a soft smile, “you’re too interesting to let go.” “Never.” She blinked, confused. Jin stood and held out a hand, easing her to her feet and then pulling her against his chest in a firm embrace. He dropped his head, whispering at her ear. “Never let me go.” Her heart fluttered again in her chest. “Aye, Jin,” she breathed, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “Aye, Jin. Never.” “Good,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand lightly, and then the hollow of her wrist. Caylia stared up at him, wide-eyed. Jin cocked his head, an impish smile spreading across his face and dancing in his expression. He pressed his mouth to the crook of her elbow, the soft spot behind her ear, then the curve of her neck, and down to where neck and shoulder met. Caylia responded to his wandering with a shudder, a sigh of pleasure escaping like a quiet whisper. Jin nudged her chin up with a finger, leaning forward slowly, savoring her breath against his mouth, the anticipation they both felt. “Sire?” He paused, inches from her face. Caylia swallowed hard. “It’s Rowan.” Jin’s hand crept up to her hair, fingertips stroking through the strands. “Why does someone always interrupt us?” he murmured huskily. She laughed lowly, leaning into him for a moment to savor the closeness under the stars for just a moment longer. “I suppose we have to let them,” she breathed finally. Slowly, she leaned up and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “It will just leave us something for later then,” she added, with a delicate smile quirking her lips. “Later,” Jin grinned and winked at her, “That’s a promise.” Sand crunched beneath careful footsteps, and then Rowan stepped into view. She smiled at them both, dipping her head at her Fay-el. “Good night, Fay-el.” Jin smiled slowly. “Are you dismissing me, Rowan?” “Aye, I am.” The widow’s face creased with humor, but she simply crossed her arms and stared him down. “You, perhaps, are part night-owl, but Caylia certainly needs her rest.” That was certainly true. With moving the Derk-ra the next day she would need all the sleep she could get. Reluctantly, she turned to the Fay-el and dipped her head. “Goodnight, Jin.” “And you, Caylia.” The bard followed Rowan back towards camp, around the dune until the tents came into view. “I trust you had a good night?” the woman said. Caylia felt the blood rush to her face. “Aye. I had a very good night.” She fell silent, her cheeks continuing to burn. “I knew…I knew you were getting at something with that story I just,” she shrugged a little awkwardly, “talked myself out of it. So the lune and Lunra were part…of that ritual.” “Aye. In some ways. I do not know how much Jin was aware of his actions, and thus his feelings toward you, but now it is quite clear, yes?” The bard shifted uncomfortably. “Aye.” Rowan’s smile broadened as they stepped into their shared tent. “Do not fret, my dear. Let things happen as they will, and enjoy the journey.” < > Walking quietly through the dark, Jin was utterly lost in his thoughts. Her face and hair and voice flooded his mind. He took a few steps forward, and then everything happened too quickly. There was a quick motion, a flare of prickling Gift, and someone punched him solidly in the jaw. He thumped to the sand, blinking in surprise. Jin’s vision cleared enough to make out Kor, fists clenched at his side, glaring down at him. “ That was for lying to me about where you were. I’ve been searching all over by the sentry circles, trying to find you.” Jin took a deep breath and then released it slowly, tamping his temper under control. The Second did have a point. He stood slowly, hands rising in entreaty. “Kor, I—“ His Second punched him again. Jin swore, once the stars slowed their mad dance. “And that was for going outside of camp unaccompanied, when I have told you not to do so,” Kor snapped. “There could have been Derk-ra, or Eloin, or…anything. And I could not find you.” Jin stood once more. “That is true, Kor. I am—“ The third punch was enough. Jin did not rise, only lay on his back in the sand and rubbed his aching jaw. “What was that one for?” he muttered. “I just wanted to hit you again,” the Hybrid growled. The Fay-el narrowed his eyes and sat up. “I’m trying to apologize, you bloody ael…” The Aquila buried two hands in his tunic and hauled him to his feet, revealing strength Jin had not expected. He yelped, and then cringed as Kor hauled him forward, until they were nearly eye to eye. “You will not do that again,” he snarled. “If I catch you sneaking out once more, I will dose you with serenia myself every night. Do you understand me?” Jin’s eyes had gone very wide. He nodded quickly. Kor shook him roughly. “Do you understand me?” He growled. “Aye.” He released the Fay-el and seized his shoulders, turning him about. “Go to bed.” “Kor.” “Now.” "I will, Kor," Jin said, massaging his jaw. Bruises not at all unlike the ones that had blossomed along Kor's jaw from Jaara's hook would likely show vividly by morning, assuming the Hybrid did not Mend him. Somehow, Jin doubted Kor was feeling so generous. "Then let's go," his livid Second snapped. Jin held up a hand, still feeling out the soundness of his jaw with the other. "I need to... ah... talk to you, first." If he had any hope of seeing Caylia without Kor either hovering over his shoulder or coming and finding him with punches, he would need to try to explain. But explain what, exactly? Kor's eyes narrowed into two ice blue slits, nearly glowing in the moonlight. "You need to talk to me about what?" Jin clenched and unclenched his jaw. It hurt, but it did not feel as though the Second had done any permanent damage. The thorla probably studied his bloody charts and sketched his blasted diagrams before punching me to determine precisely how much force he could use without hurting me, he grumbled inwardly. "About... Kyda." He massaged his jaw again. The Hybrid's lip twitched a tiny bit. "My name is Kor, not Kyda." He cocked his head thoughtfully, then grabbed Jin's arm and started dragging him back toward camp. "Wait," Jin sputtered. "I want to---I just need to tell you---" "Later," Kor said. "Tomorrow." "Ow, let me go!" Jin snapped, as the Second shoved him into his tent. He tried to wrench his arm away, but Kor's grip was firm. "Why tomorrow? Why can we not talk tonight?" The Gift prickled, then washed over him. He shuddered convulsively, then sagged in sudden drowsy bliss. "That's why," Kor said, shoving his Fay-el toward the pallet on the ground. "Kor," Jin murmured in protest as he sank down sleepily. His jaw did not throb in time with his heartbeat anymore. "Sleep," Kor sighed, turning on his heel and striding out of the tent as Jin blinked drowsily at his pillow. "We can talk tomorrow, if you actually have anything to say for yourself." < > Jin rose early, one hand rubbing at his eyes as he staggered into the pre-dawn light. His Second arched a brow at him. “Your honor guard is not awake yet.” “I know.” He muttered drowsily. Jin raked a hand through his hair and yawned. “Needed to talk to you.” “It can’t wait? You should sleep another hour or two.” “No. It has to be there before she awakens.” Kor’s eyebrows climbed higher. “She?” He grinned. “Ah, is that where you were last night?” Jin’s smile was slow, but unmistakable. Kor laughed. “I could almost forgive you.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But not. I would still have hit you.” “Thanks, Second,” Jin said dryly. “At least I Mended you. I was half tempted not to at all.” “I believe it,” The Fay-el said, tone slightly annoyed. He crouched in the sand, holding the Hybrid’s gaze. “We did nothing unseemly, but…” He took a deep breath. “I want to court her. Truly. As a young Dragonian maiden would be courted.” "And you cannot court her without constantly running off alone, lying to me about where you are, and generally annoying me?" the Hybrid grumbled, but his eyes were bright with suppressed humor. Jin swallowed. "I know, Second, I'm sorry. I realize you are just doing your duty. But... I am not one to... that is..." He sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair as he blushed. Kor grinned. "You are not comfortable yet with open displays of affection," he said in candid understanding. "You want privacy as you court this woman." The Fay-el frowned, biting his lip. "Not... precisely. I am not ashamed of her, or embarrassed to show her my, ah, attention in public. But it... she..." He wilted a little. "It is complicated." "Complicated how?" Kor laughed, snapping fire-red hair over his shoulder with a flippant toss of the head. "It seems like a fairly simple thing to me: One sees a beautiful woman, woos her, and wins her. Tis not complicated, Fay-el." Jin rolled his eyes. "If it were so simple, you would not have the mark of that Inquisita's fist upon your jaw, I think." Kor scowled. "That's different." "In any case," Jin said, "I just... like being near her. Alone. Courting her will be open, yes, but we still need time to ourselves. She does not know Dragonian ways and the other women, they might be... I do not want her to feel she is on display or some such." "So you need me to allow you to wander off on your own with her, occasionally," Kor said, clearly not liking it. "Aye..." The Hybrid sighed. "Sire, you know I cannot simply allow you to disappear, even with her. If it becomes generally known that the two of you are courting and that you sometimes go off alone without a guard... and an assassin or some such were to find out..." Jin looked miserable. "I know." His fists clenched by his side. "Kyda, I know! But a man and a woman need time to be alone, Kor!" His voice was almost pleading. "Even when that man is a Fay-el." The redhead nodded, eyes somewhat distant. "I have never before served a Fay-el. Or anyone. But... there must be a way that Fay-els can be alone with their loved ones sometimes, or all of you would surely go mad..." He regared Jin pensively for a moment before continuing. "Tell you what. I will try not to hover and fuss over you while you are with Caylia if, in return, you tell me where you are going before you walk off alone with her, and do not complain when you occasionally feel my Gift touch you." Jin scowled. "Kor, I do not like it when you---" "I know," the redhead said with a long suffering sigh, holding up a hand. "I would not care for it either. But it allows me to get a general sense of the direction in which I can find you, and to know whether or not you are well without havin |
| When Jin returned, the Fay-el looked even more irritated then when he had left. He held a large green leaf in one hand, while Talen held the rest of the plant, dug up from the sand judging by his dirt-smeared hands and face. “Turoc will want that plant,” Jin said to Talen, who nodded and stepped away, before the Fay-el refocused on his Second, pointing curtly toward his tent. “Go on now, I’ll be there in a moment. Ah…” he bit his lip and jerked his hand toward Kor’s tent. “I mean there. Go over there and I’ll find you.” “I thought you were not going to be my nursemaid?” Kor asked, smirking. Jin’s eyes narrowed, voice lightly threatening. “I could ask Turoc to put this on you.” Kor’s eyes widened slightly. “No, you’ll do.” “Thanks,” Jin said dryly. “Go then.” A few marks after Kor had slipped out of his tunic and laid facedown on his pallet, eyes closed, Jin ducked into the tent. He crouched by his Second’s side and snapped the waxy leaf in half. Brushing Kor’s hair aside, Jin smeared the oozing sap across his neck and then slowly worked downward, rubbing the salve over the sunburn in soothing circles. Kor's eyes widened. "Kyda! What is that?" The stuff felt heavenly, cool and refreshing on his skin, instantly calming the sting of the sunburn. He sniffed at the air. It smelled good, too, clean and fresh. He flexed his shoulders and twisted to look up at Jin. The Fay-el rolled his eyes and pushed his head back down so that he could get the juncture between the Hybrid's shoulder and neck. "I already told you. It's aloe vera." "It feels like Kyda's grace," Kor said in obvious pleasure, and quite loudly. "Shh," Jin hissed, hands rising up away from the Hybrid as he glanced around for people who might overhear. "Can you please not do that?" Again, Kor shifted to glance back at his Fay-el. "Do what? And please tell me you're not going to give all of this to Turoc." "Stop squirming," Jin commanded, pushing him down again. "Stars, I take it you drank all of the kolinar I gave you?" Kor nodded. "Of course you did," Jin sighed. He patted Kor's shoulder, then stood away from him. "There, I think I got all of the spots you cannot reach. As for giving it to Turoc... too late. You'll have to find your own. At least now you know what it looks like." "Aye." Kor sat up, rolling his shoulders experimentally and grinning. "Thank you." Jin rolled his eyes. "Now maybe you should pack up this tent of yours, or we'll be leaving without you. Hurry up. You have five marks." < > Midday found the party slowing, then pausing, to eat lunch and pitch tents to sleep for a few points during the warmest part of the day. “How can it be so blasted hot during the day, and so cold at night?” Kor complained bitterly to Jin as he pitched his tent beside the Fay-el’s. He wanted to ditch his tunic, to get the sweaty material away from his skin, but he was sunburned enough and he had yet to find a single one of the ororo roots Jin claimed kept the sun from the skin. The Fay-el pointed up toward the sky. “No clouds.” Kor scowled when Jin failed to explain further, then sighed when the Fay-el ducked into the tent and sprawled in the sand. Kor finished setting up his own tent, then went to help his little brother. Joran gazed at him, gray eyes wide, when Kor offered to help. “You are not going to use your Gift, are you?” he asked suspiciously. Kor sighed. “I see you’ve been talking to Talen. No, I am not going to use my Gift. We’ll do this the old fashioned way.” After they’d finished wrestling with the wind and canvas and finally convinced Joran’s tent to stand upright, Kor patted his tired little brother’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, ra.” He retreated out into the sun again to check on the sentries. To his surprise, Jaara approached him. When she voiced her request, Kor frowned at her. “Seriously?” “Why would I say something that was untrue?” Jaara retorted, hands firmly on her hips. “Yes, I would like to take a watch tonight.” The Hybrid hesitated. “I do not know… Do not get me wrong. I know---more than the rest of them, I’m sure---that you’re more than capable.” He massaged his shoulder, wincing as his mind turned briefly back to their spar the night before. “But you know how the men feel…” Mirth, ever so slight, alighted in her eyes. “Unless a tribesman attacked me on watch---which they would regret---the Tenets would remain unbroken.” Kor sighed, kicking gently at the sand beneath his boots as he thought, then smiled. “I suppose you’re right. But… ah… I know you own a Derk-ra, but do you know how to fight one off?” Her expression stilled yet more, except her eyes, which narrowed. He could not tell if she was amused or offended. She looked pointedly at the Derk-ra at her feet. “Hybrid, I am no Derk-ra trainer like Hamen, but I know how to handle the beasts well enough. I think I can manage.” Her voice was very, very dry. He bit his lip, eyes darting to the Derk-ra. “Aye, but… but Kyger is tame.” Not that it looked tame, flicking its forked tongue between sharp teeth like that. “Khyr,” she corrected. Kor shrugged, stepping away from the beast, and went on. “It might be different, if a feral Derk-ra attacks you.” “Hybrid, you saw me capture two of your Fay-el’s new hutch myself. Do you truly think I would have trouble fending off a Derk-ra attack?” He smiled. “But that did not involve fighting the beasts off.” She barked a laugh, and he jumped, startled. “You have much to learn about the Mara, and about Derk-ra.” He bristled a little. “My lady, when I first arrived in the Mara, I fought two of the beasts in two nights, and survi---I mean won---both times. I have the cres---well, anyway, I won.” “It is much harder to capture a Derk-ra, alive and unharmed, than it is to kill one,” she insisted. Kor snorted. “Please. All you have to do is wait for it to attack, throw a net, and hold on tight.” “Hybrid… It is not that simple.” He arched a brown and grinned. “I bet you I can go out alone, weaponless and with only a single net, and bring back a Derk-ra before the camp rouses from its nap.” “I do not gamble.” When he started to protest, she held up a hand. “But I know this is a bet I cannot lose. What do you wager?” He smirked. “Alright, hmm… If I succeed, the next time there is a fete, you will, ah… I know. You will take all of my ribbons, and dance with me all night.” She stiffened, and for a moment he was sure she would refuse. He did not like the hint of sorrow in her eyes as she nodded. “Very well, ael kinth. And if you lose…” She bit her lip, looking very much like a young girl as she did so, if one ignored the scar stretching from below her eye to her temple. “If you lose, you will never speak ill of the loquiri Bond to Naftis again.” He scowled. “Of all the… Fine, fine, agreed.” Her eyes flicked up to the sun. “It appears that you have about three points, Hybrid. You would do well to begin now.” Kor nodded and said his farewell, then paused to borrow Jin’s net before he left camp. The Fay-el was already fast asleep, and Kor smiled, then darted back out into the sun and away from the tents. Bagging one of the beasts, he was sure, would not be the problem. Finding one would be; Derk-ra were nocturnal. Their eyes did not seem well designed to handle much light. Even the tame Derk-ra---Jaara’s Khyr and Hamen’s Maheen---seemed less active during the day. Feral Derk-ra only roamed and hunted during the night, and seemed to disappear entirely during the day. After half a point of steady walking, Kor found the same salty pools that the Derk-ra trainer had led them too earlier in their travels. Hamen had explained patiently that these attracted many Derk-ra and that these in particular were the easiest to capture. Derk-ra came here for the salt, using the mineral that they lapped in the water or scraped from the surrounding rocks with their talons to fuel their venom. A few would even bask in the water, using the substance to kill any parasites that had lodged in their scales. Unfortunately, there were no Derk-ra in sight, though there had been. Kor scowled, frowning at the mud scrapes and long claw marks gouged into the rocks. They would return, he hoped, but it would do him little good if they did not return soon. In the dark, the lizards would have the advantage. He circled around the oblong-shaped pool. More churned up mud and taloned tracks marred the edges. At the far end of one, the carcass of a horse lay sprawled, half-in and half-out of the water. It had been stripped of nearly all its skin and meat, with only the hooves and tack left behind, and even the latter had been chewed on. Deep puncture holes marred the dried leather. Kor wrinkled his nose at the sour stench rising from the corpse and gave it a wide berth. At least there were no signs of a human rider with the unfortunate steed. The Hybrid climbed up on a small rise of the surrounding rocks and stretched out on his stomach, scanning the horizon. “Where could those bloody beasts be?” he muttered aloud. There were no caves for them to hide in, nor tall grass to crouch behind. Yet they were much too large to simply vanish in the sand and shadow of the dunes. Biting his lip, Kor seized his Gift and lightly cast it out away from him. The first time, nothing but small rodents and lizards met his sweep. But the second time, something larger stirred to the northwest, though at an odd angle. The Second grinned and leaped agilely to his feet, hefting the net against his shoulder. “There they are.” He did not particularly want to try his luck with an entire hutch of the things, nocturnal or not. Instead, he cast his Gift out like a net, sending it away from him and reeling it back to him again, and again, until at last he honed in on a resonance that was suitably far away from the others. "Got you," he murmured, grinning to himself. He crept quietly toward the spot, but was dismayed to find nothing but gently rolling dunes. Again he sent his Gift out, and frowned as the Derk-ra’s spark chimed back at him, deep and strong, like a gong. He winced. It should be right here, but there was nothing. Scowling, slapping the net against his leg in agitation, he slowly circled the nearest dune, hoping perhaps it was resting on the leeward side in the shade. But there was no Derk-ra there, either. It was as he was rounding the other side of the dune, sending his Gift out again with a frustrated snarl, that he noticed the sand shift slightly near the middle of the gentle rise. He frowned suspiciously, glancing at the sky, then licked a finger and held it to the air. The desert breeze was blowing the other way. Grinning, he seized his Gift yet again, and sent it out in a strong pulse directly into the dune. It clanged back jarringly in his mind, and the ground shook as something started beneath the sand. An instant later, a very drowsy lizard tipped its black snout out of the sand, forked tongue tasting the air lazily. Kor fell back with a smirk, brandishing his net, and waited. It took the sleep-addled reptile some time to decide to emerge from its rest and investigate the strange disturbance of its nap. Slowly, it clawed itself free of its burrow, long, yellowed claws pushing the sand away with a quiet rustling sound. Then, apparently too lazy to climb the rest of the way free, the charcoal gray male instead simply rolled halfway down the dune in which it'd been buried, sliding on its side to a stop surprisingly close to the waiting Hybrid. Kor grinned, opening his net wider and crouching down. This was going to be even easier than he'd thought. "You are not so frightening during the day, now are---" Hissing, the beast coiled around itself suddenly, scales scraping almost metallically against scales and sand, sinuous muscles shifting in its neck and flanks as it surged alarmingly swiftly to its feet. Its half-lidded chrome gray eyes clearly could not see well, but its darting tongue sampled the air and it flung itself through the air unerringly at the surprised Hybrid. Eyes widening, Kor dove into his Gift, raising his net high and trusting the Aquila way to place him just perfectly in the Derk-ra’s path so that when the beast flew headlong through the air toward him, claws extended, it landed soundly within the net. Gasping, Derk-ra and human collapsed to the sand, Kor cursing vigorously and the Derk-ra hissing loudly as it worried the netting with teeth and claws, to no avail. The specially cured leather was far too strong, even for its natural weapons. It was only as Kor reached up to fasten the end of the net so that the beast did not escape that he noticed. His left hand was covered in blood, slippery with it, so that he could not pull the loop of the net tight. And even then, he did not fully comprehend what had happened until he saw two of his fingers lying in the sand, and realized they were most definitely no longer attached to his hand. "Oh... Now you've done it," he breathed, pushing himself to his feet and gaping down at those poor, discarded bits of himself in the sand. It had not hurt at all, but he had a strong feeling it was going to, and soon. His other hand clutched the end of the rope in a white knuckled grip. "Got to get back to camp," he muttered, watching the blood drip from his mangled hand for a moment in sheer disbelief. "Got to get back to camp." Two sentries—Hazor and another whose name he suddenly could not remember—melted out of the sand as he approached, scowling slightly. “More Derk-ra, sar? Don’t we have enough of---You’re bleeding!” Hazor finished in alarm. “Kyda yes,” Kor growled, “And I left parts of me out there.” He threw his hand out toward the desert. He shoved the rope of the net toward the first man, “You lose that beast and I’ll skin you alive, ya hear?” The derk-ra had already freed its head and one leg from the net, and was lithely trying to wriggle its way out the loose end. Kor spun on his heel to send Hazor for Turoc, and found the world was shifting dangerously. The sentry grabbed him as he fell, hissing and swearing, and lowered him to the sand. “Get some help,” Hazor snapped. “Leave the beast.” “No!” Kor growled. “I worked…too hard…lose it…” Skin drenched in sweat, the Hybrid closed his mouth abruptly. Pain scaled through his injured hand and arm, searing up to his shoulder. He moaned softly, clenching his eyes tightly closed. “Hazor… Am I pale?” “Aye. Very.” “How fast…my pulse.” The sentry pressed awkward fingers to his throat and then withdrew them. “Too fast. I think. What should I do?” Kor sighed. The sentry was young, much too young to have a clue how to treat an Aquila going into shock. “Help me up.” “What? You should stay—“ “Quit arguing, Hazor,” he growled. Once he was standing, leaning heavily against the man’s shoulder, Kor did his best to stagger forward. “Jin. Find…find Jin…or Turoc…either one…someone.” His thoughts drifted, snapping back at Jin’s voice, cursing no less. “Kyda! Why do you bloody always get yourself into these Kyda-forsaken situations?” Kor shrugged weakly, glancing up to smirk faintly at his Fay-el. Jin rolled his eyes. “Still impossible.” He glanced at those around him, snapping orders. Kor was stretched on the ground once more, feet propped up. Someone took his pulse again, and another grabbed his injured hand and held it up above his heart. He nodded to himself, pleased to see these knew what to do. And then cringed at the familiar, plodding voice. “Ah, Hybrid, it seems you have stumbled upon more Derk-ra than you can handle?” Turoc did not wait for an answer, only slipped past the warriors around Kor and crouched at his side. Taking up his uninjured hand to press the fingernail and study the returning bloodflow beneath, Turoc gestured at the others. “He will need a few warm blankets, and a flagon of water to mix with his medicine. Hurry now.” The healer released his hand after a moment, nodding to himself, and took the injured hand from one of the warriors, swiping a cloth at the blood until he could see the injury. “Ah, yes. Did you put your hand in its mouth?” “No,” Kor grated. “Its claws found…fingers…edge of the net. Bloody…Gift,” he sighed. Turoc frowned slightly and then shrugged, wrapping the cloth around the wound and pressing firmly, showing how to do the same to the warrior who took Kor’s hand back, holding it high again. The Dragonian healer then slowly mixed a white powder into the water he had been brought, before bending over Kor. “This will aid you, but you must drink it quickly.” “Why?” Turoc did not answer, only cupped his chin, tipping the glass into his mouth. Kor spluttered as soon as he tasted the foul mixture, jerking his head aside. “Eppa! That tastes worse than valla.” Jin grabbed his head firmly, holding him steady as Turoc leaned close again. “Aye, I’m sure it does,” the healer said quietly, and brought the flagon to his mouth once more. Kor spluttered, trying and failing to escape the Fay-el’s iron grip. “Jin---No,” he coughed. “Hush,” the Fay-el snapped. “Turoc knows what he is doing.” “Vile---“ The bloody cup was there again. This time, despite his protests, he drank greedily, and only after it was gone and Jin had released his head did he continue his complaints. “Nasty. What is it?” The elderly healer raised a bushy white eyebrow. “Ah, a remedy with which you are not already familiar, young man?” he asked with infinite slowness. “Tis two pinches salt and one pinch baking soda, blended in water,” Turoc explained calmly. “It will help restore the body’s humors after bloodloss. You will feel better, I promise.” He was right. A few marks of direct pressure on the wounds---Kor’s mind shied away from “stumps”---and another dose of the salt-soda solution, and he felt mildly better. “There,” Turoc said quietly. “I think we can move you now.” Turoc held his wrinkled old arms out to his sides, encouraging one of the young warriors to help him up. When the ancient healer was on his feet again, he nodded to Kor. “We are going to take you to your tent.” He gestured for Jin and Hazor to lift Kor up. “Slowly, now, slowly,” he urged. “No no no,” Kor murmured dizzily, shaking his head from side to side as they lifted him to his feet. Jin slung his arm around the Hybrid’s waist as one of the other warriors continued applying pressure to his hand. “I'll ask Jaara or Caylia, if she can do it, to Mend you,” he told Kor. It was Turoc who answered. “I do not know how much a Mending can do, but unless it can make a hand whole again, there is somewhat that must be done first.” If at all possible, Kor paled further. “Oh. Oh no, please---“ Turoc frowned at him. “You of all people know it must be done,” he said gently. The Hybrid’s knees buckled. “No! You cannot… Just wait,” he begged. “Soon---When I feel better---I’ll do it myself. Just don’t.” The healer patted the top of his head. “Shh. It must be done now, before the wound can become infected. I will give you a nice blend of valla and somna.” Kor shuddered. “No—I won’t allow it—you can’t…not yet. It can be done later.” He glanced up at his Fay-el, “Please Jin… Don’t allow it—make him wait.” Jin’s eyes flicked between the two healers, confusion flaring across his features. He finally focused on Turoc. “Is it necessary?” “Aye,” the healer said quietly. Jin sighed. “Then it will be done.” Kor tensed, squirming in his grip. “No—No! Please!” Turoc looked at him worriedly. "Hush now, lad. You must stay calm.." The Fay-el frowned, biting his lip, and then gently handed the Hybrid into the waiting hands of Hazor. “Do as Turoc commands.” Kor cursed, his tone more frantic than angry. Jin stepped away, striding across the camp, eyes jumping from side to side as he searched. “Caylia.” The bard glanced at him, her smile broadening at the sight of him. “Ah, Jin.” And then her face fell. “You’re worried.” She rested a hand against his cheek. “What’s wrong?” “Kor. He had a nasty scrape with a Derk-ra. We’re trying to tend him but…I think he’s…Your calming you did with those Derk-ra that we captured might be…” She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “I will help.” By the time he and the bard reached the Hybrid, ducking into the tent, it was blatantly obvious Kor needed her help. He was shaking visibly, resisting the dose of herbs they were trying to pour down his throat, as well as kicking and bucking with shoulders and hips. Caylia seized her Gift and squeezed in between the warriors to rest gentle hands on his shoulders. “Easy, Kor. Shh. No one here is trying to hurt you. Shh.” His body stilled for a moment, and then he started to wiggle again. Caylia leaned forward, shifting more of her weight across his shoulders. “Easy. Shh. You know we want to help you. There is nothing to fear from us. Shh.” She stroked fingers through his hair lightly. “Calm down. Good. Breathe slowly. There you go. Shh.” Kor relaxed slightly, but still shivered miserably. “Caylia, you have to—“ “Shh.” She held out a hand and Turoc handed her the draught wordlessly. Caylia tipped his chin up and rubbed her thumb across his jawline. “Easy. Take your medicine. Be calm.” He drank it willingly enough, though his eyes remained wide with fear. She said nothing more, only set the cup down and continued murmuring his name, Gift prickling all around her. Slowly, Kor’s body relaxed and his eyes drooped, growing heavy-lidded. When his breathing deepened, Turoc gently pushed her aside and toward Jin. “You should take her out of here now, Fay-el.” The healer motioned for Hazor and another warrior to lean their weight into Kor’s shoulders. “This will not be pleasant.” Her eyes were very wide. “Must you take his whole hand?” “No, my dear,” he murmured, “I am simply cutting away what he will no longer need without those fingers, and then sewing up the wounds. Nothing more. A beautiful woman such as yourself should not observe such things.” Turoc waved a dismissive hand at Jin, but the Fay-el shook his head, nudging Caylia toward the entrance. “I will stay. He is my Second, foolish though he may be. Find Rowan, Caylia, or do what you like. But I would not suggest you stay here, Ly.” She paused for a moment, looking like she would protest, and then cringed slightly as one warrior slipped a strip of leather into Kor’s mouth. “Ah…perhaps you are right. I will pray for him…if that’s all right.” Jin nodded. Turoc stood at his side, waiting until she had left and walked away, before turning back to his patient. “Hold him firmly,” he said with slight gruffness in his tone, and then bent to his task. < > Around halfway through the ordeal, Jaara slipped silently into the tent, her black-silk swathed form appearing so suddenly at Jin’s side that he jumped. He swiveled toward her, grateful to have an excuse to tear his gaze away from the healer’s gruesome work. “Caylia explained to me, my lord,” she said quietly. Her flint-gray eyes flicked toward the Hybrid. “The whole camp is awake, now.” Kor was drugged enough that his cries had been weak and thready except once at the very beginning, but that single time had apparently been enough to rouse everyone. He now shifted restlessly, breathing raggedly as Turoc placed careful sutures in the stump where his second-to-last finger had been. He was barely conscious. Jin dearly wished the Hybrid would simply pass out, but the same fortitude that kept Kor standing even after three tankards of honey whiskey also kept him awake through the ordeal, though thankfully not alert. At least the worst was over. The Fay-el winced. “His brother will probably be barging in here shortly, then. I should go speak with him before he makes this worse.” “No,” Jaara said flatly, and when Jin started to scowl, added, “I made the ra sleep. You understand.” She frowned, leaning over to check Turoc’s progress, and Jin was surprised to see that she looked less disturbed by the scene than he himself felt. She nodded to herself as she watched the healer work. “You are in my light, girl,” Turoc told her distractedly, and she leaned back again out of the way. “You do not seem uncomfortable at all,” Jin said quietly. The look she gave him was utterly expressionless. “I’ve done worse to people.” That stilled him. And this woman was Caylia's---his Ly's----companion? He quickly changed the subject. “Can you Mend him, afterward?” A small smile graced her features, there and gone again in a flash. “That is why I am here, my lord.” Her expression darkened imperceptibly. “And I, unfortunately, am why he is here, I am afraid. It is the least I can do.” Jin froze. “You are responsible for this?” he asked quietly. She nodded with apparent nonchalance, still focused on the surgery. “He wagered that he could capture a Derk-ra, weaponless, without harming it. I wagered that he could not.” She frowned. “It is not a pleasing victory.” Jin’s eyes narrowed. “It is not a victory at all.” Her brows arched. “He caught your bloody Derk-ra,” he snapped. “Brought it back, too. It is not harmed. But now my Second is crippled.” She shook her head. When she spoke, she did not sound particularly bothered by the whole affair. “Yes. It is certainly unfortunate. But with Mendings, and proper exercises for his fingers, he should be able to regain the use of his hand with only some effort.” Jin wanted to shake her. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and glared directly into her steel gray eyes. She tensed, but did not push him away or fight him. “He is twenty-two years old, and just lost two fingers. Do you not care at all?” “I care,” she said, a faint note of sharpness in her voice despite her impassive face. “Do you? Or are you just angry that you now have a slightly less functional Second?” His eyes flashed with anger. “Kyda take you, bloody Inquisita! Of course I care. First because he is a warrior and tribesman of mine. I have written every death under my command into our history myself, and know them all. I can recite every person who I have killed—indirectly—in such a manner. Can you?” Her eyes widened. Jin did not relent. “Even if he were neither tribesman nor warrior nor Second, I would care. He is annoying, yes—Kyda, sometimes a terrible bother. But he is a friend as well. A man who is willing to tell me the truth, good or bad. So yes, Inquisita, I care. Do you? Do you truly?” Jin whirled away from her, crossing his arms and glaring at Turoc. “Are you finished now?” “Aye, sire,” the healer responded. He stepped toward Jin, reaching up to massage his shoulder lightly. Jin shifted away from his touch. “What else must be done?” he growled. Turoc let his hand drop. “He should be left alone to rest, except that one should stay near and watch him until he awakens. Someone familiar, if possible, as the drug mixture we gave him is likely to have confused him.” The healer glanced at Jaara and then back to Jin. “Once he awakens, someone should watch him to make sure he is only in a little pain, a little bit warm, and nothing more. If he worsens beyond that, summon me, no matter what time of day or night it is.” “Anything else?” Jin growled. “If you can, get him to drink juice, broth, water, or any other liquid—as much as he can keep down. Nothing solid yet. And keep him warm.” Turoc half-turned, arching his brow slightly toward Jaara. “Do you intend to perform this Mend on him?” The Inquisita nodded, lips drawn into a thin line, and strode past Jin without looking at him, gathering her Gift and laying her hands against the Hybrid’s shoulders. After she retreated, Jin leaned over Kor, relieved to see he was asleep, and then glanced around the tent, frowning. The smell of blood, somna, sweat, and other odors made him wrinkle his nose. For Kor, waking up in the same place as the pain he had just suffered would be like moving from one nightmare to another. “Is it alright if I move him?” Jin asked quietly. “Aye, just have a care for his hand,” Turoc responded. < > After carrying him from his tent into Jin’s own, the Fay-el stretched him out on the pallet once more. He crouched at Kor’s side and gently undressed him, a small smile spreading over his face. He had done this with Elam enough times that it was relatively familiar. Folding up the discarded clothing neatly, Jin set it aside and draped Kor’s blanket over the Hybrid, before biting his lip and adding his own as well. He was mindful of the injured hand, leaving it outside the blankets, but tucked the rest snugly around his Second. Satisfied Kor was settled, Jin shifted a few feet away and sat down, crossing his arms and stretching his legs out in front of him. He half-dozed, waking up frequently to run his hands over the Hybrid’s forehead to gauge the heat radiating from his skin. < > About an point had passed when Kor’s stuttering gasp snapped Jin into full wakefulness. He uncurled from his place on the floor and moved to the Hybrid’s side. His Second was sitting up, eyes slightly wide, breathing rapidly. Jin rested a hand on his shoulder and another at his back and started to ease him down. “You need to rest, Kor.” The Hybrid clung to him, his grip fierce with fear. “My hand…Turoc…The Derk-ra… Dreaming?” Jin chose his words carefully. “Your hand is still there. It was simply a few fingers that you lost, no more than that. Lie down now.” “No,” Kor hissed fiercely. “Can’t!” Jin studied his face, noting the black pupils. The drugs were still disorienting him, it seemed. Notwithstanding the shock of losing parts of his body in a single day. “Go back to bed, Kor.” His Second curled his uninjured hand into Jin’s shoulder, locking his arm around his Fay-el’s neck as he tried to push him down again. “Without…I’m just…” His head dropped. “Crippled.” “No,” Jin snapped. “You can still do everything you would normally do.” “I can’t hold a…a blade,” Kor muttered. “Can’t…can’t protect you…can’t hunt, can’t defend myself—“ And, to Jin’s distress, the Hybrid began to sob. “Oh, Kor,” Jin muttered. Wordlessly, he drew Kor into an embrace, holding him close as the Hybrid buried his face in his Fay-el’s chest. “No, Kor. You can do all of those things…Once you are healed, everything will be the same.” “No..not the same,” he hiccuped. “Never.” “Shh, Kor. Almost the same.” Jin stroked his fingers through his hair. “Your…your reputation,” Kor choked. “Hamen will think—“ “I don’t care,” Jin growled. His voice softened. “Shh now. Rest. Everything will be fine.” He held him closer, rubbing his back slowly as if he were simply Elam, frightened from a nightmare. “Shh.” Gradually Kor's muscles relaxed, first from exhausted sobs to light shudders, then to steady breathing. When at last he finally went completely limp again, Jin pushed him carefully back down. Shaking his head sadly, he tucked the blankets around his Second. A few marks later Turoc hobbled into Jin's tent. "Is everything well?" he asked quietly, glancing down at Kor. "Is he in pain?" Jin shrugged. "He did not complain of pain. Would such an injury normally still hurt after about two weeks?" "Yes. Such wounds take about four months to heal fully, and even then, he'll feel... phantom pains." He frowned pensively down at Kor. "Do these Maran healing magics replace the humors of the body? Wait," he interrupted before Jin could say he did not know, "I will see for myself." The elderly healer limped forward, then started to bend down to crouch beside Jin. Halfway down, he cursed in pain, then straightened slowly and frowned at his Fay-el. "My old knees," he complained, shaking his head. "Feel his skin for me, if you would, Fay-el. Does he feel clammy still? He looks pale, but that may just be his Aquila heritage." Jin did as he was told. Kor's forehead was cool, and slightly moist. Lifting his uninjured hand to feel his pulse, Jin nodded. "He is doing better, but whatever the Mending is, it does not cure anything but actual, physical damage." He frowned up at Turoc. "The tribesmen will be starting to make ready to leave soon. Am I correct that he cannot travel?" The elderly healer hesitated. "He can, Fay-el, but truly I would prefer that he not, at least not until morning. Let him have a good night's sleep and allow the herbs to wear off. His constitution will improve with even a few points' rest." "Very well," Jin said, nodding pensively. "Good. Make sure you give him plenty to drink." "Aye, Turoc." "And keep him warm, but watch to be sure he does not become feverish. If he seems to begin to have trouble drawing air, or if his stitches accidentally burst, come get me. And---" Jin gently but firmly took the healer's arm in hand and led him toward the tent flap. "I will. Thank you for your help." Jin allowed the tent flap to close on the healer, then sighed in the silence of his tent. Outside, he could hear tribesmen talking quietly, and questions being tossed back and forth like stones. Soon he would have to tell them of the change in plans. But first, Turoc’s orders. He reached for the waterskin he had filled for Kor, and crouched beside his Second. Kor's eyes drifted open the instant Jin cupped the back of his neck to lift his head. “Jin, I have to---” he started to murmur. Jin shook his head. “Shh, Kor. Drink and sleep.” For once, his unruly Second obeyed. Sighing, Jin straightened, and then stepped out of the tent and into the late afternoon sunlight. He scanned the circle of tents, which hid the campfire from easy view by Derk-ra at night, then waved a dismissive hand toward several tribesmen who were glancing toward him with curiosity and worry. He’d explain later. Striding to Joran’s tent, he ducked and pushed through the flap. He was amused to find that the boy was sprawled on his pallet, his linka dampened and tucked against the back of his neck to cool him in the warm midday air. And the Inquisita had made him sleep? Interesting. Gently, he shook Joran awake. The teenager rolled over groggily, and gave his Fay-el a gray-eyed squint. “I need you to come with me,” Jin said quietly, studying the youth’s face. Joran was looking more like his brother every day. Kyda, the boy was nearly as tall as Kor, even. For an instant, Joran looked as though he were about to demand why his Fay-el commanded his presence. Then his eyes widened in memory and he surged to his feet, linka falling from his neck to his pallet. “I heard… And then that woman… My brother! Fay-el, is he---” “Your brother will be alright,” Jin said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “But I need you to stay with him for a little while so that he does not wake alone.” When Jin brought the boy back to his own tent, Joran’s eyes widened and he collapsed to his knees at Kor's side in dismay upon seeing his brother. “What happ---“ “Do not!” Jin snapped, pulling the boy roughly back as he reached curiously for Kor’s bandaged left hand. “He lost two fingers not three points ago and then went under the knife. The wounds were Mended once, but he’ll still be in some pain.” “What do I have to do?” Joran fretted, crouching down and peering intently at his brother. “Just watch over him. I will be back shortly.” Jin strode back outside and made his way toward his honor guard. < > The group was clustered around Talen, of course. The wiry warrior had been developing a good working relationship with most of the honor guard and sentries, as befitted a possible Second. At the time, it had seemed a good and helpful thing to encourage, but now, now it was simply causing trouble. Those same connections were adding fuel to the flames of dissension. Jin scowled as he drew closer. He could make out enough of Talen’s words to know he was talking about Kor once again—of the self-Mending that had ended so disastrously. Jin moved closer, at Talen’s back. A few of the warriors around him glanced up, and then paled slightly as they saw his approach. Two had the decency to look ashamed and slink away. The rest simply backed away. Talen frowned, throwing out his hand. “Come now. It is the truth. He has these barbarian magics that he uses. I have seen him do so. Surely that is why we camp here for the night. His magics have wearied him.” Jin clenched his hand into a fist and then rapped the top of Talen’s head with his knuckle, hard. The warrior went down and then rolled fluidly, cursing. He froze, leaning back on his hands, staring up into his Fay-el’s face. “Sire…I…” Jin buried his hands in Talen’s tunic and hauled him to his feet. The warrior sputtered an apology. He remained silent, simply dragging the man with him as he stalked away. Talen squirmed, muttered, and reverted back to apologizing profusely. Jin ignored him. “My lord…please…Fay-el?” He shifted his gaze. Talen cringed. Realization dawned slowly in Jin’s mind. Known for his explosive, loud outbursts and quick cooling anger, the Fay-el’s sullen silence was utterly unnerving the warrior. With the thought, Jin’s mouth curved into a wry smile and he shoved Talen forward, stumbling and tripping. The Fay-el manhandled him into Turoc’s tent, shoving him down in the middle. “If you are going to speak evil of my Second, and thus my choice, then you will surely pay for your words,” Jin said, low and threatening. “You would do well to ask Turoc what ails Kor.” He shoved the man away from him and flicked a glance toward the healer, who was waiting patiently. “Dose him with kinsleaf until he learns to hold his tongue. If he is sick all night, so be it. But he will ride in the morning, well or ill.” Jin whirled and left a gaping Talen behind, striding back to his honor guard with obvious anger. The rest said nothing of Kor, simply nodded their heads at his orders. “We will camp here for the night. It has been a long day, and all of us need our rest,” the Fay-el said. “Ensure there are sentries set and….if possible, add a few more. You two—“ he snapped his hand at Hazor and another, “Go hunting.” He glowered at the rest, “Well? You have tasks to do. Get moving.” With hurried nods all around, the honor guard spread out to do as he bid, with only two warriors remaining to tag at his heels. Jin returned to his tent, slapping a hand at the air to encourage his shadows to depart for the time being, to find Kor awake. Well, perhaps "awake" was a strong term, but the Hybrid's eyes were half-lidded and focused on his brother, who darted immediately and respectfully to his feet the moment Jin entered. The Fay-el was about to snap at Joran for having woken his brother, but the small, pained smile on Kor's face stalled him. "I know," his Second was muttering to Joran, lightness clearly forced into his voice but present nonetheless. "They... my favorite fingers, too," he pouted. "Did it hurt?" Joran breathed, obsessed as all young, unmarked warriors are with the scars of their elders. Jin sighed a little at the youth's foolish question, but Kor only rolled his eyes. "Not... first," he muttered. He glanced at his bandaged hand, but did not move it even a tiny bit. Jin took that moment to clear his throat. "Joran, your brother needs his rest." "Ah Fay-el.... but having... so much fun," Kor complained weakly, but his eyes were already the narrowest of blue slits. "Well, you can have your fun tomorrow." Jin said, placing a firm hand in the center of Joran's back and guiding him toward the mouth of the tent. "You will watch him, my lord?" Joran frowned, voice quiet. Jin smiled at him. "I will." |
| Daliah opened her eyes to darkness. It was nothing new, really. She always seemed to wake just before the dawn, even when she was a child. It was something she enjoyed, a time when she could imagine that the world belonged to her alone. Layole was an early riser as well, but was always a few minutes behind her, so she had a short time just to watch him in silence. She rolled over onto her side, careful not to disturb him. His hair, undone from its tail, was mussed far more than hers. It made him look a bit like a boy, far from the warrior that now led the tribe in Jin’s stead. Well, it would have, if not for the morning stubble. His lids flickered, then opened slowly. He smiled when he saw her, reaching out to touch her cheek. “Good morning.” she whispered. He groaned. “I suppose we have to get up now.” She nodded, but neither of them moved. Finally, sun’s first light fell across their tent. Daliah sat up and began to dress, nudging Layole’s leg as he began to doze once more. He stirred and rubbed his eyes, at last rising and following suit. “I thought you were a morning person.” she teased. “I was.” he chuckled. “Just not this morning. I might need incentive.” “Getting everything packed and moved is not enough incentive.” she sighed. “All right, then.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Are you ready now?” He considered it. “One more.” he demanded playfully. She balled up his tunic and threw it at him. “Get up.” He laughed and slipped it over his head. She tugged on her boots, opting once more for her usual pants as they would spend the day traveling. Once she was done, she watched her husband (how she loved the word!) prepare for the day ahead. His brows were furrowed with concentration, and she knew that he was going through a mental list of all that needed to be done and who was assigned to it. She knew not to interrupt it, though he never seemed to mind. When he had figured it out, he looked up at her and smiled. “You wore your hair down.” he commented. She twisted a curl around her finger. “I think I like it better this way.” The first sounds of the camp drifted in, drawing them out. Daliah loved it, before all of the chaos, when it was quiet and one could think. She let the flap fall behind her, listening to its soft rustling in the breeze. Layole scanned the horizon, seeing the dark spots of trees in the distance. “I think we might reach it today.” She walked up to his side and clasped her hands in front of her. “I hope so. I miss sitting under the trees.” They wandered over to the remains of the fire, where the newly relieved sentries sat nursing drinks while they waited for their morning meal. Daliah sat at her husband’s side and leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling the first twitches of hunger in her belly. Layole instructed the men in their duties for the day, the words of which she did not listen to, but just the sound of his voice. Her head was still far away, trying to unravel itself. She had not come any closer to answers since the day they spent at the library. Though she was happy with her life now, she still was not completely sure of who she was and that bothered her, perhaps more than it should have. All of the sudden she just could not sit there any longer. She had to move, had to feel her hands working to transfer out her negative energy. “I am going to help with breakfast.” she kissed Layole on the cheek. “I will see you in a little while.” He nodded and caught at her hand as she walked away, a small smile on his face. She returned it and continued on to where the women were crowded around a large pot. They acknowledged her and allowed her a turn at stirring. “We thought it might be nice to have a hot breakfast after such a cold night.” Caira commented, placing some of their store of bread into baskets. “That was a kind idea.” Daliah replied politely, though somewhat distracted. She felt better, however, after allowing the muscles in her arms to work for a while. Who said that women’s chores were delicate? She heard the rest of the camp slowly come to life. The children were first, followed by sleepy parents, then the rest followed suit. She watched them, and could not help but wonder if that was what fate had in store for her in the next few years. Was she to lead what others considered a normal life instead of the life of a soldier? It was far from what she thought just a few months ago. “Bring the bowls over here.” she told the women. “I believe it’s ready.” She ladled the stuff into dishes and the others passed them and the bread out to the hungry travelers. It took quite a while, but at last everyone had been served and she was able to join in. The meal was quite good, and for that she was grateful. She sat with the other women, yet she still did not feel quite right. It was like something was missing from this, like she did not belong with them in some way. This nagging thought constantly sat in the back of her mind, but seemed to bother her even more today. Layole knelt beside her with a steaming cup of kolinar. She gave him what she hoped passed for a thankful grin and took it, blowing and sipping cautiously. He watched her, already finished with breakfast and ready to start his day properly. “I never thought I would see the day when you were so domestic.” She narrowed her eyes and set her cup down. “Do not let this fool you. I promise you that I am as able in battle as ever. You would do well to remember that.” “Is that a threat?” he sat back, brows raised. “Not unless you take it as one.” He leaned in, more than aware that they were not alone. “Perhaps we should spar later. I have not faced you yet, we might have something to learn from one another.” “Are you sure? I have picked up quite a few tricks lately.” He shrugged. “There are some old training poles within the camp. It might be rather fun to see you in action.” She sighed after they kissed. “I will try to take it easy on you, then.” He laughed. “Tonight. Be prepared to face a true soldier, my lady.” She chuckled, shaking her head as he left to lead the camp in the morning’s duties. After a moment, she paused, noticing that several eyes were pointed in her direction. She arranged herself in a listening position, with the feeling that she was in for a lecture. “He seeks to please you.” Caira began, her voice soft. “I think he is worried.” “Why should he be?” she asked, concerned. “I am fine.” She cocked her head in disagreement. “There has been no fire in your eyes for the past few days. Men tend to be sensitive about things of that nature.” “I have only been distracted, I do not love him any less.” “I do not think that he worries about that. He is just the kind of man that wants to be able to mend the pain that lies in you. He has always been like that.” She looked away. “I wish I were that easy to fix. I come from a past that poses questions there are no answers to.” ---------------- “At last, Kaama Forest.” Layole pulled back on the reins a bit so that Daliah could catch up to him. She turned her attention away from the darkening sky back to him. “Finally. It is amazing how sore you can get when you have not ridden for a while.” He chuckled. “It was not that long.” “Easy to say when you don’t have a scar rubbing against the saddle.” she grumbled. They came to a stop just outside the trees, searching for a path. Daliah found it first and pointed it out. It led them to a clearing, obviously marked for nomads to set up camp. Then the unloading began, with only a few complaints from the weary tribe. She set to work almost as soon as she dismounted. There was little for her to do with the tents, so she began to gather from their store of food enough for a stew. While some of the others went out for water, she began to chop vegetables and dried meat. She loved the glint of the blade in the firelight and how easily it sliced through in its task. It made her almost long for her sword, but at the same time see the similarities. Caira began to cook it, tasting and adding spices whenever she saw fit. Daliah sat back and watched for a moment, only moving when the girl jerked her head in Layole’s direction. He was overlooking everything, arms crossed and face somber. But it lit up when she came up to him, and she felt her heart fall from her chest. “Do you still have enough strength for a spar?” he asked. She tied her hair back. “Always.” “Good. Everything seems to be done here.” he walked over to where to poles lay and picked them up. One he threw to his wife, and the other he kept. They walked over to a sheltered area, a fight in the wild instead of the traditional sparring circle. Daliah tested the ground with her boot, taking in the resistance and pull of the soil. Layole spun the pole around his wrist a few times, clearly showing off. She laughed, but was cut off when he suddenly attacked. “That was unfair.” she told him as she leapt back up to her feet. “I shall make you pay for that.” “A good soldier is always prepared.” he informed, dodging a blow to his knees. They locked their weapons together, neither giving up their ground. She caught his scent, and gritted her teeth to keep her body from weakening. Her knees shook and her foot slipped just a little. Layole, it seemed, was just as distracted as she. She felt him supporting himself against her, which meant his footing was off. The fighter in Daliah found an opportunity, and she took it. She leaned in for a moment, capturing his eyes with her stare that he always told her felt like the pull of the ocean. His expression was easy for her to read, therefore easy to manipulate. Without warning, she twisted her body, sending him falling to the ground. She pinned her knee against his chest and her pole lightly over his neck. Now shocked out of his thoughts, he laughed and shook his head. “I suppose I deserved that.” he murmured. “You would not happen to be interested in a second round, would you?” His legs shot out to the side, throwing her off balance. She rolled over, regaining her footing just as he took up his stance once more. Her eyes flickered to life, bearing its usual fire as her heritage was kept alive. |
| That first morning back in camp, Layole formally came to turn the tribe back over to the Fay-el, his chieftain, and then settled to spend time with the Fay-el, his friend, discussing what had previously happened in his absence. Kor ducked his head inside once, several hours into the conversation, glancing at both of them and then shrugging before backing away once more. As night was a long way off yet, Jin hoped he would busy himself doing something other than staring at or exercising his injured hand. Morbid thoughts did not become that bloodily cheerful Hybrid. < > Four warriors—including the one Talen was searching for—were clustered around the Second, eyes wide as he recounted his adventure with the Derk-ra. To them, perhaps, it was simply a fine tale, but Talen heard the difference in Kor’s tone. Kor did not particularly wish to remember what had happened, and omitted any of the details that would make this less a simple report, and more a good tale. Gruffly, Turoc stalked into their gathering and snapped a hand at the tardy warrior. “Terran says you are supposed to be on watch. Get to it.” The others ignored Talen once their companion had hurried away, studying Kor with wide eyes. “So you truly lost your fingers out in the desert?” “Oh, I dinnae lose them. They’re out there, somewhere.” He gestured vaguely. “Pointing at something, I suspect.” Kor guffawed morbidly, and then cut off as no one joined him. Talen frowned. “Are you feeling alright?” “Of course. Do you want to lend me a hand?” Again that muffled laugh, stopped abruptly when no one else responded. Talen’s eyes narrowed. Then, shaking his head, the warrior spun on his heels and left Kor there. It was definitely time for Kor to speak to Aspen. He found the middle aged warrior with Rometh, a knife, and a pile of wood about his feet. The two men were neatly carving arrows and shitan handles for practice blades. Talen jutted his chin to Aspen. "A word, if you will?" Aspen shrugged, setting the arrow shaft he was working upon aside and rising to his feet. He paused for a moment, stretching, and the crack of joints and creak of leather sounded loudly in the night. He was a large man, not nearly so tall as the Fay-el or, Talen reflected, the Second, but certainly broader of chest than both. In better times, when the tribe could settle down long enough to build forges, Aspen was their blacksmith, making everything from horseshoes to shitan blades. He was also missing the last two fingers of his right hand, and had been for many years after being brutally tortured by the Eloin. That unfortunate encounter had also left him with a severely crooked nose, cords of whip scars over his back and a missing ear, but unfortunately for the Eloin, they'd not only failed to break him, but also to kill him, and Aspen had lived to kill many Eloin in return. Talen rested a hand on the man's upper arm. "Have you met our Second, yet?" < > Kor’s circle of “friends” had dwindled to nearly nothing, thank Kyda. Two lingered near the firepit, working their way through an early-afternoon snack of the previous night’s stew. They ignored him now, and he ignored them, studying his hand until Talen appeared before him with a large man at his side. Kor groaned inwardly but offered a faint, weary smile. “Back already, Talen? And with a friend. You’ll have to tell him the story yourself. Jaara and Joran should be here any moment to collect me.” He still had three Mendings left before he was fully healed. Talen nudged the warrior forward. “I want you to meet Aspen, our blacksmith. You and he have much in common.” He whirled, stalking away and back to the sentry circles. ”That’s Talen for you,” Kor muttered. He sighed. He was growing bitterly tired of recounting his tale. "I suppose you want to hear how I went out into the desert whole, and returned only ninety-nine percent a man?" He laughed dryly, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose in a gesture he was quickly learning from Jin. Leather creaked as the older man shifted positions. "No, I do not need to hear the tale. I think I know well enough what it was like." There was such humor in his gravelly voice that Kor opened his eyes again, glancing at him in confusion. Aspen was crouching before him on the ground now. He held up his right hand, wiggled the two fingers there, then put it down on his knee. Kor's eyes widened in surprise. "Tell you what," Aspen said gruffly. "Instead of telling me your story, mayhap you would like to hear mine?" Kor nodded wordlessly. Aspen gave him a faint smile. “Many years ago, the Shinar massacre killed most of our young men. Newly chieftain, and hounded as he was by the Eloin, Jin needed a scout, not a blacksmith. Unfortunately, I was not well trained.” He shook his head. “Three weeks into our flight away from Shinar, I was spotted and hounds were set on my horse. The Eloin followed soon after.” Kor’s eyes had widened slightly. “Eppa.” “Aye,” Aspen shook his head. “They dragged me before their lord and demanded information. I refused. They flogged me and asked again, and I refused again. They followed that pattern for several hours, until it was clear I would not bend. And then turned me over to an Eloin soldier with a particular skill—torture.” Kor swallowed hard. “He took your…took…” “Not exactly.” Aspen gestured to his face and missing ear. “Those first. Kinsleaf. Floggings. He tried to work it out of me as best he could—where Jin was, how large the tribe was—but I refused.” He leaned forward, eyes darkening, “Though, it was hard to keep saying no. As the hours dragged on, it was terribly hard.” The healer looked ill. “I don’t think I ever wish to meet an Eloin.” Aspen shrugged. “They are easy to kill, if you can catch them on surprise.” He held up his right hand. “This was last. The Eloin made quite sure I understood he chose the right to ensure I could not lift a blade against them, nor hunt for myself, nor escape. He started breaking bones—spaced a point apart. First, my wrist, then my thumb, then each finger at the joint.” He cleared his throat. “Thank Kyda, the other scouts had discovered my horse, gathered up men of the tribe, and backtracked along my trail. They rescued me before the Eloin could do much more damage. But….” The blacksmith shrugged again. “Turoc tried, truly, but those last two fingers—there was no hope for them. He gave me the largest dose of valla he could manage, had a few hold me steady, and took my fingers.” Kor drew two sharp breaths, paling in remembrance of his own time beneath Turoc's knife. "What do you do now that you cannot..." He swallowed, speaking very quietly and looking away from the other man. "Now that you cannot use your hand?" Rough fingers found his chin, turned his face toward Aspen. "I can," the older man said firmly, letting his hand drop. "But your fingers?" Aspen nodded his head. "Are gone, aye. It can be difficult, sometimes, to hold things. I had to learn to pick up a mug, to wield a shitan differently." He looked at Kor appraisingly. "Do you use a longbow?" Kor nodded. "You may need to switch hands when you draw. How about the janin?" Kor quirked a sheepish smile. "Well, if you learn to use it, you will want to use it two-handed or in your right hand only, but that too you should be able to do." He cocked his head. "I've always wanted to test the mettle of a Second. Layole is too well trained, but you... you are still learning, and young besides. I think I could give you a good workout, when you've healed. Show you what a 'crippled' man can do." "I... would like that," Kor said quietly. “Good.” Aspen clapped him on the shoulder, then glanced up abruptly, before returning his attention to Kor’s face with a slight grin. “Your brother is waiting. And not patiently.” Kor swiveled. Joran stood a few feet away—and grinned as his brother glanced at him, crooking a finger. Kor rolled his eyes but obeyed, levering upright. Aspen joined him, stretching stiff muscles once he was on his feet again, before resting a hand on the Second’s shoulder and squeezing firmly. They held each other’s gaze but said nothing. And then Aspen grinned and released him. “I will meet you in the circle, Kor,” he said and swung away, striding back between the tents. Joran cleared his throat lightly and nodded toward their tent. “Jaara will be here soon.” Kor followed his brother inside and stretched out comfortably on his pallet. A few marks later, Jaara stalked into his tent, grumbling. Kor sat up, glancing over her in a quick, assessing look. He couldn’t help it, especially now that he was feeling better. As his eyes wandered up, the Inquisita glared. “Do you want to look at my teeth next?” Kor flashed a grin. Jaara clenched her jaw. “We discussed ribbons and a dance---“ “Several dances---“ “---Nothing else.” “I know that.” “Nothing else.” Kor’s grin broadened and he winked at her. Her eyes narrowed and she slapped a hand to his chest, Gift flaring as soon as she touched him. Kor dropped like a stone. The Second lost the rest of his afternoon in the same pattern. He awakened only long enough to nibble at some bread, or meat, or broth, and then Jaara Mended him and he curled up again. The first time he slept for three points, then a span of two the second time, and finally a brief nap after the third Mend that had him awake and energetic as the sun began to sink below the horizon. Jin was already asleep, exhausted from riding most of the night before and having to lead the tribe all day, so Kor contented himself with sitting outside the tent, studying his healed---but not whole---hand and counting stars until the day dawned once more. As the honor guard began to stir, he worked his way toward the cookfires, where breakfast was beginning to waft its smells through the air. “Ah, Kor. How are you feeling?” Kor froze. That voice he knew far too well. Kor half-turned, and sighed as Terran grinned at him. The blademaster patted his shitan hilts, the smile turning slightly feral. “Headed to the sparring ring, are you? I’m glad you remembered our training regimen.” Kor held up his hand, arching a brow. Terran’s smile did not fade, although he winced slightly. “I’ve spoken to Turoc already, and I checked in on you while you were asleep,” he said. “We must see how much you are capable of, so I know how much work we have before us." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I think Aspen’s blade style will work well for you, especially with your agility. But this is hardly going to help your janin work.” Kor scowled. Terran only chuckled, patting the Second's red hair twice, then reached out as Rowan passed by to snatch a bowl of porridge from her hands with a nod of thanks. He pressed it into Kor’s hands. "Here." Kor glanced at the wooden bowl in his hands, then cocked an eyebrow and glanced up at his Sair. "You're actually letting me eat before a spar, for once?" "I told you," Terran said, taking his shoulders firmly in hand and sitting him down in front of the fire. He crouched beside him. "I already spoke to Turoc. And Jin. And Jaara. Even Aspen. You're fully healed, but you were ill. So... I know you've been up all night. Eat your breakfast before I change my mind, and then we'll work." Kor shrugged, and began chomping down the bowl, barely pausing to taste what he was eating. When he was perhaps three-quarters of the way through, Terran shook his head, then rose and spoke briefly with Rowan. A moment later he returned and handed Kor a second bowl wordlessly. Kor gobbled down that one, as well. And then Terran thumped him on the back, and jerked a thumb toward the practice field. “Enough. You can eat again afterward, if you are still hungry. Time to work.” Kor sighed, but followed after him willingly enough. < > Terran waved a hand curtly at the two warriors already in the sparring circle. They backed away as he approached, stepping over the trampled grass and settling at the edge to observe. Kor scowled at them, but they did not take the hint. The blademaster rolled his eyes. “Come, Kor. I daresay, you’ll do better than you think. You have that blasted Gift, do you not?” Terran ignored his expression and instead unsheathed his shitans. “I’ll start slow, and work up to your normal rhythm. Don’t dilly-dally.” With a deep sigh, Kor stepped to where he pointed and bowed at his opponent. When he came up, Terran was staring at him oddly. “What?” Kor asked. “Nothing. Draw your blades.” Kor obeyed, somewhat. His right hand pulled the shitan free easily, but the left shitan slipped through his hand and clattered to the sand. Kor flushed and bent to retrieve it, only to fumble and drop it once more. “Eppa!” He growled. “This isn’t going to work, Terran.” “Keep trying.” Kor grabbed the shitan, dropped it, grabbed it again, and finally managed to clench his hand around it in a spread-fingered grip. Terran nodded. “Sheath it and do it again.” “Sair.” “Do as I say, ra.” Kor scowled at him, but shoved both shitans into their sheaths and did a repeat performance of fumbling with it. By the time he had managed to draw it and hold it carefully again, Terran had sheathed his shitans and had his arms crossed over his chest. “I will spar you soon. But you need to practice slightly.” The Second glanced at him, eyes darkening. “I need a great deal of practice.” “You do not,” he snapped. “Now, you know this drill. One.” “What?” “First Fundamental, Kor.” His tone sharpened. “One!” Kor struggled to perform the move, cursed when he failed to do so, and growled imprecations toward his Sair. Terran simply arched a brow. “One.” For a solid hour, Kor felt like an unConfirmed ra. He drilled each Fundamental, repeating the same move over and over again until Terran relented and shouted out the next. His Sair allowed him to pause long enough to eat and chug down a waterskin, before herding him back out to the sparring circle. “I’ve already had my hour with you,” Kor grumbled. “Ah…you want me to turn you over to Naftis then?” “No!” Terran arched a brow at the vehemence, but shrugged. “Then quit complaining. It is his time I’m taking.” Sighing, Kor stepped back into the circle and drew his shitan, and fumbled with it briefly—but caught it before it dropped to the ground. The blademaster snorted. “You’re getting better.” “Thanks,” Kor growled. Terran simply grinned, stepped into the circle, and dipped his head. “Ready?” Kor sighed. “Yes.” Slipping into Darting Fish, Terran charged him, though about half the speed as he normally used. Kor performed a quick Diagonal Step and Dust Devil, whipping his right hand shitan in a fast Derk-ra’s Fang. Terran had already sidled around and jerked his own shitan up in a counter Brakir’s Shield, but not high enough. In surprise, Kor jerked his hand aside and only the flat of the blade scored the hit. The blademaster stumbled back. “How in Kyda’s…good gods, Kor!” He swiped a hand at his now-bleeding lip. “And you were worried about not being able to spar.” “How…how did you not…” Terran’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push your luck.” Kor shut his mouth with a snap and instead said quietly, “Ready?” “Yes!” the blademaster growled, and launched at Kor. They whirled around each other, blades teasing toward each other, clashing and then separating once more. Terran pressed him mostly on the right side, leaving his injured hand alone save for a few quick slashes or jabs—which he parried as best he could, focused more on simply holding his grip on the shitan then any sort of bladework with it. They ducked, weaved, and then Terran harried him close. Kor reacted with a Rising Star and then an abrupt slash toward the side of his Sair’s head. Though the blademaster did parry, once again it was too low. This time, the blow was enough to stun the blademaster, and the follow-up slap with the flat of the blade made him stumble to his knees. Kor grabbed his forearms firmly and hauled him to his feet. “Are you hurt?” “No, I’m fine.” Terran shifted in his grip, stepping back and glaring up at his face. “Just surprised is…” His voice trailed off, eyes widening. “Kyda!” “What?” “I’m looking up at you.” "So?" Kor offered a grin. "I am a tall man." Terran's eyes narrowed. "No..." he mused. "I am sure I was taller than you a few months ago." His eyes scaled over Kor assessingly, Kor smirked. "Shall I bare my teeth, too, Sair?" he said cheekily, borrowing the expression but certainly not the tone from Jaara. Terran smacked him lightly over the head. "No, but you can hold out your arms." When his pupil did not immediately obey, the blademaster stepped forward, grasping both of Kor's arms by the forearms and hauling them up to shoulder height. Kor rolled his eyes. "What, are you going to teach me to fly? Because somehow I do not think that will do anything to improve my shitan work." Again, Terran thumped him upside the head. "Your reach is longer, now, too. And I could have sworn I was taller than you." Kor shifted uncomfortably as he found himself facing his Sair's narrowing gaze. Terran grasped his chin, pulling Kor's face close, and turned it right, then left. "Ow…" "How old are you, really?" Terran asked quietly. "What?" Kor squawked. Terran released his chin but grasping the back of his tunic instead. "Come with me." Kor stumbled along, unsure of what, precisely, he'd done to get himself into trouble this time. "Wha--- Where are we going?" "Jin," Terran grumbled. The blademaster shoved him into the chieftain’s tent, and then settled back with his arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular. The Fay-el rose hesitantly from his writing desk, glancing from one to the other. “Did I miss something?” “This Hybrid has been lying to us.” “What!” Kor whirled, stalking toward the blademaster. “How dare you question my honor, you bloody, Derk-ra bred---” Terran jerked a finger into his face, eyes narrowing. “You are not the age you claim.” Kor scowled. “I am twenty-two. What else could I be?” The dark eyes became thin slits. “Sixteen. Maybe seventeen.” “That is ridiculous!” Jin cleared his throat. “Would you kindly explain what you mean, Terran? I hope you have a good reason for defaming my Second.” Light threat colored his tone. The blademaster jerked a hand at the Aquila. “Look at him. He’s taller. At least three or four inches more than he was before.” The Fay-el sighed. “Terran, you have not seen him in months. He only seems taller.” “No, he is. If that is not enough, look at his face. He’s tall, lanky, with some muscles—so he appears older, but look closely. He’s probably only two or so years older than Joran.” Jin sighed and came around his writing desk, stepping closer to Kor. He laid his hands on each shoulder. “Pardon me, Kor,” he said, rolling his eyes and leaning forward to peer at his features—only to stop short. “Kyda…” he murmured. “What now?” “You are taller.” The Aquila rolled his eyes. “Not you too.” “No, you are.” Jin rested his hand atop Kor’s head, then slid the hand to himself. “You’re eye-level with me now. You were here when we first met,” his hand dropped lower, near his chin. “But not any more.” Kor threw his hands up. “Eppa! I am twenty-two. Not sixteen or seventeen. Joran is my little brother by quite a few years.” He glanced at them both. “You have to believe me.” Jin seized his chin and pulled him near, studying his face. After a moment of Kor’s squirming, Jin released him, frowning. “No, you’re not as old as you say. You can’t be.” Kor cursed fluidly. "Well, I don't bloody well know what you want me to say." "I want you to tell me how old you are," Jin said, crossing his arms sternly. "Stop that!" Kor snapped, not at all liking the patronizing tone that had just entered the Fay-el's voice. "I am twenty-two years old. I did not grow any taller; that is impossible. You’re both Star-struck.” Terran sighed, glancing at Jin in exasperation. “Kyda, it makes so much more sense.” “What makes sense?” Kor snapped. Terran’s hand on his head swiveled Kor’s gaze to him. Kor scowled, squirming loose. “How impetuous you are. How energetic.” Jin laughed dryly. “Why he eats so bloody much.” Kor rolled his eyes. “Those are not proof of anything. Kyda… I am a healer. That is not a craft you blasted-well learn overnight, you know. It took years of training. I am twenty-two, and Eppa knows I am barely old enough to have graduated from the---” “You said yourself, once, that your mother was a healer,” Jin said. “And we all know you’re very smart. You learned at home.” Kor threw his hands in the air. “I did not learn anatomy, and surgical techniques, and herbology all from behind my mother’s skirts!” he snapped in exasperation. “Well,” Jin said reasonably, “Then perhaps you were smart enough and had enough of an advantage from your upbringing to be admitted to the school early. In any case, I do not care. What I do care about is that I seem to have a Second on my hands who may technically not have even reached his majority yet.” Kor’s eyes widened. “You… you’re not going to demote me, are you?” “No,” Jin growled. “What is done is done. You passed your Confirmation, and you certainly proved yourself worthy of the position. But still, I want to know how old you really are. Just tell me. I will not punish you.” Kor’s eyes narrowed. “I already have told you---“ Terran sighed. “You are not going to get anything out of this one so easily.” He gazed at Kor for a moment, thinking. “Still, we do need to know how old you are. Kyda… I may have been training you too hard. And I am sure Naftis needs to know, as well.” “Well,” Kor spat, “I’m sorry I cannot be of any help to you.” Jin rubbed his forehead, wincing as though getting a headache. “Terran… He’s your student. Just get him out of here.” He leveled that stern gaze on Kor again. “You will be taking the midday watch from now until you admit your real age to us.” “That is when I normally have lessons with Naftis, and much as I would love to get out of them---“ “Well you will not be continuing with those lessons until you speak up,” Jin said. He frowned at Terran. “You might as well tell Naftis that the lessons are being stopped for the time being.” His eyes narrowed at Kor. “And why.” Kor scowled back. Jin jerked a hand at him. “Go on.” Terran grabbed his forearm and hauled him out of the tent, ignoring his curses and mutters. The blademaster angled toward Talen, who frowned at his approach. He shoved Kor toward the warrior. “By Jin’s orders, he has the midday watch every day, until Jin changes his command. You’re in charge of him.” Kor’s eyes widened. Talen’s grin was nearly feral. “Aye, sar.” “Oh Kyda…” Kor groaned. “Not him.” He started to shift away and was yanked back to his place by Talen, whose grin was broadening. Kor jerked his attention back to the blademaster. “Please, Terran, believe me. I’m not…” “Hush, ra.” “ Terran!” Talen roughly turned him around, shoving a hand into his back. “Go. Get on watch.” Kor swore, twisting in time to see Terran disappear between two tents. He cursed. Talen chuckled, and then nudged his shoulder again. “Get on watch.” < > As Terran stepped closer to him, the loquiri glanced up, eyes wary. One hand nudged Elam behind him. The boy giggled. “It’s just Terran, Naftis. He only looks terrible. He’s not really that bad.” The loquiri frowned, body relaxing. “I would not have harmed him. I was simply expecting someone else.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is Kor? He is quite late.” "Kor will not be coming to you today," Terran grumbled. "Nor at all for the next few days until a certain... matter... is settled." Naftis frowned. "Matter?" He smirked. "What did he do now?" "Lied about his age," Terran said. At Naftis' lifted eyebrow, he elaborated. "He's still growing. He sprang up quite a bit since I saw him last." Naftis frowned in confusion. "So?" Terran tried not to look at him as though he thought the man was stupid. "He told us he is twenty-two. Twenty two! If it were so, he should not still be growing. I am guessing he is sixteen or seventeen. I thought you should know, in case it bears on your lessons." Finally, understanding dawned on Naftis' face, then amusement. He laughed, then shook his head ruefully, rustling Elam's hair when the child glanced up at him. It took Terran a moment to realize the man was laughing at him. "Sar... How old do you think I am?" the loquiri asked. Terran was not sure what, precisely, that had to do with anything, but he studied the young man's face. "Twenty-one?" he ventured. The loquiri's grin broadened. "I am twenty-eight, sar." “Twenty-eight?” Terran scowled. “You’re simply mocking me.” “No, sar. I am that old.” He shrugged. “I am Gifted.” His statement was perfunctory, as if that answered everything. “So?” Naftis studied him for a moment, then took a deep breath. “It is easy to forget that you, and most Dray for that matter, are not Gifted.” He tapped his own chest. “A Gifted man grows slower and takes longer to reach adulthood. He will not age as quickly either, but it means he appears younger than he is, and will continue to grow for some time.” “How long?” Naftis smirked. “I finally stopped growing at twenty-four and I matured early.” “Kyda…” Terran rubbed his temples. “So Kor likely is twenty-two, as he says?” “Aye. If he truly were seventeen, he’d appear to be a year or so younger than his brother. That Kor does not suggests that he is the age he claims.” The blademaster squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll tell Jin. And take Kor off watch—and send him to you if Talen hasn’t ran him ragged.” Naftis nodded. Turning, Terran strode away, but paused after only a few steps to glance back. “You said he will live longer?” “Aye.” “How much?” “Ah…” Naftis rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well…a Gifted man will live to about one hundred, likely more if he stays healthy.” Terran gaped, struck speechless. Turoc, in his late eighties, was one of the oldest men in the tribe—and surely would not live more than a handful of years longer. Naftis smiled faintly. “Kor will likely live to see your great-grandchildren.” “Oh…Kyda-blast it. I need to speak to Jin. Now.” “Send Kor first,” Naftis said lightly. “I suspect you and Jin have much to discuss.” He squeezed his Match’s shoulder gently. “Elam is Gifted too.” Terran’s eyes widened, but he said nothing more, only whirled and stalked back toward the Fay-el’s tent. "Alright," Terran grumbled, as Jin sighed and put his missive down, "I was wrong." The Fay-el rubbed his eyes. "Wrong? How could you be wrong? I know Kor is taller than when I last looked at him." Terran sighed. "Well, in some ways we were right, I suppose. At least about him not yet being grown. I... will explain in a moment. I need to go rescue Kor from Talen." Jin frowned, then nodded. "Fine. Go fetch him, then come back and explain." < > His day had not started particularly well—not with Terran fetching him and drilling him through the Fundamentals—and, Kor reflected ruefully, it was only getting worse. Both the blademaster and the Fay-el insisted he was taller, and thus lying about his age. Kor rolled his eyes. Only a fool would think a full-grown man could also grow in height—at twenty-two!—but then again, they also considered the sparks of his to be a madman’s fancy, at least until he proved it to them. Setting his jaw, Kor continued his stalk across the camp toward the post Talen had given him. “Just have to find a way to prove my age to them,” he muttered. The watch only seemed to get worse. The man he was paired with was a surly, bad-tempered warrior who preferred using the point of his shitan to direct people rather than words. Nor did it help that clumps of bramble bushes were all about, catching in tunics, breeches, and any exposed skin. It was the poison ivy, however, that truly fouled his day. One moment he was wrinkling his nose as he passed upwind of the latrines---curse that bloody Talen!---and the next, he felt something brush against his arm. "Eppa!" he snapped, glancing down at the vine creeping up the tree he'd gotten too close to. For a moment he prayed he was wrong, but he could not fool himself; three elliptical leaflets, deep red this late in the year? Aye, Kyda blast it, it was poison ivy. "When will this day be bloody over?" he muttered. < > Several marks later, Terran’s voice broke into his watch. “Kor. Where are you?” Kor sheathed his shitans and stalked into view, scowling at the blademaster “I’m still twenty-two, Terran.” Terran simply scowled deeper than him. It was a contest Kor could not win. “I know.” Kor’s eyebrows arched. “What?” Terran jerked his hand. “Come here. I’ll explain in a moment.” With a cheeky grin, the Aquila came to his side. “Explain what? That you were wrong?” The barest hint of red blossomed in the blademaster’s cheeks. He shrugged offhandedly and pointed toward the Fay-el’s tent. “I am going to explain to Jin. You are going to find Naftis and have a good, long session.” Kor frowned. Terran frowned back. “You need to understand this Gift of yours. Go on and speak to the loquiri. He’ll explain my mistake. After Naftis is finished with you, report to Jin. Oh, and Aspen has been asking after your health.” The blademaster cocked his head, grinning slightly. “I believe he’d like to thrash you into the ground.” “Wonderful,” Kor said dryly. Terran patted his shoulder. “I know. You’d better hurry. Even I wouldn’t want to keep that touchy loquiri waiting.” Kor, in fact, very much wanted to keep the touchy loquiri waiting. Now that he was free of his bloody watch, there were a few things he needed to see to. The Gift could wait. It could wait until it burned out from disuse, for all he cared. Kor strode into camp, giving the practice circle---where he was sure Naftis was waiting, and would continue waiting for some time in growing annoyance---a wide berth. He ducked into his tent---Joran's originally, but his own now that Turina had insisted her teenage son, no longer needing to tend his older brother, return to her tent---and grabbed a rough sack. Now was as good a time as ever to begin building his stock of healing herbs. By the time he finished, his lesson with Naftis should be well and truly over, and then he could report to Jin as Terran had commanded. By the time the sun had nearly crept below the horizon, Kor returned with most of the herbs he needed. He sorted them out as best he could. Some needed to be brewed or made into tinctures, while others should be dried, or crushed, or otherwise prepared. But at this later hour, and with the smell of supper wafting about—they could wait. He stowed them away in his own tent, and then strolled toward the cookfires. Unlike their journey through the desert, here the wetlands had plentiful food, and was reflected in the varied dishes of each meal, from venison to hare to berries or fish. He ate happily enough, for once uninterrupted by Terran, Talen, or any other warrior, though after his third helping, the women were giving him stern looks and peering at him as if they suspected he was hiding his portions. By the time he had finished, or at least, been driven away, it was well and truly nightfall. Kor strode to Jin’s tent, and peeked his head inside to ensure the Fay-el was sleeping. The Fay-el was certainly not. His eyebrows arched at his Second, a lantern on his writing desk glinting in his emerald gaze. “Come here, Kor.” Just the tone made Kor cringe. He was in trouble again. “Ah…you should be resting, Jin. It’s late.” “Aye, you are quite late,” Jin responded, rising from his desk and crooking a finger at Kor. “Come here.” Reluctantly, Kor stepped closer and stood in the center of the tent. Jin held up a finger, as if counting thoughts. “It is very strange. Besides all of our problems this morning, today was the first day you could practice your Gift with Naftis. But…you see—after releasing you to return to your session, Terran came to me. It was important that I understood you truly were the age you claimed, but your body was not, because of your Gift.” Kor frowned. His Fay-el smiled wanly. “Ah—you don’t know what I mean, do you? It is unfortunate. I’m certain Naftis would have told you of this earlier today.” Kor swallowed. “Ah…Jin…” “See,” the Fay-el continued, “I thought it odd that Naftis would come to me later, requesting you to be released from your watch when Terran had already done so before he came to speak with me. But Naftis has not seen you and Terran released you.” He leaned forward, palms on his desk. “Where were you all day, Kor?” "Gathering herbs," Kor said, without missing a beat. Jin leaned forward slightly, brows knitting. "Gathering... herbs..." Kor's eyes narrowed. "Aye," he said curtly. "I am a healer. We use herbs. I was gathering herbs. With which to heal. Should I not restock my supplies?" The Fay-el was studying him as though he thought something was not quite right, but could not place his finger on it. "But your Gift---" "I was using herbs and needle and knife to heal long before I ever learned of the Gift." Tapping a finger against the desk, Jin studied him. "I’ve not felt your Gift all day." "You're welcome," Kor said. "Normally," the Fay-el continued, as though his Second had not spoken, "I would be glad. But it seems somewhat strange to me." "My Gift is still rewarming," Kor said through gritted teeth. "Hmm." Jin considered that for a moment. "Well. Even I know that that Gift of yours needs to be under control. Do not miss your lesson with Naftis tomorrow. Do not even be late to your lesson with Naftis tomorrow. Got it?" Kor scowled. "You sound like Terran." "Well I am not Terran. I am your Fay-el." Kor’s scowl deepened. “This is a command, then?” Jin steepled his fingers together, eyes narrowed. “That is a direct order, Second. If I find you’ve missed another session with Naftis, I’ll take it as insubordination.” The corner of his mouth curled wryly. “Then, you and Talen can trade stories on what kinsleaf is like.” “You would do that to me? I don’t believe it.” “I would do the same to any tribesman who did not obey me.” Jin stated simply. He stood, stretching stiff muscles, before glancing at Kor. “Have you eaten?” “Aye,” Kor said sullenly. Jin nodded. “Good. Make sure as soon as the honor guard is up and about, you go straight to bed. Do you hear me? And eat a decent breakfast.” Jin smirked briefly, patting his shoulder as he stepped past him. “You’re a growing ra.” Kor frowned at his retreating back. “Jin…that’s not… Where are you going?” Jin shrugged. “Rowan’s tent. I asked her to make something for Caylia. And then I should be with the bard for two points—ah, one point,” he amended at Kor’s stern look. “You need your rest too, Fay-el. Half a point.” “Forty-five marks.” “Done.” Jin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why do I feel like I’m back in Crossroads again?” Kor laughed. “Just go. Give Caylia a goodnight kiss for me.” The Fay-el rolled his eyes and strode away. Kor waited a few moments, to ensure Jin was far enough ahead, before walking after him quietly. Without using Gift to track where Jin was, he felt far more comfortable being near the Fay-el than waiting for his return. < > Jin tucked the bundle under his arm more securely walked to Caylia’s tent. He would normally wait until morning and leave the warm cloak for her to find as she awakened, but he had been too busy hunting down his Second after Kor’s disappearance. After not seeing or speaking with her all day, Jin found himself feeling wistful, and somewhat lonely. He wanted to talk with her now, not sometime tomorrow. As he reached her tent, he cleared his throat and called her softly. The bard stuck her head out, eyes widening and a smile breaking across her face. “Jin—I’ve missed…ah…” He smiled at her and shifted the bundle into view. “I brought something for you.” She flushed lightly and reached out a hand, brushing her fingers over it. “Oh. Thank you. But shouldn’t you—the morning—I mean…” He laughed. “I didn’t want to wait. You need this tonight. Wetland nights are very cold.” Her eyes slid to him, and she smiled broader. “Red trim?” she teased. “Aye,” Jin responded. “And a blanket as well—though no red in that.” He stepped closer. “That’s unfortunate,” she said, voice quieting as he bent toward her. “Why? So you can think of me easier?” His free hand cupped her chin. “Aye,” she rasped, a moment before he kissed her words away. < > "Go to bed," Kor whispered irritably. Jin had already been with Caylia for fifty marks. Finally Jin decided to call it a night. Kor’s watch was quiet and cold. He huddled near the fire closest to Jin's tent, shivering beneath a blanket. Although there were plenty of things he did not like about the Mara, he had to admit he would miss the mild winter nights. It was one of the longest, loneliest nights he had passed yet. He spent most of it brainstorming excuses to give to Naftis and then---when he realized the loquiri was not going to buy any of them---started trying to think of ways to convince Jin not to go through with punishing him tomorrow. He did not think the Fay-el would really poison him with kinsleaf if he did not sit for his stupid lessons with that sour loquiri, but just in case, maybe he should find some herbs to counteract the emetic? The problem was, he reflected bitterly as he walked a circuit about Jin's section of the camp for the seventh or eighth time that night, that he did not know any such herbs, at least not any that grew in these parts. He briefly considered asking Turoc about it quietly in the morning, then caught himself with a sour smile. If he disobeyed, Jin would command that he be punished, but Turoc would be the one to administer the poison. The old healer was hardly likely to give him a remedy as well. Finally he sighed, settling once again before the fire as the first tendrils of dawn light began to creep into the sky. If Jin punished him, he would just have to bear it. Kyda knew he'd survived just fine when he'd given himself a dose of the vile stuff. < > When the honor guard began to stir, Kor rose from his place and trudged to his own tent to rest. He fell asleep promptly, and slept like the dead. When Terran finally roused him, Kor was surprised to see how late it was, compared to their previous sessions. The extra sleep was nice, but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Terran had planned. The blademaster didn’t have a “nice” bone in his body. The blademaster nudged him toward the cookfires, snapping irritably, “Eat.” “You’re letting me eat first again?” “Do I force Duncan or Joran to fight on an empty belly?” He shoved his shoulder harder. “Go eat and then report to me.” Kor grinned. Whatever Terran’s reasons, he’d enjoy it for now. No sense in arguing when food was waiting. “Aye, Sair.” The woman who had driven him away the night before insisted he sit right nearby, so she could make sure he actually ate what he was given. He was halfway through his first bowl when thoughts of kinsleaf stalled him. If Jin did not choose to punish him in that way, then he could always eat more later. But if he did—whatever he ate now would not stay in his stomach anyway. Kor swallowed, appetite sliding away. He set the bowl down and headed for the practice circle. The blademaster flicked an annoyed glance his way. “That was short.” “I am not very hungry.” “You eat like a string of horses. How could you possibly not be hungry?” Kor shrugged. Terran snorted. “Fine. I just hope you have enough energy for lessons today.” He glanced at Kor’s arm quizzically. “Poison ivy?” “Where Talen assigned my watch.” “Ah…” The blademaster actually looked embarrassed for a moment, and then the expression vanished. “Someone else is sparring you this morning, though I’ll watch to make sure you stay in Fundamentals. For now, you’re going to drill for a while. One.” “Terran.” “Don’t argue. Until you can do them flawlessly, I’m going to drill you each day. One.” Terran drilled him through the Fundamentals, criticizing every move and scowling when he stopped, frequently, to sip at his waterskin. He did not stop him, however, and Kor assumed it was because the blademaster knew he was still recovering from bloodloss. When he finally motioned for him to take a break, Kor flopped down in the grass and rubbed at the spreading rash on his arm. “Who’s sparring me today, Sair?” he muttered, taking a swig from his waterskin once more. “I am,” a rough voice said. Kor twisted, eyebrows arching. The blacksmith stood there, shitans at his waist, smirking at him. “Are you ready, Second? I’ve a mind to see what you can do.” Terran beamed at him. “Ah, Aspen. Aye, he’ll be ready in just a moment. Let him catch his breath. And do remember what Naftis told us.” Kor frowned, glancing from one to the other. “What?” “You’re still growing,” Terran retorted. “I can’t beat you quite as terribly. Anymore than I can push Joran beyond his abilities.” “Ah…” Kor paused, unable to decide if he should be upset that they would train him as if he were a youth, or relieved that Terran would not thrash him into the ground. The spar began slow, with Aspen lightly tapping blades and feeling out his defense. Unfortunately, as the blacksmith settled into a rhythm, the spar’s speed increased. Nor did Aspen avoid his injured hand, as Terran had before. Instead, he disarmed him repeatedly, left shitan flying aside, only to be kicked back into the circle by the blademaster. Kor quickly found Aspen had no problem at all using both shitans with fluid grace, even with his missing fingers. “How…can you…do that?” Kor wheezed. Aspen grinned, flaring a Darting Fish toward Kor’s eyes. “Practice. And improvising.” “What?” “My Fundamentals are changed slightly.” Scorpion’s Sting followed by Offered Bowl ended the conversation as Kor sprawled on his back, wheezing. Aspen chuckled above him and sheathed his shitans. “You’re fast. Once I start teaching you some of my adapted Fundamentals, you should be a terror.” “Wonderful,” Kor groaned, rolling to his feet. Terran studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then jerked his hand aside. “That’s enough for today. Go eat some lunch, and then report to Naftis.” “Aye, Sair,” Kor could not quite keep the glumness from his tone. The blademaster’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not that terrible,” he rolled his eyes, “If anything, he’s nicer than I am. What he teaches does not leave bruises.” Kor squeezed his injured hand into a loose fist. No, it takes fingers. Terran pointed curtly. “Go. Eat and then find Naftis.” Kor's eyes narrowed into faded slits of mixed irritation and amusement. "Terran, I do believe you may be coddling me." "Coddling? I do not coddle anyone, even younglings. Ask Joran, or Duncan." Now Kor bristled in annoyance. "I am much older than both of them." "Your body is not," Terran smirked. "I know how to train young warriors. Now go." Kor went, lip curling in a silent snarl at this neverending madness. He did not, however, report to Naftis, or go eat---although he was hungry again---or even assign himself duties. Instead, he ran his mind through loops of how disobeying Jin would play out, and thought about whether or not he should try to escape punishment, then sighed. His own personal feelings aside, Kor knew and understood that Jin could not afford to allow him to get away with insubordination. He could not disobey his Fay-el without consequences, not if he wanted to risk encouraging other tribesmen try to do the same. He would not allow them to challenge Jin's authority. Nor would he allow Jin to bully him into using his Gift. He knew---much better than the Fay-el---that the bloody "Gift" was far more trouble than it was worth. Besides, he was a tribesman of Shinar now. Dragonians did not have the Gift. He reported to Turoc's tent, feeling almost ill with frustration and trepidation, but determined. The healer glanced up at him as he ducked inside, and smiled gently at him in greeting. "Ah, Second. Are you feeling unwell? Does your hand ache?" Kor felt the blood rising in his cheeks and his heart sinking into his belly. "I... ah...am not here for the hand, but rather for... kinsleaf." Turoc frowned at him. "Whatever do you need kinsleaf for?" "Insubordination, I guess," Kor said. "Look, this is by the Fay-el's orders, so... just get me a bucket, will you?" The old man's bushy white eyebrows knit together. He studied the Second for a moment. "I will speak to Jin." "I don't like this either, but his orders were clear, Turoc. You will obey." "You are too young, Second," Turoc said equally sternly. "A ra’s body is not simply a miniature of an adult’s. Naftis says---" Kor rolled his eyes in amazed exasperation, kinsleaf briefly forgotten. "Bloody Naftis again? I don't know what he thinks he's... Look, sar, I am an adult, I swear, and---" "The loquiri says you will not be grown for another two to six years." Kor spluttered in laughter. "You are all Star struck! Kyda!" He overturned the vial in his mouth with a grimace, then flicked it to the ground. "There." Turoc sighed in dismay. "Make sure you drink plenty of water, young man, so that---" "I know!" Kor snapped. "I am a healer too, and..." He trailed off, swallowing. The healer massaged his wrinkled brow. "I will get you a bucket." < > "Indeed?" Jin demanded lowly, face settling into a stony scowl of displeasure. Naftis, resting a hand casually on Elam's head, nodded with an irritated frown of his own. "Aye, my lord. That is two days he has not even had the courtesy to come to me with so much as a shallow excuse. Shall I go fetch him, or..." "No," Jin snapped, rising to his feet. Elam looked up at him, eyes wide, and Jin rested his hand against his son's cheek briefly to reassure him. "I will deal with him myself." Jin stalked through the camp, sweeping his gaze from side to side for the tell-tale red hair. As more and more time passed with no sign of Kor, his irritation grew. He could not imagine what could have sparked this rash of disobedience. One mistake about his age should not have been enough for Kor to rebel. If it were a matter of dislike toward Naftis, surely that could be overcome as well. He had spent a few sessions with the loquiri before they left for Apollar. Why should their return change that? Finally, swearing under his breath, Jin stepped into Turoc’s tent, intending to tell him just what to do to Kor if he saw him. And stopped short. Kor was there already. His Second glanced at him and swiped a sleeve across his mouth. His paler features and the hand pressed to his belly told the rest of the story. Behind him, Turoc glared at his Fay-el, giving him a look that—if he had still been a ra—would have preluded a sound switching. “What?” Jin growled. “He is in no condition to be treated in such a manner,” the healer said, tone as scolding as his expression. “Not so soon after his recent injury, and certainly not with him a ra.” “I am not—“ Kor twisted, reaching for the bucket, and Jin looked away. The Fay-el crossed his arms and frowned back at Turoc’s disapproving look instead. “It was a simple request. He must learn control of his Gift, or he could harm himself with overuse or the damage such as Ravin has.” Jin scowled at his Second as Kor finished, sitting back on his heels and holding his stomach once more. “I made the request an order, because surely my Second would not be stubborn or foolish as to disobey his Fay-el. I should not need to make an example of him—or so I thought.” The Fay-el stepped closer, bending down slightly to give Kor a stern glare. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” "I think... I think I'm going to be sick on your boots." Jin swayed back, disgust passing over his face. Then he buried one hand in Kor's fiery hair, tilting his Second's face up to look directly into his defiant blue eyes. Kor clenched his teeth together as Turoc barked something angrily behind them. "Fine then. I do not know what your problem is, Second, but I do know this; You will obey me, if I have to have Turoc dose you every night with kinsleaf to get you to heed me." "Sire!" Turoc snapped, but Jin interrupted whatever he was going to say. "Understand?" he demanded, giving his Second's head a good shake. "Don't do that," Kor snapped. Jin lifted a hand to strike his disrespectful Second, but Kor's face had paled again, and not in fear of his Fay-el. "Let me go let me go," Kor said hurriedly, one hand scrambling around beneath him for his bucket. Jin released him with a grimace, and Kor dropped his head and began to be ill once again. Turoc's hand found Jin's arm. "Sire, it is time for you to go." Jin's eyes narrowed. "I am Fay-el, not---" "And I am his healer. I will send him to you when it is time for him to be on duty. You may speak to him on this matter then." < > They did not speak. Jin scowled as he approached and pointed sternly to a place near his tent, before whirling and ducking inside. For a brief moment, Kor considered stalking within to argue with his Fay-el, but the idea faded before he was halfway there. The argument would only lead to why he had disobeyed in the first place, which Jin would not understand. Nor was he quite willing to share it just yet. Instead, Kor settled glumly—with a belly still upset—at the tent door and crossed his arms. The night was long. His stomach churned and he came to know intensely how Talen had felt. He was thankful that he would not have to ride in the morning, at least. He circled restlessly through the camp once more, running options through his head again. Just like last night—nothing had changed. Jin was as much in a corner as he was, unless the Fay-el could be convinced that Naftis was not the best teacher. Or if Naftis were to choose not to teach him. But neither were likely. At least if this continued for very long, Turoc himself would forbid more kinsleaf. Though it begged the question as to what Jin would move to as punishment. < > The next morning Jin emerged from his tent, stared down at him for a moment with his face utterly expressionless, then stalked toward the cook fires. Kor scratched his arm glumly, not having the energy or desire to rise and follow. But then Terran was standing over him, frowning. "What is wrong with you?" "Does it matter?" Kor muttered. Terran frowned. "Eat your breakfast. We'll drill in half a point." Kor rose slowly, wrapping his blanket around himself against the morning chill. "Great." Kor ate, and managed to keep down the porridge a mildly-concerned Rowan brought him. Turoc came briefly, taking Kor's chin in hand and turning his head right and left, peering into his gaze critically. "You seem to be well enough, ra. You should probably not spar, though. At least not until after you've slept." Kor shrugged. Turoc sighed and hobbled away. The Second rose and went to Terran. The blademaster hounded him for a half point, before pointing toward Kor's tent. "Just... go to bed." Kor went, collapsing into exhausted sleep. He awoke several points later feeling greatly improved, but with a growing unease in his belly that had nothing to do with kinsleaf. He emerged into the late afternoon sunlight to find his Fay-el waiting for him, arms crossed. Jin glared at him. "So, are you ready to obey me, and go to your lessons?" "Not... really..." Kor muttered, heart sinking. Jin's eyes narrowed. "I do not want to punish you, Second." "But you will," Kor said quietly. "Not if you go to Naftis." "I am not going to Naftis." A muscle in Jin’s jaw tensed. “I do not understand what is wrong with you,” he growled. “It makes no sense to me why you should so blatantly rebel against my authority.” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Did I say something? Did I do something that somehow…” He sighed again, and then shifted his gaze to his Second. “Perhaps Naftis has terribly offended you. Kyda knows the man is not easy enough to get along with. I wanted to strangle him myself at times.” Kor looked away. “No, nothing like that,” he responded quietly. “I simply do not wish to be trained any further with my Gift.” “You are disobeying my authority over a simple dislike for more training?” “Aye.” “And if Elam should choose to no longer learn his letters?” Kor swiveled his gaze to his Fay-el, ice-blue eyes narrowing. “Elam is a child.” “You are as well.” Kor rose to his feet. “I am not!” he snapped. “I have killed men and beasts, been Confirmed, and seen twenty-two years of life. I am not a child any longer and I bloody well wish everyone would quit saying that I am.” Jin scowled, voice rising into a louder tone. “You are certainly acting like a ra. I am asking you—for my sake!—go to Naftis. Kyda! I happen to care enough about you that I’d rather not see you dead or worse because you do not wish more training.” Kor’s gaze shifted to something behind Jin’s shoulder, and then back to his Fay-el. His eyes narrowed into a stubborn look, jaw set firm. “I will not go to Naftis.” “By Kyda, you will if I have to drag you there myself!” Jin took a step forward. A gentle hand caught his shoulder, pulling him back. “No, Jin,” Caylia murmured. “Let him go.” Jin stepped away from her. “This is not your concern. It is between me and my rebellious Second.” Kor’s head jerked up defiantly, but there was something else in his eyes. Jin paused at the look. Caylia grabbed his arm again, free hand rubbing his shoulder lightly. “Please Jin, trust me. Let him go.” “Caylia…” “Trust me.” Jin bit his lip and then, frustrated, snapped a hand at Kor. “Just go. Get out of my sight.” Kor fled. Jin watched him go for a moment, jaw stiffening, then rounded on Caylia. "What is the meaning of this?" Caylia closed her eyes for a moment. "Jin..." "What?" he snapped. "What? Why do you interfere with my discipline of my Second?" Her eyes darkened. "Surely he has been disciplined enough." It was the sharpest he had ever heard her speak, to him, to anyone. It struck him speechless. "Windrunner, Jin! He is... Kor is frightened." Jin threw his hands up in the air. "Frightened? He is not frightened, just stubborn, used to having his way---" "No Jin, he's frightened," she replied, softly yet firmly, green eyes flashing. "How can you not know him well enough to tell? I can see it even without my Gift. And when I asked him if I could try my Gift on him, it only confirmed it. He is frightened." Jin deflated a little. He did not want to argue with her. It left him feeling ill inside. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, struggling for a level tone. "What do you think he is frightened of? Kinsleaf? He should..." Caylia sighed. "He chose kinsleaf over going to Naftis. I do not think that is what is bothering him. Nor your displeasure. I think he is honestly afraid of Naftis. Or of Naftis' lessons. In other words...the Gift or something related to it. Frightened enough that he would rather risk your anger, rather be ill all night, than obey you." She touched his arm. "He respects you, Jin, he wouldn't take that lightly.” Jin thought about that for a moment. "Still, he needs to overcome his fear and obey me." "Punishing him is not going to help him get over his fear. It will only compound it," she pointed out reasonably. "I wouldn't have to punish him if he would just listen to me! Kyda! Even if I were not his Fay-el, the way he disregards the words of his elders is---" Her brow arched, amusement in her voice. "His elders? He is, what, four or five years younger than you, nothing more." Jin frowned. It was all so new and confusing. "Naftis says he is still a ra, among the Gifted. A child both mentally and physically, whatever the experiences granted to him by his years. He is too young to know what is best for him." Her eyebrows lifted even higher. "Really? I am Gifted too, Jin. And a year his junior. Am I a child as well, too young to choose my own way?" She reached up, stroking his cheek gently with the back of her knuckles, face soft but green eyes very serious. He felt the blood rising in his cheeks. "Ah, no, But you... You act like an adult. He doesn't." She cocked her head slightly, tugging gently on a lock of his hair. "He doesn't? Perhaps you only think he is acting childish, because his will interferes with your own." She smiled. “Did you think him a child, before you learned that the Gifted age differ |
| The tribe packed up in short order, moving again. Caylia glanced back over her shoulder at the Eloin lord. Slumped over his horses neck, and tied to the saddle, he hardly looked dangerous. In fact in the tent earlier when she had first spoken with him, she was surprised by how genial he was, or rather was more genial than she expected. Except for that trying to escape part. Turning back, she spurred Lunra forward, out of the group of women. Jin’s honor guard made room for her without hesitation as she pulled her horse aside his. “Jin, I need to speak with you for a moment.” Kor, on the Fay-el’s other side, fell back but she shook her head. “No it’s fine, it doesn’t have to be private.” Jin flashed her a welcoming smile, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. She knew, from Kor, that he had slept well and awakened in a better mood, but still insisted on writing the names in the book. He nudged his horse closer to her, reaching for her hand. “What do you need, Ly?” She pulled her hand away. “With the Eloin lord here among us, we should be careful, you and I, in how we are around each other.” He gave her an odd look and she lowered her voice. “If they figure out I’m someone important to you…they can use me to get to you. I don’t want that. So, in public I should be nothing more than a Settar bard. My commission was a gift to you from Chrys. Since bards have not only been musicians and scholars, but have served as advisors before to some of the Maran Fay-el, it gives me enough freedom to go where I please, and of course play for you and advise you in the privacy of your own tent. I wanted to warn you before I started acting, well, weird.” Jin nodded. “I see.” That impish look gleamed faintly in his eyes. “So no more using you as my kissing doll then?” he said in a low voice. Kor snickered. She flushed. “Jin!” A true smile spread across his face. “Aye then. I will behave. If you promise to play for me often.” “As much as I can without making it look strange.” She flicked a glance back over her shoulder again. “Every evening for sure. And of course for advisement.” She gave him a hard look. “Don’t abuse it. Also…do you speak Eloin or read it?” “No. Save perhaps a few ah…nasty terms for my race. Kor has a light knowledge of it, and Aspen, but that’s all I know of. ” His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?” She chuckled. “Me? I am not ‘up to’ anything. I just think it would be a great boon to you if you knew it, or at least understood it…especially if your enemies thought you didn’t.” She flashed a grin. “I understand it and read it, and I have access to books and one of the greatest libraries in the Mara. I am your humble servant, Fay-el. Something to think on, especially if you get tired of listening to me play so often.” She nodded her head respectfully. “Thank you for your time, as always.” Her eyes danced with amusement as she pulled Lunra away. ~*~ The tribe had circled south again, and forged their way back, deeper into the Kaama forest and staying closer to the Mara than true Dragonia. They called a halt early afternoon, setting up the wheel like camp. Caylia unloaded her small tent easily, taking only a few moments to pitch it and tie the edges down with twine. As she was moving the rest of her belonging inside a gust of wind caught the edges of paper sticking out between the pages of a small bound book and she caught them before they were lost into the trees. My letters...this one was important too… The seal like blood was still broken but letter unread. She cursed herself silently. Something sealed should have been read and dealt with immediately, it wasn’t often after all, they bothered having a letter find her. She made her way to where Rowan had start a small campfire. All around the camp similar fires were springing up while gusts of wind were coming from the North, sending tongues of flame jumping and whisps of smoke trailing through trunks. {i]It’s going to shift soon, she thought idly, pulling one of two folded pages from the envelope and settling between Rowan and Jaara. Far off a small family was setting up their own tent. “Someone should tell them they might want to move their tent,” she said idlly. “The wind’s in the process of changing direction and the smoke will fill them....” A warrior nearby nodded. “Aye, deana.” Caylia blinked and turned her head. “No you don’t have to. It was just a sug…” but he was already striding off across camp, ‘gestion,” she finished lamely and sighed. “Nevermind I guess.” Rowan, drawing a needle as if out of the air, chuckled and began mending a sleeve. Caylia shook her head, unfolded a page. As she began skimming, her breath caught and her heart froze in her chest. She rose abruptly, crumpling the paper tightly in her fist before she realized what she was doing, the sounds of the world around her dulling. “Caylia?” She started, blinked. “Hm?” Jaara was frowning at her. “Are you alright?” “You look a little pale, dear,” Rowan added. The bard shook herself, and smiled weakly. “I’ll…I’ll be fine. I need to play.” She swallowed, tightening her grip on her harp strap. Nodding more to herself than to the others she disappeared toward the edge of camp. ~*~ Aretas sighed, shifting his weight with discomfort. His head pounded as if someone had used it for a ritual drum, and his stomach was reminding him quite unhappily of the distance between his last meal and now. Turoc had not dosed him with the whiskey anew yet, but he had securely tied him to the tent pole once more. Though he was alone within the tent, he could hear the guards outside shifting and murmuring. He knew some Dragonian, thanks to his advisers, but his knowledge was limited enough to make most of their conversation of no use to him. Thus, he did not quite understand what the sudden commotion was, nor why they were shouting and a dog howling and barking, but he did hear the tramping of their feet as they moved away. Aretas arched his back up immediately and hauled on the bonds, ignoring the queasiness in his belly. They had not bound his feet again yet. He kicked out and writhed. Come on. Please give. Just a few inches. His wrists were afire with pain once more, healing skin already rubbed raw once more. A soft patter snapped his attention sharp and he dropped to the ground, head down. A hand clutched his chin, bringing his head up. Aretas tensed, expecting the Fay-el. And then yelped, jerking back. His skull connected with the tent pole, and he winced. Eyes as blue as his own studied him back, mouth creasing into a frown in the darkened features. “Zylon?” Aretas shook his head and squinted at the man—no, boy. He was too short to be a full-grown man. “Who are you?” The boy grinned. “Elam.” He cocked his head. “Who are you?” He studied the boy slowly. “How…how did you come to be here?” Elam squared his shoulder’s proudly, as best as a young boy could “I’m a Dragionian.” He studied the other again. “You don’t look very dangerous. I figured you were important ‘cause I saw all the guards, then I snuck in!” he added with a hint of pride. “You know, you wear your hair funny.” “Do I now? Have you never seen someone braid their hair like this?” Aretas swept his eyes across the boy’s slim form. There were hints of other blood in him, the high cheekbones and skin, but he appeared nearly pure Eloin otherwise. How had he managed to be in a pure-blood Dragonian camp? “Only the women,” Elam responded. “And Naftis, but his is smaller.” Aretas frowned. “Naftis?” The word was Dragonian, but if he wore a braid…an Eloin taking a Dragonian name? A banished lord perhaps? That might explain how skilled Jin seemed to be at evading him. “My loquiri.” Elam caught his hair. “His isn’t the same as mine though. Like yours. Was your mother Maran too?” “No.” Aretas tried to pull his head out of the reach, but the boy did not release him and instead yanked on the braid slightly. The lord winced and held still. “Your eyes are like mine too.” He cocked his head once more. “Are you sure your mother was not a T’Ollo?” “I’m sure.” Aretas’ eyes narrowed. “Was yours?” “Aye. That’s where I get my hair and my eyes, cuz I don’t look like Jin at all.” Aretas stilled. He swallowed hard. “Jin? Fay-el Jin?” “Uh-huh.” The boy grinned widely. “My Da.” The lord shook his head. “He is not your Da.” “He is too!” “No, he is not. Someone like me was.” The boy frowned. “Nuh-huh. Jin is my Da, and my Ma was a Maran. That’s why I don’t look as Dragonian as Joran.” “If my Ma wasn’t Maran, then why do we have the same eyes? The same hair?” “Because…because…” his frown was deepening, “that’s just how it is! Kor has my eyes too!” Kor. The Hybrid Sorcerer. “He is a Hybrid.” “He’s part of the tribe,” Elam replied, tone shifting between discomfort and the need to prove this stranger wrong. “He’s not…you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He seemed about to say something more but paused, eyes shifting to the tent flap. As if on cue it opened and someone else stepped inside. Aretas breathed a momentary sigh. Not Jin, but someone else. A Maran judging by the coloring with a long braid down his back. As if on cue, it opened and someone else stepped inside. Aretas breathed a momentary sigh. Not Jin, but someone else. A Maran judging by the coloring with a long braid down his back. The relief was short-lived. The Maran stalked toward him, eyes narrowed with gleaming distrust. He grabbed Elam’s shoulder and firmly pushed the boy behind him. “Naftis,” the boy protested. “I was only lookin’ and being curious.” This Naftis said something in Dragonian to the Hybrid and the boy wilted slightly, as if he had been scolded. Aretas studied his features. If this was Naftis, then he was certainly no Eloin lord, though his slender queue did resemble Aretas’ own Lord’s Cut slightly. His fingers curling around Aretas’ throat cut the rest of his observations short. Naftis hauled him up the pole. The Eloin gagged, kicking his dangling feet as best he could and eyes widening in surprise. Naftis slammed his head into the pole and then released him. He crumpled to the ground at the man’s feet. “Do not trouble my Match,” Naftis hissed. “Do not speak to him, do not even look at him, or—Jin’s captive or no—I will snap your neck and leave your body to the Derk-ra. Do you understand?” Aretas nodded hurriedly. Naftis’ eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Good.” He whirled on his heel. “Come, Elam.” “But Naftis…” One hand on his shoulder and another against his back, the Maran forced Elam to stumble ahead of him and out the tent. Aretas groaned, swallowing around a now-sore throat, and then groaned louder as Turoc stepped through the tent flap. The healer chuckled and held up a flask. “Good night, Eloin.” ~*~ She was looking for something to distract her, anything to distract her from that niggling worry at the back of her mind, the one she was terrified to touch. To close to camp to play what she wanted to play on her harp, yet with the Eloin danger to close the sentries had actually stopped her when she tried to go beyond the sentry circles. So she wandered through camp. On her third pass she heard a scrabbling nose, the flick of a tent flap, and weak protests. She turned. Naftis and young Elam had appeared from Turoc’s tent, the latter shouting his loquiri and glare and a stern frown. “I don’t want to hear it,” the loquiri growled, firmly the boys shoulders. “You are not to go near him.” “You can’t order me…” “You. Are not. To go near him.” The loquiri’s face was very near to the boy’s own. Caylia frowned. What had the Eloin done? Physically the boy was unharmed, but beneath his exterior was a growing unease, told in the slight tension in the jaw the change in the air around him. She concentrated for a moment, gladly pushing her own tensions aside. A high flute jumping sporatically though the softer, more playful tones. She said nothing while Naftis’s hands tightened on the boy’s shoulders. “I can do what I please. I am going to work with Kor, the guards will not let you in again. And if you cause a distraction…” he trailed off, but whatever he said through his link made Elam look away, mostly in defiance, and a little in fear. With a nod and another look the loquiri turned on his heel and strode in the direction of Kor’s tent. With raised brows Caylia watched him go. Elam grumbled something to himself, kicking a small pebble out of the bent and crushed grass. She approached and rested a light hand on his back. “Elam, if you don’t mind, what happened in there? Would you tell me the story?” “Nothing to tell.” He scuffed the grass again. “I was talking to that Eloin, Are-ta-as.” “Aretas,” she corrected mildly. The boy flushed and then shrugged beneath her hand. “Aretas. Naftis didn’t like it.” “He has a good reason to feel that way. Some Eloin are very dangerous.” She patted his shoulder lightly. “Is that why you’re upset—because Naftis was upset?” “Not exactly.” Elam glanced at her then, cocking his head. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” “No,” Caylia smiled. “Of course not.” “Then…do I….” He looked away from her gaze, squared his shoulders, and gave her his full focus. “Do I look like an Eloin?” She raised her brows. So that was it. Jin had said he didn’t know about what had happened to his mother, and now with Aretas in camp…she was honestly surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. She nodded. “Aye, a little. A little Eloin, a little Maran. Your face especially looks like my Fay-el’s. Your uncle.” His shoulder’s dropped. “Oh.” She crouched down to eye level. “You probably confused Aretas.” She paused. “That’s what’s bothering you isn’t it.” “No.” Elam said. “Aretas thought I was…he said that…” the boy bit his lip. “He said that someone like him had to be my mother or my father. But that can’t be true. Jin is my Da and a Maran was my ma.” His eyes swiveled up to her, voice softening. “Right?” Caylia took a deep breath. “Let’s…let’s go sit somewhere, yes?” She nudged the boy’s shoulder and they found their way to an abandoned campfire. “In a way, you’re right,” she said, sitting next to him. “In a way…Aretas is right. Jin is your Da in everything but blood and Karli, the Maran was your Ma.” Color drained from his cheeks. “Jin is not my Da?” “He is your Da in all the ways that count.” She rubbed his shoulder soothingly. Elam shivered beneath her hand. “Then…who is my Da?” Caylia swallowed, biting her lip. That information would not do well coming from her. “That you need to ask your—ah, Jin.” The boy’s shoulders drooped farther and he ducked his head, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion loosened his hair and blonde strands draped near his face. Elam gently grabbed the tips, pulling it up to his face, before straightening to study the bard. Open hurt flooded his eyes, shortly followed by tears. “It was an Eloin, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “Just like Aretas. Just like all the others who hurt people, and kill, and destroy and…” his breath caught. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Hush now. Not all Eloin are bad people. Dragonian’s kill Eloin too and I’m sure somewhere there’s a little Eloin boy who thinks Dragonians hurt people too. Would you say that’s true?” “No, but…” “Blood is nothing. It’s just an excuse people use to further their own interests. Before the Dragonian tribe that became the T’Ollo came to the Mara there were people there first. Some fierce battles took place but eventually the modern day Maran’s became dominant. There are many writings about that original Dragonian tribe and how fierce they were. I have that same blood, maybe a bit of both in me, and am I really fierce?” He studied her carefully and shook his head. “You see? It only means something to the foolish. What matters is who you are, and the people who care about you are your true family, true people.” She took another deep breath, a hollowness in her throat growing. “Did you know I don’t know who my parents are? I was left at the steps of the School when I was two…so I may have a drop of Eloin blood in me for all I know. Anyways, the people who...who raised me,” her voice broke a little and she coughed. “I didn’t really see them as my parents but still…they molded me and shaped me into what I am now, not some silly blood. I just found out one of them, the Uhl, died and…and I realized how important they were.” Ru’s second letter, still unopened almost burned. Caylia shrugged it off and squeezed his shoulders. “You’re a child of many people Elam. There is probably a lot more to the Eloin then just hurt. They have families too, they love, they fear…but don’t forget you are also part of these people here.” She gestured to the camp around her. “And much more a part of these people than anything else.” “But then…why did Da,” he coughed, face twisting in slight misery, “…did Jin hide it from me, if it’s not important? Why does the Keeper speak of Eloin…Eloin Hybrids so terribly?” She gently nudged his head up. “Because they are human too, and hurt and fear and love. They should have told you, ra, but perhaps they were afraid that it would hurt you, or make you not love them.” “Can they love me?” “Oh Elam,” Caylia dropped to eye level again and hugged him close. “Don’t you remember how hard Jin tried to get you back from the Guild? How he has hugged you and talked to you and treated you? Why do you think he did that?” He did not answer, but she felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. She smiled and pulled away, studying his features. “Well?” “They do love me, even with my…” Elam looked away. “I want Naftis,” he murmured. She smoothed his hair. “Okay, I’m sure he’s on his way. Now,” she held him with her eyes, “you need to talk to Jin about this.” His voice was quiet. “I don’t want to.” “Elam…you need to. It will make you feel better. I promise.” “I…I guess so.” The boy did not look convinced. She squeezed his shoulder gently. “I know so.” Caylia glanced up and then smiled faintly at the approaching loquiri. She backed away from Elam carefully. Before Naftis was halfway near, Elam turned to face him and moved into his outstretched arms. The loquiri rubbed his back with one hand, and glanced at Caylia with a mixture of concern and uneasy anger. “He puzzled it out, didn’t he?” “Aretas said some things, and he asked if Jin was his Da and a Maran was his Ma,” she sighed wearily. “I wasn’t going to lie to him. He deserved to know before this. He needs to talk to Jin or…Jin needs to talk to him. Or something.” She gestured vaguely. “Aye,” Naftis said slowly, looking down on the blonde head. “But not now.” “Yes now.” The loquiri’s eyes narrowed and she ran a hand over her face. She was tired, exhausted, from her own sorrows and Elam’s strained emotions. “Okay, not this instant but before the end of the day. Your match won’t feel any better until he gets some closure. You know that.” After a moment he nodded reluctantly. “Aye…aye you’re right.” He stroked Elam’s head. “Come ra, let’s find something to eat.” He nodded to Caylia. “Thank you.” “Of course.” |
| "Now what?" Jin growled as---who else?---Kor appeared in his tent, smirking. "A rumor passes about the camp," the Second said, waving one hand vaguely. "A little bird told me---" Jin rolled his eyes. "What, Kor? What?" "There is going to be a wedding. Ferna and some warrior named, ah, Raerth. Reerth? Something like that. And you know what that means." The Fay-el frowned at him. "The mother of your child is wedding another man?" Kor shrugged, then grinned broadly. "Which means there is going to be a fete!" At Jin's blank look he continued. "With ribbons... A certain Inquisita made a certain promise, remember?" Jin sighed. "Oh get out, will you?" Kor bared his teeth. "I have to go tell Jaara. She'll be so excited, I'm sure." "Good. You do that." As Kor sauntered out of the tent, Naftis and Elam ducked inside and the mood immediately darkened. The loquiri and Second took a moment to glare at one another---although Kor's humor did not seem to take much of a dent---and Naftis grumbled, "I thought I told you to practice with the top?" Kor rolled his eyes. "I had business to attend to, first." He winked at Jin, who gestured impatiently for him to get out. Without another word, the Second left. Jin looked over Naftis and the welcome sight of his son, and then his face fell at Elam's expression. The child looked as though he were on the edge of tears, bright blue eyes red-rimmed. "Oh ra, what is wrong?" Jin asked, opening his arms with only a slight questioning glance Naftis' way. Elam snuggled into Jin’s embrace, shoulders shuddering as if he were suppressing sobs. The loquiri winced, but did not react otherwise to the boy’s distress, though his hand twitched nervously at his side. Jin rubbed his son’s back gently and glanced past him to Naftis, eyebrows arching. The loquiri shifted his weight and then responded in a flat voice. “He spoke to Aretas.” Oh Kyda…. Clarity burst on him in a flash of understanding. The boy was ten years old. It had been pure luck that he had not puzzled out the truth already. Jin pushed his son back and studied his face. Elam’s lower lip trembled, and his eyes were wide. “Cay..Caylia said to talk…talk to you, Da…Jin.” He looked ready to burst into tears again. “I don’t know what to call you!” “Shh.” Jin stroked fingers through his hair, nudging the boy’s head toward him until he was leaning against his chest. “You will always be my son.” “But…but I’m not…I’m—“ “You are my son,” Jin said fiercely. He hugged the boy closer, rubbing his back in a soothing circle. “No matter who your father was, or what you do, or anything you can think of.” Elam pulled back, blue eyes awash with hesitance. “But I’m Eloin. They are terrible, and mean, and hurt everyone.” “You are not Eloin.” “But…” “Blood yes, but you are my child. And will be Confirmed in this tribe. Your blood may be Eloin,” he tapped Elam’s chest lightly, “But your heart is Dragonian.” "Whose blood do I have in me?" Elam asked, chin setting firmly. He swiped tears from his face almost angrily as they spilled across his cheeks. Jin ran a hand through his son's blond hair, then pulled him toward him and held him close again. "Ah, ra. Are you sure you really want to know?" Elam sniffled. "Tell me." "Alright." Jin sighed, rubbing Elam's back soothingly as he tried to think of a way to explain to the child. "You know the man, Dameon, whose clan our tribe sometimes has to fight?" Stiffening, Elam drew a sharp breath. "Him?" Jin sighed, glancing at Naftis, who looked like he wanted to rush forward and take Elam into his own embrace. Well, he would just have to bloody wait. "Aye, him," Jin said. "He... took... your Ma and kept her for many months. Then she was allowed to return to us, and you were born. You are half Maran, a quarter Dragonian and a quarter Eloin." He smiled a little, pushing his son away from him in order to look in his face. Elam looked utterly miserable, but curious too. "So, you see, you have Dragonian blood in you as well, as much as you have Eloin. But your heart is all Dragonian, and you are my son, do you understand? Now and always." Elam nodded. “Always and forever.” “Aye.” Jin smiled. “Just like that.” Elam tipped his head up, blue eyes searching his face. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him, for a small smile curled his lips. “I love you, Da.” “I love you too, ra.” Jin hugged him close once more, squeezing him tightly until the boy grunted and wiggled in his arms, giggling. Naftis cleared his throat politely. Jin released his son and straightened. Laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders, he turned Elam about and nudged him toward the Maran. Naftis extended a hand and Elam clasped it, beaming at his loquiri and then at Jin. “Do you feel better now?” the loquiri asked gruffly. “Aye. I have my Da, and my loquiri, and the tribe, and nothing that Aretas can say will change it.” “Good.” Naftis dipped his head at Jin. “Thank you….sire.” Jin arched a brow, but did not correct him. With a gentle pat on Elam’s back, Naftis led his charge out the tent, ducking beneath the flap. And Terran stepped through instead. Jin sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What—is there a line waiting outside my tent?” The blademaster’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever are you talking about?” Jin rolled his eyes. “Nothing. What do you need?” “I was speaking with the sentries. They have seen two Hybrid scouts come snooping at the edge of camp early in the morning, when we were packing up to leave.” “And?” “They recognized Aretas. Pointed to him from the distance and rode off. We need to do something about that lord.” “What do you suggest? Send him back?” Terran sighed. “You are starting to sound as impudent as Kor.” Jin frowned, but his blademaster simply ignored the look and continued on. “His hair is like a beacon, and his face. No Dragonian looks that way, not even most Dragonian Hybrids.” He shifted his weight. “Turoc had an idea. A bit of berry juice on his face and chestnut brew in his hair…it’s unlikely that he will be spotted quite as quickly.” Jin bit his lip and then nodded. “Leave his Lord’s Cut alone, but otherwise…aye, do it.” By the time Aretas’ loud, boisterous protests had faded into silence, Jin had worked through most of his missives and was down to the last few scrolls, one of which had his curiosity mumbling in the back of his head. The wax seal was plain and unadorned, hastily done judging by the messy outline of the spot. The parchment itself was coarse and cheap, likely from one of his tribesmen, but a scout had brought it to him early this morning, claiming it had been found pinned to a tree with a dagger. As Jin retrieved it, popping the seal idly, Terran ducked into his tent. “Sire? The tribe is nearly packed. It should not be but a few more marks before we can leave.” “And Aretas?” “Dyed and drunk.” The blademaster smirked. “I’ll put him on a horse once I’ve enough men to watch him.” “Aye. Good.” Jin unrolled the scroll, scanning it quickly. He blinked. “Kyda…” “What?” Jin read the scroll again, slowly. Terran had stepped closer, one hand on a shitan hilt, and fidgeted uneasily. When the Fay-el set the scroll down, a grin spreading across his face, the blademaster growled, “What? Kyda blast—what is it?” He held the scroll out, still grinning. “The governors of Sarpur, Eivin, and Halva would like to propose a trade with me.” Terran arched a brow. “Those are Eloin villages.” “Aye.” Jin leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and resting his chin on his hands. “Within Lord Aretas’ land-holdings.” “Oh?” The blademaster took the scroll and started reading. “It seems the governors are a trifle fond of Aretas, or at least do not wish King Tanniyn to declare their lands property of the king.” Jin said. As Terran read, he started to smile as well. “I see. Yes. I’ll tell the men.” He handed the scroll back. “This year, we can harvest our own fields.” “Aye.” Jin stood. “But only if we keep Aretas alive, well, and fully in our control.” “I will ensure that.” “Good.” Jin shuffled what missives were left into a neat pile, setting a small stone atop them. Excitement bubbled so close to the surface, he felt likely to start laughing at any moment. The dreadful irony that capturing Aretas had brought belonged in a tale. A bardic tale. A grin split his face. As he bent to duck beneath the tent flap, Terran cleared his throat. “Caylia is with Naftis and Elam. Seems the boy has a Gifting similar to hers. I’m sure you’d want to know where she was.” Jin turned to give his blademaster an annoyed glare, but—chuckling—Terran simply ignored him and strode away. < > “But I don’t understand…” “It’s not something you should fight,” Caylia was saying gently. “It’s a balance…” her voice trailed off as her eyes found Jin’s shadow, spilling across the campfire’s glow, and following it to his face. Her expression turned and she raised her brows. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you so…” The puzzled expression on her face almost made him laugh as she looked for the word. He settled at her side, tilted her chin, and kissed her. She pulled away. “Jin…with the lord. We need to be careful.” His grin broadened. “He’s in a tent. Besides, I have news. Good news,” he tapped her knee, “news worthy of a tale.” She hesitated, torn, then sighed. “Oh you’re terrible. What is it? What’s going on?” “The Eloin governors in Dragonia contacted me,” Jin held out a scroll, hastily rolled. “They proposed a trade.” “Oh?” Her eyebrows arched and she took the parchment from him, but didn’t open it. His grin broadened. “They swear not to attack me or my subjects for the entire spring and summer, as long as I do not execute Aretas, and keep him in good health. When the leaves change, I hand him back over to them, and flee to the Mara.” Caylia said nothing and unrolled the scroll, after a few minutes of skimming the words she frowned. “But can you trust them? What if this is nothing but a ploy? An attempt to give you a month or so complacency and then attack with your guard is down?” “That is possible.” Jin paused, eyes shifting aside as he thought for a moment, and then focused on her again. “I have no intention of removing the sentry circles. And I would move away from Kaama at least, to distance myself from the Hybrids who are not beneath these governors’ control.” He bit his lip. “But it would be nice to not have to move every few days.” His eyes darkened. “Very nice.” Caylia rubbed his shoulder soothingly. “Is there a way to be certain?” “Perhaps.” Jin leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “If I could just be sure that they won’t go back on their word. That they truly are as fond of Aretas, or at least hateful of Tanniyn, that they would remain true to their word.” His eyes slid to her. “Maybe if I spoke to Aretas?” “Aye, that would be good. From what you’ve said he seems honorable for an Eloin, but can you fully trust him? Be subtle of what you’re asking him, so he doesn’t know what’s going on until you make your decision. It’ll be a fine line Jin.” She paused, and drummed her fingers against her thigh. “It is interesting though that the letter is from the governors and not Tanniyn. Aretas is under Tanniyn, not the governors so a letter like this should come from the King. To me, this says that Tanniyn doesn’t know…and may not know, and maybe even will not know, what’s befallen his representative. And that’s encouraging for us. Unless Tanniyn’s using the governors in some plot of his own. Is the man really that clever?” “No, Tanniyn is not that clever.” Jin shook his head. “The man is mad.” Caylia blinked. “Mad? Such as Jarvis?” Jin nodded. The story of the Fay-el who had lost his mind, and later thrown himself from the top of Ratacca Korr, they both knew. “Aye. Like Jarvis. My father met Tanniyn once, many years ago, to sign the treaty that allowed our settlement in Shinar to go untouched. Or so Tanniyn claimed.” Jin shrugged. “Father told me that Tanniyn was mad. He would laugh at one moment, and fly into a rage over a trifling nothing in the next, and then be laughing once more even as he executed one of his subjects.” The bard shivered slightly and took Jin’s hand. “Then…that makes things better for us. You know...if all this is without malice and these governors are true to their word…Windrunner that is a gift and the Luckbringer surely is smiling. If your tribe is free from attack, wouldn’t that also mean Dragonian’s who were also on the run could find respite with your tribe? At least for a little while? And you could meet your other Fay-el’s in peace. And the Derk-ra could really be trained properly in the wetlands.” “Aye. All of that. Even Othniel’s omens could not refuse the wisdom in joining me for a season. And there would be time…” he grinned impishly, one finger tilting her chin up. “Time for many things,” he muttered, and took words and breath away. She leaned into his embrace for a moment, and then pulled away, gasping. He trailed fingers through her hair and simply grinned, until Caylia slapped his forearm playfully. “Remember what I told you?” “The lord is in his tent, quite drunk besides.” “You’re making excuses.” “Aye.” Jin stood. “You did want to be there, when I speak with Aretas?” “Aye. Very much.” He nodded. “I will find you then, once he is awake enough to speak with me.” He glanced at his son, who beamed back at him. “Attend well to your lessons, ra.” “Aye, Da.” Caylia cleared her throat, drawing his attention back. “You did speak with him? About his….bloodlines?” Jin nodded. “He was upset, but I think he will recover. And he is still my son, no matter who sired him.” “Good.” “I’m glad you agree with my decisions, bard.” Jin grinned anew as heat flushed her face. He bent, lips finding her mouth in a gentle promise. They parted, and then Jin turned away. “I will find you later, Ly.” -- Caylia grinned despite herself at Jin’s departing back. Finally, she wrenched her eyes away, and jumped. “Oh…Elam…erm. Right.” The boy just grinned and she felt color creeping back into her cheeks. Of course this would happen. She didn’t know if he knew the relationship between her and Jin but kissing in front of him had to be at least a little tacky. “You’re turning red,” Elam observed. “Trinity…yes…I am.” And now her face was heating more. Wonderful. She glanced over at Naftis, to catch the loquiri grinning. Even better. She was going to kill Jin. Then make him start a difficult conversation with his son for a change. Elam was cocking his head and she cleared her throat. “Um…Elam…erm…I should ask you…I mean, would you mind…Would you ever want a mother? I mean, besides the one who birthed you?” Elam blinked, and glanced back at his loquiri as if for explanation, then back to her, puzzlement gleaming in his eyes. “I suppose. I don’t remember my first one, so I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Joran likes his Ma, but sometimes he doesn’t like his Ma.” The boy bit his lip. “Are you wanting to be my mother?” “Not right now. But…” she shrugged awkwardly, “maybe some day in the future. If your Da thought it was a good idea and if you were…” Caylia cleared her throat. “Would you be okay with it?” Elam moved toward her. “And being my Ma would mean that you’d…you’d be like my Da, only a girl instead.” “Aye.” She smiled. “Something like that. I’d take care of you—when Naftis is not here or is resting or…” her voice trailed off, and then she brightened, “Like how Rowan used to treat you, when Jin was gone. Things like that.” “Oh.” The boy nodded and stepped closer, tilting his head up to study her face. She bent down to get on his eye level. Elam frowned. “I don’t have to kiss you, do I?” Caylia smiled. “Not if you don’t want to.” “Good. Because I think it’s nasty,” he wrinkled his nose in cue with his words, “Joran likes it a lot. He says kissing leads to bedding, and that that’s a good thing. You’re not going to be bedding Da are you?” Naftis dropped his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Elam waited expectantly for an answer, eyebrows arching as her face reddened even more. “Well? Are you?” “Um…we’ll see.” She was afraid the skin was going to burn off her face. This was not how she expected this sort of conversation to go, not at all! “I’m only a bard, I can’t predict what will happen in the future, now can I?” He eyed her suspiciously a moment longer. “I guess that makes sense,” he said finally with a nod. She breathed a sigh of relief and resisted the urge to rub her cheeks. Did the boy even know what bedding was? No…she was most definitely not going to breach that subject. Caylia cleared her throat. “With that being said,” she murmured quietly, “I think it’s time we went back to your lessons. Seize your Gift, ra.” Elam rolled his eyes, but settled cross-legged on the sand and obeyed. Between Naftis and she, the boy was learning how to use his abilities at a good pace. The quicker they could personalize the training toward his bent, the more accurate his talents would be. < > Jin sat back on his heels and shook his head, scowling in general disgust at the contents of his tent. He had lugged in the parcels and wrapped packages from his travois, excluding his lola. But what he needed was not to be found. His blankets were scattered here and there, lumped over piles of parchments and the lids of several small boxes. Most of his clothing had been unfolded and strewn aside as he pawed through his packs, which too had been emptied in general piles at different corners of the tent. With a deeper frown, Jin reached for three more, leather-wrapped parcels. They felt heavy, likely the few bound books he had managed to purchase at one point or another during his minstrel training, with what wages he earned playing in taverns or local lordlings’ manors, but he would check just the same. He had to find it. Gift flared, prodding into him a moment before the Second himself stuck his head into the tent. His eyebrows climbed toward his fiery red hair, blue eyes sparking with mischief. “Ah... I see...” Kor smirked. “Your belongings have offended you terribly and must be punished.” He shivered a little, grinning. “With exposure.” “It is not even that cold anymore, Kor,” Jin pointed out. He leaned sideways, peering past his Second at the sky outside the tent. “And you are not on duty yet. What do you need?” The redhead strode into his tent, stretching lithely. “I am having supper with my brother and sister. And their mother.” He grinned down at his Fay-el. Jin frowned slightly. “How… wonderful for you?” He waited. “To celebrate the conception of my child.” Sighing, the Fay-el rolled his eyes. “You came here just to remind me---” “My second child.” “Bloody ael kinth!” Jin swore, gaping at him. Kor frowned. “You’re supposed to say congratulations.” “Congratulations? For siring another child that is surely to be Gifted? Kyda!” “Yours will likely be Gifted too. There’s no need to throw a fuss.” Jin rolled his eyes. “Aye, Elam is Gifted, but his mother was Chrys’ younger sister. What else can be expected?” “I wasn’t talking about Elam.” The Fay-el flicked him a glare. “Say again?” Kor smirked, arching a brow. “Caylia is Gifted.” Jin’s eyes widened. “Ah…she is….certainly, but that…that means nothing.” “You lie terribly.” Kor chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t bedded her already.” Jin jerked his gaze away from his Second, aware of heat rushing into his face. Kor’s laugh turned ribald. “Or perhaps you have?” “Be silent, Second. I’ve hit you before for comments such as that.” The Hybrid snorted, but changed subjects deftly. “Do you want to know who the mother of my child is?” “Not particularly,” Jin growled. “Get out of my tent.” “Talen wasn’t too happy about it.” Jin flicked his Second an annoyed glare. And sighed. “Talen? Do I want to know?” Kor smirked. “You know Jenala, the woman Talen is courting. I had utterly forgotten she took one of my ribbons during Daliah’s wedding and…ah…that we shared an hour together after the celebration.” “Oh Kyda.” Jin sighed. “I hope Talen doesn’t maim you too terribly.” < > It was looming toward evening when Caylia stepped into the Fay-el’s tent, her harp strap looped on one shoulder. Jin peered at a parchment, squinting at it in the dim lantern light. At his left elbow was a bowl of stew, or gruel, or something from the cookfires, half-eaten. He had obviously forgotten about such a thing as supper. Smiling to herself, Caylia cleared her throat. Jin glanced up and his eyes brightened, a smile twisting across his face. “Ah, Ly.” His gaze slid to the harp and the emerald gleamed brighter. “Come to play for me?” “Of course, Fay-el,” she responded smoothly, “it is my duty.” “Ah, well one of your duties at least.” She quirked a brow, smiling in spite of herself, and set her instrument down. “Oh? Only one of my duties?” She had an idea where this was going. He nodded and bent a finger toward her. She came and he pulled her down next to him. “You have this one too,” he murmured. Losing a hand in her hair, Jin kissed her firmly. She snuggled closer and, when they broke, she chuckled, nuzzling his cheek for a moment, before resting a hand on the strings. “I can still play for you if you like or…or at least let you use the lune.” Jin waved a hand. “No, Ly. You’d have to go back to your tent to get it and I would….and I gave the lune to you.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself. You know, I had an interesting conversation with your son. He has a knack for asking…well…questions that catch me off guard. Naftis was no help either." “Oh? What was my ra bothering you with?” He pressed cool lips behind her ear, chuckling as she shivered appreciatively. “He asked…” The Fay-el trailed a line of kisses across her jaw. Caylia tried again. “He wanted to know if—stop it, Jin,” she laughed, pushing his head away as he nuzzled the crook of her neck. “He asked if I was planning on bedding his Da,” she finished in a rush. Jin’s eyes widened. “He said what?” “It seems Joran told him kissing and bedding go together, and after seeing us kissing….” “Oh Kyda—please tell me he’s not already showing an interest in women. Please." Caylia chuckled. “I doubt Elam knows what bedding is. And Naftis was too busy laughing at me to explain. I did manage to change the subject. I…” she glanced down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “I asked him how he felt if…if I should be his…his mother.” Jin was silent for a moment, and then leaned forward, breath warm against her face. “And?” “He….he said he didn’t mind. Not as long as he didn’t have to kiss me all the time.” “Does it bother you—I mean….he’s already ten and with Naftis…he doesn’t really need mothering any longer, but I’m glad—“ Jin sighed. “Just kiss me.” Caylia glanced up. “Jin—“ He stole the rest of her words with a gentle kiss, but a slowly simmering desire burned beneath it. Both body and Gift recognized it. He increased the pressure of his mouth. She moaned low in her throat and tangled her fingers in his hair, shivering as he growled softly. They broke breathless, gasping, and leaned against each other. “Ly…” Jin nuzzled her cheek and throat lightly. “I love you, Ly.” “I love you too, Jin. My Jin.” She laced her fingers through his and kissed the rough back with soft lips. “You know…I never saw myself here, in a position like this.” “Position?” He was brushing her hair back behind her ear again, sending her skin pebbling. “Sitting?” She glared playfully, and gave his chest a good shove. He took her with him, limbs splaying on the floor of the tent. Grinning she propped herself up on her side, elbow on his chest, head resting against palm. He chuckled. “What do you mean?” “"You know...here in the wetlands, with you. In love with you. Or, just in love in general. I was so involved in stories and songs and history I had taken it for granted I would haunt the desert for most of my days. Maybe give in to the School and teach, but never take a commission. Then, when I got very old, I do what one or two of the other High Masters did and disappear into the sand or mountains and reappear now and then just to get people talking.” She cocked her head. “I never thought following one story out of Settar would lead me here.” “Mm,” he wrapped a strand of hair around a finger. “So…is this turning out to be a good story?” She paused for a moment. “Aye. I mean…I miss the desert, very much and Settar most of all. And there are things at the School that…that I miss. Am missing." She shook herself. "But, over all, it’s been,” she grinned, “interesting.” He smiled for a moment then his face grew serious, considering. “Are you happy, Ly?” “Aye Jin. I am happy.” “Good.” He cupped her face in his hands and smiled. “I want you to always be happy.” Caylia leaned forward, kissing the tip of his nose lightly. “As long as I’m with you, that should not be hard.” “Mmm. Likewise.” He closed his eyes and laced his fingers behind her back. She rested her head on his chest. Jin’s heart tapped a steady rhythm beneath her ear. Neither of them stirred for several marks. Jin’s breathing deepened and his body relaxed. When drowsiness flickered in her mind, Caylia sat up. “Are you leaving?” Jin murmured. “Well…I at least better sit up. I might fall asleep again.” Jin opened his eyes. “I don’t mind.” “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” She smiled softly. “I don’t think I would mind too much either but…the night’s still early yet and there are a few things I have to take care of before I actually do go to sleep. Besides I’ve already spent one night with you…I don’t want to, well push too many boundaries.” “That is true.” Jin rose and held out a hand, easing her to her feet gently. He ran his fingers through her hair lightly and then kissed the inside of her wrist. His eyes darkened with seriousness. “I did want to ask one last question.” “Oh?” “If…I know that you love the Mara, miss it sometimes, and…” he swallowed, “I mean, if you were not to go back to the desert—would you be unhappy?” Her face changed, smile faltering. “Ever?” she asked softly. Jin blanched. “No. I mean….like Naftis, if he stays with the tribe and Elam, he will go into the Mara when we do—when the leaves change—and then we come back to the wetlands when Dike Pass’s snow melts.” He shrugged. “That’s what I meant. If that should happen…would you be unhappy?” “Oh!” she put a hand to her heart and laughed, relief plain in her eyes. “Windrunner…you scared me. No…no I wouldn’t. It would be…good in a way. Best of both lands. I mean I will always have a fondness for the Mara but the Wetlands have their own charm. And there’s still many more things to see.” Jin smiled, interlacing his fingers with hers once more. “Good. I never want you to be unhappy.” He bent and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle touch. “Goodnight, Ly.” |
| As nightfall began to fall over the camp, Kor found himself frowning. Something... was not right. His Gift prickled, a vague warning, but not at all specific. His eyes narrowed in the growing darkness. Technically, he was not on duty yet---not until the sun sank below the trees---but that did not really mean anything as far as he was concerned. Leaving aside his supper, he rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping the camp. "What is it?" Joran asked, standing as well, his gray eyes taking up Kor's worried search. Kor worried his lip. "I do not know." He offered his brother an easy smile. "Stay here." Across from them, Turina scowled. "I invite you to our campfire for supper, and you do not even stay through the meal?" The Hybrid sighed. "Forgive me. I must check on the Fay-el." He rested his hand on Joran's head, encouraging his little brother to sit down, then grinned across at his little sister. She smiled back slightly, but cringed shyly away from him to bury her head in her mother's skirt, gray eyes peering cautiously at him. Kor strode rapidly across the camp, pausing by Jin's tent. But... no... that did not feel right, either. He felt as though he were moving away from... Eyes narrowing, he seized his Gift, then turned slowly about, trying to determine where the disturbance he was sensing was coming from. Nausea. Confusion. A pounding headache... There. He strode a few steps forward, then frowned. That was Turoc's tent, where Aretas was being kept. Drawing one shitan, he broke into a run. < > “You’re a bloody fool, my lord,” Zylon grumbled under his breath, “A bloody fool.” The Eloin stepped over the body of the healer. He had hated to strike another of his profession, and an elderly one at that, but Lord Aretas’ safety and rescue was far more important. The Eloin crouched down behind Lord Aretas’ bound hands, sweeping his cloak aside to free him. He fumbled with the dagger the Hybrids had given him for a moment. Though accustomed to his own tools, such as lancing blades and needles, he had never had reason or desire to learn how to use a weapon. He managed not to cut himself or drop the slim dagger, and set to work on Aretas’ bonds. The Eloin lord had not stirred yet, but remained head down, breathing deeply. Zylon had not decided yet if the Hybrids’ tales of a sorcerer bewitching the lord was true or simply a way to cover their hides after allowing the lord to be captured, but he was certainly not going to confront this sorcerer to find out. With the ropes around his hands loosening, Aretas started to stir, muttering absently. Zylon rose and hurried around to face him, cupping his chin up and thumbing his eyes open. “My lord?” he whispered, “Shh. I’m going to get you free.” Aretas blinked dully. “F’kar! Zolan, is th’ you?” “Shh.” Zylon shook his head urgently, eyes widening in dismay at the smell of whiskey on his lord’s breath. “Let me help you up,” he said quickly, noting the staggering stance Aretas was using. The lord shoved his hand away and stumbled toward a writing desk, as if to steady himself. His hand slipped. A bottle of herbal elixir toppled, with crunch of breaking glass. Zylon swore in a fiercely hissed whisper and moved to Aretas’ side again. “Hush, my lord.” “I so glad you came! Beast-bloods…dyed m’ hair, took m’ clothes…See?” “Shh!” Zylon reached for Aretas’ arm. “With me, my lord. Lean on me and be quiet.” Something pressed through him, into him. A prickling, twitching sensation that made him gasp. Zylon jerked, shuddering. “What in Fikar’s name…” Aretas slumped to the ground with a groaning sigh. “Sorcerer.” As if on cue, a red-headed, wild-eyed warrior came stalking beneath the tent flap, blue eyes darting from Aretas on the floor to Zylon, still wheezing from the force of that power. The healer tensed at the dangerous light in those icy eyes, much as Aretas could look when anger threatened. He whirled, intending to dash back to his dagger, discarded at Aretas’ stumbling walk. That prickling something hit him and he was suddenly on the ground, panting for breath, firmly held though by what he didn’t know. Footsteps padded on the grass. “Up you go, Aretas. Right over here.” It was Common, but lightly accented in a way that bespoke either Aquila or Dragonian breeding, and likely the latter, judging by his clothes. Aretas mumbled some sort of protest, but his quieting voice suggested he was not truly aware enough to resist. “There. Those knots should hold,” The footsteps approached Zylon, and a toe nudged him in the ribs. An instant later the uncanny weight of air pressing on him lifted, replaced by a much more solid knee in the back, pressing him down and yanking his hands back firmly. “Now, what do we have here?” “Do not hurt my lord!” Zylon hissed over his shoulder as his wrists were bound tightly behind him. The sorcerer arched a brow. “Where did you even come from?” he demanded in his lilting Common. His hand darted out, grasping Zylon’s chin in an iron grip and turning the Eloin healer’s face sideways. “No henna,” he muttered. Clear blue eyes---so pale they were almost uncomfortable to look at---met Zylon’s own, slightly darker gaze. “You were not in the raid.” “In here! I heard--- Sar?” The barbarian swiveled to glance over his shoulder as the tent flap opened and a young Dragonian warrior stepped inside, knives drawn. “I’ve got him, Duncan,” the sorcerer said. “Tell the Fay-el and your father. Hurry.” Zylon cringed but said nothing, only shifted his weight slightly. “Too tight,” he hissed. His fingers were already throbbing, the blood cut off by the ropes binding his wrists. Again, he felt that uncanny sensation pass through him, like ants crawling through his veins. He grunted in discomfort, but then it was over, and to his surprise the sorcerer actually loosened his bonds, retying them firmly but not as tightly. “What did you give my lord?” Zylon insisted. “His breath smelled of whiskey and something else.” “Valla,” the sorcerer said curtly. He rose swiftly from Zylon’s side to kneel beside the elderly healer, but spoke over his shoulder to the Eloin as the old man groaned and began to come around. “Now be quiet, Eloin. And if you have hurt this old man…” The threat in his voice was clear. The ancient healer sat up slowly, one hand rising to his head. The sorcerer caught the old man’s chin and held him, much as he had to Zylon before. He felt that prickle once more, but at a distance. The elderly healer shivered. With a smile, the sorcerer released him and patted his shoulder. “A good bump on the head, but you should be fine.” “Kor, I’ve been healing people since before you were born. I will tell you if I need any care.” The sorcerer chuckled, rather than growing angry, and stepped away. He stalked to Zylon’s side and crouched down, seizing his chin roughly. “Now then, how did you get in the camp?” The Eloin healer pressed his lips together in a thin line. This Kor narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “Answer me.” Zylon shook his head. With a sigh, Kor released him and straightened. “Dose him too, Turoc. I’m going to speak to Jin.” "Dose me with what?" Zylon demanded, rolling over onto his side and then lurching to his knees. The sorcerer scowled at him. "You do not need to know." "Valla?" Those pale blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Aye." The redhead grinned and suddenly looked very young. "And our honey whiskey." "Good. Good whiskey," Lord Aretas muttered somewhere behind Zylon. "How much, lad?" Zylon asked, trying to calm his tone enough to encourage the youth to talk, or at least get a useful word or two out of his drunk and drugged lord. A muscle twitched in the young sorcerer’s jaw. Then, without a word, he sighed and, shaking his head, strode out of the tent grumbling under his breath. Zylon found himself face to face with the elderly healer, who did not seem particularly inclined to do anything other than sit for the time being. The man's scowl was one of the most terrifying things he'd seen in an old man. "H---how is my lord Aretas?" "We have not harmed him," the old man said, rubbing his head gingerly but glaring steadily. "But he---" Humphing, the bent old healer turned away, and began rummaging through his packs, pulling forth a vial, flask and metal cup. Zylon winced. The whiskey was good, except for the part of having no choice in whether he wished to drink it or not. There was a liberal amount of valla in the dosage as well. He could still taste the mildly bitter aftertaste on his tongue when the healer released his head. He spluttered, coughing and spitting, but most of the vial had been emptied down his throat just the same. The elderly healer patted his back. “Now for that hair of yours.” “My ‘air?” The world was swimming out of focus. Zylon blinked. “Aye.” The old man grabbed his chin and nudged his head to face him, peering at his eyes for a moment, before nodding to himself. “You do not drink much strong spirits, do you?” “Me..no…” he smiled as warmth flooded into his belly and out across his body. “Ale….’atered ale….’tis good.” The old man chuckled. “Your lord took nearly twice what I gave you. He could likely drink our Second under the table, or come close.” “Eloin…best.” “Perhaps.” The elderly healer set a pitcher of some sort of thick liquid nearby, followed by a basin of dark-brown juice. He dipped a cloth in the basin and caught Zylon’s chin, holding his head steady. “In a few marks, you won’t even look like an Eloin, my friend.” “Whatsit for?” Zylon slurred, flinching back and finding that the world tilted alarmingly as he did so. When his eyes finally decided to focus again, he found himself staring dully at Aretas---sleeping now with his mouth open---and meaning trickled through his foggy mind. They were dying his skin, maybe even his hair, to make him look as barbarian as them, as much like a halfsoul as his own Lord now looked. He struggled to speak around the old healer’s firm grip on his chin, the pass of the juice-soaked sponge over his face, and the increasing weight of whiskey and valla on his tongue and mind. “Not... look Dray. Oo on’y make me look like… comsar… ree.” He blinked drowsily as the healer frowned at him in confusion. “Comsar ree?” “Commissary,” Zylon said with infinite slowness, feeling out the word with all the care of a blind man feeling out rough ground before him with a stick. “I do not know what you are saying,” the healer said, pausing with his sponge to peer once again into Zylon’s eyes. “Me n’ther,” Zylon giggled drunkenly, wincing as this Turoc thumbed back his lids. The old healer shook his head and released him to begin rubbing something into Zylon’s hair. The world seemed to turn sort of watery, then, and he let his eyes close, smelling the sharp, pleasant smell of a heavy spice. < > Jin broke off humming, as well as the notations on his maps, at the quietly cleared throat. He blinked at his Second, and then frowned. “How long have you been standing there?” “About five marks.” Kor smiled pleasantly and came striding closer. “I was listening to your song.” Jin rolled his eyes and folded up the map carefully. He scowled as his Second paced across the rug, then sat on the edge of his writing desk, before whirling to stalk across the rug once again. Kyda, would the man always be this energetic? “Is something wrong, Kor?” “Not…exactly.” “Not exactly.” Jin arched a brow. “Is there something I can do or do you plan to wander about my tent until I throw you out?” Kor shot him an annoyed look. “You could try.” Jin started to rise, and ghostly pain muttered in his head. He sat down again quickly. “Kyda—must you use the Gift on me?” “Only when you’re being a jackass.” “Thank you, Kor,” Jin said, irritation bleeding into his tone. “Now kindly tell me what you want!” he snapped. Kor settled on the writing desk, one foot lightly tapping the ground. “Well…we no longer have Aretas to worry about.” “What?” Jin snapped. “When did he escape? How did he manage to—“ “No, wait.” Kor sighed. “I meant that we have more than Aretas to be concerned for. We have two Eloin prisoners now.” The Fay-el sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Two. How in Kyda’s bloody name did we manage to have two prisoners?” “Weell,” Kor drawled, and Jin cringed a little, half worried that the Second’s gentle mocking of Ravin would draw the surly Border Guard. “That Gift you and I hate so much? It sensed something was wrong in Turoc’s tent, right? So I went to see what was happening, and what did I find? An Eloin trying to help a certain shamefully drunk Lord escape.” Jin surged to his feet, reaching automatically for his janin. It was not by his saddle any longer, having been tossed over by the writing desk when he’d torn his tent apart earlier. “Another warrior?” His Second shook his head. “Nay, Fay-el.” He gestured lazily at his face. “No henna. Well, I suppose he could have snuck away after the raid before we marked the thorlas, but he did not look like much of a warrior.” Duncan ducked his head into the tent. “Ah… Second?” His brown eyes widened slightly when he saw Jin. “What?” the Fay-el growled. “It’s my tent.” “Aye?” Kor asked the boy, then frowned mildly. “You were supposed to notify your father and Jin of---“ The teenager blushed. “Ah, yes. Well, Da, he said, um… that the Fay-el would just rush over and I should find you first. To make sure you made sure the prisoner was… ah… was no threat.” Jin grunted his disapproval and shook his head as he started for the opening to the tent. Duncan scurried out of his way. Kor rolled his eyes and snatched at Jin’s arm, and only failed to halt his Fay-el’s stalk away because his left hand was not up to the task. “Well, let me go with you, at least,” the Second muttered. “You’re not on duty, yet,” Jin said, striding purposefully across camp. “Besides, I doubt you’d leave him with Turoc if he were much capable of being a danger to anyone.” “But---“ “Shh.” Jin ducked into Turoc’s tent, glanced around and took in his now two captives, and scowled. “But I had Turoc drug him,” the redhead finished, before offering a cheeky grin. “How do you say ‘nap time’ in Eloin?” Jin shook his head. “And just how am I supposed to question either of them, if they’re drugged?” “You don’t.” He bit his lip, rather than slapping the impudent Second upside the head. Jin took a deep breath. “I wish you would ask before you do things. Most things,” he amended, thinking of the quick-thinking redhead’s Gift in the battle. Kor chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow you can. It’s late anyway and you should—“ “Head for bed,” Jin finished. “Kyda, if you’d not nursemaid me so.” Terran stalked into the tent in a rush, already speaking before his head had cleared the tent flap, cutting their words short. “Kor, you’ll have to make sense of this because—“ the blademaster frowned at Jin. “I told Duncan to—“ “I don’t care what he said.” The Fay-el’s eyes narrowed. Terran frowned, but dropped his protest. Kor stepped past the Fay-el and between the two. “What did you want me to see?” “Oh. This.” He held out a small satchel, still smudged with dirt and reeking of some sort of bitter stench. “The sentries found this at the edge of camp, well, that and the Derk-ra who threw a fit about the spot where it was buried.” The blademaster shrugged. “Hamen said they don’t like the smell of somna.” “Somna?” Kor’s eyebrows arched. “In that?” “Aye. It looks like your healing kit but…” Terran shook his head. “It’s different too. I thought you’d like to see it.” Kor arched his brows, glancing sideways at their newest sleeping prisoner in surprise. He crouched down, laying the satchel upon the ground and opening it. His eyebrows rose nearly into his red hair. "Aye, it looks a good deal like my healing kit." Frowning, Jin came to stand over him, staring down at the assorted herbs and tools. "I recognize some of that. Valla. Feverfew. Willowbark, I think?" "And dried lichen," his Second said, holding up a small pouch after sniffing its contents. He dug through a side pocket. "Needle and thread. Surgical knife." He blinked. "What the---" "Aye," Terran said, nodding as the confused Hybrid pulled out a long metal case, opening it to reveal an assortment of rather long needles. Shrugging slightly, Kor slipped the needle case back into the bag, and dug around in another pocket. "There's some kind of...." He frowned, opening a jar and sniffing its contents. "Oil? Smells like..." He sniffed again. "Massage oil. I think. It's not strong enough to be an essential oil, in any case." Jin walked away to stand over the recently arrived Eloin. He crossed his arms and stared down at the man. "I really wish you would not have drugged him," the Fay-el expressed again. Kor reached out and patted him on the calf. "He is not going anywhere, and he can hardly work on inventing lies in his sleep." He shrugged, gesturing toward the satchel. "Besides, this gives us time to try to gather as many facts as we can." He arched his brows at Jin. "Is there any reason your Lord Aretas would have a healer following him around, beyond trying to sneak into camp to launch ill-conceived rescue attempts?" “Not that I know of.” Jin bit his lip, shaking his head. “I know that he rarely comes out onto the field of battle, but it’s not because he’s a weak warrior. He’s young as well—so it’s not because of age or disease. Why he would have a healer…I don’t know.” Kor shrugged and picked up the satchel. “Well, I’ll have time to think and mess with this while you are sleeping.” Jin rolled his eyes. Terran simply chuckled. |
| Jaara’s fluid grace in the sparring circle translated into a remarkably pleasant rhythm and flow to the dances. Kor was wonderfully surprised to find that she danced with relative ease, reluctantly allowing him to take the lead—but at least allowing it. Though he knew, intellectually, that Jaara had likely attended balls or parties in her services to her lord, he had never considered that she’d be able to relax her battle stance into something such as this. They twirled and stepped, circles and figure eights and everything in between, through several dances. Each time that Kor came to her, dipping his head politely and extending a hand, Jaara rose and followed him. There was not quite a full willingness in her movement, but a bet was a bet. Kor did his best. Truly. But somehow, just the slight coldness in her eyes and stern set of her face tied his usually quick mouth into sullen knots. His compliment comparing her eyes to the stars somehow came out backwards, and when he tried to shift to her hair and fine silk, the Inquisita’s eyes had narrowed in something between confusion and annoyance. Jin’s low chuckle, at his expense, did not help matters. It seemed every time he stammered out some mixed up nicety to Jaara, his Fay-el was nearby. With his arms snugly around the bard and her head cradled against his shoulder, Jin moved to a rhythm all his own, blissfully unaware of most of those around him. Except his Second. When Jin snickered again at his attempt to praise Jaara, Kor snorted and guided his partner away from the two lovebirds. The Inquisita followed his lead without a protest. They inched to the edge of the circle, but still within the campfire light. Jaara tensed slightly and spoke her first true sentence—instead of one word answers—of the night. “Where are you headed, Kor?” Away from Jin was his first thought. He curbed it with the second. “Surely you are tired of dancing with me by now.” Her eyes narrowed. “Surely.” Kor tried on a charming smile. "I thought we might retire, try something you'll find more enjoyab---" He had enough experience fighting her in the ring now to see the slight narrowing of her eyes and tensing in her shoulders and know what they meant. He ducked, managing not to earn a black and blue jaw from this woman again in only five months, and danced away. "Kyda, woman!" he yelped, holding up his hands pleadingly. "Sparring! I'm referring to sparring!" She paused, her other fist half raised, and frowned at him. "But your dances---" "I've enjoyed them. Believe me, have I ev---" He managed to cut off a slightly ribald laugh and then changed the subject deftly. "But bet or no bet, I do not want to be the only one to enjoy the night. How about a spar, hmm?" "With your hand... you're not..." He could not help the flinch that her words evoked, and she frowned sourly at him. "One spar?" "As many as you like," Kor responded. Jaara stared at him for a long moment, flint gray eyes weighing him assessingly. After a moment she gave him a curt nod. "We might as well. In a couple more months, I will not be able to spar any longer." Her hand briefly rested upon her abdomen. "I am glad you recognize that," Kor muttered under his breath as Jaara strode away toward the practice ring. Her belly was just barely starting to round with the child she was carrying; soon it would be too dangerous for her to spar. ~*~ Pregnant or not, Jaara was a formidable dervish. The dances only seemed to have warmed her muscles and mind into the proper self-awareness that turned into pain for Kor. She whirled and dipped and slashed and twisted. It was all he could do to keep her blade away from his arm, or the flat smacking the back of his head, or a shoulder. He didn’t dare put any of his nether regions within reach. She’d likely make {*} quite {/*} sure that part of his interest toward her would not be even considered for tonight. And, Kor reflected ruefully as he smacked her Derk-ra’s Fang aside, would he be likely to continue dancing either. Remove both problems at once. Somehow, he had a sneaking suspicion Inquisita training would lead her mind down that path easily. Kor chose, instead, to try to loop behind her and score a blow of his own. Easier said than done. “Do I look half asleep, ael kinth?” she muttered with a small smile, sweeping her janin behind her to block his swipe at the back of her neck. He frowned. “I wish you would not call me that.” Twisting around to face him, she cut sharply at his foolishly unprotected left side and then, when he hastily shrank back, opened a shallow cut above his right eye. “What should I call you, then? Second?” “I would rather you call me Kor…” She shrugged, tapping his left hip with the flat of the blade, then giving him a solid bruise on the right shin. Wincing, he started to hop on one foot, only to find her hand firmly planting itself in the center of his chest, knocking him off balance so that he landed with a whoof of escaped breath in the dirt. For a moment she just stared down at him. Then she shook her head, and sheathed her janin. “Get up, Kor,” she muttered. “Let’s go back to the dance. I believe I promised you the entire bloody night.” “The whole night?” Kor winked. “Of dancing,” she clarified, eyes narrowing. He rose to his feet, doing his best to hide the wince of pain. “Could you relax for just one grain?” Kor muttered. “You’re a beautiful woman and…I dare say, there’s a much nicer Jaara beneath the icy face.” His fingers ghosted over her belly briefly. “Else, this would never have happened.” She backhanded him. Flinching, Kor jerked his hand to his face. He saw her shoulders tense and knew the blow that was coming. When he ducked, Gift prickled. {*}Oh Kyda this is going to hurt{/*} was the last thought he had, before her fist connected with his jaw and he lay sprawled on the sand, tasting blood. Jaara planted a foot in his chest, pushing down on his ribs until he grunted. “Do you want to dance, or keep trying to bed me?” Kor massaged his jaw. “Weel, give me a moment to think.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, planting more weight against his body. Kor rolled his eyes. “You should have been a born a bo—“ He grabbed her ankle and jerked hard, twisting to his feet as she lost her balance. The move was no Fundamental at all and, for once, must have surprised her. She cursed. “You are a bloody jackass!” Jaara snarled. “I beg your pardon, but I was tired of lying on the ground.” Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Just help me up. I’m tired of dancing.” Kor extended a hand and, when she seized his wrist, pulled her to her feet, and then brought her closer. “Ah, but a bet is a bet.” “I am not an empty-headed maid to be coaxed into your bed,” Jaara hissed, voice as cold as a mountain stream in winter. “The bet was for dancing and naught else. But {*} you {/*} seem to like forgetting that, Kor. So bed yourself. I’m going to rest.” “So you’ll break your word?” Jaara stiffened. Kor grinned. “How’s this. I’ll not make you dance anymore with me, nor even remain by me….” “But what? I spend a night with you? Bah.” “No.” He smirked, cocking his head. “One kiss.” Her eyebrow arched and Kor plowed on. “Nothing more than that. A kiss from an Ice Maiden might cool my ardor.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re mocking me.” “I knew you really liked dancing with me!” He wrapped his arm around her waist, as if ready to head back into the celebrants. Jaara stiffened. “Fine. Fine. Just do it and be quick.” Finally! Kor thought victoriously. He leaned toward her, holding her shoulders, and gently pulled her to him. Despite her agreement, she resisted. She did not fight him, exactly, but her entire body was held rigidly, her back as straight as a post. He sighed slightly, lifting one finger to tilt her chin upward, the better to reach her lips… Her jaw was clenched, those beautiful lips pursed in annoyance. Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a moment, fingers flexing on her shoulders… stiff shoulders… tense as a Derk-ra about to strike… “Kyda blast it,” he sighed, releasing her and stepping slightly away. “What?” she growled back, glaring at him when he opened his eyes again. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest. “I said I would do it.” “Aye, well you do not want it,” Kor grumbled. Her gray eyes, almost black in the moonlight, narrowed dangerously at him. “My husband is five months dead, Kor. My loquiri. How can you expect me to---“ There was no real rancor in her voice, but he flinched as though she’d struck him again. “Eppa… I’m sorry.” “No you’re not,” she snapped. “All you want is another woman to bed and bear your bloody child, and you’re resentful that everyone else seems to want to lie down for you but me. Well, I am not interested. It would be much better between us if you would just accept that.” For a moment she was silent, letting that sink in. He avoided her eyes, feeling terrible. He’d known that she had lost a loquiri, but she had not told him that loquiri was the father of her child, and more, had been her husband. Nobody had. And worse, he’d never asked her about that, never even asked her how she was feeling… “Can we just go back to the dance now, Kor?” she asked. Her voice sounded more tired than angry. He swallowed. “Do you want to? I will not make you if you do not want---” She rolled her eyes. “I do not mind so much, if you will just… keep your distance.” ~*~ Holding his ribbons wound loosely about her fingers, Caylia pivoted and stepped, following his gentle guiding hand on her back and all the while the wolves watched them. Their glares weren’t as intense as they had been and their whispers were softer, but they were still there. However, now, it wasn’t hard to ignore, not when Jin held her close, pressed nearly against his chest, every now and then dipping his head to kiss her lightly, or whisper something teasing so she would blush or laugh. And wrapped in his warm, strong arms, she realized once again how little she really cared about wolves. A muted chuckle rose from their watchers and she realized the music had stopped, but they had not. It was the second time it had happened. “Jin…” she murmured. He nuzzled her cheek lightly. “Hmm?” “Listen.” He paused, and then laughed. “Ah well. I didn’t want to sit down anyway. Not a good position, you know.” Caylia flushed. Jin’s eyes gleamed impishly and he laughed once more, guiding her in a sweeping whirl as the musicians started once more, piping flutes mingling with the sweeter trill of a harp. Slower tempo. For a slower dance. She smiled softly. Just for us, too I’m sure. Jin seemed oblivious to the thoughtful shift, and simply danced her out of the main circle and farther and farther away from the center of the celebration. Caylia eyed the fading people. “Jin, we’re getting a little far from the campfires.” His mouth brushed the skin behind her ear, and then he whispered softly, “I want to see the moonlight’s sheen in your hair.” She grinned, blushing. “Oh, I see. So either way we’re alone?” “You know me too well Ly.” His voice was low, in the tone that raised bumps on her arms and made her want to kiss him. There was something else too, that lilt of amusement and… She pulled back a little and looked at him with a laugh in her voice. “What is wrong you tonight?” He raised his brows, the picture of innocence. “Whatever do you mean?” You know,” she wrapped her arms around his neck. “If your friend…what was his name, Othniel, wereto see you, I doubt he’d be calling you bad tempered.” “Do you think me bad tempered?” His tone was still gently teasing. Caylia grinned. “Never. Mischievous, yes. Bad-tempered, no.” He dipped his head to kiss her again, and she amended, “Most of the time.” He paused, lips curling into a broad smile. “Sneaky little bard.” She punched his shoulder. Jin chuckled and pulled her closer, breath warm in her hair. “I love you, Ly.” He kissed her gently, lips exploring her mouth, before pulling back. “Come here,” he murmured, and led her back, stepping into a halo of moonlight. He released her hands and stepped away, cocking his head from side to side. “Beautiful.” Her cheeks heated. “Jin—“ “But not perfect.” Her eyebrows arched. He was up to something. The Fay-el grinned and stepped closer. He ran his fingers through her hair, arranging it around her face and then stepping back. “Nice. But still…hmm.” “Are you mocking me?” “Maybe.” Mischief gleamed in his emerald eyes. Two can play at this game Caylia tilted her chin. “Now look here Fay-el, if I am missing something then I suppose I am not good enough for you. I suppose I should go back to the fire, there were plenty of eligible men with ribbons. Whose shall I take? Your Second’s?” “I believe my Second is busy with Jaara,” he replied with a wave of his hand. Not even phased. “Ah, pity. Maybe I’ll settle for one of the flute players then?” she tried, but Jin only heaved a sigh. “I think they all might be taken. Besides,” he moved closer, “it’s my ribbon that hangs on your harp.” Her face softened in spite of herself. “Aye, and it will as long as I love you.” Her fingers his cheek. “So what’s missing, Jin? You’ve got me curious.” His eyes lit and hers narrowed. “Don’t make me guess.” “Hmm.” He tapped his fingers against his chin, other hand sliding out of her sight. “Maybe…a bit of jewelry.” “Jewelry?” Her eyebrows arched. Jin stepped closer. One hand cupped her chin and he pressed lips to hers. Gentle, searching, at once fraught with desire and unspoken promise. She sighed against his mouth, leaning into his kiss. He stole her breath, broke long enough for her to catch a quick inhale, and then stole it away once more. Caylia shivered. “Oh Jin…” she murmured. The Fay-el pulled his head back slightly, but remained close enough she could feel his warm breath against her mouth. He stepped one step away. “I didn’t give you a gift this morning.” Caylia cocked her head. “I noticed. Do you plan to surprise me?” “Aye.” That low, husky tone was back. Jin held out his hand, cupping a bit of glinting metal in his grip. Her eyes slid to the offering. Her heart tightened in her chest. Etched in careful jade, a miniature dragon snarled across the face of a slim amethyst pendant, looped on a silver chain. Rowan’s tale snapped into her mind. Her eyes jerked to his face. The impish gleam had vanished, replaced by a serious, dark jade. “I love you, Caylia,” he murmured. “With all my heart. If you are willing…I—I want you, with me, for as long as we live.” She sucked in her breath, words taken and tangled. “Jin…” she breathed, “are you…” He stepped closer, brow touched hers, and his fingers ghosted over the lines of her face before settling with a tight tension at her jaw. “I need you Ly. I want” he swallowed, his hand at her jaw trembled for a moment, “you. At my side, as my wife. The one who knows me so well. Whose music I’ll never tire of.” Her heart was thudding and from somewhere deep inside laughter bubbled and spilled gently on her lips even as tears pricked her eyes. “Oh Jin..!” She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “Of course, of course, with all my heart. My Jin, I love you.” She pressed a firm kiss to his lips and he pressed back, intensity of it making them stumble. His breath was hot over her skin as his lips made a trail down the curve of her neck and she laughed and trembled at once. He pulled her close, beaming. “Lift your hair for me Ly.” She did so and he slipped the chain around her neck, and after a moment, closed the clasp. “There,” he whispered at her ear, cradling her body back until she leaned against his chest. "Perfect.” They stood there for a moment, his arms protectively around her body and she with her head against his firm warmth. Jin stroked her hair behind her ear again, laughing softly as she shivered in appreciation, and rubbed her arms with light fingers. “Mmm.” He inhaled her scent, nuzzling the back of her neck. "My Ly.” She closed her eyes, resting her fingers on his arm. “My Jin.” Gift prickled. Jin flinched. “Ah…my Second.” “I take it he noticed you were missing.” “I would say so.” Jin interlaced his fingers with hers. “I suppose we must go back.” Caylia sighed. “Aye. I suppose we must.” ~*~ They stepped from the moonlight to firelight, and the main assembly where the celebration was still going at full pace. The Second unfolded from a spot at the edge of the celebratory circle, stalking toward them with narrowed eyes. And then he pulled short, eyebrows arching and a pleased smirk spreading across his face. “Why Jin—“ Kor glanced at her, and then back to the Fay-el and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, so that was what you were looking for.” He dipped his head respectfully at Caylia. “A very beautiful jewel you have there, Caylia.” “Kor…” Jin muttered. Chuckling, Kor patted his shoulder again. “No longer a bachelor, eh?” He whirled at the opening chords of the next song, and he spun, eyes finding Jaara for a moment. Then, he hesitated and disappeared in the opposite direction. Caylia breathed a sigh. “That was easy. I was expecting worse from him.” “I’ll probably get worse from him later,” Jin pointed out, watching the other man disappear. “Well I’ll make sure I stay around to protect you.” He glanced at her and grinned. “I doubt you being around would stop Kor from being Kor.” People were beginning to notice their return. The younger women, the wolves, first, trading glances with each other and then turning away. They had lost a battle only they had seemed to be fighting and Caylia not even trying. When a group of warriors she had often seen with Jin’s honor guard approached, slapping him on the back, she colored. “Does everyone know what this means?” she asked lowly, touching the gem with her finger tips. Jin took a deep breath. “Yes, well, most of them at least. They would remember…” he trailed off and she squeezed his hand. “Ah, here comes Rowan.” True to his word, the older woman was making her way toward them, a soft smile on her lips, eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s about time Fay-el.” Jin shifted uneasily. “Rowan…” Caylia let go of her betrothed for a moment, and embraced the older woman. “Did you know about this?” “I didn’t know this would happen tonight but child, anyone with eyes could see it would happen sometime.” Caylia closed her eyes for a moment. “Ah Rowan, remember I am not good with my own stories?” With a small chuckle and a few last words the matron departed. They suffered through a few more congratulatory visitors, before Jin led her away from the main celebration and settled at one of the nearly-empty feasting tables. Left alone, she rested her head against his shoulder and he released his hold on her hand to lose his own in her hair, wrapping it around his fingers or lightly tugging a stray pin free. Caylia sighed deeper and relaxed against him. Music and dancing alike started once more, the interest in the two of them dropping to a slightly quieter level, though a few still slunk glances at them or passed by to murmur some sort of congratulations to their Fay-el. Someone cleared his throat quietly. Caylia opened her eyes. Naftis stood there, hands on Elam’s shoulders as the boy stood in front of him. “If I understand correctly, you are now betrothed?” The loquiri said. Jin nodded. Naftis smiled faintly. “Then, my congratulations, Fay-el.” “Just Jin,” he responded. Caylia grinned. This arrangement was familiar, and seemed to happen long ago. Naftis nodded and nudged Elam forward. The boy seemed puzzled, eyes flicking from Jin to Caylia. He bit his lip lightly, brow furrowing in an utterly familiar way—Jin often did the same when faced with a difficult message. “You’re to be my Ma?” “Aye, if you’ll have me.” The bard reached for the boy, eyes jumping to Naftis for approval briefly. She pulled him closer and studied his blue gaze. “Does that bother you?” “No.” Elam frowned. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Joran’s Ma, and Fyn’s Ma, and…and everyone else—they’re nice.” The boy nodded firmly. “They make things, sometimes, tasty treats—though Joran’s Ma doesn’t’ like it when I take without asking—and…and Fyn’s Ma doesn’t like it when he rides his horse too fast, but we talked, earlier, and we all agreed that Mas are pretty good. Sometimes.” He paused in this lengthy explanation to glance at her, concern fluttering in his face. “I haven’t had one before though, so I might not do things right. I’ll learn though. I’m really good at listening when I want to.” Caylia smiled. “Come here, ra,” she murmured, and pulled him into a gentle hug. “I’ve never been a Ma too, so I might not do things right either. We can learn together, hmm?” She rubbed his back soothingly. Elam leaned back to study her face. “That sounds good.” “Aye, a good tale.” Jin looped his arm over her and pulled her closer to him. “It almost seems as a dream.” She snuggled into his side. “If it is a dream, please do not wake me.” Jin chuckled. “Agreed,” he murmured. “I think….yes, the kiss of a true love should awaken me—is that not how the old tales go?” “Aye, although there are others. In one, the kiss of a true love brings the blessing of the Star Gatherer and protection from derk-ra and other beasts of the night. It was how Rajil snuck a scroll through an Apollar Fay-el’s derk-ra clutch and escaped home to Settar. It’s also said that the blessing protects from the ill will of the Luckbringer.” He tilted her chin up. “Lets get another blessing then, Ly.” She grinned. “Aye Jin, aye.” ~*~ The rest of the fete was uneventful. Jaara danced with him for a little longer, but Kor found himself at an even more awkward place. Now, not even the beginnings of a compliment would come out right. Even one meant honestly caught in his mouth and he simply flushed and said no more. Thankfully, for once he did not have to worry about Jin wandering off to pace or stalk the sentry circles. He and Caylia were to busy accepting congratulations, or gazing at each other in nearly sickeningly adorable way, or strumming a soft duet on harp and lola. His dances with Jaara slowed, and then he stopped altogether and settled at the feasting tables. Kor had felt her flagging just a little. Though the Inquisita would likely deny it, she was growing weary. He rested his head on the table, atop crossed arms. After a moment of quiet, he heard Jaara rise, but did not move to stop her. She had fulfilled enough of the bet and besides, he was growing tired of having nothing to say. Or at least, that made any sense once it slipped out of his mouth. After a few marks, Kor rose once more and scanned the crowd. Several young Dragonian women were winking coyly at someone at the edge of the circle, pursing their lips in mock kisses or waving for whoever it was to join them. Kor smiled as he headed that way, curious as to who had their attention, and what fool of a man would ignore it. And then smirked. His little brother stood there, a forced smile on his lips. Their shared sister stood at his side, one hand firmly clasping his and the other hand in her mouth, chewing on a fingernail. Her eyes widened when she spotted Kor and she pulled away, trying to hide behind Joran as she did Turina, though her brother bore no full skirts to use. Nor did his sister release her hold on his hand, leaving Joran trying to keep his balance as he grinned toward his elder brother. “Kor! Where’s Jaara?” “Oh, here and there. Are you well, Joran?” “Of course.” Joran’s eyes slid to the women. “Mostly.” “Ah, I see.” Kor smiled, holding out his hand to his little sister. She smiled shyly at him, and buried her head against her brother. Joran shrugged slightly. “She doesn’t make any sense. When you’re gone, she chatters about you non-stop. Caught her trying to dip her doll in the henna.” He rolled his eyes. “But now, she’s coy and shy.” Kor squeezed his shoulder. “Women. Who can understand them?” Joran snickered. “But oh so much fun to bed them.” “Oh aye.” Kor smirked. “But why are you here, and they out there?” “She wanted to see the celebration.” Joran inclined his head at his sister, who was now peeking around him to grin at Kor again. “I don’t want her to wander out there and get hurt if no one sees her.” Kor crouched down to her level. She hid her face again. He smiled, laughing softly. “Well, why don’t I watch her?” Joran hesitated, glancing uncertainly from the women to his little sister. “Ah, if you could…” Kor held his arms out to the little one. “Come now, Fiona,” he coaxed. “Do you want to dance?” She nodded, head still pressed against Joran’s leg. Chuckling, the teenager leaned down and gently pried her away from him, and Kor offered his hand. Fiona took it willingly enough, one finger of her other hand in her mouth again. Slowly, Kor started to lead her away, and gave his brother a gentle shove on the shoulder toward the women. “Go on,” he winked. “And if your mother asks, I had nothing to do with this!” “Let’s go there!” Fiona piped, pointing at a double ring of dancers bouncing along sunwise and widdershins. “Aye, that looks like a good place,” Kor agreed. “I am going to put you on my shoulders, okay?” She protested, giggling, but finally settled with one of her small arms wrapped around his forehead. Grinning, he stepped into the ring of dancers. ~*~ Two days after the fete found her pacing the camp, on hand on her harp, the other fingering the gem at her neck. “You look troubled my dear.” Caylia, lost in thought, started, saw Rowan and smiled softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” “Join me.” The bard sank to a place across from where Rowan was mending a tunic. “Reality, I think, is really hitting me.” “Oh?” Caylia propped her cheek against the heel of her hand. “I am marrying a Fay-el. Not just my Jin, but a Fay-el. I’ve been keeping those two things more separate than I should, I think.” Rowan drew the needled out and inspected her work for a moment. “Aye, you are marrying a Fay-el, that is true. Your situation is and will be different from most.” “I know,” she took a deep breath and rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed lightly beneath her fingertips. “I need to know, so I do know, what is expected from me. What do the wives of Dragonian Fay-els do, exactly.” She raised a finger. “As a warning, I am learning as a scholar. What I do and what I may do is still up to me as I see fit.” The matron smiled softly. “Of course, dear.” She set her sewing aside. “Duties, as you would say. Many, well, many aren’t much different from any wife. Even, I’m sure, in the Mara. You must care for the Fay-el, speak reason to him and counsel. That, as I said before, is true of any wife. You must be able to answer some of the tribe’s issues, especially those that concern the women and children.” Caylia looked amused. “Because those are the ones that I would understand?” Rowan frowned and she shook her head. “Forgive me, I’m being cruel. I understand I would understand women’s issues better than Jin, but an issue is an issue, regardless of gender and you shouldn’t…” the other woman’s look had glazed slightly and the bard let her words die on her tongue. “Sorry,” she murmured sheepishly. “It’s not only about understanding,” Rowan began again. “It’s also nice for the women and children to have some sort of representative, someone they can go to. And it takes a little bit more off Jin’s shoulders.” She cocked her head. “I know you don’t like him worrying as much as he does.” “No, I don’t.” Caylia leaned forward and put her hands on her elbows. “Many of these things I was planning on doing anyways. Whether anyone liked it or not.” More responsibility than I would have guessed. But then again, they have even had female Fay-els. Perhaps I’m just being irrational and completely silly with all of my own worrying. “And of course,” Rowan was continuing, “to bear children, heirs, and raise them.” The words sank in and Rowan raised a brow at the look on her face. “That doesn’t appeal?” “It’s loveless when it’s lumped under the term duty,” she muttered. “Like I told Jaara, I will not be a brood mare.” There was a light touch on her knee and she looked up to meet Rowan’s eyes. “No one is asking you to.” “Then what did you just say?” She saw the woman hesitate, searching for the right words and Caylia filled her own in the silence. “You see? That and…I’ve never even thought about being a mother before or anything like this really.” “Caylia, Jin wouldn’t think of you as a brood mare, you know that. And as for the rest…It will come. Don’t fight it, you love him? Then everything will work out. It will fall into place and you will look back and wonder why you even worried.” “That’s easy to say. Especially for you whose lived here within the tribe and done all this before. Besides it’s the tribe and everything else all at once.” Her fingers touched her temples again and she felt Rowan pat her shoulder. “Too much?” “Perhaps. Ah, I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small, even to her. “Just…thinking. It’s just…a lot of new stuff all at once and, well, I just feel…very young, that’s all, and very far from home.” Rowan’s gentle squeeze on her shoulder was welcome. “I know you won’t believe me now, but you’ll find that everything will fall together fine. It’s just overwhelming now but you’ll find yourself again and you will make a good addition to our tribe.” “Aye,” she took a deep breath. “Aye, I suppose.” Another smile from the woman. “Come, let’s see if the other women need help cooking the meal.” |
| “There you are!” The bard paused and, to Rowan’s practiced eye, looked almost a little guilty. “I’m sorry Rowan, I didn’t know you were looking for me.” “You are getting married this evening.” Caylia smiled. “I know.” The matron raised a brow. “So is there a reason you’ve been rolling in the dirt? You need to get ready, and the sooner the better. There’s a lot of work to be done.” Frowning, Caylia looked at her dirt covered hands and feet. “I was just helping with the planting. One of the men said it was better if you put the seeds in with your feet and stepped on them. You see in Settar, we grow kolinar, but we save the plants rather than seeds. This is a different method in a different sort of soil…” Rowan held up a hand. Sometimes when the girl started on a lesson, she didn’t stop. That combined with her nervousness, they would never get her cleaned up. “Come,” she put a hand behind Caylia’s elbow and walked her firmly toward her own tent. Other members of the tribe had been putting up decorations around the marriage circle, and helping another tribe that had joined them the night before get settled in. With all the activity, the Shinar tribe buzzed almost like a small city. She caught the bard looking curiously as two women passed, carrying ribbon-bedecked spears. Sighing, Rowan tightened her grip on the girl’s arm and got her into her tent before she ran off to examine something. Kit and Aving were waiting for them inside. They grinned as the other two women entered, and one pulled up a chair, forcing Caylia into it. “Wait, why are there other people here?” Rowan ignored her. “Color first and then dress. Let’s get to work.” Aving, a solid no-nonsense sort of woman, raised Caylia’s chin and studied her face. “Delicate, and very nice bone structure. I think some red to the cheeks, here and here. And a little kohl near the eyes. Your eyes are brilliant enough we don’t want to over shadow them too much.” “Kohl?” Caylia wrinkled her nose, “like Ravin wears?” Kit giggled. “Ravin wears kohl? Is he trying to attract the Fay-el as well?” “It doesn’t matter,” Aving said firmly, “blush and kohl, please.” Caylia’s nose was wrinkling even more as the new tools were brandished before her eyes. “But, no. Stop that. Why? Ow.” “Why?” Aving said, ignoring her squirming. “So he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you of course! Now if you’d like to switch places, I’d be glad to have the Fay-el not be able to keep his eyes off me!” She cackled a little. “I’d much rather be going into his tent tonight.” Caylia gaped at the woman, beginning to flush. “And not only because he’s the Fay-el!” Kit added, then sighed a little wistfully. “He won’t be able to keep his hands off you,” she murmured, looking at Aving’s handiwork. If even possible, Caylia flushed even deeper. “Why is this happening?” Caylia muttered. “Why can’t I just wash my face and hands and be done with it?” Kit gave her a horrified look, but Aving only chuckled stowing the kohl and color back inside one of Rowan’s packs. Meanwhile Rowan had taken the dress, still folded neatly, and placed it on a chair. Caylia eyed it with suspicion. “What is that monstrosity.” “That monstrosity is your dress,” Rowan replied tersely, “that I embroidered myself.” The bard had the decency to look sheepish. One of the girls unfolded it and held it up. “Oh. That’s…actually. It’s very beautiful. And…what are you doing?” she twisted to look at Kit. “I can undress…” Kit ignored her, and clicked her tongue. “Up.” “But…” “Up!” Glowering, the bard obeyed and the girls went to work helping her out of her clothing. Rowan, in the meantime, held up a thin, filmy cloth. “This is your marriage linka. It’s for tonight.” Caylia looked confused for a moment, then realization dawned as to what she meant and her cheeks colored. “It’s very fine fabric, very smooth and very soft.” Rowan smiled. “It feels like liquid against your skin. It goes on under your dress.” With a yelp, the other two women got the last of Caylia’s outer garments off and worried her quickly into linka then dress. It fit beautifully, hugging her curves, and cinching in at the waist as Aving began lacing and tightening the bodice. The look on Caylia’s face got more and more uncomfortable. “Rowan,” she said, “is this…I suppose it is necessary. Nevermind.” “What do you think? I don’t think any tighter.” Kit frowned, “she already has enough,” she gestured, “oomph.” Caylia’s look turned desperate. Rowan laughed. “Don’t worry so much, my dear. You look lovely.” Although she would have to remember this day after the bard settled in more firmly in her role as Fay-ra. “Now something else I have to go over with you,” Rowan continued. Aving and Kit were taking time to brush Caylia’s thick locks. “This.” She held out a ribbon. Caylia frowned. “Is that from my harp?” “Yes, it…” The young woman’s face darkened suddenly and she gave Rowan an iron look. “You took one of Jin’s ribbons from my harp.” Rowan raised her brows. “Aye…Fay-ra. But in this case I promise you it’s important.” Her look relaxed. “Aye, Rowan, of course. Forgive me.” “Jin will have a ribbon as well. He will tie his ribbon in your hair, and you will do the same for him. It is part of the unity ceremony.” She placed it in Caylia’s hand and closed the bard’s fingers around it. “Keep it safe,” she murmured. Caylia only nodded. Rowan stepped back and eyed the bard up and down before nodding approvingly. “Perfect.” She smiled. “Don’t be nervous. You love him, and he you, and you do each other good.” For the first time since entering the tent the bard gave her a very warm smile. “Thank you. I do love him…” she murmured. She looked down at herself, anxiously plucking at her skirts. “I suppose I couldn’t bring my harp to this.” Rowan shook her head. “No, and I will check you for hidden flutes before you leave.” < > As the first rays of sunlight drooped lower for the evening, Jin shifted uneasily and tugged on his tunic lightly. The smell of freshly-turned earth surrounded him, the neat furrows of a field illuminated by the waning sunlight and flickering torches placed at the edge of camp. It had been several years since he had had an opportunity to see crops grow, to dig his hand into the soil and plant seedlings. It was a nice change from the nomadic treks across the desert and plains. Since he had found a suitable place in the midst of the plains, the tribe had settled well and moved toward tasks such as planting a field, harvesting fruit from nearby trees, and preparing for their Fay-el’s wedding. With a grimace, Jin shifted his weight again and crossed his arms over his chest. Nervous butterflies flopped in his stomach. What if she said no? What if something should happen? Would Elam be happy with this plan? His stomach twisted again, and then he cringed as Kor’s Gift prickled over his back. He whirled to glare at his Second. His surly scowl did not wipe away the smirk spreading across the Hybrid’s face. Kor slapped his shoulder warmly. “Are you ready?” “No,” he muttered. “I see.” Kor rested a hand on each shoulder and twisted him around, “Now are you ready?” Caylia beamed at him, bright smile crossing her face. The women had done wonders for her, adding subtle hints of color to her face that made her cheekbones and bright eyes into a powerful distraction. Her hair was loose and flowing about her shoulders in a soft waterfall. She clasped the ribbons from her harp in her hand, eyes sliding to his dark hair. Jin mumbled something incoherent. Kor laughed and shoved him forward. “Try beautiful, Jin. Or I love you. That should be enough.” The bard moved forward, for once without any instrument clinging to her, and touched his hand. The warm of her skin made him move and he automatically wove his fingers with hers. “Ly…” even now, words were catching. “Beautiful, you look…I love you.” “I should hope so.” At her own response Caylia’s eyes widened. “I mean…” Kor chuckling, first at Jin and now at Caylia, grew even louder. “Trinity…I hope none of the women heard that. I mean I love you too. It’s been a long day.” Her face softened, smile brightening as she looked at him and she bit her lip. “You look,” she swallowed, “very nice.” The wind caught her hair lightly, gently brushing around her finely boned face and Jin lost himself for a moment. Then the hush of the tribe echoed and he squeezed her hand. They walked hand in hand, with his thumb rubbing her knuckle lightly as they moved forward. Warriors grinned and women smiled, even the wolves—with obvious sighs—did not glower. They moved closer to the simple circle, decorated with lances bedecked with colorful ribbons and arranged artfully about. Children with baskets threw fragrant spice toward the two, a blessing and request for good luck and honor upon the marriage. Jin released her hand reluctantly and moved to the opposite side of the circle. Though he stood alone, he flashed a warm smile at her that heated her insides, a promise of love and protection flashing in his eyes. The man in the midst of the circle—Karik, a chieftain who had arrived late last night—grinned at them both as they stepped into the circle, eyes on no one but each other. “By entering the marriage circle, these two have agreed to bind themselves together in the presence of the Dragonian gods. Thrice spoken and agreed. Jin and Caylia, are you prepared to enter into this most sacred of unions?” “Aye.” “Aye.” “Are you prepared to honor each other, love each other, respect each other? Provide counsel and comfort?” Caylia’s lips were fighting down the grin that was almost as amused as excited. “Aye.” Jin was only half listening. He had said the words often enough to other couples inside similar circles. But this was his, and his bride who was giving him that warm smile he knew. “Aye,” she agreed, “aye and always.” “Then step to each other and present your ribbons.” Caylia’s ribbon, once his, was blue. Blue for a bard. It was the first one she had taken at Kor’s confirmation. “Caylia of Settar, bind your words and promises with your ribbon to your future husband.” Gently, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. As she gathered it loosely, she whispered, “I love you. I’m not sure if we’re really allowed to talk but…I don’t care. I love you with all my heart, and I don’t want to ever see you hurt, or be unhappy or anything. You’re precious to me and I thank the Luckbringer that we met. And I suppose that invoking a Maran god at a Dragonian wedding is also probably not done but…I don’t care about that either.” He dipped his head lower, and then caught himself before he kissed her. “My Ly,” Jin murmured, dragging his fingers through her hair, “You can invoke any gods you’d like. When have I cared what is or isn’t done?” His smile broadened, warm and inviting, “I love you. Nothing else matters.” He brushed her hair behind her ears, eyes flicking to her lips. “Nothing else,” Jin whispered. Karik cleared his throat. Caylia and Jin alike flushed, the latter withdrawing his ribbon. His fingers combed through her hair as he interwove the sapphire in and out of her soft locks. His hand dropped away from her hair, brushing a strand away from her face, and then clasped her hand with his. She squeezed back, and he smiled at her. Karik nodded and then stated, “Thrice spoken and agreed. Jin of Shinar, what say you?” His smile was warm and loving. He held her gaze, green alight with a soft light, and rubbed his thumb against her knuckle as he spoke. “I do solemnly avow my love for you. I will comfort you, keep you, love you, defend you in the storms and Dragon’s fire, seeking only to be with you until death parts us. All these things I pledge upon my honor as a man, my blood, and my life’s breath.” “And you Caylia of Settar?” “I do solemnly avow my own love for you. I will advise and counsel you, respect you, honor you, support you when storms of life are strong, “ her lips quirked, ‘and protect you from wolves. These things I pledge upon my honor as a woman, a bard of Settar, and in the names and eyes of my own gods.” Karik grinned and held out his hands. “Now you are one in body, breath, and blood. Thrice asked and thrice received. May you kiss now to seal this most sacred of unions.” Gently, Jin leaned toward her and tilted her chin up with one finger. “I love you, Ly.” “I love you, my Jin.” He pressed his lips to hers, exploring her mouth tenderly. Caylia wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers loosening the ribbon. His hand slid to her back and pulled her closer, while the other lost itself in her hair. The world faded away into just the two of them. Until Karik chuckled dryly. “Do you think you can come up for air?” he whispered. They started and broke delicately, flushed. “I suppose he has a point,” Caylia murmured as music began to swell. Jin grinned impishly. “Maybe,” he settled his arms firmly about her waist. “But we will have plenty of time.” “A lifetime.” “Aye,” he smiled warmly as the music fell into a gentle rhythm and their feet found their steps. “A whole lifetime,” he agreed as she pressed her body close to his in the gliding dance. < > After a few hours of slow, gentle dancing—counterpointed with soft kisses and her gentle laughter, Caylia felt as if she were overflowing with joy. Jin’s own features were outlined with the bright gleam of happiness in his eyes and, repeatedly, he laughed at some word or sweet comment. Around them, the other dancers smiled and glanced at each other with fond, reminiscent looks, or longing if they were as yet unmarried. Jin slowed and then caught her arm, sliding down to her hand and interlacing his fingers with hers. “Are you hungry?” he murmured. “Not really,” she leaned her head against his arm. He stroked fingers through her hair lightly, smiling as she shuddered. “Tired?” “A little. It has been a long day.” She glanced up at him. “The women decided they wanted to ‘prepare’ me for my own wedding.” “Ah,” he led her away from the noisy tumult of the celebration and toward the coolness of the night. “That could be torture.” “Oh aye, horrendous torture.” She feigned a shiver. Jin chuckled and wrapped an arm around her tighter. “I will protect you,” he whispered, breath warm against the top of her head. They turned aside in their walk, moving toward a tent. It took a moment, and then Caylia recognized the outline and decorations, faded scarlet depicted on the canvas. The Fay-el’s tent. Jin lifted the outer flap and ushered her in with a hand firmly against the small of her back. As the Fay-el tied the canvas back into place, she stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to make out objects from the lumps and shadows. “Hold on,” she glanced over and caught sight of Jin fiddling with something. A few moments later, a small lantern guttered to life on the writing desk. “No tripping now,” he smiled gently. The dim light illumined his handsome, beautiful, features and her stomach twisted in nervousness and excitement. “I’ll try not to,” she replied lowly as he stepped to her. “But you are sworn to protect me, and that does include inanimate darkness.” He chuckled, half in the shadows running from the lantern. His hand cupped her cheek for a moment and then fingers trailed down her neck, brushing over the collar bone at the base of her throat. Her head tilted almost on its own as he kissed her lightly just beneath her jaw. “You’re beautiful, Ly,” Jin whispered. He was so close, smelling of spice and musk and outdoor places. She drew in a ragged breath. Trinity His lips made a gentle path down the curve of her neck and beneath her jaw, then touched at her collarbone. The fingers of one hand tangled in her hair, while the other slid down her back. She shuddered in his embrace, at once tremulous and elated at his touch. Her skin warmed at each place that his hands had touched. Jin nuzzled her neck lightly and then stepped back, plucking up the lantern and placing the handle on a slim hook in one of the tent poles. With a deep breath, he clutched the edge of his tunic and shrugged out of the doeskin. Caylia’s eyes appreciated the curve of fine muscles, the softening play of amber lantern light glinting across healthy, dark skin. Her hand moved on its own accord, resting against his lower back. Jin shivered, but did not move away, even when she stepped around to face him. She stroked her hand over the bared skin and then rested her head on his chest, listening to the solid thump of his heartbeat. “Still the same Jin inside,” she murmured. “Aye, Ly.” He hugged her close, chin resting atop her head. “But lonely no more.” < > Morning dawned and filtered lightly through the canvas of the tent. Jin groggily opened his eyes to the feeling of a nose being pressed against his skin. Caylia, shifting in her sleep, murmured something, warm breath ghosting over his chest. He grinned tiredly and plucked a mostly unknotted ribbon from her hair. It was a wonder that was still there. Shifting ever so slightly, he bent his head down and kissed her temple. “Ly…” No response. He pressed several more into her neck until she grunted and squirmed. A small smile formed on her lips and she opened a bleary eye. “Good morning Ly.” Caylia’s smile broadened and she curled her fingers against his chest, leaning upward to press her lips to the bottom of his jaw. He chuckled and trailed fingers through her hair and then over the silken softness of the linka. “I hope you always wake me that way,” he murmured. His mouth explored her face, pressing gentle kisses to nose, cheek, forehead, and the curve of her neck. Caylia shivered and snuggled closer. Her faintly floral scent surrounded him, like an intoxicating flower. Lips met, caressed, deepening into an intense embrace. When they parted a moment later, both were breathing hard. Jin curled his arms around her shoulders and she rested her hand on his chest, fingertips touching the scars in his skin. “What is this one from?” she said, hand tracing the jagged arch across his belly. “A Hybrid blade. Turned at the last by Layole, but it left its mark.” “And this one?” Jin shifted, catching her hand. “An arrow wedged in my ribs. Turoc cut it out.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Do not fret, Ly. Kor protects me now, and others.” “I’m not fretting.” Warm lips pressed his skin and he shivered. “I’m exploring,” she murmured. “Kyda—“ he laughed dryly. “Could you let me rest for a few minutes?” She tilted her head up, grinning with a faint flush beneath her cheekbones. “Let you rest? You just woke up. You just woke me up.” Her finger trailed paths over his chest. He took her hand again. “Now you’re doing this on purpose.” Her eyes sparked. “Maybe. But you’re still so full of stories.” He reached for her again, pulling her close and their legs tangled beneath the furs. “Mm, let’s stay here,” she said with a low voice, “and hide from the tribe.” “From the tribe and from Kor,” he murmured. “I think that is the best idea I’ve heard in a long while.” “Good.” Pressing light kisses to her collarbone, Jin whispered, “Now it’s my turn to explore.” His hands had just touched the fabric of her linka when a familiar and utterly unwelcome prickle flowed over them. He growled. Caylia cocked her head. “Kor,” Jin muttered. “Oh…what does he…” the sound of moving canvas interrupted her and she hissed, eyes widening. She drew the furs up to her chin just as a red head poked into the tent. “Good morning,” Kor beamed. “I’m sure you two are having fun, but there are other things to do today. Rowan stopped by with some other clothing for you Caylia, and Jin, Karik’s looking for you.” Sitting up, Jin glared at his Second. “Kor…” The Hybrid grinned cheekily. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind waiting a bit longer.” “Get out of my tent.” Kor disappeared again and Caylia breathed, “I am going to kill him.” Jin closed his eyes. “Why are we always always interrupted?” “Because you are a good and well-loved Fay-el,” Caylia murmured, kissing the tip of his nose. Jin sighed and rolled his eyes, but the grin spreading on his face belied the look of annoyance. She pushed his shoulder lightly and tugged the furs away from him. “Go on now.” He chuckled and rose to his feet, retrieving his clothes. Once clad in tunic and breeches again, Jin bent down and kissed her forehead gently. “I love you, Ly.” “I love you too, Jin.” She trailed her fingers through his hair and then traced the outline of a cheekbone. “Come back soon?” “Aye,” he whispered, and stole her breath, before stepping away with obvious reluctance and ducking out of the tent. < > Fifteen grains later, Jin found himself cringing in growing irritation as Karik’s booming laugh sounded yet again over something Kor said. Jin had heard enough ridiculous puns that morning---most relating in some way to his late rise after his wedding night---that he had managed to simply block Kor out, but Karik, loud as he was, was not so easy. At least Kor was not disrespecting Caylia, which was good. The Second seemed to like and respect her well enough, although perhaps only because she was Jin’s bride and Jaara’s friend. It almost made Kor’s jokes at his expense tolerable. Almost. “Where did you find this ra, Sire?” Karik asked, completely failing to notice the young Hybrid’s annoyed eye roll. "I like him!" Jin sighed. “In the middle of the woods,” he said grumpily, longing to be back in his tent with Caylia where it was warm and much, much more interesting. “On the ground in front of his horse,” Kor elaborated. “He nearly trampled me to death, but fortunately, he likes me as much as you do and merely took me captive for three days instead.” Jin frowned. "I did not---" Kor shrugged. "Whatever. Then he made me his Second, so obviously he likes me a lot." Again, Karik’s chuckle rose into a braying laugh, as though the bloody Second had said the funniest thing in the world. Jin honestly did not understand it, and from Aretas’ irritated frown on the other side of the campfire, the Eloin lord did not either. Behind Aretas, Ravin’s fingers danced repeatedly from his shitan hilts to his pike, and his eyes from Kor to Aretas to Zylon. Jin honestly was not sure which man the Border Guard most wished to gut, and he was not entirely positive he’d mind terribly much either way. Jin’s morning irritation calmed somewhat when Jaara joined them at the camp fire, informing Kor with a small, snide grin that Hamen was looking for him. The Hybrid cringed, but brightened slightly as the Inquisita plopped down at his side, studiously ignoring him as she accepted a bowl of porridge from a woman who frowned, obviously wondering what the Inquisita was doing away from the women’s campfires. Jin sighed at the confused look that passed over Karik’s face as he took in the small, heavily armed, breeches-wearing Maran. He sighed deeper as an understanding look gleamed in the other chieftain’s eye as he noted Kor’s sudden interest in the Inquisita. “You have adopted many Hybrids into the tribe, Sire?” Karik asked politely enough, glancing from Kor, to Jaara, to Ravin. He ignored Aretas and Zylon utterly; under guard, the two were clearly not welcome members of the tribe, but rather politely treated captives. Watching Jaara’s back stiffen, Jin grimaced. “Not many. The Inquisita and Commander are Marans, traveling with my tribe for a time. My wife, as you know, is Maran as well, as is Hamen---who is training my Derk-ra---and Naftis, who is…” He trailed off, suddenly wishing he had not taken the conversation in that particular direction. “Who is?” Karik prompted. Jin shrugged stiffly. “He is with my son. Training him.” “You would have a Maran sponsor your child?” the chieftain frowned at that, shaking his head. “That is very unwise if you wish him to do the Coro later.” “I am sponsoring my own children, Karik,” Jin snapped. “Naftis is simply…training him in what I lack.” “Ah.” the Dragonian shifted, a slow smile inching over his face. “I see. Naftis knows the bow then?” He grinned at Jin. “I would guess so, as you certainly could not teach archery. Have you seen him hold a bow yet, Kor?” he called over his shoulder. The Second groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh aye. I’ve been trying to teach him, but I think it’s nigh on hopeless.” Karik nodded. “Aye, I seem to recall…” he glanced at Jin. “Wasn’t it you that broke Corin’s arrows—and then ended up being hobbled like a horse for a point?” Jin closed his eyes. “Aye,” he sighed. “Corin shared my temper.” “And lack of tact.” Karik elbowed Kor, smirking, “And lack of good humor.” While the Hybrid snickered, and did his best to pretend he was not laughing at his chieftain, Jin rose. “I do have a few missives to finish, unless you have need of—“ “Not yet,” Karik interrupted. “I am quite intrigued by those two,” he gestured toward Aretas and Zylon, both of whom frowned back at the unfamiliar words. Karik had not bothered to learn Common, save a few basic phrases. But then, he rarely left the plains, even in the harsh winter. The chieftain wrapped an arm around Jin’s shoulders. “And I would like to see Elam sometime. Perhaps he remembers me?” “I hope not.” Karik slapped his shoulder. “Laugh a little, ra. No need to be a grouch.” He ruffled Jin’s hair, ignoring the man’s cringe away from him. “Karik—“ “Come on.” Jin frowned, trying to think of how he might refuse, but finally sighed. Karik was very affectionate toward Elam, and the ra would be very disappointed if he were not allowed to see the chieftain. “Kor,” he sighed. “Will you go fetch Elam for me?” The Hybrid shook his bloody head. “Pah, and have Naftis see me and remember that we are supposed to have a lesson this day? Eppa, no!” “Kor!” Jin growled. He did not need to glance at Karik to convey his meaning. Obey me in front of others, will you, even if you will not bend in private? Rolling his blue eyes skyward, Kor rose to his feet, taking his bowl of porridge with him. “Oh fine.” He cocked his head at Jin, spoonful of food halfway to his mouth. “Only Elam?” he asked cryptically. “Aye,” Jin said, and breathed a sigh of relief when the Hybrid sauntered off without any further comments. “Kyda,” he grumbled. “He is a handful, isn’t he?” Karik asked, smiling after the departing redhead. “You have no idea,” Jin said, with great feeling. "Perhaps he will grow out of it." The other chieftain frowned slightly. “This Naftis is training your Second as well?” Jin saw no clear way around it---Karik would surely notice something strange in time---and so he spoke the simple, infinitely annoying truth. “My Second is Gifted, as is my son. Naftis is training them both.” Surprise flashed over Karik’s face, followed by disapproval. “With all due respect, Sire, why do you encourage such a thing? Surely---“ He broke off as the other Fay-el’s face settled into a scowl. “Because,” Jin growled, “it has long since become apparent that leaving the Gift untrained is more disastrous than teaching them how to control it. As it is, even the training has been a trial. At least it has been for Kor.” I hope Elam will fare much better when he is Kor’s age. Surely Naftis can keep him safe? Of course he can. Kor is just... Kor. His frown deepened. < > At the sight of Karik, Elam pulled away from Kor’s side with eyes alight, throwing his arms out as the chieftain enveloped him in a gruff hug. The ra beamed and then giggled as Karik nuzzled his neck, before setting him down again. He laced his fingers with Karik’s. “Oh, you have to see—I’ve got a bow now, and arrows, and a new Ma, and a lo—“ “Long sentence,” Jin interrupted hurriedly. “Do you remember coaxing him to speak before?” Karik’s smile, which had widened as the boy chattered, then waned at the interruption, broadened again. “Aye. You couldn’t manage Karik before,” he said, winking at Elam. “You’re not going to call me ‘Ik anymore, are you?” Elam laughed. “No.” He straightened his shoulders, face suddenly serious as he recited, “You’re Fay-el Karik na Lyton nu Pendar.” The chieftain smiled and ruffled the ra’s hair mildly, flashing a good-natured smirk at Jin. “I take it your Keeper is still alive, or did you drill the lineage nonsense into this poor ra.” “The Keeper is alive, but it is not nonsense. It is good for him to know where he comes from.” Karik’s eyes shifted to Elam, and he fingered the blonde hair lightly. “Aye…it is.” “I know all of it, Karik,” Elam piped, twisting to face the chieftain. He flicked a sly glance toward the two Eloin captives, and then grinned up at Karik. Fluffing his hair to the side, he crossed his arms, tilted his chin up, and sniffed contemptuously. The chieftain had the good grace not to gape at the obvious imitation of Aretas’ own stance across the way. Red flushed lightly beneath his tan. “Ah..I..I see, ra.” Jin cleared his throat. He patted Elam’s shoulder lightly. “Why don’t you go back to Naftis now? I’m sure he’s worried about you, and Karik will be here for at least another day.” With another beaming grin at them both, Elam nodded and darted away. Karik watched him go, and then flicked a glance at Jin. “You told him finally? I thought for sure he would be told on your death bed.” Jin crossed his arms. He glared at Aretas, who arched a brow at him in frank confusion, while the healer at his side scowled back protectively. “Aretas told him.” “And the lord still lives?” “His life for my tribe’s safety, for now.” Karik opened his mouth as if to reply and—judging by the flash of distrust and annoyance in his eyes—likely something contemptuous at the arrangement, but was cut short by commotion at the far north end of camp. Jin frowned and narrowed his eyes, squinting at the distant motion of guards and warriors. “Oh Kyda…” he murmured. “What?” Karik said. He moved to Jin’s side. The Fay-el sighed deeply. “Othniel is here.” Jin jumped as Kor, who had been silently watching the interaction between Jin, Karik and Elam in amusement until now, immediately pressed close to his side, pale eyes scanning the tribe for newcomers. “Who?” A small entourage had arrived, and were quietly removing saddles from their mounts’ backs and unloading tents and other supplies from a pair of simple wooden carts. Kor's gaze settled on a short, sickly-looking middle aged man with lank, thinning black hair and a dour disposition. He stood slightly away from the others, arms crossed as he watched the rest work. “Him?” “Aye,” Karik said, turning a wry grin the redhead’s way. “Fear not; he’s harmless enough.” He jerked a thumb at Jin, who could not help but notice that his own body was tensing more and more by the grain as though preparing for a battle. “But you’ll need to watch him, lest he feel the need to deprive Shinar of yet another of our already dwindling number of Fay-els.” Jin frowned at that, but before he could open his mouth to respond, his bloody Second was quirking a cheeky grin at him as Othniel’s watery gray eyes picked out the Fay-el by the campfire. “What, cannot hold your temper, Fay-el?” Kor snorted, warily watching the stranger approach despite Karik’s words. “Give it a moment,” Karik advised with a chuckle, dropping his voice lower as Othniel approached. “You will understand soon, mark my words.” “Ah, someone more annoying than me, hmm?” Kor asked Jin, his boisterous voice dangerously close to being loud enough for Othniel to hear. Jin cursed under his breath and gave the Hybrid a stern headshake to encourage him to shut up, and Kor obeyed well enough, though he settled with a sigh. The three of them stood very still and silent as Othniel strode up to them, only one looking at all enthusiastic or curious about what the junior Fay-el would say. Jin dipped his head slightly. “Good day to you, Fay-el Othniel. The Star bless your household.” The chieftain’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Good day, Jin.” Shifting his weight, Jin smiled faintly. “It is unfortunate that you missed the wedding feast last night. A delay in the journey?” “My shamans insisted that I wait.” Karik cleared his throat. “Surely you are weary from your journey?” “That is likely true, Fay-el,” the chieftain inclined his head politely toward Karik, utterly ignoring Jin. The latter bristled and bit his lip hard. “However,” Othniel continued, “I have heard that you are keeping an Eloin within your camp? That is very unwise.” Jin took a slow breath. “Perhaps it is foolish, but it will safeguard my tribe’s safety, and provide us time to harvest crops. I believe it is a wise gamble.” Othniel sniffed contemptuously. “My shamans disagree.” He tipped his head slightly toward the taller Fay-el, gray eyes darkening slightly. “Have you enlisted a shaman by now?” “No.” The statement was firmly emphatic. “Ah. A pity. Corin would have.” Jin flinched. Othniel glanced around the camp lazily, eyes wandering about until they rested on the Hybrid. The edge of his lip curled into a faint sneer. “ This is your new Second?” Jin’s eyes narrowed and his body tensed slightly. “Aye. He is the son of Rinji.” “And I suppose he told you that.” He sniffed, studying Kor’s face appreciatively. “My seer could test his blood, to ensure he is truly Dragonian in some sense. Or simply an ael kinth bastard with a silver tongue.” The Aquila’s hands fisted at his side. “My mother was a fine healer, who saved Rinji’s life.” Othniel’s brow arched and he glanced up and down. “And warmed his bed, it seems.” Kor hissed a curse under his breath. Othniel crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “This is what comes when younglings enlist younglings.” He arched a brow at Jin. “I don’t suppose you have learned to manage a bow yet? I noticed the child has mastered it.” “Aye, my son is learning many things with the aid of his Maran tutor.” “The one who has hair like a woman? I saw him. It will be very hard for that child to beget heirs with another man.” “Naftis is his Sair, not his lover,” Jin growled lowly. Othniel shrugged, as if the matter did not concern him, and looked away. Speaking distinctly through clenched teeth, Jin gestured toward his left. “Your men, I am certain, are as weary as you are. I have kolinar and pavilions for—“ Othniel turned away, as if Jin were not speaking at all, and focused on Karik. “What of Fay-el Tyl’s tribe?” Karik shifted uneasily, eyes sliding to Jin. He tried to shake his head, but Othniel simply ignored his attempts to bring Jin into the conversation. “Have you heard news of them since they passed by the plains of—“ “—Othniel,” Jin interrupted, “May I ask…” “Hush! Do not interrupt your betters.” The older Fay-el glared at him sternly. “Be silent.” Behind him, Karik glanced worriedly at Jin, and then at Kor, inclining his chin toward the Hybrid’s increasingly angry Fay-el, before backing away from them. Jin swore. “I am not a dog or a servant, to be ordered about as you please. This is my land that you—“ “By your invitation, I might add.” Othniel’s eyes glinted brighter. “Or do you plan to go back on your word?” At Jin’s right, Kor tensed and his hand crept toward shitan hilts, then backed away just as slowly. Jin himself growled something unflattering toward Othniel and then visibly calmed himself. “I keep my word. But a guest can still become less.” Othniel shrugged. “Do not govern how I may act. If you can marry a Maran whore…” Jin snarled and stalked toward him, grasping his tunic and hauling him into his face. Othniel did not flinch. He simply studied Jin’s face and said calmly, “I see your father did not teach the Tenets well enough. You cannot keep your temper.” Jin released his hold on the chieftain. His eyes flashed in barely veiled fury. His shoulders tensed, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Othniel straightened his tunic and then shook his head. “It is not your fault, of course,” the man said, with infuriating sweetness and pity laden in his tone. He patted Jin’s shoulder in a patronizing way. “You are a second son.” Jin inhaled sharply. The color drained from his face abruptly, skin taking on an unhealthy pallor. “Othniel…you go too far.” “Nay, I do not.” He jerked his finger toward Jin, his pale cheeks flushing red and eyes flashing brightly. “You are simply a false Fay-el, who rose by dancing upon your brother’s grave.” Kor growled menacingly and shifted to stand between Jin and Othniel, but he could not stem the flow of words, though his fingers twitched on the shitan hilts as if he would dearly like to try. Othniel glared at the Second. “And now you intermingle Eloin blood and Aquila blood into Dragonia’s line, into Brakir’s line! No matter what Coro you have done, Corin was thrice the warrior you will ever be. And until you cease this pathetic sniveling and fleeing from the Eloin, making deals with them,” he spat on the ground, “You will simply be a cowardly minstrel. Nothing more than a second son.” Jin’s body shuddered slightly, as if he were holding his anger tightly in check. He clenched his fists until the knuckles whitened as the tirade had continued, and bit his lip hard enough that a trickle of blood leaked faintly at his mouth. “Get out of camp. he snarled lowly. Othniel arched a brow. “Ah, a coward and an oathbreaker. Hardly unexpected.” Watery eyes flashing, the junior Fay-el turned on his heel, striding toward his entourage. Not a grain later, Kor bit off a low, violent curse and began to stalk off after Othniel, but a cleared throat halted him mid-step. Karik raised an eyebrow at him when the redhead scowled over his shoulder. “Not a good idea, ra,” he said quietly. “You are not the only Second here.” He nodded toward a thickset but strangely graceful warrior with a head full of strange, long braids, who met Othniel halfway. “Besides…” He nodded toward Jin, who was stomping off in the opposite direction with the honor guard falling in around him. The Hybrid’s expression darkened, but he was hardly going to let Jin go off without him, even surrounded by warriors. Casting one last, scathing glare Othniel’s way as the Fay-el slapped a hand at the air in front of his entourage, propelling them into a reluctant re-packing, Kor trotted sullenly after Jin. “How can you let him talk to you like that?” he demanded, falling in at the coldly angry Fay-el’s side. “Not now, Kor,” Jin growled. Karik caught up with them both. “What are you going to do?” he asked worriedly, glancing over his shoulder to watch as Othniel, talking quietly with a cluster of men with tiny braids in their long hair, mounted his horse. “Nothing,” Jin snapped. “He can bloody well get out of camp and sleep outside the sentry circles.” The older Fay-el shook his head slowly. “And if wolves come? Or the Eloin?” Jin snorted. “If Othniel’s Second cannot defend him against a bloody wolf, he does not deserve the title. And the Eloin will not bother them. Not with the truce.” “The truce is with you,” Karik pointed out quietly. “Not with Othniel’s tribe.” Jin squeezed the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. “He has never forgiven me, Karik. Never.” “Aye, I know. But you cannot leave him at the mercy of far worse enemies. Not the Jin I know.” Jin sighed. Kor shifted uneasily at his side. “Never forgiven you for what?” The Fay-el raked a hand through his hair and gestured vaguely toward the group. “Othniel had a son. According to the ‘omens’, they set the time and day to perform the Coro, granting Shinar’s rule to Othniel’s child. But I arrived, a few marks before they were to begin, after a long journey from the Mara. As I carry the blood of Brakir, I had seniority in the elder’s eyes.” Karik snorted. “And, of course, Othniel did not protest. Anyone with eyes to see could tell Jin was weary. He likely hoped you would be killed, and his son have no other contenders.” The Hybrid arched a brow. “If you fail at this Coro, you die?” “Always.” Jin did not elaborate, even though Kor cocked his head and seemed prepared to ask more. “Karik, please tell Othniel he may remain. But only just within the sentry circles.” The Fay-el nodded and stepped away. Kor cleared his throat. “And?” Jin sighed, but continued, “I performed the Coro and survived. Othniel’s son was angry, became drunk, and attacked me in the middle of the night. He intended to simply thrash me.” Jin sighed and closed his eyes. “My honor guard had just seen what was left of Corin, and the massacre at Shinar. They were…” he swallowed, “Edgy.” “Othniel considers it your fault that his son died, doesn’t he?” Kor said quietly. Jin nodded. “Most of his messages to me—the ones I do not allow you to read,” he added, “Use the word murderer, or wormtongue, or some insult. Of course, he knows which one works best. Second son.” “But you are a second son,” Kor felt it prudent to point out. The Fay-el bristled, giving him such a sharp glare that the Hybrid nearly stepped away from him in confusion. Then Jin sighed. “Even with that bloody hair and accent, sometimes it is hard to remember you were not born Dragonian.” He shook his head, hand rising to the bridge of his nose again. “It is an insult, Kor, at least when referring to Fay-els. It… implies that Kyda never intended a man to become a Fay-el and that thus did not grant him the skills or wisdom necessary to lead. Othniel respected Corin. Kyda, the man even liked my brother. But…” “But he feels you are beneath him,” Kor finished for him, voice seething in its understanding, “simply because of the order of your birth.” A muscle twitched in Jin’s jaw as he clenched his teeth together nigh on hard enough to crack molars. “Aye. That, and what I have explained already.” Eyes narrowing into dangerous slivers of blue ice, Kor clenched his fist, wheeling half around toward where Othniel was now talking quietly with an obviously restrained Karik. “I ought to---” he growled, cutting off when his Fay-el grasped his upper arm to hold him back. “Kor, no,” Jin laughed ruefully. “Much as I would love to see you thrash Othniel, I cannot have you attacking a Fay-el. Even if his Second did not cut you down---no no, he probably would, he’s older and better trained than you---your life would be forfeit for laying a hand to him.” The Hybrid batted his eyelashes at him. “Oh, surely you will not let him kill little ole me?” Jin looked ill. “Indeed not. I would have to kill you myself.” He smiled wanly as Kor’s eyes widened. “Please do not attack him, Kor. Him or his Second. Just leave them be.” “You are no fun,” Kor grumbled quietly, then sighed as Jin fixed him with a stern look. “Oh fine, Fay-el. I will be on my best behavior. Promise.” “Good.” A sly smile slid over his lips as he gave his Second a light shove away from him. “Then be on your best behavior by going to your duties. I am sure Terran is looking for you, and if not him, then certainly Naftis or Hamen.” “Jin,” the Hybrid complained immediately. “Go.” A wry smirk crossed his face. “I am going to go, ah… hide in my tent with my wife for a spell,” he smirked, blushing lightly. A slow grin stretched across Kor’s face. “Ohhh… Weell,” he said, imitating Ravin’s drawl quite well, “you enjoy yourself.” Jin coughed in what might have passed for embarrassed agreement, and smirking, his Second trotted off. < > One, two, three…. Caylia counted off another hand and still Jin had not returned. Fay-el duties…bloody Fay-el duties. And some women dream about marrying one but do they realize they might never get to see their husbands? One, two, three… Another hand and she sat up, shivering slightly at the air on her bare skin, then shrugged into a tunic. Her harp had yet to be moved into her new home, as had most of her belongings, but after a few moments of exploring she found some paper in Jin’s writing desk and a bottle of ink. She held it up to the light, frowned. Low. A note to the School would fix that. She was on the third sentence when she heard a rustle of cloth and a familiar shape brushed aside the tent flap. As Jin stalked in, her grin faltered, and her words changed. “Jin, what’s wrong?” He started, then sank to the bed next to her with a sigh. “It’s…nothing.” His hand reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail against her cheek for a moment. She closed her eyes. “And Othniel just arrived.” “It’s not nothing,” she murmured, “I can hear that in your voice.” Her eyes opened again and she smiled. “And Othniel…isn't he the fool who calls you bad tempered?” Jin flinched slightly. “Among other things.” Her eyes narrowed. “What did he say to you?” With a casual shrug, Jin looked away, studying the far side of the tent. “Different things. He says a great deal….to many people.” Caylia shook her head and scooted closer to him, resting her hand against his shoulder. “You still lie terribly.” His body stiffened beneath her hands. Caylia bit her lip and rubbed his shoulder gently, soothingly. What did I say? “Jin, please talk to me.” “It’s just…he just…says things.” He shook his head wearily. “It’s true. Some of it.” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Most of it.” The bard frowned and nudged his head, turning him to face her. “No, my Jin. That isn’t true—what Othniel says isn’t true.” Jin caught her hand and cupped it in both of his. “I am a second son.” She frowned in confusion at the term. I must ask Rowan or Kor about that. “And I have continued to flee and flee from the Eloin.” Jin finished. He sighed and kissed her fingers lightly. “I suppose I should have turned and fought.” “And have everyone you love and care about slaughtered?” She stroked her fingers through his hair. “And never have met me?” His eyes brightened at that and the barest ghost of a smile twisted his lip. “That would be a far more heinous crime.” She smiled back as some of the tension melted out of his body. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Caylia snuggled into his chest. “I don’t care what Othniel says or thinks of you,” she murmured. The bard tilted her head back, holding his emerald gaze. “I love you, my Jin.” His smile broadened. He traced her cheekbone with one finger, then cupped her chin, thumb brushing her jawline. “I love you too, Ly,” he whispered. The kiss was gentle and brief. But the stretched-raw feeling of unhappiness she had sensed before faded to a less obvious sign, though the hurt had not completely died away. Caylia rose to her feet and rested her hand on each shoulder. “Now, tell me what he said. What did he call you? A second son?” His body tensed again. Frowning, the bard massaged his shoulders gently, thumb pressing deep into tightening muscle. Jin grunted, but didn’t jerk away from her touch. “Tell me…” Caylia murmured. “Sometimes it makes people feel better. When they tell someone else.” “I don’t know…” She slid her fingers into his hair, rubbing his scalp. Jin shivered as she drew small circles behind his ears. “Please?” she murmured. He sighed and then swallowed nervously. “I suppose. Promise you will not do anything foolish?” “Oh, certainly not.” She slapped his shoulder lightly. “It is you that should be making such a promise.” He chuckled ruefully. “That’s what Karik said.” “A very wise chieftain, that man.” Caylia nodded sagely, grinning as Jin laughed. “Now there—that’s what I like. My Jin can laugh.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to lie down beside her, head on her chest and fingers playing with his hair. Finally, she felt him sigh as if giving up or letting something go. “It is our belief that if one is born a second son then the gods meant him not to become Fay-el. If he were…he would be born first.” Caylia’s fingers paused for a fraction of an instant, then continued to move. An unsettled feeling was building in her stomach. Jin sighed again. “Othniel…thinks, in his words, ‘I am dancing on my brother’s grave.’ Corin could have done a better job than I. And he’s probably right.” “He said that to you?” she felt her eyes narrow. “In so many words.” He sighed again and her fingers lightly brushed the back of his neck. “How dare he.” She felt his head shift as he glanced at her. “Shh, Ly. He has a right to be angry. His son was in line to take over the Shinar tribe until…I happened. I came back, survived the Coro, and his son died trying to…ah, teach me a lesson in the middle of the night.” She felt cold anger wash through her. Anger and understanding and unconsciously her grip around him tightened. “He does not have a right to be angry. If he is such a believer in your Gods then he should respect their choice. He behaves as if he were master here, as if he were the High Fay-el, when he is only a lesser. He does not speak to you that way. No one speaks to my Jin that way. No one.” She closed her eyes and took a breath, then her voice came softer. “It’s not your fault, his son. It is not your fault his son was as much of a fool as his father. You’re a good man, Jin, and he’s using your guilt to take advantage.” Jin shifted and propped himself up on an elbow. “Ly…” his eyes were tired, and far away was the muffled hurt that made her heart ache. “Corin was supposed to be Fay-el—“ “But you are now,” she interrupted. “I have dealt with many Maran Fay-els. And you are wiser and better than many of them.” She twitched a grin. “And I say this too having first met you throwing lunes at our High Fay-el. Anyways, you have built your tribe up from massacre and kept them safe. I don’t know anything more honorable and I’m proud you are my husband.” She leaned up and kissed him firmly. “You are a good man and a good Fay-el. Don’t listen to that thorla.” She paused. “Is he still in our camp?” He hesitated. “He is inside the sentry circles. Why? What are you thinking?” Her eyes darkened. “Ah, just that he shouldn’t be. He insulted you. If someone came at you with a knife, would you keep them here? Words can be more cutting than daggers sometimes.” Her face softened and she stroked his cheek. “I love you and he is a fool.” Jin smiled and covered the hand on his cheek with his own, leaning into her touch. “Ah, the bard’s silver tongue speaks anew,” he teased lightly. He shifted her hand, kissing her fingers gently and flashing her a grateful smile. “And I am a fool for listening to him,” he mused. His voice turned serious, eyes darkening with concern. “For now, Othniel will stay within the circles. He is not beneath the truce that I am, and I would hate to see his family or tribe wounded, when I could have stopped it.” Caylia sighed. “If you think it is best.” “I do.” He chuckled. “What? Would you have me throw him out?” Her eyes flashed and her hands found his shoulders again, clutching protectively. “Aye, I would, if for what he has said to you. For the pain that I feel,” she traced one finger across his chest and ribs. “Right there.” “Hmm,” Jin’s smile turned impish and he dropped his head, lips pressing the top of her head. “Perhaps you should…” his hand slid down her spine, “Distract me.” < > Jin was sleeping, chest moving slowly in and out. She played another bar in her head before forcing herself to move away from the warmth of furs and his skin. Dressing quickly, Caylia straightened her hair and gave her husband a light kiss, making sure not to wake him, before pushing the tent flap aside and finding daylight. New tents had blossomed like flowers in the plain over the past few days and most obvious were those just outside the sentry circles, the red of a Fay-el tent nestled in the center. Her eyes narrowed. Those hadn’t been there the night before. They must be Othniel’s. She took two steps toward it, instinct leading her before she paused. Curiosity itched in her mind, at her fingers but she stayed her feet as one of the wolves passed by her. I can always explore later. This is much more important. She caught the girl by a sleeve. “What was your name?” The girl’s eyes widened. “E…Eile, Fay-ra.” She nodded once, committed it to memory. “We are going to have a meeting in Rowan’s tent, myself and some of the other women of this camp, in a few marks. I would like you to come. Your friends as well.” “My…friends?” “Your group, yes. I expect to see you there.” The girl, looking nervous nodded and inched away casting a worried and curious look over her shoulder. Windrunner…I think she thinks I’m going to get some sort of revenge on them. Caylia’s lips twitched and she found her way through camp until she came upon Rowan sewing a sleeve. The older woman looked up and Caylia spoke before she could. “I will be using your tent.” Her brows rose. “Oh?” “Aye. We’re having a meeting, one I request you are present for as well. And mine is too small.” “The Fay-el’s tent is too small?” Knocked out of her focus, Caylia blushed and fumbled for words. “Ah…no. Windrunner have some mercy, it’s still hard for me to think that I’m married. I mean my old tent. The one that needs to be packed up. I would like a bit more privacy for this and a tent that isn’t so obvious as Jin’s.” At the last, Rowan raised her brow and Caylia shifted her gaze for an instant to the group of tents just outside the sentry circle. “What do you have in mind, Fay-ra?” “Don’t you start calling me that now.” “It’s your title.” “It’s strange. Anyways,” she looked back over her shoulder, and quirked a smile. “You’ll see.” It took a quarter of a point for the women to gather in the tent. Most were the wolves, looking nervous and awkward, but an older woman or two was scattered with them brought by Rowan by her request. They sat, semi-circled around her, and she gathered their names. “Thank you for gathering here,” she began, glancing between them. “I am not one to call meetings, but I think this is necessary. I think there is a possible danger to this camp, and a danger to our Fay-el and I need your help.” Two of the wolves traded glances. “You…you’re not angry with us?” Caylia laughed, startling them. “Trinity no. I’m not that petty. I know there was no deep harm meant or done. Besides, now there are much more important things.” She shifted and wished for her harp. “As you know, Fay-el Othniel has arrived in our camp. What you may or may not know is that he holds little respect for our Fay-el and has repeatedly attempted to undermine his authority. I do not trust Othniel while he is here.” Rowan cocked her head. “What do you expect he will do?” “I am afraid Othniel will, if not deliberately try to take over Jin’s position, then at least inspire disloyalty to him. Which is something Jin, right now, cannot afford. No Dragonian tribe can afford. It’s foolish, really, and self-destructive. Regardless, I want this man watched. I want to know what he and his tribe do, what Othniel says and who he speaks to. Not only will this serve as an early warning, but it may give us things to use against Othniel should something come to a head.” Low murmurs hummed through the tent. Caylia cleared her throat and almost immediately they quieted. Ciar, a younger wolf with curly brown hair, raised a hand. “So…do you want us to watch them?” Excitement hedged her voice and Caylia smiled. “Aye. Aye for sure. As Dragonian women, I’ve noticed you can go where men cannot, with fewer questions asked. You have a bit more freedom and less will people suspect you. Since they are a visiting tribe it should only be expected that we are hospitable and provide them with what they need, and make sure they are comfortable, which offers ample opportunity to wander into their camp. Plus,” she hesitated, “young women, such as yourselves, would naturally be curious about the young men of other tribes.” Grins broke out and Caylia shook her head. “Just…don’t be…unseemly. I don’t want to give Othniel an excuse to insult Jin anymore.” “Aye I think we can do that.” It was Eile this time, excitement in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Fay-ra we won’t just go to see the men. We’ll have other reasons to.” “We can all go at different times so it's not so obvious!” said another girl, clapping her hands. They began to chatter, voices rising in plans and excitement and with a deep breath, Caylia rubbed her temples. Are they too young for this? Trinity I wasn’t expecting them to be quite so excited… “Okay,” with her word the tent quieted. “Do so, but do not let anyone know. Jin doesn’t even know and I’d like to keep it that way. That way he can be innocent in case anything goes wrong.” Ciar’s back straightened. “Of course, Fay-ra. Report to you if we hear anything?” “Aye, immediately. And don’t pay attention to only the men. Rowan, I’m sure you talk with some of the older women. Make sure they are seen to.” Rowan nodded, smiling in thought. “Good. You may go. And thank you.” With a flurry of excitement and stifled smiles, the girls shuffled out of the tent. Rising, Caylia stretched and Rowan caught her elbow. “A very…shall we say interesting?...idea.” Caylia smirked. “I’d hope. I just don’t want anything to hurt him, especially when either he doesn’t see the danger or he is in an awkward place as Fay-el. It just…he’s been through enough already, and if I can stop more from hurting him I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me Rowan. I need my harp, and something to eat.” < > Sitting a little away from the cookfire, she felt the tension slowly drain from her body. Far off, she saw Tia, darting off toward Othniel's sentry circles, a basket in hand. Caylia breathed a wish for luck and wondered if, so far from the Mara, the Luckbringer could even hear her. She stirred her stew with a flat bread. Midday already? I’m so tired… she flushed suddenly. Windrunner I just got married l |
| That evening, while sitting beside the light of the campfire and enjoying a freshly cooked elk steak from the beast one of Karik’s men had brought down, Fiona poked her brother sharply in the side with a finger still dripping with meat juices. Kor looked down in dismay, laughing and catching her wrist. “Hey now, you’ll soil my tunic! I’ve only two of the bloody things, you know!” Turina cast the Hybrid a stern glare. “Language. I do not need her to start speaking like one of the Fay-el’s warriors.” Kor, of course, merely grinned. “Sorry, sae.” He shook his finger in his little sister’s face. “No repeating what I say, you hear?” She swatted his hand away, thumb immediately going into her mouth now that she had finished her meal. The Dragonian woman cocked her head at her late husband’s son, frowning. “Why do you only have two tunics?” He pointed across the fire, nodding his head toward Jaara. The Inquisita frowned a little as she found herself the focus of the redhead’s, Dragonian woman’s and little girl’s attention. “What?” “Just telling Turina here where my clothing has got off to,” Kor smirked. Turina’s frown deepened into disapproval. She swept graying dark brown hair behind her ear, tucking the strand firmly back into the braid where it belonged. “She wears your turnics?” She eyed Kor suspiciously. “Fiona and Joran really do not need to be exposed to this kind of---“ “To me lending out clothes?” Kor rolled his blue eyes skyward, noting the setting of the sun and approach of his watch. “Sae… The Inquisita is with child. I merely lent her a tunic so that she need not resort to wearing a dress, which would only hinder her ability to spar. Tell her, Jaara.” The Inquisita fixed Turina with a glare dark enough that even the usually fearless Dragonian blushed and lowered her eyes. “What he says is true.” “May I learn to spar, Ma?” Fiona felt the sudden need to contribute. “Kor, will you teach me to spar?” The look Turina flicked up toward the Hybrid was sharp enough to cut. “Well,” he said hurriedly, rising to his feet, “duty calls!” He poked Fiona briefly on the nose, earning a quiet giggle before she buried her head in her mother’s skirt. “I will see you later, ri.” Hastily, he made his way toward Jin’s tent, before Turina could find cause to be even less pleased with him. < > The Hybrid paused briefly outside the tent, seizing his Gift to lightly touch the newlyweds. If they were…ah…busy, he would wait at a little more discreet distance. There was a quickly muffled oath, and then a mild argument—Jin complaining about something while Caylia responded in a tone too soft for him to make out. And then she called quietly, “Come, Kor.” Stepping through the tent flap, the Aquila beamed at his Fay-el. Jin glowered back. “Is there something you need, Second?” The Hybrid fought the smirk working its way across his face. It was very hard to take a man seriously when he was shirtless, dark hair askew and sweat dampened. “The sun set. I was making sure you were here.” “Where else would I be?” Kor arched a brow. Until the last few days, Jin had rarely been in his tent, but wandering about the camp, checking on sentry circles or writing missives or doing anything other than stay contentedly in one place. Jin scowled back. Clearing her throat, Caylia stepped out of the shadows, clad in the cloak Jin had given her during their courtship. She smiled wanly at the Hybrid and reached for her husband, smoothing his hair absently. “I doubt my Jin will go anywhere tonight. If he does, I will be sure to tell you.” Taking note of her reddened cheeks, Kor grinned cheekily. “Did I interrupt something?” Color flushed into Jin’s face. “Go away, Kor. I am safe and well.” “Quite well,” Kor stated smoothly, grinning in his Fay-el’s face. “I don’t know where you find the energy---between Fay-el duties and Othniel’s rabble.” Both newlyweds were flushing now. Jin’s eyes narrowed. “Kor…” he growled. “Alright, alright,” he threw his hands up. “I’ll be outside…at a bit of distance…if you need me.” “Goodnight, Kor,” Caylia murmured. “And good riddance,” Jin groused under his breath. Caylia slapped his shoulder lightly. With a roll of his eyes, the Fay-el amended, “Sleep well, Kor.” And then his expression shifted, amusement flickering in his emerald gaze. “I hear Terran has new plans for you tomorrow.” Kor could not help grimacing in response, and this time it was Jin’s turn to smirk. “Get along, now,” he said, gesturing for his Second to leave and turning already back toward Caylia. Then he started---as though he’d hit himself in the head with an idea, Kor reflected in amusement---and swiveled to jab a finger Kor’s way. “I’ve a task for you, by the way.” “Being your Second is not a task?” Jin rolled his eyes. He glanced from his wife to his Second, frowning slightly. “Bloody Othniel,” he sighed, “is still outside the sentry circles. I do not know what the thorla is thinking, with Eloin all about.” He shook his head slowly, expression souring. “Much as I’d love to leave him out there to fend for himself, I’ll not have his death on my hands. Go convince him to come back, will you?” “Me? A lowly Hybrid?” Kor snorted. “You think he’ll listen?” Jin grumbled under his breath. “Kyda, I swear…” His green eyes glared at his Second pointedly. “Elam told me you explained diplomacy to him. I assume this means you know what the word means.” He waved for Kor to go away. “Get to it.” “I am on duty.” “Kor!” Jin snapped. “Just---“ “Just assign a couple of men to keep watch,” Caylia cut in firmly, massaging Jin’s shoulder to help calm him. He thought about that for a moment. “Four men,” he said at last. “Four men,” Caylia amended with a smile. “Agreed?” Kor supposed that would have to do. “Fine.” He quirked a ribald grin at them both. “Now you two just stay right here,” he instructed them. “And try not to make too much noise.” He winked. “There are younglings about.” “Out!” Jin thundered, pointing at the tent flap. The Hybrid snorted, and went. < > Holding up a hand to show he was unarmed, bright grin spread across his Aquila features, Kor called out a cheerful greeting to the pair of sentries barely visible in the trees. The warriors started, and then vanished into the shadows. The Second slowed his pace, turning his head this way and that to pick the duo out. But they had disappeared as skillfully as Border Guards. The dappled moonlight flickering through the trees concealed them as well as the shadows of cactus and dune hid Ravin and his men. Kor frowned and stood in the center of what had been a sentry circle. He clamped hands to his hips and shook his head. If he had been Eloin, Othniel’s camp would be doomed. How could these men call themselves sentries, and then vanish without accosting— Kor never had a chance to finish the thought. A shitan hilt smacked the top of his head. With a muffled curse, the Second dropped to his knees, head spinning. Fingers dug into his scalp, hauling him upright by his hair and jabbing the point of a shitan against his spine. Cursing lowly in Aquila, Kor squirmed against his captors. “I’m with Shinar. Shinar tribe. Let go of me.” “Ael kinth,” the sentry whispered in his ear. “Your hair lies more than your mouth does.” “No!” The Hybrid twisted in their grip. “I am Jin’s Second. Ask Othniel.” One guard backhanded him. Kor snarled and was shoved down again, face-first into the freshly turned earth of a field. “Fay-el Othniel,” the sentry growled. “Show respect, you bloody thorla.” Kor jerked one hand free and pushed up against the dirt, turning his head to catch his breath and try to catch a good look at the pair. “I’m a Second, with a message for…” the man’s hand hovered near his face. Kor licked his now bleeding lip, “For Fay-el Othniel. From Fay-el Jin.” “Such pretty words,” the other guard sneered. “Likely how he wormed his way into Jin’s confidence.” “Fay-el Jin,” Kor snarled. The moment the words left his mouth, the Hybrid wished he could pull them back. With a harsh curse, the first sentry slammed his head into the ground. Fiery ache spun through his head, congealing with a spurt of dizziness. Blinking dully, Kor swallowed several times, trying to keep his elk dinner where it belonged. His hands where wrenched behind his back, looped with crude leather ties, and he was hauled upright. Head clearing, Kor tensed in their grip and reached for his Gift. The sentries jerked. “Demon-bred Hybrid,” one hissed. He slammed his hand into the back of Kor’s neck. The Gift flew out of his grasp as a flood of pain replaced it. He was shoved forward in a stumbling walk, as dizziness swooped through him. They tripped through the darkness, over roots and past dim campfires, until their walk ended abruptly—at least for the Second. He was shoved to his belly on the ground, and a knee planted in his back to keep him there. Kor managed to turn his head away from a face-full of dirt once more and rolled his eyes upward. Sitting on a small pile of cushions, Othniel regarded Kor with a cocked eyebrow, smirking at the dirty and beaten Second. Behind him, two of those men with long, braided hair studied him with impassive expressions, though the one on the left—the one Karik had said was Second—had one hand clutching Othniel’s shoulder protectively. “Well now, has Jin taken to sending Hybrid spies to see what I do?” Kor opened his mouth to protest, but the sentries spoke first, with a surly glare at him. “He claims to be Jin’s Second.” “Out wandering in the woods while his charge sleeps? I think not. Not a true Second,” Othniel beamed at the man on his left, who smiled back faintly. Kor glared at him. “I am bringing a message to you, Fay-el Othniel,” he gritted. “And your men attacked me.” He canted an eyebrow, “A trespasser bringing a message?” he murmured, and then frowned past Kor, to the pair of sentries. “Clean him off. I can’t see his face amidst all the grime.” He shook his head. “You’d think a messenger from the great High Fay-el would be cleaner.” The Hybrid inhaled deeply, biting his lip to keep the angry words from slipping free. And then yelped as a bucket of water was dunked over his head. He swiveled with a curse directed at the two, but they grabbed his shoulders and turned him about again to face Othniel. “Ah! Kor…isn’t it? The Aquila bastard?” “I was born in Aquila, aye,” Kor gritted. “But I am of Shinar.” “Then clearly Shinar has fallen far from Kyda’s grace indeed, to be sowing seeds so far from our ancestral lands. Truly, Jin has misled that tribe…” Resisting the urge to snarl something obscene in the foul Fay-el’s face, Kor simply shook his head, clearing water from his eyes, then licked the blood from his lip once more. “Look, Fay-el Othniel. I came here in goodwill, because Fay-el Jin was concerned for your wellbeing. Do you wish to hear his message or not? Because if not, I will just be on my way.” Othniel sneered, the expression looking somehow as watery as his eyes. “What can Jin possibly have to say that can be of any import?” “Fine,” Kor snapped. He tensed against the hands holding him, preparing to rise. “Let me go, then.” “He attacked us, Sire,” one of the guards said quietly, hands firmly pressing down on Kor’s shoulders. Then, in a low voice he added, “With the Gift. I felt it.” Othniel’s expression darkened immediately, and for the first time since being dragged before the flimsy-looking Fay-el, Kor felt a stab of fear. But it was not Othniel who looked the most displeased, but Othniel’s Second. “Abomination,” the braided man growled. “He is sullied in the eyes of Kyda, unredeemable---” Kor’s eyes widened and he immediately lost control of his tongue. “Say again?” he growled. “You are sounding a bit like a Guildsman there.” “You filthy little---“ “Though I’ve never seen one with such pretty braids, ri.” The braided warrior snarled and strode purposefully---and much more quickly than Kor had expected---toward the Second. Kor hissed and jerked his head back, but not quickly enough to avoid the sharp backhand to his jaw. He blinked as bright light exploded behind his eyes, and then his head was being jerked back by the hair, exposing his throat to a very sharp shitan blade. “I beg you, my lord, let me remove this worm from Kyda’s holy sight!” Othniel’s Second snarled. “I will send him back to Azrael, where he belongs!” “Be easy!” Othniel snapped. “You cannot simply kill Jin’s Second, abomination or no.” His eyes narrowed. “But you may take him outside the sentry circle, and administer my justice for having attacked my sentries without provocation. Then take him back to his simpleton of a Fay-el.” “Without provoc---“ Kor started to snarl, before finding himself jerked to his feet by the hair. “Ow, you bloody ael kinth! Let me go!” “Ah, now the vileness pours from your lips,” the shaman---he had to be a shaman, Kor realized a little too late---said, dragging him along through a camp scattered with a scant few tents. Othniel’s retinue watched him pass, eyes widening at his red hair and loud curses. Then Othniel’s Second shoved him past the last of the tents and into the trees beyond, until at last they passed the sentry circle. "What is your problem?" Kor snarled. "I have done nothing to you, you blasted Crescent-blinded, kinth-bred thorla!" "Silence," the shaman growled, shoving him to his knees. "Be glad I do not kill you." Kor heard the sound of leather slapping against leather, and turned just in time to see the shaman flick a braided whip toward him. "Eppa's Balls!" Kor yelped, seizing his Gift almost without thought and shoving the shaman roughly away in a sudden pulse. "What do you think you're bloody doing?" His eyes narrowed. “Flogging you for your penance.” Kor’s eyes widened. “I’m a Second, you blasted fool!” “No man lives above the law. You have trespassed within our tribal boundaries,” The shaman snapped, “And have attacked our warriors. That requires punishment, as Othniel has commanded.” “Not if I have anything to say about it!” Kor stumbled upright, Gift flooding into him as he struggled to regain his balance. And then pain seared through his shoulders as whip connected with his back. “Foul Gift,” the shaman snarled. His knee shoved into Kor again, and he was on his face in the dirt, his back aflame. He heard the rip of his tunic, and then cursed hoarsely as a scrap wrapped around his eyes. He seized his Gift and the whip cracked against his back. With a hoarse cry, Kor jerked to his knees, and was shoved down again. Fingers pried his jaw open and pushed a wad of his own, dirt-smeared and damp tunic into his mouth. The Second’s heart beat faster. He struggled to rise, only to have his legs kicked out from under him once more. Unable to see or cry out, the Hybrid was suddenly as helpless as any ra or prisoner. The lash slapped his back, his shoulders. Like a snake’s fang, it bit into skin with quick, sharp stings that immediately blossomed into worse pain. Kor squirmed and writhed, but the whip seemed to follow him. When he managed to crawl forward on his belly, firm hands grabbed his ankles and hauled him backward, before planting a foot against the back of his neck and continuing the whipping. Slick wetness coated his back, a mixture of sweat and oozing blood. He seized his Gift more than once, until his head began to faintly pound in his skull, but the shaman sensed the cold prickles each time, and rapped him harder. Until the effort of seizing was not worth the pain that it became. Then an angry voice cursed in fluent Maran, overshadowing the grunts and breaths of the shaman. The slashes slowed and then stopped. The tip of the whip brushed against his face, as if the man had relaxed his hand. Kor wrinkled his nose and started to rise. And was shoved down again firmly. “I am not finished with your penance, Hybrid,” the shaman snarled. “Kor!” The voice ringing out was the most welcome sound he had heard, even if it did come from a cantankerous, stubborn, and pregnant Maran. Footsteps crashed through the grass and trees. The shaman hissed. “More perversion. A woman in man’s clothing.” There was no response—a sign Jaara was likely furious—only the whistle of a blade through the air. The shaman inhaled sharply and his weight moved off of Kor, followed by cries of protest from the man. Knowing the Tenets, the Hybrid managed a choked laugh amid the pain of his aching back. As a woman and a pregnant woman at that, the shaman could not lay a hand on her. Judging by his shouts and finally the tramp of feet through the trees, he had come to the same conclusion, and had realized Jaara had no Tenets to keep her from hacking off important parts of him. A sword sheathed with a clatter. Someone crouched at his side. Gentle fingers touched the freshly-given wounds. Kor inhaled sharply, shaking his head and cringing at the instant wash of pain. Jaara cursed under her breath. Her hand moved to his hair, fumbling with the knots. The blindfold fell away. Kor blinked watering eyes, until they focused on the waving grass about him, spattered with crimson. His blood. Jaara caught his chin and pulled the gag out, before quickly cutting the bonds on his arms free. But when he started to rise, coughing after the nasty taste of dirt, blood, sweat, and old tunic clogged his throat, she pushed him down again. “Don’t move. Not yet.” “Jaara…” Her fingers stroked through his hair, Gift prickling. “Shh. Jin is coming. Just wait.” “Wha…” he shook his head groggily. She shifted awkwardly with her growing belly, and put his head in her lap, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. The soothing touch was almost motherly. Kor closed his eyes. “I touched Caylia with my Gift,” Jaara murmured. “She will bring the Fay-el, I am sure. Rest now.” < > His wife was warm at his side, her head pillowed on his chest, chestnut hair spilling over them both. She had been humming to him but moments before, sharing a snatch of a new song she was working on, but now had grown drowsy, laying her head down after trailing kisses up his jaw. Jin thought she was nearly asleep, but suddenly she started, flinching and rising to one elbow. She glanced around the tent for a moment, while he lifted his hand to her shoulder. "What? What is it?" Squeezing his hand, she sat up, pulling her robe closer about her. "Gift." The Fay-el's eyes narrowed. "Bloody Kor! Now what does he wa---" "Not him," she said, shaking her head. She brushed her hair behind her ears, then spotted her moccasins on the other side of the tent, flung there with the rest of her clothes, and Jin's as well. In the privacy of their own tent, she did not blush. "Jaara's Gift," she said, rising and crossing to the clothing. Jin frowned as her warmth left his side. "Jaara? Does she normally touch you with her Gift?" Just as he would truly rather not have Kor spying from afar on his moments with his wife, so too did he not particularly want Jaara to be able to reach out to Caylia whenever she pleased. "No," Caylia said, biting her lip worriedly for a moment before crouching and gathering the clothing hastily into her arms. "She definitely does not." Her eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet and returned to the pallet, sitting down at Jin's side again and handing him his tunic. "Come now, hurry. She would not bother us without cause. I must find her." In an advanced state of undress or no, they were used to readying themselves to meet the day at a moment's notice, whether it was to escape raiding Eloin or chase after a Maran Inquisita in the dark. Not two marks later, they emerged from the tent, scanning the camp ground for Jaara. Jin's honor guard fell in around them. "Sire?" Aspen asked. Jin motioned for him to be quiet as he felt the telltale prickle of Caylia seizing her Gift. "Hush a moment, Aspen." He bit his lip, watching Caylia's face as her eyes grew distant. When her eyes narrowed, he muttered, "Did you find her?" "Yes," Caylia said, releasing her Gift. "She's angry." She glanced up into Jin's face, biting her lip. "Very angry. And... Jin, she's over by Othniel's camp." He cursed. "Stars and Crescents! What is she doing? Othniel is prickly enough without having janin-bearing women wander into his camp. And Jaara would sooner kill him than placate him, I think." Caylia smiled faintly. "Aye, that she would." She clasped his hand firmly. "Come. Whatever it is she is doing, she wants us." < > Everything was terribly muddled. Like hazy dreams that twisted and morphed into something else every time he thought of them. Kor stirred restlessly against the hands that supported him, blinking as his mind struggled to clear. He had dreamed that Jaara had stroked his hair and hushed him like a ra, until he had relaxed. And that the shaman had come back, laughing and cackling and swinging his whip while Kor struggled to crawl away. And then that he had his arms swung around Jin and Aspen’s shoulders, limping toward his own tent, cheerily lit with a lantern in the crosspoles. The Hybrid blinked, shaking his head, and then flinched at the instant spike of pain. No, this was real. He rolled his eyes to glance at Jin. The Fay-el returned the look. His eyes were dark with concern, and crawling with suppressed, but lurid anger. “Jin…” Kor began, grimacing at the slur issuing from his own mouth. The Fay-el shook his head firmly. “We will talk. Later.” They ducked beneath the tent flap and then half-dragged, half-carried him to his pallet. Sitting down wearily, Kor slumped his head against Jin’s chest. “Eppa…” he muttered, “So glad you use kinsleaf.” Jin’s eyes narrowed and he flashed a hateful look toward Othniel’s camp, before focusing on his Second again. Reaching down, he unsheathed Kor’s shitans and cast them aside. The Hybrid protested immediately, but was shushed by Jin’s quiet headshake. “You won’t need them while you are resting.” “Second…duty…” “I will stay right here,” Jin said. “Promise…” “Aye.” The Fay-el caught the edge of Kor’s tunic, and then simply ripped the already torn and bloodied material. He cursed again, lowly, and then pushed his Second onto his pallet, face-down. Aspen growled profanity under his breath, fingers pushing and prodding against Kor’s back. The Second winced, yelping at times, but he did not resist. Finally, the blacksmith withdrew his hand and shook his head. “Nothing broken I think, thank Kyda. He will just be a bit sore and stiff for a while. But those wounds will need to be cleansed and bandaged.” Jin sighed. “Fetch Turoc.” “No…” Kor groaned. “Anyone else.” “There are no other Healers, Kor,” Caylia said softly. Her hand patted his head, rather than his shoulders. “That is, save you and Turoc.” The Hybrid shifted unhappily, cringing as pain washed through him once more. He shook his head. “You do it.” “Me?” He twisted his head slightly, rolling his eyes to give Jin a narrow-eyed glare. “Keep Jin busy.” “Why?” Jin’s own eyes had narrowed back. “You’ll tramp over there…and lash Othniel back. Likely going to try.” He closed his eyes. “At least let me go with you,” he murmured quietly. “Later.” “Kor—“ “You promised.” Jin sighed deeply. “Fine. But you still need a Healer.” “Please Jin,” Kor groaned. “Anyone but Turoc. My bag is here, and surely…” he twisted slightly to flash an impish grin at Jin, “surely you can rub anderberry on a man, if you can handle aloe.” His smirk quickly faded as he slumped down again, hissing in pain. “Kyda….” He growled. “That man can surely hit harder than a ri.” “He will pay for it,” Jin murmured dangerously. “Jin…” Caylia began. “He will,” the Fay-el repeated. “But not now,” he amended, glancing at Caylia. “For now, we tend him. Where’s your bag, Kor?” Once Jin and Caylia had been pointed toward his bag of herbs and walked through the process of preparing a shallow bowl of anderberry, valla and water, Kor buried his face in his pillow and endured their gentle ministrations. Biting his forearm seemed to help, if not to deaden the pain, then at least to keep him from crying out. Aspen did not even have to hold him down, which was good, because Kor seriously wondered where the burly blacksmith could possibly have placed his hands, and--- “Now what?” Jin murmured, setting aside sponge and bowl. “Kor, how do we bandage this?” The Hybrid moved his head slightly to take his arm out of his mouth. Deep teeth marks had reddened darkly enough to bruise, but he had not drawn blood, at least. “Dunno. Lemme see.” “Kor,” Jin sighed, as he started to push himself onto one elbow to try to look over his shoulder at his back. It was impossible, not only because of the pain, but also the firm hand his Fay-el placed on the back of his head, pushing him down again and holding him there until he relaxed. “Just stay still, hmm?” There was a soft rustle of cloth and a rush of cold night air as the tent flap was thrown back. “How is he?” Jaara’s voice murmured. “He hurts,” Kor mumbled. “Let me see.” The Inquisita knelt beside him, not smiling back as he met her eyes and tried to grin in greeting. Her gray eyes darkened as they swept over his back. “How bad?” he mumbled. “Jin won lemme see.” She patted his hand, briefly, then pulled immediately away. “Bad enough, but I’ve do---seen worse.” Her eyes narrowed, again surveying his wounds, before she shook her head. “Nothing a Mend cannot help with, but you need stitches to minimize scarring.” “How do you know that?” Aspen asked, as Jin growled, “He does not want Turoc to touch him.” The Inquisita cast Aspen a brief look. “You do not want to know.” “Eloin…” Kor muttered. He tried to organize his thoughts. “That Eloin healer. Knows his needles.” He laughed quietly, then stopped, biting his lip. “No,” Jin snapped. “Absolutely not.” “Trained at same Academy as me,” Kor argued. “Funnest skull.” There was a long moment of silence. Then Jaara’s fingers stroked through his hair. “What?” she said softly. “Finest school,” he enunciated carefully. Jin snorted. “I don’t care if he attended the Academy four times,” he growled. “No Eloin is going to touch my Second.” “Did Beefer,” Kor said, blinking dully. He lifted his head slightly, “Before…let ‘im before, poke me…neesuls.” He slumped down again. “Needles,” he clarified. “That was different,” the Fay-el snapped. Kor simply sighed and shrugged, and then winced as the motion fueled twinges of pain. Caylia tsked above him. “Hold still, Kor. You’re going to reopen those wounds if you keep wiggling.” Jaara’s voice was quiet, but firm. “He needs a healer to stitch him, unless you wish him to bear scars. Once that is done, I will gladly Mend him.” Her chuckle was dry. “At least he’ll be quiet then.” Jin sighed. “I have not the skill, and Turoc lacks the steady hands of his youth. Naftis might—“ “No, my lord,” Jaara said. “If there is a healer available, we should use him.” “She’s right,” Caylia said quietly. “Jin, surely the man will not hurt Kor. Especially as we would know if he had done anything. Perhaps someone could even stay to watch what he does.” “Perhaps,” Jin’s voice still held stubbornness, but it was fading into resignation. He sighed again, deeper. “If you think it is wise, Ly.” “I do.” < > Zylon slathered the numbing salve across the Hybrid’s back. The Second had declined being dosed into oblivion with valla and honey whiskey, as had been done to Aretas several times already, but he would need some sort of pain relief to keep him from squirming. When Kor hissed in pain, shifting his weight, Zylon eased the pressure of his fingers. The man was just tender; the gashes and cuts on his back had ceased bleeding, but they would be sore for many days to come. He had seen enough of Aretas’ men receive the same punishment, some with more severity, to know that. It was slightly odd to be performing his craft beneath the sullen, glaring stares of two armed warriors—one who looked like he would like to sling his burly arms around Zylon’s neck and choke the life from him post-haste. Aspen, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember. Being awakened from sleep in the dead of night by a grouchy Fay-el, dragged half-asleep into this tent and thrown clothes and healing kit, before being barked a command to “take care of his Second”, mixed with those two’s names, had been too abrupt for him to keep the thought in his mind. He rubbed anderberry at a few channel points, and patted the Hybrid lightly as his eyes rolled to him, narrowing at the long needles. “My art should ease some of the pain. Just not all, usually.” He slid the needle into the point, rolling the end even as Kor hissed in surprise and squirmed slightly. “Remember how well this worked last time?” The Second muttered something obscene, but he ceased moving. After a moment, Zylon saw the Hybrid’s body relax and then the man groaned softly. Smiling, the Eloin healer patted his head again. “See? Better?” “Aye,” he muttered drowsily. “Good.” He rested his hand firmly on the back of Kor’s head, and pulled out his more practical needle, stitching thread already prepared, from his kit. “Breathe now. Slowly.” And he set to work. Kor flinched as the needle pierced his skin, but he did not scream or curse or rise from his place—knowing how fiercely his two guards glared at Zylon, any of those could be disastrous to his health. Thanking Fikar and all the Nobles under his breath, Zylon continued quickly, stitching up what wounds were deep enough to need it. And then bandaged the rest of it as neatly as he could. By the time he was finished, Kor was still conscious, but clearly woozy. He muttered to himself, rolling his head from side to side and blinking slowly. Zylon shook his head. “Stubborn, are we? I’m sure you would be resting much better if they had given you valla. Now you should have some.” “No…” Kor mumbled. “Jin…watch over…” “In this condition? I think not.” He cupped his chin, tipping the vial into his mouth. Kor spluttered, hands pushing at Zylon’s own weakly, but there was no slowing the flow of medicine. He released Kor after he was certain the man had swallowed enough valla to leave him out cold for at least a few hours. A brush of cold air at his back made Zylon stiffen. He glared at the new visitor. “What now?” The woman’s eyes narrowed, and only then did he take in the breeches hugging her legs and hilt of a sword poking above her shoulder. He gawked, open-mouthed. “You…but…a woman…” Her eyes narrowed farther, as if she would dearly like to lash him, but she stalked past him to lay gentle hands on Kor’s shoulders. He mumbled, shifting beneath her touch. Zylon frowned. “My good…lady…” he choked out, “He is in quite a bit of pain. I would not touch his back just yet.” “I am Mending him, Eloin.” “Ah…” he blinked his confusion. “So you hurt him for it?” “Bloody….” She jerked her eyes away from him. “Be silent,” she growled, and suddenly the air was prickling with cold ants. Zylon tensed, grimacing. And then gaped as the wounds he had just stitched began to heal, until soon they appeared to have been given two weeks hence, and not a scant hour ago. “Wha…how…but that’s…” She glared at him again, and then shifted her gaze to his two keepers. “Aspen, take him back to his master now. We don’t need him.” “Ah..but..you must tell me…how you managed…” “I must do nothing for you,” she growled. “Take him out so Kor can sleep.” < > When the two Dray warriors had removed the Eloin healer from the tent, Jaara draped Kor’s blanket lightly over his back, nodding slowly in satisfaction when he did not wince or even shift uncomfortably as the fabric settled over him. Whether that was due to the herbs he had been given or the fact that the Mend had helped heal the wounds, she did not know, but she was glad. “Where… Jin?” he muttered, voice low and tight with the exhaustion brought on by the herbs and Mend. “With his honor guard and Caylia.” He peeled his eyes open but was not really able to focus on her face. She wished the bloody healer had not drugged him; with the Mend alone, the points he slept would have told her quite well how many more Mends he needed. She did not feel particularly inclined just then to pull back one of the bandages and check the wounds, and she would not have known what his condition meant, anyway; she was an Inquisita, not a healer. Her craft lay in placing such wounds, and she’d never had to wait around and watch them heal. “Which…?” She shook her head in confusion. “Which what?” “Guards.” “Oh. Ravin and---” She sifted through her memory for the other names. “---Talen, Terran and I suppose Aspen once he turns the Eloin back over to his regular guards.” Kor cursed quietly at that, muttering “Blooded,” which she supposed must have been a combination of blasted and bloody. Then he narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus on her face. “Get 'im? Please?” She shook her head. “He is safe enough. You need to sleep, and not worry about him.” “Any ‘f those tree… three… happily go wi’ him to th’ other camp. Needs… stay here… Where there’s moons.” She smiled slightly at that. “Moons?” “Like… in sky…” She had a strong feeling he was not really awake any longer. She patted him lightly on the head, then rose to her feet. “I will get him. You sleep.” There was no need to have said anything. He was already snoring lightly. Shaking her head, she stepped out of his tent, striding to where Caylia, the Fay-el and his four guards stood in a tight knot, talking in low, hissing voices among themselves. Caylia looked more than a little worried, but smiled as Jaara strode up. “Kor wants you, my lord,” Jaara interjected neatly into their conversation. Her eyes narrowed, and she tapped the hilt of one of the shitans at her hip. “But he is asleep, now. If you are going over to Othniel’s camp, I am going with you.” Caylia glanced between the two. “Jin, you promised him, and that would be foolish if—” “Do you know how many lashes an Inquisita is permitted to administer to a prisoner such as Lord Gyas during an interrogation?” Jaara snapped at the bard. Before anyone could answer, she answered her own question. “Forty-five, delivered in sets of three. He must be given a break after every fifteen. Do you know how many swipes of the cane I am permitted to administer to a guard who has been turned over to me for failure to report to his post when he has been scheduled for watch?" "I do not kn---" "Twenty-five. Or how about a youngling who has been caught thieving?” "Jaara..." Caylia sighed. She scowled at them all. “Ten. Maximum.” Aspen frowned at her. “What does it matter how many those others can receive? He is a Fay-el’s Second—and thus should be punished by the Fay-el, certainly not by another.” Jaara gritted her teeth. “Kor is a youngling, by Gifted standards,” she growled, “And he has been lashed as if he were both much older, and of a far more serious offense than I am certain he did.” Puzzlement still gleamed in Aspen’s eyes, echoed by the rest. Balling her hands on her hips, the Inquisita glared at them all and shook her head. “I have seen what a man looks like after fifteen lashes, and after thirty, and so on. That is at least twenty-five blows, a high penalty for an adult, given to a ra.” Her eyes narrowed. “Would you have Joran receive twenty-five blows for anything short of assaulting a woman, or some such thing?” Talen’s eyes narrowed and he flicked a glance toward Kor’s tent, before focusing on the Maran once more. “I certainly would not have the youngling flogged,” he growled. “Othniel should be brought into justice, or at the very least, the one who beat the Second…unless…” his eyes slid to Jaara hesitantly. “Did Othniel himself attack Kor?” “No. Only one of Othniel’s long-braided warriors.” Caylia cleared her throat. “But does Othniel know that Kor is Gifted—and that it makes him younger than he claims?” “He looks younger,” Jin growled. The bard sighed and rested a hand on his arm. “Jin…you are angry, certainly, as am I. But it would be foolish to do something as rash as Othniel has done. Speak to him in the morning. What if there is something we do not know? Othniel could use that to make you look like a fool or even incompetent.” “I wish to talk to him now,” the Fay-el grumbled. “Before he can create a lie.” Jaara scowled at them both. “You would allow him to get away with treating your Second so?” “No, Inquisita,” Jin snapped. “He will pay for it. I assure you, I will ensure he does.” Caylia sighed and made a move as if to rub the bridge of her nose, a habit she was picking up from her husband, but instead rested her hand against his cheek and held him with her eyes. “You promised Kor that you would wait.” His eyes narrowed and he turned his gaze to the distant outline of tents. “He has beaten my messenger, my Second. My friend…” Jin raked his hand through his hair. “Ly, I want to march over to them and grab hold of him and shake the truth right out of that bloody, crescent-blinded, half-witted thorla’s mate.” Jaara nodded firmly. “Aye. I am with you if you go, my lord.” Talen, Aspen, and Ravin nodded their heads as well. Caylia sighed. “And for that reason alone none of you should go. You’re all warriors and I’m sure that you would find it silly if not downright dangerous to go into battle without a level head. How is this any different?” Her eyes swept them all before coming back to Jin and they softened. “You know Othniel, or better said Othniel knows you. If you go in there this rash he’ll hold it against you forever. Or find some way to lord it over you. Besides, he knows all the ways to make you so angry that you might do something you really would regret. Something more than just shaking truth out of him and something unbecoming of a High Fay-el.” She stroked his cheek lightly. “Besides, you did make Kor a promise and you did warn me against doing something foolish this morning.” “Aye, I did,” Jin said quietly. “But this…this is not something such as sharp words or cruel insults. He flogged Kor, Ly!” Her face turned sad. “I know, I know. I don’t think it is right either. But just because he did doesn’t give any of us an excuse to become like Othniel, acting without thought or reason or care. Will you regret this one day?” the bard continued, voice softening. “Would you be proud to tell of it to your…our…children, and grandchildren?” Jin sighed and closed his eyes. “It isn’t right.” “Oh aye, I know. But neither is attacking them without giving them the chance to speak for themselves. Besides…” the bard glanced at Jaara, who scowled at them both with clear frustration, fingers tapping her shitan hilts. “How wise is it to attack an enemy in the night, without knowing where their guards are, and what weapons they have?” Talen and Aspen glanced at each other and then scowled. “She has a point,” the blacksmith finally agreed, after a long silence. “It would be best to wait until day, to better see.” “Aye,” Terran said quietly. “Would you repeat the same mistake that Othniel’s son did, Jin?” The Fay-el crossed his arms sullenly, eyes narrowing, but the tension in his shoulders had relaxed. “I suppose not. But I will speak to him, sternly, in the morning. And if there is no good reason to have treated my Second so….” Jin’s scowl deepened. “Perhaps I will flog him.” < > Caylia watched Jin’s departing back, and only when he had ducked inside Kor’s tent, with the rest of his honor guard flanking the sides did she touch Jaara’s elbow lightly. “Come.” The inquisita’s eyes swung toward her, hard and very dark. “What?” “We are going to pay lesser Fay-el Othniel a little visit.” “But you just said…” “Oh aye, I know what I just said, and I meant it. With the matter of Kor at least, and especially with you lot and Jin’s temper. We don’t want a gutted Fay-el on our hands in the morning.” She paused. “Well, perhaps we do, but it’s better not to actually do it. But there are other matters that need to be discussed, in relation to this one. Othniel has gone too far, even before this, and he behaves as if he were High Fay-el. I hope to have a little discussion with him so that tomorrow he remembers his place. And honor. And respect.” Jaara was a shadow at her side as they slipped through the tents, a smile a faint ghost on her lips. “Didn’t you remind the Fay-el about doing foolish things?” “Aye. And it would be foolish to let this go. Don’t attack him Jaara. I just need you there in case something happens.” She paused. “As a Second, if you will. And if you don’t mind.” The other Maran made a noise. “It is against their Tenets to attack a woman…” she paused as Caylia’s look turned feral. “Or perhaps you already know this.” “I’m a High Master bard of Settar. I come with my own set of dangers. Besides, this way you’ll be able to take your measure of him. Now…where is the best place to enter their sentry circles.” Jaara nodded. “There.” They didn’t get far until the sentries melted out of the shadows, exchanging glances. “It’s you,” one said, lip curling. “The creature who looks like a woman but thinks she’s a man. We won’t allow that corruption in our camp.” Jaara stayed stone. Caylia raised a brow. “This same corruption that chased off one of your warriors as if he were a ra?” The other man’s head turn toward her, appraised her with a leer. “What is this, your own…” “Have a care how you address a Fay-ra,” Jaara warned. Caylia raised a brow as the sentries looked back and forth between the two women. “I would like to speak with Fay-el Othniel,” she said pleasantly. "You cannot simply wander over here and make demands!" one of the sentries sputtered. He would have said more, but his companion rapidly hushed him with a retraining hand in the chest as Jaara strode forward, unsheathing her janin and holding it out away from her in a low, loose grip that could easily dart up with the slightest provocation. "You heard her the first time," the Inquisita growled. "You will escort the High Fay-ra to Fay-el Othniel." "Bloody---" "Now!" The calmer of the two sentries shoved the other warrior slightly away from him and the two women. "I will bring you to our lord." He glared at his comrade. "You stay here and hold the circle." Growling under his breath, the other man stalked away stiffly, glaring over his shoulder as his friend nodded curtly toward the distant line of tents. "Come," he snapped. Jaara was abruptly in front of him, neatly blocking his path not only with her own slight form, but also with thirty inches of cold steel leveled at his neck. He froze, eyes widening as he met her narrowing gray gaze. "Do not make me remind you again of whom you address," the Inquisita warned, voice low and dangerous. The sentry swallowed, throat bobbing a mere hair's width away from the edge of the janin. "Come... Fay-ra..." he said slowly, fingers twitching toward his shitan hilts but wisely not actually touching the weapons. Smiling wryly, Cayla laid her hand flat upon the blade, gently pushing Jaara's hand down an inch or two. "Good. Certainly we can all be civil." She nodded graciously toward the sentry, "Shall we?" As they followed the man, Caylia flashed a quick conspiratorial grin at her companion and lowered her voice. “This is going to be interesting.” < > At their approach, the shaman at Othniel’s side stalked forward, dark eyes narrowing in confusion. He glared at their companion, menace dripping from his tone. “You were told to be on watch, Serin. Why have you left your post?” The man with them swallowed nervously, visibly cringing as the Second came closer. His eyes darted to the man’s hands as he spoke. “Ah...they…they requested our Fay-el..ah…and Lakin is still on circle…sair.” “I sent you both on watch,” the Second growled. “You will answer to me of your indiscretion.” “But Sair…” “Silence!” Though Jaara seemed unconcerned, Caylia couldn’t help empathizing with the warrior, who glanced at them and then back to the glowering Second with wide, fearful eyes. He swallowed and gestured with his hand toward the man and the Fay-el sitting on a pile of cushions close by. “T-talk to them…Fay-ra,” he said, flicking a look at Jaara. “I—I have to get back.” “Serin! Go!” The sentry turned on his heel and darted away into the night. Caylia frowned after him, and then shifted her eyes to Jaara. “It seems Kor is not the only person he has beaten,” she murmured. “Words and whips in this camp…” The shaman scowled after the retreating guard, before moving closer to peer at the two women in the dim light. “Who are you? Loose women?” his lip curled in a leer. Jaara stepped forward, janin glinting as she brought it up close to his face. The Second blanched. “You!” Her eyes narrowed. Slowly and distinctly she murmured, “Aye. Me.” Othniel shifted on his cushions, eyes ghosting over the two of them, pausing on Jaara’s sword and belly. He snorted. “Is this the one you told me about? Jin not only allows the Tenets broken but sends women in his stead? Or maybe he just can’t control his women?” While Jaara’s hand twitched, Caylia laughed brightly. “Honestly, lesser Fay-el Othniel. Do you expect to get a rise out of me so easily? We have not met because the Gods were wise and blessed us with your absence at our wedding. I am the High Fay-el’s wife and, while my husband may be honorable and noble enough to overlook your obvious deficiencies---mental,” she paused to study him, and quirked a smile, “and otherwise---I am not.” Othniel’s face changed, gaining color and his eyes narrowed but it was his Second who spoke. “Don’t speak to us of the Gods, Maran whore.” Jaara hissed, her blade flashed and the Second yelped in surprise. Caylia glanced at her, but focused on Othniel, rising from his cushions. “Who do you think you are?” With an amused look, Caylia raised a brow. “I already told you, or weren’t you listening? The better question is who do you think you are.” She took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “You are a lesser Fay-el, Othniel and barely deserve that title. You are lucky indeed it hasn’t been stripped from you, but after tonight we will truly see how far that lucks runs. You behave in our camp as if you were the master there, and run your own like an Eloin. I warn you to find your place and find it quickly.” Othniel’s eyes darkened, suddenly unsure, and they flashed to the Second than back to her. “Are you threatening me?” “Oh, aye.” She could see him scrambling for words, scrambling for something to use. Finding it, he smiled. “You must not understand, Jin is a second son.” “High Fay-el Jin was chosen by the Gods through Coro and you spit in their faces every time you think otherwise.” Her voice turned sharp. “The Gods did not choose you, nor did they choose your son.” The light flickered in the tent, her last words ringing in the sudden silence as Othniel flinched. “Get out of this camp,” Othniel’s Second said very quietly, hand tightening on the Fay-el’s shoulder. His teeth were clenched so hard that Caylia was sure his jaw must break at any moment, and his knuckles were as white as Othniel’s face as the Second’s grip increased. Jaara stiffened slightly at Caylia’s side, janin twitching by her leg. The bard merely turned her gaze calmly---and briefly---toward the shaman, stating with dangerous lightness, “Oh, we are, for I am done with him and have nothing to say to you.” Her voice tightened into command, something she herself was not familiar with using, but which she had heard in courts many a time. “But I will see you later.” She flicked her gaze from one to the other. “Both of you will appear before the High Fay-el on the morrow. Tenth point. You will also bring those two sentries Jin’s Second encountered. You will come unarmed, you will come silently, at least until the High Fay-el permits you to speak, and you most certainly will not tarry. Do I make myself clear?” “You cannot simply---“ “She can,” Jaara informed him, stepping forward slightly. “Who knows when… Eloin… might strike? Perhaps in the dead of night tomorrow, if you fail to appear before the High Fay-el?” Othniel scoffed. “Woman or not, your life would be forfeit.” “Come now, nobody would believe a lowly woman to be your killer, dear Othniel,” Caylia pointed out to him sweetly. “But come now, bloodshed is so… messy. You need only submit to the will of the Gods, and show the High Fay-el the proper respect and obedience that is his due.” She glanced from one to the other. “Do tell me you will be there?” “I bloody will not---“ “Aye,” his Second interrupted, grip tightening until his Fay-el broke off with a yelp. His eyes were very wide as he stared into Jaara’s very serious and very calm face. “We will come.” |
| < > Being forced to kneel and pray all day was certainly not a pleasant prospect. Grumbling mildly under his breath, Kor stalked toward the Keeper’s tent. If Turina caught him in a lie, she was likely to do just that; she seemed to have the determination to do it. He had no intention of remaining in the Keeper’s tent, among a cluster of younglings and ras. Hang the bloody law, he had lived alone and managed to earn a Second’s position—he had no need to be shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of un-Confirmed ras. But neither would he dare not show up at the Keeper’s tent. Eyes narrowing, Kor stepped beneath the tent flap. Several of the ras and ris, eyes wide and fingers in their mouth, glanced up at him as he appeared. His little sister giggled and rose from where she had been playing with a few colored beads and toddled to his side, reaching for his fingers with one hand, the other not budging from her mouth. Kor smiled faintly and patted her on the head, before nudging her back toward the others with a gentle hand against her shoulder. “They’re pretty beads, hmm?” She nodded vigorously and plucked a few into her hands. “One…tew…twee,” she said, grinning proudly at him and displaying the beads within her hand. Kor nodded. “Aye. That is right. What comes after tw…ah, three?” Her brow furrowed and she settled on the floor. Distracted at last. Kor sighed in relief. The tramping of feet and soft giggles, or muted chuckles, preceded the arrival of several more ras and ris. They were older than the first group, but not yet as old as Joran. They studied him with wide eyes and then scooted to one side of the tent, pulling out parchments and bits of a scroll and poring over them studiously, but with sly glances his way over the edge of their work. Kor crossed his arms and frowned, the look darkening as Duncan, Hazor, and Iarein appeared—more because of the jeering tease of Joran, who brought up the rear of the little group, face flushed slightly. The three other younglings fell abruptly silent at the sight of Kor. And then their eyes narrowed. “Is the Keeper ill?” “No,” Kor said sternly. The trio glanced at each other, and then back to him, with Duncan cocking his head. “Da said something about a new student….but you’re too old, Sair.” The Hybrid winced, even as Joran flushed brighter and nudged his friend with his elbow. “Oh, be quiet. We need to finish copying the Tenets from memory, or the Keeper will give us twice the work for tomorrow.” Duncan still studied Kor curiously, but he followed Joran willingly enough, with the rest of the older younglings gathering together their paraphelnia. An abacus joined parchments and ink wells, another jotted down notes from a bound scroll he was hurriedly perusing, while others scratched numbers into the dirt and then scribbled answers down on small patches of fabric. Very few of the older ras seemed to have come prepared and were frantically trying to make it look as though they had, but then, knowing very well that most of them spent a good portion of the day on duty, Kor was not terribly surprised. The Hybrid scowled to himself, praying he would not be given extra work to do as well. He had not enjoyed the work that he’d been forced to take home during Academy. And certainly did not relish the idea of doing the same problems and practice for another year and a half. Very few of his professors had cared a whit that he already knew how to do the problems after seeing them once or twice and that he did not need the practice, and he doubted the Keeper would care now, either. The last to arrive was Elam, with Naftis in tow. The younglings---apparently well accustomed to the loquiri at this point---spared the man not a second glance, and he mostly ignored them. Instead, he settled cross-legged on the ground and pulled Elam into his lap. The boy simply giggled and leaned his head back, relaxing against Naftis’ chest. The loquiri flicked Kor a glance. His eyebrows arched, mouth opening for a scathing comment, surely. But Elam suddenly swiveled and glared sternly at him. Naftis scowled back, but quieted. The Eloin Hybrid glanced at Kor and smiled at him, and then turned abruptly away as the Keeper himself ducked beneath the tent flap. The aging man scanned the array of younglings wryly, scratching a puff of graying hair upon his head. “Well, it seems you are all on time, for once.” Iarian and Hazor exchanged slow grins, until the Keeper’s attention fell upon them. “Ah ah, did I not say that you two are no longer allowed to sit next to one another during my lessons?” “But Sair---“ Iarian started to complain. “But Sair,”Aero mocked in a high pitched voice, ducking beneath Iarian’s swat to his head as the other young warrior rose to his feet and wandered to the other side of the tent. Iarian settled at Kor’s side, frowning sideways at the Second. Kor ignored him, cheeks reddening, and darkening yet more as the Keeper then turned his attention to him. “Ah, Second.” Smiling mildly, the Keeper indicated a spot near the front of the tent with the scroll case. “Sit here, if you please. Terran and the Fay-el both tell me that you already graduated from the Academy in Aquila, but I’ve a thing or two to teach you, I am sure. But I can also probably use your assistance in teaching some of these.” The scroll case swept out, indicating a cluster of dirty ras and ris with running noses. Kor sighed, gritting his teeth as he rose to his feet and crossed to the place that the Keeper indicated. He now sat fully before the littlest members of the tribe, and had a strong feeling it was going to be his responsibility to ensure that they remained in their places, on task and quiet. He relaxed only slightly as Fiona, casting a glance at Elam and Naftis out of the corner of her eye, climbed into his lap and leaned against his chest just as Elam was leaning against Naftis. Kor smiled slightly, relaxing and running a finger through the little ri’s dark curls. “The High Fay-el’s Second?” he heard a youngling behind and to the right of him whisper. Glancing back slightly, he noticed the speaker was not one of the children of Shinar. Kor groaned to himself. Karik’s elder son, and beside him his younger brother “Aye,” the Fay-el’s second son whispered back as Kor clenched his jaw, silently willing himself not to blush anymore in embarrassment. The heat trickling into his face did not bode well for his success. “Da said he was about our age, but I did not believe---” The Keeper clapped his hands twice, loudly. “Enough chit-chat! Tell me, who can name the first Tenet? From memory, now! Yes, Elam?” “Keep your temper at all times, and at all costs,” the Eloin piped. “Aye, good.” The Keeper gestured toward the rest of the younglings, eyes narrowing at Duncan, and the rest of the older children. “And why is that so?” Aero frowned, and then his eyes brightened. “Because if you are angry, you will not choose wisely, whether in war or in peace.” “Good,” The Keeper smiled. And focused on Kor. “And what about the second Tenet?” “Ah…” The Hybrid shifted uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um….” The Keeper’s smile faltered a bit, and he laced his fingers in front of him, before sliding his gaze away. “Duncan?” “It is dishonor to a warrior to harm a woman, or a child unConfirmed, and double dishonor to lay hands upon a woman bearing.” Kor cursed inwardly. He knew that. At least, he had known that a few months ago, when he’d had to cram it between his ears in preparation for his Confirmation. “And why is that?” the older man prompted. “Because…a child cannot defend himself.” “Aye. That is partially true, but not all. And a woman? Some can defend themselves—remember Fay-ra Shavra? Why do we not harm a woman, nor a child, nor a woman who is bearing?” The Keeper smiled as Elam wiggled with excitement. “Aye? Elam?” “Because a child is the root of a people, and a woman can one day bear a child, while one who is bearing is precious.” “Good job,” the Keeper murmured. And then glanced at the rest of the younglings. “Elam, Duncan, and Aero, you are finished with the Tenets for today. The rest of you, finish your lists of the Tenets. Then read the ‘Founding of Tenets’ by Brakir. Tomorrow, I will ask you again of the why.” He studied each of them intently, including Kor, who frowned back. “It is not enough that you obey the rules, but understand the reason behind them. Else, you are apt to break simple rules, but you will not break what you comprehend.” The older man flashed an unsteady smile toward Kor and crooked a finger at him. “Come, Kor. And you too, Elam.” Grudgingly, the Hybrid rose from his place and came closer. Naftis frowned slightly at being left behind, but released his charge and watched them go. Clustered around the Keeper, the pair of Hybrids settled in front of him. The Dragonian smiled and patted both shoulders. “Never fear. You are not in trouble, either of you.” He ruffled Elam’s hair. “In fact, I am proud of you, ra. You have been studying.” He glanced shyly back at Naftis, to the Keeper’s chuckle. “Ah…he has been helping you?” “Well….he says it is good for me to know things.” “Good for him.” The Keeper focused on Kor. “Now then…I know that you have graduated from the Academy, but it seems that there might be…gaps…in your knowledge?” he said apologetically. Kor flushed and scrubbed a hand at his reddening cheeks. “Ah…a few. Perhaps,” he said, voice strained. “I did grow Aquila, not Dragonian.” “Aye, I know,” The Keeper responded warmly. “But it means that I do not know where you belong in the class.” He squeezed Elam’s shoulder. “But he I do. So…I will ask a few questions from his work of the last few weeks. If you can answer them, then I know you are beyond his level. If not….well…I know where to start.” Kor’s eyes stole longingly toward the tent flap and freedom beyond. “But… surely these others would, ah, like to hear you lecture?” he said, cheeks burning. He liked Jin’s little son well enough, but Eppa, it was embarrassing having his knowledge---that of a graduate of the Academy!---being paired against that of a mere ra. The Keeper cast a wry look at the younglings in the tent, who had crowded around two copies of an extremely old and worn book. The smaller children had started taking turns reading aloud the paragraphs in faltering, piping voices, while the older younglings shot sly glances Kor’s way as they pretended to follow along. “They already heard me lecture this morn,” the Keeper said. “Now, it is time for them to do their reading.” This last was said sternly and clearly for the benefit of the older younglings, who promptly dipped their heads away from Kor and one another and back toward the books. Kor squirmed slightly in discomfort, trying to think of how to get out of this, but at last he sighed and settled. Best to just get it over with. “Alright,” he grumbled. “Ask your questions.” Smiling faintly, the Keeper nodded. He smiled encouragingly at the little blond ra. “Elam, who was the first female Fay-el after the founding of Dragonia?” “Shavra.”” “Kor, have there ever been female Fay-els before or since?” “Ah… aye?” The Keeper winked. “Is that an answer, Second, or a question?” Kor blushed. “Erm… answer? Aye, answer.” He had no idea. The Keeper smiled slightly and patted his shoulder again. “There have been four in all, three after Shavra.” He turned to face the Eloin once more. “Elam, when did the Gift disappear from Dragonia?” “After the Gid purge and…Brakir’s grandchild’s death…ah…” he scrunched his face as he scrambled for the name, before blurting out, “Conar.” “Very good! And Kor now… When did the Gift reappear among Dragonians?” The older Hybrid grinned. “Approximately six months ago,” he smirked, earning a slight smile from Elam and a snort from Naftis. “Elam, when did the T’Ollo break away from the tribes of Dragonia?” “Ten years before Brakir’s birth,” he said immediately, “At the midpoint of the first Eloin conquest.” “Kor, when did the T’Ollo first begin calling themselves Marans?” Kor hesitated smiling sheepishly. “Can I just tell you when Aquila was founded, instead? Or, ah, why the Marans should be allowed to define their own identity?” Smiling gently, the Keeper shook his head, and the Hybrid wilted. “I do not know,” he muttered. Sighing slightly, the Keeper reached out and patted Kor’s shoulder. His eyes slid sideways to Elam. “Ra, you may return to your loquiri, now.” After Elam had curled up once again in Naftis’ lap, the Keeper turned back to Kor. “The Fay-el and Terran tell me that you learn very quickly and have the capacity to speak articulately, reason soundly and, apparently, write better than most literate Fay-els. And I already know your skill with healing, which must have taken much time and effort to learn at the Academy.” “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” the Hybrid grumbled. Nodding a little, the Keeper folded his hands in his lap. “But you have not had the benefit of learning of Dragonian and specifically Shinar history and culture since you were younger even than your little re.” He smiled toward Fiona, who was playing with her beads as she listened to the older children read from Brakir’s book. “If you were older, and not a Second, I would say that you could simply learn a little here and there as you talk to the other warriors of the tribe. But you are a Second, and you are young enough yet that it would be a shame not to teach you…” Kor spread his hands helplessly, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the reading younglings. “So you are going to have me… study alongside them?” he frowned, cheeks burning in shame. “Nay.” The Keeper shook his head, and smiled at Kor’s surprised and slightly suspicious look. “You are older than they, and I suspect your pace of learning is faster. Here is what I will do. Currently, while the tribes are together, I offer two sessions per day. The earlier session will be for younger ras and ris, Elam’s age and below. The afternoon session will be for Confirmed younglings.” He looked at Kor consideringly. “I would like you to attend the later session each day. And every other day, I would like you to attend the session for the younger children, when you are not studying healing with Turoc.” Kor immediately opened his mouth to protest. “But… Sair! You said---” Smiling gently, the Keeper patted his shoulder. “Now, none of that,” he scolded mildly. “I’ve an idea. Some of the younger ras and ris are still learning to read, write and figure, but they will also be hearing my lectures on the Tenets, basic history, and such.” He cocked his head slightly, winking. “Perhaps you can be my assistant, hmm? Help them learn their letters, and Common? Show some of them how to add, subtract, multiply and divide? Elam is old enough now to begin learning to work with variables.” He shrugged. “And if you should happen to ‘overhear’ my lectures as you assist me, and learn a little Dragonian history from them, well… so much the better.” < > The instant the sun rose the next morning and he stumbled out of his tent and nearly fell over Kor, Jin knew his Second was still in a bad enough mood that he was determined to find something---anything---to whine about. After Kor’s frustrated complaints on everything from having had to attend the Keeper’s lessons, to what the Eloin healer had attempted to do with his needles, the Fay-el finally agreed to address the complaint that he was willing and able to do something about. Jin was unsure if he should be upset—questioning on the Gift had obviously not helped the Eloin one whit—or simply laugh at this strange use of needles. However, the Fay-el sighed and rested his hand on the moody Second’s shoulder. “I will speak with Turoc,” he said quietly. “At the very least, to ensure that he understands the risk.” And then he strode toward Turoc’s tent as a grumbling Kor reported to his lesson---this morning with Naftis. The elderly healer was outside, carefully boiling a mixture that stank like rotting cabbage. Jin wrinkled his nose and coughed politely as the older man smiled at him. “Ah…come to see our captives?” “Aye. And to see that he has had his needles taken away from him. Aye?” Turoc nodded. “Aye. When Ravin brought him to me, he told me to do so. Much as it pains me to take a healer’s tools from him, I did as he suggested. Why?” “They have many uses,” Jin said noncommittedly, and stepped within the tent. The Eloin were easy to spot, even with their darkened hair and skin. He noted, with a frown, that the color was just starting to fade. Making a mental note to remind Turoc to re-dye them both, he frowned as he took in their positions. Aretas was still well-bound, arms and legs in front of him, but tightly knotted. He leaned against Zylon, shoulder in his chest and head lolling against the healer’s shoulder. Though the other Eloin was also bound, only his feet remained knotted, and a rope around his middle. His hands were free, but it was obvious his concern was not toward escape. The healer stroked Aretas’ hair soothingly, biting his lip. Jin blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. Aye, it was there to see. The Eloin lord was clearly wincing, eyes slightly unfocused as he hissed and squirmed, slightly, in pain. One of his headaches, surely. As Jin approached, Zylon’s head snapped up. His eyes widened. “Fay-el…my lord…I beg your forgiveness, and mercy. If you would but grant my needles back for a moment, I would be—“ “No.” His shoulders slumped. “Ah…my lord…” “You tried to pry information from my Second. Why should I allow you to have them back now?” Zylon’s eyes grew wide. “Because…my lord… he---“ “Can you not talk elsewhere?” Aretas grumbled, his voice little more than a whisper, and pain-filled. Jin frowned. Although he felt no special sympathy for the Eloin lord, still, Aretas was his responsibility for the duration of the man’s stay with the tribe. Eyes narrowing, Jin shook his head, and strode out of the tent. “Turoc,” he growled. The healer glanced up, smiling faintly as he stirred his cauldron. Or perhaps the expression was merely indigestion; sometimes it was hard to tell. “Aye, sire?” Jin scowled over his shoulder toward the tent flap. “Lord Aretas. You have seen him?” “Aye, he but suffers a migraine, my lord. Tis painful, but not dangerous.” The Fay-el scowled. “Well, tend him anyway, will you?” Now the elderly man’s expression was easy to read. He scowled, and the many wrinkles upon his face scowled with him. “That is why I am standing out here, sire, stinking up the camp.” His stern glare shifted from the Fay-el to the pot of foul brew. “This will set him aright, so it will.” Jin was pretty sure he had never been dosed with something with this particular stench before, and could not help feeling sorry for Aretas. But only slightly. “Well, hurry up,” he growled, then turned on his heel and stomped back into the tent. “My lor---“ Zylon started the instant Jin stepped inside. The Fay-el shook his head, cutting off his words as he grasped the man by the upper arm and tugged him to his feet. On the ground, Aretas groaned as his support was taken away, and gave a squint-eyed glare up at Jin. “Come with me,” the Fay-el snapped, then glanced briefly at Aretas. “And you stay here. Turoc is preparing something for that head of yours.” “My lord,” the Eloin healer protested again as Jin half dragged, half carried the bound man out of the tent. “No,” Jin growled. “You and I are going to discuss what you thought you were doing to my Second with those needles.” He narrowed his eyes at the much shorter man, maneuvering him a few feet away from the tent and depositing him on the ground. “You had better tell me what I want to hear, or pray to whatever gods you wish that Turoc can be trusted to tend Aretas better than you could be trusted to tend my Second.” He crossed his arms, and looked down at the healer pointedly. Zylon dropped his head and studied the ground intently. “I…ah…hoped to learn more about this…this sorcery of his.” He laced his fingers together, wiggling his hands nervously. “Especially this…this healing that I saw that woman do.” “By poking him with needles?” Jin arched a brow. The healer glanced up at him, cheeks reddening faintly. “There are spots…with the needles, it makes people feel…relaxed. Calm. Eases pain and stiffness. I thought maybe that if he felt good and happy, that he might….might answer more questions.” “You were spying.” Zylon flinched. “Not for secrets of your battles, or men,” he swallowed. “Just information.” “That does not change that you used my trust to pry information from my Second, using your healing craft,” Jin said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself?” “I…ah…” The healer’s shoulders drooped and he bit his lip. “It was wrong of me to use my skill that way. I just…I wanted to know how to do that,” he murmured. His eyes snapped back to the Fay-el, narrowing slightly in that eerie blue gleam. “I simply wished to spare others from far worse wounds. It was wrong of me, aye, but what was I to do?” “Not treat my Second so,” Jin said pointedly. The Eloin flushed anew. “My apologies, sire.” His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips briefly. “Ah…could I have my needles back, my lord? I will touch only Aretas with them.” “And what if you poison him?” “Fikar!” His eyes widened. “Why ever would I do that?” "I do not know," Jin said pointedly. "I did not expect you to dare use your craft to pry, so now I find myself wondering what else you are capable of." "Not---Not poisoning my lord!" the Eloin sputtered. "And even if I wanted to do so, the needles cannot be used that way. Ah... exactly." Jin's eyes narrowed. "And see? Another reason for you not to have those needles back. Who knows what they can be used for? I am certain that my Second does not know, and he says you two studied at the same school." "Bloody---" Zylon cut off suddenly under Jin's darkening glare, cringing back slightly. "I am not going to harm Aretas. He is my liege, my friend---" "Somehow, I am not entirely sure that matters, where you Eloin are concerned," he snapped, then cocked his head at him, frowning consideringly. "Here is what I am going to do, Eloin. If whatever it is Turoc is brewing is not effective, I will allow you to use your needles on Aretas under guard. But you in turn are going to return the favor." Zylon swallowed. "My... my lord?" Jin smiled humorlessly. "Turoc has my Second every other day, beginning either today or tomorrow. So. When asked to do so, you will explain to him how these needles work, and to Turoc as well if he wishes to know. So long as they continue learning, and you continue being on your best behavior, I will permit you to use these needles---as necessary---to handle Aretas' headaches. Understood?" “Aye,” the healer murmured. Jin nodded. “Good. Now, come along.” He grabbed Zylon’s arm and yanked him back inside Turoc’s tent. Though whatever the Dragonian healer had given him was half-gone, Aretas didn’t look any better, and he clearly had no desire to drink any more of the vile stuff. Eyes narrowing, Jin shoved Zylon to his lord’s side and crooked a finger at Turoc. For the sake of the old man’s feelings, it was best if he explained the arrangement, and not the bloody Eloin. < > The Keeper frowned. Joran, Duncan, Hazor, and the rest of the older younglings were here…including Elam with his loquiri, but there was no sign of the Second. Surely he had not forgotten already? “Have you seen your ru, Joran?” The boy flushed and shook his head. “No, Sair. He was eating breakfast with the Fay-el, but that was more than a point ago.” “Hmm. Well…do you think you could find your ru, and remind him of his lesson this morning? And remember to come back yourself,” the Keeper added pointedly. The boy nodded hurriedly and half-rose, only to pause as the Hybrid in question ducked beneath the tent flap. “Ah, Kor, good to have you join us,” the Keeper said. “Sit here, as before,” the man said calmly, gesturing with one hand while he stepped back to his own writing desk, unfurling a slender parchment. “Today, I believe, we should discuss the lineage of the Fay-els. With the ah….other tribes with us today, it will be good to take note of them.” The Keeper smiled. “The first High Fay-el was Brakir, aye?” The students all nodded, even Kor after a brief hesitation. There was enough references to Brakir, Bran-Kir, or Kir in songs and poems that it was likely the man had at least heard the name. “Good,” the older man murmured. “Now then, though the other Fay-els do have a strong lineage, and some even to relations of Brakir, the high Fay-els are typically directly related to the first. It is not required, certainly, but tradition states that—“ He paused as the Hybrid squirmed. “Aye, Kor?” “Um…I’m…Caylia mentioned that she would also like to hear some of the lessons. May I fetch her?” The Keeper’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose so. But do not tarry. We can work on some of yesterday’s work while you are gone.” With a broad grin, the Hybrid leaped easily to his feet and dashed out of the tent. The Keeper frowned at his back. “I do hope…” he did not finish, but turned instead to his remaining pupils. “The Tenets? Name the third one, please, Duncan. Without looking at your notes.” < > Kor smirked as he spotted Caylia, striding with Jaara and---to his surprise---a small cluster of young tribeswomen---away from the camp. His lifted his eyebrow curiously as he caught up with him, but the Fay-ra was surprisingly closed-mouthed on what the group of women were doing wandering away from the protection of camp, and Kor was hardly going to deny them the freedom to do as they pleased. “Aye, Kor?” she said only, frowning at Jaara as the Inquisita gave him an annoyed glare. Kor jutted his chin toward where the Keeper’s tent seemed to crouch beneath the arms of three willows. “You said yesterday you wanted to sit in on the Keeper’s bloody session. Well, he said he’d be more than happy to have you, but they’ve started already, so you had better hurry if you wish to go.” In truth, he had been somewhat surprised by the Keeper’s easy acquiescence. The only ris that seemed to attend the lessons were all beneath the age of ten, and most---such as his own little re---younger than six. None of the tribes’ young women were in attendance. Then again, conservative notions or not, he supposed the Keeper would not deny the Fay-ra herself. Caylia’s green eyes positively lit up at his message. “Windrunner, I nearly forgot!” She half twisted, casting an apologetic glance at the tribeswomen about her, who were alternately simpering at and---apparently taking direction from Jaara---glaring at the Second. “Will you mind terribly if we do this tomorrow instead?” “No, Fay-ra,” they murmured, although a couple looked more than a little put out by the delay, promptly joining Jaara and the other women in scowling at Kor. “Good, good!” Kor said. Message delivered, he cast Jaara a bright smile---she did not return it---and started to stalk rapidly away before Caylia could ask any questions. Her voice halted him. “Wait! Where are you going?” The Hybrid winced, then glanced over his shoulder with a shrug. “To gather a few herbs before I find my rest for the day. I’ve lessons with Turoc this afternoon, and I wanted to ask him about something.” And he certainly was not going to go listen to some dull lecture about lineages of Fay-els. Just thinking about it made him yawn. “You do not have a lesson with the Keeper?” He shrugged again. “I do. Later. He has two sessions each day.” She seemed satisfied enough by that, though her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion as she nodded and, grinning at the other women, made her way toward the Keeper’s tent. < > Kor was tall, nearly as tall as the Fay-el for all that he was still “growing”. Still, the branch upon which the lichen he was trying to swipe down rested was even taller, so that he had to stand on tiptoe and strain his neck and arm upward, trying to reach. Jumping got him even a little closer, but a sudden, harsh tug on the back of his tunic brought him down to earth with painful suddenness. Cursing, he spun half around, reaching for one shitan even before he registered that it was Terran’s annoyed face---and not that of that shaman or one of Othniel’s men---that he faced. “Ah… Good morning, Sair,” he said pleasantly enough. “May the Star kee---“ “Don’t you bloody ‘good morning’ me,” Terran growled, his grip on the back of Kor’s tunic and subsequently the back of his neck tightening. Kor cringed slightly as he was turned around and marched firmly back toward camp. “Wha---“ he tried to ask innocently, though he had a strong feeling it was not going to work. A little shove had him stumbling forward. He groaned to himself as the blademaster growled behind him. “Do you know what it is like to have your new Ma come to me, tearing my throat out because the Keeper sent her nu to her to tell her that you had decided to ditch your lesson this morning?” “But I---“ “No excuses. You still have half a lesson left.” < > By the time he was marched into the tent and shoved roughly to the ground, Terran glaring sternly at him even after he released his hold on his tunic, Kor’s cheeks were bright red. It didn’t help that most of the younglings there half-turned from their lessons or abacus or parchments to stare at him, eyes wide as they glanced from Second to glowering blademaster, and then frowning Keeper. The older man stepped closer to Kor and rested his hand atop his hair, before firmly turning his head to face him. “I tried to treat you as a fellow adult, who simply wished to learn. Younglings lie, and skip lessons.” Kor flushed even more and squirmed, but the Keeper didn’t release his hold. Instead, with eyes narrowed, he glanced at Terran. “Is it to be like this everyday?” “No,” the blademaster said firmly. His hand rested on Kor’s shoulders, tightening until the Hybrid winced. “He will come to your lessons, without fail, or I will ensure he does.” Terran glared at him sternly. “He will not like how I make sure he comes. Nor will his body…” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, “With bruises and cuts that will not be Mended.” "Whatever happened to my having a right not to be punished with a flogging?" "In the sparring ring, you bloody---Attend to your lessons, or so help me, you will regret it!" Kor swallowed hard. “Ah…aye, Sair—Sairs.” “Good,” Terran snapped. “If I must speak to Turina again…” He did not finish, but Kor nodded hurriedly. With that curt reminder, the blademaster spun on his heels and stalked away. The Keeper studied the Hybrid sternly for a moment, and then gestured to a spot farther back from where he sat. “If you will sit near to the Fay-ra, I am certain you can catch up with our discussion.” He tapped his finger lightly against his lip. “If necessary, ask your ru for his notes.” As Kor obeyed, scrubbing at his heated cheeks, Caylia flashed him a look at once sympathetic, and mildly disapproving. Joran scooted closer and flashed him an amused look. The Hybrid ignored them both, slumping down as best he could to listen to the surely boring lecture regarding fathers and grandfathers of Dragonian nobility. < > “Sire?” Lifting his head from his notes, Jin blinked bleary eyes and then focused on his former Second. He smiled and rose from his desk immediately, striding toward Layole and slapping his shoulder. “Aye? What do you need, Layole? How is Daliah?” For a moment, the Dragonian’s eyes brightened and he grinned, face alight. “Oh, she is well, Jin.” He fluttered his hand above his belly, “Already, she has that glow on her face.” “As do you,” the Fay-el murmured, grinning as Layole flushed slightly. He stepped back and studied him, frowning as he saw his former Second’s eyes darken once more. “What’s wrong?” “One of the sentries came to me…he stopped me because he has not seen Kor or Talen today,” Layole explained. “He usually can see Othniel’s sentries, sometimes they even trade a mug of kolinar. But today…” The Dragonian bit his lip. “He said he has not seen one sentry, nor heard them, and there has yet to be any smoke rise from cookfires.” Jin’s scowl was dark enough that Layole immediately took a step forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Jin?” “Bloody Othniel,” the Fay-el said, jaw clenching. “You heard what he did the day before last?” “Aye.” Layole’s brown eyes narrowed in suspicion as he followed Jin’s thoughts with the natural ease of an experienced former Second. “You think…” “Aye,” Jin growled. “Well, yesterday he failed to deliver the sentries responsible to justice. I punished him---aye, and his bloody Second---with kinsleaf, but…” He shook his head. “I expected him to bow to my command today, but apparently he has chosen another course.” Layole bit his lip, glancing toward the other Fay-el’s camp. “Perhaps they are merely late in rising, and Othniel has pulled his sentries from the circles to help ensure there will be no more... incidents.” He did not sound as though he believed his own words. “Surely even Othniel is not so foolish as to flee your justice.” “No? I think he is more than capable of it.” Jin longed to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his janin and go after the bloody man and his foul Second, but suddenly imagining Kor’s probable---and possibly violent---reaction to his going off without him, he reined in his rage. Barely. “Do me a favor?” “Aye.” “Find Kor for me? I’ll need him to take a few others with him to check and see if Othniel is still there.” He’d certainly not allow the Hybrid to go alone. Not after last time. Layole frowned. “Are you sure that is a good idea? I’ll go.” “They’ll not flog him again. Not with Ravin and Aspen going with him.” His former Second smiled faintly. “I mean is it a good idea to pull him from his, ah… lesson? I could not help but overhear the lecture Turina gave Terran a moment ago.” Jin cursed. “Ah, you are right, Layole.” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Even I would not face Turina’s wrath.” His friend chuckled. “Aye,” he said fervently. The Fay-el turned to face him, the smile on his face fading. “I suppose you will need to go. Take at least six men with you, if not more, and see what is keeping that bloody man.” His eyes narrowed. “Take Terran too.” “I can defend myself,” the former Second said mildly, shifting his shoulder to jostle the quiver looped there. Jin shook his head. “I will not have Daliah a widow. And I do not know the situation there, nor how far Othniel is willing to condemn himself. If he would flog a Second...” Layole bit his lip. “Aye, that is true. I will go, with Terran and the rest. Let’s hope it is simply oversleeping on their part.” “And not open rebellion,” Jin muttered. He leaned against his desk, frowning absently at the missives scattered there already. “If we fight against ourselves, the Eloin will not need a great force to conquer us.” The former Second paused, eyes darkening with slight worry. “Jin…” The Fay-el took a deep breath and shook his head. “Go, Layole. I am only thinking aloud. Send word if you need me.” “And for Kor,” the Dragonian teased, grinning at his Fay-el’s frown. “Aye, I will.” He paused at the tent flap, giving his friend a stern look. “Stop fretting.” “What? I’m not fretting,” Jin growled. But, with a laugh, Layole ducked beneath the flap and was gone. Jin glared at the spot where he had been. “I’m not,” he snapped into the air. With a snort, the Fay-el settled behind his desk again, and rifled through his messages. “Bloody…all Seconds are alike,” he grumbled, and reached for his quill. < > With an exasperated sigh, Jin firmly pushed against Kor’s shoulder. “Staying close does not mean you must lean against me,” he grumbled. The Second did not crack a grin, nor slide a cheeky comment into the air. Instead, giving Jin a stern look, the Hybrid shifted right back against the Fay-el’s left side, both shitans clenched firmly in his hands. The Second had good reason to be nervous. Casting a glance about, Jin himself longed to clench his janin in his hand, simply to have some weapon in his grip that would make him feel more safe. Othniel’s warriors were all around, but not a one would touch Kor ever again. Shamans, sentries, and all were sprawled about, eyes wide with death. Throats had been neatly cut, blood spattering the grass about them. Some of the bodies were half-dressed, with mud streaks on bare chests and in their messy hair—likely killed in their tents and dragged into the open. Othniel and his Second were missing from the body count. Jin frowned and crept forward, with Terran and Kor alike snug against him on either side, as well as a larger-than-normal honor guard fanned out around. The bodies had been cast aside like so much refuse. Animals had been slaughtered too. War-horses, with wads of blanket stuffed around their muzzles to silence any cries, had been hamstrung and then slaughtered like lambs. Others had been gutted like a deer. Rounding a bunch of tents arrayed almost as a barrier, Jin stopped dead and inhaled sharply. His eyes widened in dismay at the sight before him. Behind him, the younger members of his honor guard gagged, and one even retched into the bushes. “Kyda—Eppa—Kratan and all his daughters,” Kor murmured softly. They had found the Fay-el and his Second. As had the Eloin. Othniel had been stripped naked, and garish symbols carved into his flesh. His hands and feet had been tied to a roughly-made scaffolding of tent poles. Patches of hair had been torn from his scalp, bloody clumps lay on the dirt around him. He had been beaten more than once, judging by the blackened eyes, swollen lips and face, and the dried blood caked in scarlet profusion all around him, as well as clinging to the rag stuffed into his mouth. The throat cut must have been a mercy, after the cruelty he had suffered. Directly facing him, the Second stood, lashed to a pole. His hands were above his head, and the rest of his weight sagged, head lolling. The braids had been shorn like sheep. Large, ragged gashes outlined his side and ribs, flecks of white bone visible beneath the deep slashes. Blood oozed slowly down the pole, from wrists that had been rubbed raw as the shaman wrestled against his bonds. Kor bit his lip hard. “They made him watch.” Jin swallowed. “Aye. It seems so.” The shaman’s head twitched at the sound of their voices, shoulders shifting as if he would look at them if he could. Jin’s eyes widened. “He’s alive!” He darted to the shaman’s side and cupped his chin, bringing his head up. Nose and mouth alike had trails of scarlet, where blood had flowed and then dried again. Bruises blossomed across his skin. And his eyes---wide and haunted, with life fading fast. Jin bit his lip. Even before Kor gently motioned for the other warriors to cut him down, easing him to lie on the dirt, and glanced at the Fay-el with a mournful expression, he knew. The Second was not long for this world. Coughing, spitting blood, the shaman shuddered as the others grouped around him. “J..n,” he rasped. “The Eloin….near…watching,” he groaned in pain. Kor’s fingers ghosted over his belly and chest, Gift prickling, before he glanced at the Fay-el. His voice was soft. “His ribs are broken, sternum, collarbone…internal bleeding…” He shook his head and stroked his fingers through the shaman’s hair soothingly, more healer than Second at the moment. “He won’t make it back to camp,” he finished softly. Jin crouched down at the older Second’s side. “It was Eloin, then? They did this?” “Aye…” the shaman inhaled sharply, wheezing, and then murmured, “Said…laughed and said…treaty with Jin…no one…no one else. Proof…contract signed…his blood.” The pained eyes started to roll to where Othniel’s body had been, only to be blocked by Jin’s shift in position. His eyes closed wearily. “Gagged…bound…I couldn’t…get to him…Kyda help me…I could not…” “Shh.” The shaman did not hear, or at least comprehend, Jin’s gentle soothing murmur. Instead, breathing hard as he struggled with each inhale, the shaman repeated brokenly the same theme. “Can’t help…can’t reach…Kyda help me….” Kor rested his hand on the shaman’s shoulders, seizing his Gift. “No,” Ravin said sternly. “It won’t help.” The healer glared at him, scowl darkening as Ravin shook his head again. “No. If you Mend him, with everything---” He swallowed, paling slightly. “---jumbled inside, it’ll harm him more than good.” “I have to do something!” Kor snapped. “Not a Mend,” Ravin said sternly. “Ease his pain, if you must do something. But not that.” The healer’s eyes narrowed, but his shoulders drooped. He seized his Gift again, but murmured for Ravin’s benefit. “Just for the pain. Just to sleep.” With a careful touch, Kor pulled the shaman’s head into his lap and sat there, patting his hair like a small ra. “Rest now.” The rest of the honor guard had retreated to a respectful distance. The silence in the camp was nearly deafening, with no warriors nor horses nor men making a sound. “Fay-el…sire….” The older Second muttered. “Patrei.” Jin winced. Friend. “Shh,” Kor simply murmured. The shaman’s eyes fluttered, and then drooped farther, until he was seemingly asleep. Each breath was slower than the one before it. And then the rattle, low in his throat. Jin swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his own throat. Soothed by the younger Second's Gift, the shaman soon fell into unconsciousness, then slipped very quietly, very easily into death. One moment he was asleep, each breath sounding as though surely it would be his last. Then there simply were no more breaths. For a long moment, Kor stared down into the face of his recent tormentor, as though memorizing it, or trying to read some meaning there. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to Jin. "Now what?" he muttered, his normally expressive face oddly frozen. The Fay-el bit his lip, glancing around at the somber warriors clustered about. "Kor, take the younglings with you back to camp." He held his hand up to stall the Second's immediate protest. "I will go with you." His eyes darkened. "Aretas and I are going to have words." His gaze shifted to Ravin, Terran and the others. "Clean the bodies," he swallowed, "as best as you may. Cover them properly, if you can. Then bring them to the first sentry circle. I will send Rowan and some of the other women to prepare them there for the funeral pyres." "Jin..." Kor started, ice blue eyes already scanning the surrounding trees with unmasked hatred. "No." The Fay-el rested his hand on his Second's shoulder, squeezing gently. The Hybrid did not relax in the slightest. "We do not know how many there are, or how well prepared they are for battle." Jaw clenching, Kor gently lifted the shaman's head and lowered it carefully to the ground, before rising to his feet. He immediately pressed to his Fay-el's side just as he had before, only harder. This time, Jin did not protest, and only nodded as his Second growled. "Then let's get you back to camp." Remembering his Fay-el's orders, he snapped over his shoulder as he nudged Jin forward. "Hazor, Iarian, Duncan and Aero, with us now!" The honor guard that led Jin back to the camp may have been young, but it was heavily armed and more than willing to gut a few Eloin if any dared threaten their Fay-el. < > "What happened?" Joran asked, trotting up to Kor's side with wide, curious eyes the instant his ru stepped from Jin's tent after having turned the Fay-el over to Caylia's loving hands. "I do not want to talk about it," Kor growled immediately. Joran lengthened his stride to keep up with his older brother. "Ma, Rowan and some of the others were just called to the sentry circle..." Kor sighed. "The Eloin killed Othniel's retinue," he said simply, sparing Joran the grimmer details. Joran's eyes widened. "Even... even the Fay-el?" Swallowing, Kor nodded. "Aye." Especially him. A pause as Joran digested that. Then--- "Where are you going?" "Kirtha's tent." "Oh. Can I come?" "No." For an instant, hurt flashed across Joran's face. Then irritation followed on its tail. "Ma said you were to go straight to bed as soon as you returned to camp," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Kor gave him a withering glare. "Well, your Ma is not here at the moment, is she?" he snapped. "And she certainly did not tell me anything. Now, don't you have to study the Tenets, or lineages, or something?" Again, that hurt flared in his brother's eyes. Then Joran snorted angrily, and turned on his heel. "Fine, go talk to Kirtha," he snarled, as he stalked off. "Fine, I will," Kor muttered toward his brother's retreating back. < > “Ah, Kor,” Kirtha began, rising from his place in front of Karik’s tent and grinning broadly. As the Hybrid approached, however, his cheerful look faded into confusion, and then into a darkening frown. “What’s wrong? Has someone been injured?” “Othniel is dead. And his Second.” Kor swallowed hard and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “And everyone else.” Kirtha’s brows arched. “All of his retinue?” “Aye,” Kor sighed. “Dead. Throats slit….except for Fay-el and Second.” He bit his lip hard as the mental images flared into being once more. Just considering speaking of it spurred the lurid scenes into vivid life. Wordlessly, the older Second wiggled his fingers toward a handful of warriors grouped around a campfire. They rose grudgingly, with sighs and shakes of the head, but spread around Karik’s tent with relative ease. Kor frowned, but didn’t protest as Kirtha squeezed his shoulder and then turned him about. “Come with me. I’ve got a whole flask of honey whiskey just waiting for you and me. It’s always easier to talk after your throat is a-burned away, hmm?” Kor’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t want to talk,” he said quietly. “Just…warning you, is all.” His friend squeezed again, gently. “No, you want to talk,” he murmured close by his ear. “Trust me. Talking is much, much better than the nightmares if you don’t.” < > "And what is to become of his tribe?" Caylia murmured, gently rubbing Jin's shoulder. The Fay-el gritted his teeth. "They will have to be notified of the... of their loss," he said, sighing a little as the pressure of her hand increased, forcing him to relax whether he wanted to or no. "That means they will need to be found, first." Her eyes widened and for a moment her hand paused on his back. "You do not know where they are located? Even though you receive missives back and forth?" "Generally?" He shrugged. "Aye, I know where his ancestral lands are. I may be able to follow a hawk; they know the way. But still..." Voices rose on the other side of the camp. A woman, shouting in anger, and a man's quieter response. Jin frowned, but tried to ignore them. "We move... Move about... It is the Dragonian way." Beyond, the argument increased in volume, and he paused again, cocking his head. He recognized one of those voices, then the other, and sighed, starting to rise. Caylia patted his shoulder. "That sounds like a Ma's business with her nu," she pointed out coaxingly. Grunting in irritation, Jin rose to his feet anyway. "Aye, but the other voice sounds like Kirtha, not Kor." “Who is not your Second,” she commented. Both hands on his shoulders, Caylia urged him to sit down again. “Let them work out their own problems.” “But…” “Leave it,” she said softly. Her thumbs pressed deep as she rubbed his back, and then massaged his shoulders soothingly. “Where would Othniel’s tribe likely be?” “Near to…” His eyes fluttered, “Ah…the leftward branch of the Lodo. Or the forest at its shores.” He sighed as she pressed lips to the top of his head, and then flinched as the argument only grew louder. “I…I really need to see to that,” he murmured. “No, you don’t.” She stroked fingers through his hair, and nuzzled the back of his neck, until the Fay-el relaxed again. “Mmm….Ly…” “Will Othniel’s tribe refuse you?” “No…not likely. No Fay-el or Second, nor children. Most of his relatives are long dead, or much too old.” He swiveled to face his wife, smiling faintly. “Now may I see to Kirtha?” “No, you may not,” she said sternly, though her lips quirked with a suppressed smile. She ran her hands down his arms, then clasped his hands, before leaning close to press kisses to the tip of his nose, his collarbone, and then lightly touching his mouth. Jin chuckled softly. “You’re in a lovely mood,” he whispered. “How else does one forget the dead….” she murmured back, “Then by remembering the living?” The argument surely continued, but Jin paid it little mind. “Are you sure Kor and Kirtha and the rest can…” “I’m sure,” Caylia interrupted. She wrapped her arms around him, fingers deftly loosening the laces of his tunic. “And it means he cannot interrupt us…” < > Kor's cheeks burned as his friend raised his voice yet again to be heard over Turina. "Kirtha," he muttered, shaking his head slowly and trying to step past the other Second to fall in at Turina's side, "It is alright. I will---" "What do you mean, I am corrupting him?" Kirtha snarled, one hand splaying behind him to push Kor back toward the tent where, up until a mere mark before, they had been drinking and quietly talking together. "He is not even drunk, Daena, and even if he were, so what?" Turina's eyes were narrowed into two dangerous slivers. Kor wished he could just go to her obediently and go to bed as she was demanding, but his friend would not allow him to pass or her to "bully" him. It was ridiculous. He did not want to find himself kneeling in bloody prayers all the next day! "So what? I do not want him to learn to drown his sorrows in a bottle!" She swiveled to cast a stern glance at Karik, who at this point was merely sighing and running his hands through his hair, after his first attempts to alleviate the situation had utterly failed. "My lord, are you just going to allow him to---" "Kirtha," the Fay-el said sharply once again. "This is none of our business. You can talk to Kor later, surely, and---" Turina snorted. "Later? I think not." Kor's eyes widened. "Turina!" Then, at the stern look she shot him, he quickly amended, "Daena, please---" "No." She shook her head firmly. "Certainly you lack all judgment when you are around him, and I will not have it." The young Second gritted his teeth. "Daena, what will you have me do, then? Forbid Jin to spend time with Fay-el Karik if Kirtha happens to be present, so that I may follow your bloody idiotic orders? Eppa!" "What did I tell you about cursing?" "Eppa, Eppa, Eppa!" Kor snarled back. Karik threw his hands up in the air. Growling under his breath, he strode straight for Kirtha, and caught his Second high on the arm, yanking him along before the warrior could utter whatever words were on his mind. "Good day, Daena," he said stiffly, tugging his Second along. "Good day, Fay-el," Turina said, not even looking at him, her withering gaze reserved for Kor alone. As soon as both Fay-el and older Second were out of earshot, Turina’s eyes narrowed and she growled, “I warned you, ra. You will not dispespect in such a manner, and you certainly will not spend time with such a bad influence as Kirtha.” “I am not a child!” he snapped. “You are,” Turina said firmly. “And you are acting much younger than your age carrying on like this. As if you were a babe, throwing a fit. Come with me.” “No,” Kor snarled. “I am going to talk to Kirtha, likely drink my bloody head off, and then sleep when I please. In my own tent.” Turina’s eyes were thin slits. “Are you now?” she said dangerously. “Aye, I am!” he growled. “I cannot stand one week of this, much less the next two years.” “Do not speak to your mother so.” “You are not my mother!” he said. “She is dead. As dead as Othniel’s men, and by the same Eloin thorlas. So leave me be!” Kor swallowed hard several times, and then crossed his arms, glaring at her. But his eyes were wide, and he blinked repeatedly. The angry look on Turina’s face faded, replaced by a slow understanding. “Ah…I see.” “What?” Kor snapped. “That I am not a ra, but old enough to care for myself?” His eyes narrowed at Joran as his ru approached slowly, peering between his mother and the Hybrid with curious eyes. “A Confirmed man.” Joran flinched and red rose into his cheeks. He flashed one, hurt-filled look Kor’s direction, and retreated before his mother’s wrath could turn upon him. Tattle-tale Kor thought scathingly, frowning at his brother’s retreating back. The youngling had known where Kor would be, and that he had not been resting as he was supposed to. “Ra…Kor,” she amended, “There is no shame in grieving. But not by downing your sadness with spirits. Does Jin drink when he is unhappy?” “He frets,” the Second responded immediately, “And…ah…” His lips quirked against his will into a sudden, faint, ribald grin. “He does other things too. Now that he’s married.” Turina flushed, and gave him a stern look. “Kor!” “You asked the question, Daena,,” the Hybrid said cheekily. The grin was slowly broadening. “Would you prefer I follow my Fay-el’s example and—“ “No!” she said sternly. “Certainly not.” Kor glanced at her, and shrugged, eyebrows arching, until her blush darkened. She shook her head and pointed toward his tent. “You should rest, Kor.” His brief good humor began to fade again immediately. “Stop ordering me!” “Ra—“ “Just…stop it!” he snapped, raking his hand through his hair. With a frustrated snort, Kor whirled and stalked away, ignoring Turina’s protest. It didn’t take long before his long-legged stride outdistanced her, and he was crouching down in the bushes at the edge of the sentry circle, glaring wrathfully at the snickering sentries that passed by his hiding spot. Surely Turina would grow tired of looking for him. She’d go to her tent or perhaps a cookfire and sigh, and think of all the terrible things she would do when next she saw him and— Fingers dug into his tunic, shaking him roughly as he was hauled to his feet. “Kor…” Terran sighed. “Why must you make things so difficult?” The Hybrid’s shoulders slumped. Or, she’ll have Terran fetch me. “Sair…I don’t want to sleep. Not now. Not after…” He swallowed quickly as the images resurfaced. The stickiness of plant sap clinging to his hands was suddenly the ichor of the shaman’s blood as he breathed his last, and then the wetness of his mother’s blood, and all the Aquila who lay sprawled in death around him. “Terran…” he murmured, “I just cannot.” Terran shook his head. "Kor... You will go to bed. You do not have to sleep, if you are unable to do so, but you will at least lie down. And in the future, you are going to do so the instant Turina tells you to, because by Kyda, I am not going to come bloody fetching you for her every time you defy her! I am your Sair, not your bloody Da." The Hybrid grumbled. "Well, obviously. Or Duncan would be my ru, not Joran. Though he'd probably be a better---" Sighing, Terran gave him one last shake by the back of the tunic, then shoved him back toward camp and released him. "That is enough of you," he growled. "To your tent. Now. Or I will knock sense into you in a spar while you utter those prayers of hers, you hear me?" Kor snorted, but could not be entirely positive that the blademaster was joking. "Fine, Terran," he snapped. After tramping back toward his tent, ignoring the sly smirks of a few of the sentries and Turina's dark scowl as she looked pointedly at his tent, Kor spotted Joran poking gloomily at the coals of one of the cook fires. Lip curling in a sneer, the Hybrid veered that way, grabbing his ru roughly by the back of the collar and dragging him to his feet as Joran gave a surprised yelp. "You and I need to talk," Kor snapped, shoving the fourteen year old toward his tent as Terran had done to him but a couple marks before. "But since I'm not allowed to do anything but be in my tent, you are bloody well coming with me." Joran jerked violently in his grasp, trying to break Kor's grip on his tunic. "Let me go! I have nothing to say to you, you thorla!" "Oh aye, you do," Kor growled, planting one hand in the middle of Joran's back and pushing the unwilling ra inside. "You are going to begin by explaining to me why you keep whining to your Ma about me!" “Because you should obey her!” Joran snapped, squirming against his ru’s hold, and finally breaking free as Kor shoved him to the ground in the center of his tent. The youngling swiveled to glare at him, pushing aside the rolled parchments and charts to make room. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Kor. “If you listened to me, instead of that bloody Kirtha, then maybe she’d not be mad at you all the time.” “Is that it?” Kor growled. He smirked. “You’re jealous.” “I am not!” Joran protested hotly. “You are just being stubborn. It’s not hard to do what our Ma wants, is it?” Kor’s anger faded instead to a mirthful laugh. “You are too jealous! What happened to my ru sneaking out to be with the Dragonian women at the fete? You are not allowed to pluck ribbons yet, but I seem to remember watching Fiona so someone could do just that. Hmm?” He arched his brows. Joran flushed. “So? That’s not like drinking.” Kor snorted. “I suppose telling your Ma you were bedding women would please her then?” “Ah…no…um…ru?” His blush burned brighter and he ran his hands quickly over heated cheeks. “Just do what she says….please?” He bit his lip. “So I can be…well…so Ma doesn’t have to yell at you all the time.” “And if I don’t want to?” Kor planted hands on his hips. “I am perfectly able to choose when I sleep, and eat, and who I talk to |
| “Is it uncommon for someone of another tribe to sponsor a ra, such as with Kirtha and Joran?” Caylia asked the question idly, more as a distraction against an unsettled feeling in her stomach than truly wanting to know. She, along with Jin, Kor and a small detachment of warriors had left the main encampment and heading out over the grasslands in search of the rest of Othniel’s tribe. A trip, Caylia had informed her husband, that she would not be left out on. Jin reached over from his place on Doblo and took her hand. “Now it is less common, with the tribes as scattered as they’ve been. But, in the older days, it was done.” He looked at her narrowly. “Are you alright?” She smiled. “Oh aye. Perhaps the early morning is all.” They had moved before dawn that morning to avoid Eloin scouts and Hybrid bands. She grinned mischievously. “And it was a late night too.” He chuckled, the kind that came from deep in his chest that made her skin pebble. But before he could say more, a whistle sounded a robin’s call from over one of the undulating grassy hills. She raised her brows. “Does that mean we found them?” “It would seem so,” Jin said, glancing that direction and squinting into the distance, before chirping back like a whipporwill. The “birds” fell silent then. He grinned at her, and neck-reined his horse to face that way and nudging Doblo forward. Kor rolled his eyes, but seemed perfectly content to fall in behind his Fay-el on Keddina, who nickered happily toward the new horses she must have caught wind of. Two heads popped out of the underbrush, dark hair awry. Neither of them could have been much older than Joran. “Halt. Who goes?” One arched a bow at the group, but the arrow clearly wavered in a small circle, his eyes darting from Jin and the Maran bard, to the red-haired Hybrid—the latter having shifted between the arrow’s probable path and his Fay-el, Gift prickling. “Ra,” the Fay-el said smoothly, “You have nothing to fear from us. Lower your weapons. We come bearing news. I am High Fay-el Jin of Shinar.” The youth hesitated. The other youngling at his side sheathed shitan, but the bow in the first one’s hand only dipped slightly. “You may approach, Fay-el Jin. But the ael kinth must stay,” he finished, voice cracking with tension and youth. The Fay-el’s eyes narrowed. “You would deny passage to my Second?” Caylia laid a gentle hand on her husband’s arm, and seized her Gift lightly, before releasing it with a sudden grimace. He glanced at her, concern coloring his face. “Ly?” “I’m fine, Jin,” she murmured, voice dropping to a soft undertone. “Both of them are very scared. I suspect they know of Othniel’s death, or at least that he has not returned when expected.” He paused and considered her words for a moment then dipped his head slightly. “Ras,” his voice softened. “Lower your weapons.” Caylia’s Gift prickled, held the notes of the boys’ fear and softened it. They wavered and Jin spurred his horse closer. “I am the High Fay-el, you have nothing to fear from me. And my Second, as he guards me, he will guard you as well.” He took a breath. “And your entire tribe.” One boy looked confused, but the others eyes widened. “What…what do you mean?” “I need to see the tribe.” “Fay-el…what…” “Ra. I need to see the tribe.” The two boys shared a glance and then one gave a quick jerk of a nod. Caylia found her place again at her side as Kor nervously fingered his shitan. “Do you think Othniel’s tribe will be as…welcoming,” the hybrid grimaced as he voiced the word, “as his retinue?” Caylia glanced at the redhead and lowered her voice. “My..ah, well gossip I heard, said that there were some good men among Othniel’s group. We shouldn’t make any decisions about his tribe until we meet them.” Warriors sprouted from the grass at the boy’s approach, looking worn and, Caylia had to admit, almost expectant. After a brief conference, a study man with a square jaw approached. “Fay-el Jin, you bring news?” She gave Jin’s arm a squeeze and touched her Gift again, stealing herself for grief or even possibly, relief. “Aye. I bring news.” His eyes swept the men scattered about, “Which of you did Fay-el Othniel leave in his stead?” The sturdy man inclined his head mildly, “I, sar. Dustus of Putar.” “Well met, Dustus,” Jin said quietly. “I will share my news in due time, with you first, but my men and lady wife are both weary. Perhaps if we could rest in your tents, and share in your meal,” he crooked a finger at the handful of warriors that had accompanied him in a small honor guard. “My men will gladly aid yours in hunting and preparing a meal. We have also brought provisions to gladden your heart—wine and gruel and the bounty of our ancestral lands.” The man’s eyes shifted to the pack horse, weighted down with supplies. Relief spread across his features. “Kyda bless you,” he murmured. “Aye, come, sar.” < > As they trudged their horses through the rough circle of tents, Caylia and Kor slunk glances at the hastily-strewn canvas and lightly tended fires. The gruel being stirred within the pots was watery pale. The horse lines held but a small handful of animals, most old and sway-backed, best left for the pot or to haul travois across the plains. A scant handful of actual war-horses snorted imperiously as Doblo and the rest were tied. The bard frowned and leaned against Jin, whispering into his ear as he bent down, mindful of their guide. “Where are the horses? The food?” The Fay-el brushed a bit of her hair behind her ears and smiled mournfully. “Paying tribute to the Eloin—often grows more costly as the years pass.” Dustus cleared his throat and inclined his head toward what appeared to be the largest, and most well-maintained tent. “The shaman…Second…stayed there, when not traveling with our Fay-el. He is absent, for a time. Tis the best place to discuss…anything,” his eyebrows arched with mild curiosity, and no small amount of dread. “The news you bring…is best for few ears?” Jin nodded slowly. Dustus sighed. “I feared as much. Come, sar.” They followed. Kor made a low sound of indignation when they passed through the flaps. The inside of the tent was in stark contrast to the outside. While no means as rich as Jin’s tent, it did have fine cloth to carpet the ground and porcelain bowls, although dirty, sitting on a low table with which to wash. Caylia glanced at her husband and he squeezed her shoulder. They settled as the men outside began to unload provisions. Dustus’s eyes looked weary. “Fay-el. I fear…I suspect I may know what news…I what regards you bring.” The flap opened and two women entered, bringing kolinar in small chipped mugs. Kor waved it off, but Caylia accepted it gratefully. The thought of warm tea settling in her upset stomach was a welcome one, but, she soon realized it was so weak it may as well have been just hot water. She glanced at Jin. He hadn’t even flinched at it. Gently she twined her fingers in his. The women left and Jin nodded solemnly. “Have you heard news of your Fay-el before I arrived?” Dustus licked his lips. “N..no. But I suspect…we haven’t. But then again it happens sometimes.” Jin and Kor alike flinched, but the Hybrid spoke first. “No. He defended his Fay-el until the end.” The Second shifted uneasily, biting his lip. “He was not well-liked, was he?” Dustus flushed slightly, but shrugged, studying his hands as he played with the mug in his hand. “No. But he was Second, and the Fay-el believed him, and so we…” again, the mild shrug and an apologetic glance from Fay-el to Second. “How did Fay-el Othniel die?” Jin cleared his throat and set his mug down. He cast the bard with a worried look, but after a barely perceptible shake of her head, flashed Dustus an apologetic look. “When he came to visit us, the Fay-el was…not pleased with me. I have immunity from the Eloin attacks—“ he trailed off as hopefulness rushed into the worn man’s face. “Truly?” Dustus said. “They won’t touch you?” “Not I, nor my tribe, nor Fay-el Karik’s tribe…as he camps within my sentry circles.” “Ah.” Dustus bit his lip. “The Fay-rel refused?” “Aye. The Eloin…proved where the treaty lay…and killed them all. Except the Second.” Jin swallowed hard, eyes sliding to Kor and to Caylia alike. “They let him leave and…watch…” Dustus winced, but nodded for him to continue. “And then wounded him severely enough that he perished, after delivering the Eloin’s message to me.” “And so the line of Othniel ends,” Dustus said softly. Caylia leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on the man’s shoulder, Gift prickling faintly as she eased his resigned sadness. “My Jin brings sorrowful news, aye,” she said quietly, “But some hope. Are there any children or kinsmen of your late Fay-el?” “None. The son is long dead, and his daughters…” Dustus grimaced. “He was trying to save the tribe…you understand?” his eyes slid to Jin, pleading. “Anything to hold onto our ancestral lands and survive. He … wed his daughters—one to an Eloin lord, as a concubine, and the other to a Hybrid commander. We…we do not know where they are, now. And his lady wife died a scant two summers hence—the babe came early, and both perished together.” Caylia’s eyes flickered to Jin as well, pity fighting with disgust echoed there. How desperate do you have to be to do that to your children? The Eloin have conquered these people truly if they take their children. Who cares about land if you have no one to people them. Jin half lidded his own eyes as if he had read her thoughts. She called on her Gift again, later she would have to play for these people, but now her Gift alone would have to do. “Forgive me for my questioning but your people seem tired and bruised and with no kinsmen of your late Fay-el...What will you do?” The man’s shoulders sagged as if under a great weight. “I know not. The shamans…they said that Kyda would grant us protection with our tributes and that to question the falling of our Fay-el was heresy.” “The shamans…” Jin’s voice began sharply then he paused and took a breath. “The shamans may not have been as loyal to Kyda as they claimed. They dishonored my tribe even as guests.” He spread his hands. “I have come, though, to bring some hope and offer you sanctuary as part of the tribe of Shinar.” Dustus hesitated, eyes darting between them. He bit his lip and gave them each considering glances, lingering the longest upon the red-headed Aquila. “I…I will need to speak with the others. The warriors who are the eldest among us.” He smiled faintly. “But my vote is aye. There is nothing for us here…nothing but the ravenous Eloin and the cries of our dead.” Rising, he dipped his head at each of Jin’s retinue and walked away, feelings of both relief and resigned sadness trailing after him. “They are so broken,” Caylia murmured softly. She clutched Jin’s hand, wincing as her belly twisted again. His eyes darted to her face, worry clouding his features. “Ly…” he traced his thumb across her cheek. “Are you well?” Behind him, Kor frowned at her, but did not probe her. Yet. The bard flushed and patted Jin’s arm gently. “I am well, my Jin. Just…upset…” she shrugged, glancing about the tattered tent. He frowned. “I knew you should not have come.” Smiling, Caylia caught his head, fingers finding the back of his neck and pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss was brief---made more so by Kor’s ribald chuckle—but long enough. Jin’s cheeks held faint red, but his grin was impish. “Well…perhaps I could be hasty,” he said. “Much better,” the bard smirked, tapping the tip of his nose. She patted his shoulder, rising from her seat next to him. “Let me see if Rowan needs help.” And has some decent kolinar, she added silently to herself. As she walked back through the camp, the man’s sadness, the man’s hopeless still echoed in her soul. It wasn’t just his, it was the feeling of the whole camp. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very, very tired. By the time she reached Rowan’s tent, it felt as if she had weights on her feet and the thoughts of kolinar were gone from her mind. Rowan smiled as she tied off the last stake. “Thanks to having to follow you around I have seen more of the plains than I have in years.” She cocked her head. “Is something wrong.” “I’m just,” she ran fingers through her locks, “very tired. This place, all this sadness, lifelessness. It wears on me. Do you mind if I..?” Rowan shook her head. “Of course not. I just put down my bedroll and I know I won’t be using it.” “Thank you,” Caylia breathed and stumbled into the welcomed shade and was asleep in an instant. Two points later the bard awoke, eyes wide, gracelessly stumbled from the tent and vomited in the grass. She stared, trembling for a moment until Rowan took her shoulders with a frowned and led her back inside. “I haven’t been sick like that for a long time,” Caylia whispered as Rowan helped her back to the bedroll. The older woman lifted her brow. “Stress alone?” Caylia flicked a glance at her, drew her knees to her chest and let out a breath. “Maybe…maybe not alone. I…didn’t feel well yesterday either.” “Maybe you should see Kor.” “Maybe I don’t want to.” Rowan sighed. “And when Jin realizes you are not feeling well?” “He…suspects,” she murmured. “I told him the same as I said to you. Stressed and tired.” The older woman shook her head, reaching out to rest a soothing hand upon the Fay-ra’s shoulder. “My dear…you know that he will realize the truth, and be hurt that you deceived him. And he likely is already fretting,” the Dragonian said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Go to Kor, Fay-ra. For all of his wild ways, he is a good healer.” Caylia closed her eyes. In the middle of the hurting, suspicious camp, the last thing she wanted to do was be abed with a Mending. Already she was starting to feel a little better. Only a little but that was an improvement. Suddenly, a thought struck and she chuckled. “Ah Rowan, perhaps it’s not so bad.” She flushed a little. “I’m not too far from my moon blood. Only a few days in fact. Perhaps…” Rowan smiled knowingly. “Ah, I see.” She patted her knee. “Maybe not Kor today.” Caylia smiled and shook her head. “No maybe not. Thank you for your tent. I need to find Jin and make sure he’s not still fretting.” <> Jin wasn’t in their tent, erected when she was napping and neither was Kor in his, and she shaded her eyes and glanced over the unfamilar camp. Circular, or wheels with in wheels as Jin had told her once what seemed like long ago now, the tents were the same. Only shabby, and some had holes. Their own tents were set to the side, in the same wheel like fashion, but even their own travel tents were in better shape than these. How have these people lived so long like this? Even in the Mara she doubted she had seen such poverty. Her feet moved forward of their own accord and her hand went to her harp strap. What stories had these people seen? Breathing in the fresh air and the warm sun on her face made her feel better than she had all day and she found herself wandering around tents, and speaking softly to strange women at cookfires who looked at her wide, haunted eyes. She took a draw on her Gift , winced and promptly withdrew it. Fatigue, strain, and a sharp bone wrenching sadness echoed through the silent music of the camp. Families of the warriors who guarded Othniel must have heard. She swallowed. Suddenly the sun didn’t seem quite so bright. These people will need help when they, or if they, join our tribe. Not only from Jin but, Windrunner from me too. I’m a Fay-ra and I keep forgetting that. More work than I thought too. She continued on, keeping an eye out for Jin’s tall form or a flash of the red headed Second, while her mind worked on how to help these people settle into their camp, if, of course they chose too. She was so absorbed she didn’t notice the touch on her sleeve. “Excuse me. Have you seen the High Fay-ra?” She started for a moment as she saw a balding man with an unshaven chin and a flabby belly who carried himself as if he was in charged. It was most definitely not Dustrun or any of those who had first met them when they first came to camp. But needless to say, everyone now knew of their arrival. Or, apparently, her appearance. Caylia looked at him for a moment, amused. “Why do you ask?” “I need to speak with the Fay-el. You see, Fay-el Othniel did have a few people, well, helped keeps things running. And we want to make sure that the Fay-el is aware of this. I think most will be voting tonight to join and if we do…well. I want to be sure our…” he gestured, “places will be maintained. I am afraid the Fay-el might not listen to reason.” “And the Fay-ra will help you how?” He looked at her smugly. He thinks I’m merely a bard, traveling with the Fay-el. Of course, I wouldn’t know any better, I’d bet that’s what he’s thinking. “I’m sure she’ll have some sway with him. Once I explain it to her of course.” “What makes you think she will listen?” “She is but a woman,” he said, spreading his hands by way of explanation. “Why would she not?” Caylia’s brows rose. “Ah. Of course. How many of you are there that…helped.” “Most of ‘em went with Othniel. We are his favorites. But a few of us were left behind to keep things together. In charge if you understand.” “Of course.” Her smile was quick and lacked warmth. “If I see her, I will let her know she is wanted.” He looked pleased. “Thank you, bard. Good thing too, I don’t even know what she looks like.” Caylia shrugged. “No one of consequence.” She nodded and left him. Well, the man could be certain the Fay-el would hear about him, although probably not in the way he wanted. This is what Moyna warned me about before. People trying to use my influence to get to Jin. She frowned. I just didn’t think they’d be so foolish about it. <> Cupping a chipped mug in his hand, steam billowing softly above its rim, Jin glanced up as the bard ducked beneath the tent flap. His furrowed brow immediately cleared and a smile spread across his mouth as he set the mug down gingerly on a low table, balanced on three legs, before striding toward her. He hugged her close, breath warm against her hair, before pushing her back to arm’s length, green eyes searching her face. “Ly?” She smiled faintly and nudged his shoulder. “You’re fretting.” The Fay-el shrugged and stepped back to the table’s side, sitting upon his rug and stretching his legs out before him. “It’s this place. It…wears upon a person, after a time,” Jin murmured. He patted the ground beside him, his smile warming as Caylia joined him, before leaning her head against his shoulder. “You should not worry so, even with this. They will likely say yes, aye?” “Aye.” His fingers played with her hair idly. “Dustus led me about to speak with the elders. Most of them are leery of Kor…understandably…but they would rather be a part of Shinar, then await whatever fate the Eloin grant.” He sighed. “According to Dustus, their next tribute payment is due before the next turn of the moon.” He squeezed her shoulder as she tensed. “We will be long gone before they come to collect it.” “Good. There’s so much…sadness here. I’m afraid it’s even in the very earth.” She shifted, snuggling, as if to make a nest out of Jin’s side. “A few of the people have some of Othniel’s poison though. A man approached me earlier and told me that he was one of Othniel’s preferred. He wants to make sure he still has status once the tribe joins. Honestly he just seems full of himself and I think he’s just trying to preserve himself. Perhaps he doesn’t know what it’s like to have a good Fay-el.” “Kyda…” he breathed. “I’m sure once they rejoin our tribe and have less to worry about, they’ll feel better.” As Caylia shifted again he smiled and drew her closer. “Am I not comfortable enough, Ly?” She smiled up at him and sighed contentedly. “No, you’re too comfortable. I just like being near you.” He chuckled. “So, do you think they’ll be able to travel soon?” “Dustus thinks they can pack up most of this camp by tomorrow. It shouldn’t take long, judging by what we’ve seen of it. Then we can go home.” She smiled softly and closed her eyes. “Good. I spoke with some of the women. They’re not all in good health. Some worry over their children. I hope the journey won’t be too hard on them.” “Or on you,” Jin said, dipping his head to press his lips lightly to her hair. Caylia didn’t open her eyes, but a wan smile curled over her mouth. “You’re fretting,” she scolded. Jin snorted, but shifted as well, leaning his head against the wall of the tent. “I have the right to,” he murmured. “You’re not feeling well.” “I’m fine, Jin,” the Maran said. “You vanished for two points—Rowan said you were sleeping when I asked where you had gone.” His hand touched her hair, brushing it behind her ears. “That’s not like you, Ly.” He rubbed her shoulder in small circles. “Perhaps you should let Kor…” Caylia sighed deeply. “Jin…” “I know. I’m fretting,” he said curtly. The bard opened her eyes then, frowning at his sour look. Rising from her place, she moved to his side, holding out her hand until he took it, the frustration not yet faded from his eyes, and led him to their bed of furs. He settled stiffly. Caylia crouched in front of him, reaching out to wrap her arms around his shoulders, head against his chest, listening to his solid heartbeat. “Jin…it’s nothing. Truly. I…” she felt her cheeks flush, and almost laughed aloud. After sharing a bed with him for the last month, it was strange to feel…embarrassed, even slightly, on something like this. “It’s my…the moon…um…” Jin’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” His worry and frustration vanished, replaced by a slow smile as he tugged her into an embrace. He nuzzled her throat lightly, and then pressed soft kisses to the juncture where neck met shoulder. “I’m such a fool at times,” he mumbled. The bard caught his chin, pulling his head back to see his eyes, tapping a finger to his nose. “But you’re my handsome, loving, fool, aye?” His lips twisted into an impish grin. “Aye.” The kiss was deep and tender, stealing her breath away for the moment, before he parted. “I love you, Ly.” <> They had returned to the main camp after almost a week of slow travel. During the trip, Caylia hadn’t begun to feel better, nor had she exactly felt worse, it was just a constant discomfort and sometimes that same bone crushing fatigue. It was hard to ignore, and it was getting ever harder to pretend. Especially when it came time for the remnants of Othniel’s tribe to settle in. There was a lot of shuffling to do, and Caylia regularly had small groups of women hunting her out, either to complain about their placement, or sharing or some other small matter about a new person next to them. She even, to her embarrassment, nodded off during a small portion of Joran’s confirmation. Luckily, Jaara, seated next to her had nudged her awake with an elbow. The strange symptoms didn’t fade either, when the time for her moon blood had come and gone, or rather was supposed to have come. A small suspicion was building in her. A small whisper, nagging at her thoughts that wouldn’t leave her alone. But, as much as it distracted her, she hadn’t shared it with Jin. Not yet. Not until she was sure. And she didn’t want to until she knew for sure how she felt about it, but as the days wore on, she didn’t have much choice. She paused a few steps away from the red headed second, seated next to his brother and eating what had to be a third bowl of stew. She couldn’t put off seeing him any longer. “Kor?” He swiveled and grinned. “Why hello there Fay-ra.” She crossed her arms nervously. “Um, could you…” she flashed a glance at Joran. “Ah could we speak privately for a moment? I’m still not feeling well you see…” The Hybrid nodded immediately, resting a hand on his little ru’s shoulder for a moment before rising. He flashed her a worried look. “I can take a look at you in my tent, if you want the privacy.” He smiled faintly. “Turoc’s is a little crowded, with those bloody Eloin.” “Um.” She shifted uncomfortably. She knew he was a healer, and was relatively sure that he would comport himself as such, but she suddenly understood Jaara’s unwillingness to let the Hybrid see to her. She knew him! “You… you’ll just use your Gift, right?” And not touch me? Windrunner! He frowned mildly in confusion. “If my Gift is enough, aye.” He cocked his head slightly, seeming to sense some of her discomfort, and did not approach her to lead her away. After a moment she cleared her throat awkwardly and stepped from the campfire and toward his tent. He allowed the flap to fall closed behind them, and immediately fetched a candle. A small, rising prickle of Gift came, and the flame spluttered to life. The Hybrid grinned as he set the candle aside. “Naftis taught me that today. Well, he taught Elam, and Elam taught me.” He rolled his blue eyes skyward, then gestured for her to sit before him on the tattered rug in the center of his tent. She did so, mildly amused as she glanced around. Now that the days were beginning to truly warm again, he’d stripped his tent back to its bare necessities, using it more as a makeshift clinic than anything else. His pallet and blanket were rolled in the corner, ready to be dragged out beneath a shady tree come his morning rest. The remainder of the tent was hung with drying bundles of herbs, stacked with satchels and jars and vials of whatever remedies his own training or Turoc’s teaching dictated he prepare, and a mess of parchments in one corner that was probably part notes from his lessons with the elderly Dragonian healer and part random scraps of various failed and semi-successful experiments. She was very happy he no longer used Jin’s---her and Jin’s---tent to store his notes and charts. Kor cleared his throat, sitting cross-legged before her. “Care to tell me what is bothering you?” She sighed and propped her chin palm, and her elbow on her knee. “Ever…ever since we left to get the remains of Othniel’s tribe I haven’t been feeling well. Or…right really. If my stomach hasn’t been constantly upset, its uncomfortable. And then I just get so tired. I thought it was stress. I mean you know how things have been with Othniel’s tribe and getting them acclimated.” Kor nodded. Of course he would have to know. The Othniel’s former tribe had been so poor and many malnourished that Turoc couldn’t handle all of them. Caylia continued. “Then well,” she colored slightly, “I missed my moon blood and well…” the hybrid’s brows were beginning to rise, “and it could still be stress with all that’s been happening especially in the past month,” she began to say in a rush, “or so with all the changes and all the travelling in the new climate but I’m also not and fool and it’s really possible…or probable that I’m…well, I’m…I mean I could be…” The hybrid looked faintly amused. “Pregnant?” he finished. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Aye,” she said softly. “Have you let Jin know what you suspect?” She shook her head slowly and sighed. “No. Not out of spite or anything. I just…I know he would like children and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him if I were wrong. And then…and then I don’t know if I’m ready for all this either. Not that I wouldn’t want children eventually I just--“ she stopped herself before she started spilling all of her soul to the Hybrid. “Sorry,” she apologize sheepishly. “I’m just…nervous I guess.” She shifted. “Anyways, can you…check?” “Certainly,” the Hybrid said, seizing his Gift. “You’ll just feel a slight prickle, and---“ As Caylia shivered, the Hybrid smiled. “Ah.” And then he blinked, eyes widening slightly. “Oh.” Caylia bit her lip. “Ah? Oh? What does that mean? Am I—“ He nodded slightly, wincing as though unsure whether to expect a blow or something. Given the way Jaara had once reacted to such news, the bard could not blame him. “Is is alright?” The redhead blinked again, gaze slightly distant though he looked directly at her, his head cocked sideways ever so slightly. “Certainly, quite alright. Perfectly healthy, in fact.” He grinned at her somewhat nervously. “All… um….twenty toes will be there in a few weeks…right on time.” The rush of surprise, excitement, and less fear than she would have thought, were all suddenly masked by pure confusion. “All…twenty?” She wrinkled her nose. “How is that…” Suddenly her eyes went wide and her face paled. “Oh.” She swallowed. Tried to speak. Failed. Tried again. “T…two?” Kor nodded. “Are…are you sure?” Caylia’s voice was small. Kor nodded. “Oh…Windrunner.” She buried her face in her hands. The Hybrid bit his lip. "You and I need to talk, soon, but for now, do you want me to get Jin?" Numbly, she shook her head, then realized dimly what she was doing. She stopped, thought about it for a moment, and shook her head again, more firmly this time. "Not... Not yet, Kor." She tried a faint smile, but when it did not quite fit, let it go and buried her face in her hands anew. "What am I supposed to do?" she groaned. For a long moment he did not answer, and she nearly looked up at him again. But then he cleared his throat, and said lightly, "Well, you keep yourself healthy, so that the pregnancy will be as easy as possible and you will all be well after the babes are born." Another pause came, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice. "And then you name them. Do you want to know what sex they are?" Wordlessly, she shook her head again, now lifting her face from her hands. After a moment somewhat of what he had said pierced through the haze of her shock, and she glanced up at him. "Keep myself healthy, how? Are there..." She wrinkled her nose. "Do I have to drink potions?" The redhead gave her a reassuring smile. "There are some, aye. They taste good though, I promise. Here." He rose to his feet, and darted over to a pile of satchels, digging through them until he came up with one that was wrapped in dark green fabric and knotted with clean rope. He sniffed it briefly, nodded to himself, and handed it to her. "The peppermint and ginger in this will help your belly when morning sickness comes, but it's good in other ways too. It’s made with red raspberry, nettles, rose hips… so tis a good, all-around tonic." She took the satchel numbly, and clutched it between her hands. “Anything… anything else?” He nodded, hunkering down before her in a comfortable crouch. “You’ll want to drink that every morning, as well as right before you expect your morning sickness to come upon you. More than five mugs a day is too much, but feel free to use it as needed up to that much. Other than that… you’ll just want to avoid kolinar and spirits, and that is all there is to it. Your body will do the rest.” She nodded slowly, glancing at the azure fabric of the tea bag in her hands, then into the blue of his eyes. “Aye. And will I… Will I be alright? Kor?” Two… That is a lot, isn’t it? Jaara is worried about only one… Smiling gently, he reached out and rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “Many women have borne twins without any problems whatsoever. And I am not… quite… the normal healer, am I?” He waggled his eyebrows at her until she allowed herself to smile faintly. “There you go! Now, you can expect to be a little more tired than Jaara has shown herself to be; you’re carrying twice as many babes as she is, and you’re younger too, still growing. But you should be fine.” “Thank you Kor,” she murmured. “Really.” Her faint smile turned lopsided. “You must think we Maran women are crazy. Every time you’ve had to tell one of us that we’re pregnant, the result is not exactly normal.” He grinned and she took another deep breath and drew her knees to her chest. “I want…I’d really like Jin. If you don’t mind.” <> Jin hurried to the healer’s tent, concern washing through him as he ducked beneath the tent flap. His wife looked up at him, cheeks flushed, biting her lip and turning her hands over and over in her lap. “Ly?” The Fay-el dropped down into a comfortable crouch at her side, reaching for her hand and clasping it gently. “Are you well? What’s wrong?” “Shh.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m well.” Caylia chuckled dryly. “Very well.” “But you’re here, with Kor…I know that…that you were not feeling well before—“ he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “You’re not ill or…” She cleared her throat. Jin flushed. “Aye, I’m fretting. But you…I know that you’re not feeling well, but you won’t tell me why. It…scares me,” he mumbled, wrapping his arm around her and clutching her closer, before burying his face in her hair. The bard sighed, taking a deep breath, and then swiveled gently in his grip, until she faced her husband. She ran soft fingers across the worried lines furrowing his brow and the edge of his eyes, smoothing the skin and then tracing the line of his jaw. Her fingers slid into his hair and she pulled his mouth to hers. After a long, gentle kiss, the bard separated with a ribald laugh, resting her forehead on his. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.” “Hmm?” Jin mumbled, eyes narrowing in confusion. Caylia laughed softly and caught his hand in hers. “Jin…tis very simple.” Her cheeks flushed slightly. Gently, she guided his hand down to her belly. “In a few months, perhaps, you might feel a….a kick,” she mumbled. Realization hit. Jin’s face gleamed with surprise, and he gasped. Speechless, he gaped at her for a moment before a bright smile lit his face. “Ly, are you serious?” He laughed. “Truly?” he clasped her hand and gave her a firm kiss. “This is…wonderful!” he murmured. When he pulled back, he noticed there wasn’t something quite right about her strained, lopsided smile. “What is it?” “You’ll…you’ll probably feel lots of kicks because…because there’s two in there,” she held up two fingers. “Two! Not just one…” her smile melted and her jaw trembled. “I’ve never done this before, Jin, and I was scared about one, but now it’s two…two! I’m not ready for this and…and…” her voice trailed off to a whisper, “I’m terrified.” Jin blinked. “Two? Twins?” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Kyda. This is...a surprise.” Her eyes slid to him, worry and fear and hesitance shining in her green eyes. Jin smiled warmly, cupping her chin in his hand as tears stood faintly in their depths. “Ly…shh. I love you, and I’m thrilled. Truly.” He dipped his head, nuzzling her collarbone until she shivered, “Children…our children…” his hand rested on her belly again. “Two at once—“ he chuckled, nibbling at her ear until she shuddered. “Saves time.” “But…but what if—“ Jin squeezed her tight. “Ly, you’ll be fine. Kor is a good healer and, for all his age, so is Turoc. I promise—“ he stroked her hair soothingly. “I love you, Ly. And I love our children. All of them,” he mumbled, trailing kisses along her jaw once more. “Don’t fret, Ly.” “Jin…” “Trust me. Everything will be fine. We have Rowan and Kor and Turoc and half a dozen women who have borne children before.” “But twins, Jin?” He laughed lightly. “Ly…you should speak to Sheno and Layole’s Ma.” She pressed her nose into the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to speak to…anyone now,” she murmured, sounding younger than her twenty one years. Then as if realizing it, she shook herself. “I mean…you know what I mean. Later. It’s just…so much, and everything is changing so fast.” She tilted her head up at him eye wide. “What if…what if I never get to go look for stories again. Or worse what if they don’t like stories? Or hate music?” He stifled a laugh and kissed her brow. “Oh Ly, do you ever think you’d not let yourself look for stories? Besides, with you as their Ma they’ll love stories. And music.” He kissed her again, tracing the curve of her neck with his finger tips. “Besides,” he murmured in her ear, “we should be more worried that they have my temperament.” That brought a smile, as small as it was. “I love your temperament,” she murmured, “and I love you.” He felt her begin to relax in his arms, even though the signs of worry still lined her face. “It will be fine, Ly. You’ll see,” he murmured again in her ear and a small sigh escaped her lips. For a moment he thought she beginning to calm when her eyes flew open. “What about, Elam? Windrunner…what’s he going to think?” What about, Elam? Windrunner…what’s he going to think?” Jin said nothing for a long moment. Elam had been the only child in his Da’s life for the last eleven years now, and though he had accepted a new Ma—simple enough, as he had not known his blood-mother at all—having other siblings might not work as well. “I—I’m not sure,” Jin said mildly, stroking his fingers through her hair with an absent touch, mind racing. “He is older. I’m certain if we explain to him…and he does have Naftis, so even if you or I…if we cannot give him as much attention as we like, his loquiri certainly will.” “Jin!” Caylia said sternly. “A loquiri is not a Da and Ma!” Jin flushed and smiled faintly, pushing her back to look down into her widening green eyes. “Tis not what I meant, Ly. I suspect there will be some jealousy, perhaps some…hurt…that will need to be talked through. But he is no child to throw a tantrum. Much,” he amended. “And…well..perhaps if we speak to him beforehand? Before you even start to…show…” he grinned at the last without meaning to, hand touching her belly again, “He will be the eldest brother. It will be his responsibility to take care of his younger rus or res, or both.” Jin smiled faintly. “Kyda knows Corin did with me.” Caylia tilted her head. “Truly? From all the stories I’ve heard, you and Corin usually spent your days trouncing each around camp.” Jin chuckled warmly, but it slowly faded as his eyes went distant, looking at something far away. “Aye, we did that but he would never let anyone else trounce me. It went deeper than that…he would give me his last warm blanket if it were cold and he would go without.” She smiled softly. “Really? What else?” “Oh…Corin was just…” Jin sighed, and drew his knees up, wrapping his elbows around his legs and shrugging mildly. “There was but six years between us, but it felt as if…as if there were so much more. He was my elder ru, and knew all of the—well, pressure that our order of birth placed.” He sighed, eyes distant and warm with memory. “I was a second son and therefore…my elder ru would have the finest education in war and politics, he would marry first, be given the inheritance and perform the Coro. My responsibility was to become an efficient…lieutenant to him, to marry for politics mostly, to have a child only when his heir was three years old.” Jin bit his lip, smiling as Caylia rested her fingers lightly against his shoulder. “But…Corin hated the rules as much as I. Hated that, for example, he was Confirmed first, and I must wait—or be content with Sheno’s sponsoring. So he did…special things…with me. For me. Everything he learned in his lessons, he’d come and…curl up with me, and tell them back. Twas like having my own tutor.” Quiet sadness touched him, darkening his eyes. “I was…very close to him. Twas why it…hurt…so, what the Eloin did to him.” Slowly Caylia wrapped her arms around him and held him closely. Her Gift prickled and settled over both of them like a warm cloak. He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Don’t fret for me Ly,” he murmured softly. She looked at him, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Sometimes you break my heart, Jin.” Working a gentle smile onto her lips, she gently reached up and stroked his cheek. “If we have a ra, we will be very lucky if he will be like your Corin. Aye?” His returned smile was small and heavy. “Aye,” he murmured and wrapped and arm around her, hand resting again on her stomach. “Aye.” His smile warmed and dipping his head down, he gave his wife a kiss. |
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