Princeps

A visage wincing in pain, a sour, stoically silent countenance, and a set of eyes daydreaming could have been construed by the passerby as an entertainment troupe caught in discord. They were indeed a sight to behold on the road to Jarat. Occasionally, they could even hear the passed judgement as the wagon rolled away from many a trader, a peasant, or a travelling craftsman. The trio was the pinnacle of peculiarity; even the milestone statues looked as if they are about to cast judgement with an ethereal voice hailing from beyond.

Ervel had troubles holding his arms up so he let the reins stay slack, delegating to Carlyle and Rugen to set the pace for the final stretch, while simultaneously cursing under breath every bounce of the wheels. Atef was deep in thought, the dull rattling of the wagon giving him the time to brood and wonder. The fire, the ice, the healing touch, talking to a wolf and understanding Erleia’s weird language. All of it was still a mystery, a talent he had, couldn’t control, and that he still hasn’t identified in the wider world. However, the pit has taught him patience and keeping his mouth shut on matters which were big, potentially meaning life or death. He has seen a lot in the last several days, but not enough to ascertain whether he is the only one who could evoke powers which were worthy of awe, featured only in tales for younglings due to their sheer impossibility. And yet, in his mind, he still played the discerning game of mockery or make-believe. Perhaps these stories were told by mas to soothe, lies to ensure peace of mind with all the make believe, or were in fact just a sick mockery of hope, maybe even ordered by the bosses. They must have gotten a solid laugh or two from seeing children, and even simpleton adults believing that awesome forces exist. Fools be fools, there was no hope in the pit and no make-believe would change this fact. But its distant glimmer would keep your back strong enough to withstand and imagine, pray for divine intervention. One more day, one more load, one more crawl in the cuts and crevasses searching for the next shiny lode. A philosopher could contemplate that the bosses also played with fire in this way as the stories were the tissue and sinews around which an uprising could grow. Purely philosophical discussions were foolhardy in the case of the pit. The pit never let anyone go. The only true answer, a sense of purpose, was the growing light behind the dark of his eyelids. He sensed it was the ultimate revelation; he felt Jarat was the key and they were on their way there.

Erleia’s silence was the most arcane of the three. Her eyes oozed content while everything else about her was reserved and distant. She satisfied her fancy last night and it soured the relationship between the man and the boy. Either of them could’ve thought that she enjoyed what she caused but that was not the case. She just wanted to feel a little meaningless love, a liberation from the chains that bounded her all her life. She gave the boy a chance and he didn’t accept her offer. He couldn’t possibly be mad now that she chose the dashing barber who unraveled her with his eyes and only a few select words. The arcane in her deliberations, however, was not related to this feud she birthed. Something so trivial is reserved for a budding harlot who just gained stature in high society as her benefactor discovered her untasted fruit. This had a more significant quality, definite life altering consequences as she tried to list all the incalculable outcomes related to whether she should leave Atef and stick with Ervel. And how she would do that as painlessly as possible. She saw what Atef did to the poor barber and wondered what else was he capable of if she decided to leave him? She also remembered his brutality when they were fleeing the village. Was that to repeat, was that to be his defining trait and not what she observed as kind, vulnerable and broken in him which she fixed in countless elves before she was sold off. Whom to trust now that the time is running out on making a decision?

Each of the three continued fermenting in their state, exchanging very few words, just taking in the road which served as a great panacea of numbness, a chance to recover. From the Golden Oar, the path led past another great forest in which a pair of eyes ringed with red fur watched. A yawn, a sense of loneliness. The legs started moving leaving the chewed up carcass of the latest meal. The slow pace was good for the full gut, and it was easy to keep the wagon in eyesight. It was desperately slow.

Past the woods, a large farm stood as a welcomer before the town of Jarat. It was enormous, as big as several villages and ownership of the lord of the land, a certain duke Vossenrai, offshoot of the imperial bloodline and an insignificant house which has been the thorn in the eye of each Untar king since the time of great Karvel. They stopped there for a breather and a quick bite with the commoners. Ervel usually didn’t provide his services to field workers but the latest escapade, although bitter-sweet, has set him back quite a few silver grifs. Here though there will be no silver; he would have to settle for pilae, the copper currency of the Empire. And he would barely earn any. After offsetting for three peasant fieldwork meals and his work which resembled more like butchery, he barely made any money. From all the pain he couldn’t hold his hands up much while he worked and that resulted in quite a few cuts of his “esteemed” customers, as he would call them.

Erleia took the time to hang out with the local girls who were fascinated with her, even more than the workers. She was delighted how much the children could tell each other and her through just mimicking. They were just as smart as Aebor girls and just as dear.

- “Filth of the west, but they pay well and stick to their lands” – echoed in her as she remembered the wisdom etched in her. And she reasoned the same for the men and women, but not for their young. They were dear, and like many on either side, elven or human, she wondered how the young turn out to be so utterly different, dangerous and most often despicable compared to who they used to be. So, this moment was not for the children. It was for her. She wanted to experience the human younglings in their nicest, purest, and most beautiful form. She would braid their hair, sing to them in her language and play hide and seek. She would make wreathes for them, give them elven nicknames and dance with them. Before leaving, she decided she would kiss each of them and their dolls so that they remember her forever.

Atef spent his time first sulking because of the delay, then he watched Erleia from afar, and then he decided to take a walk. He left the wagon behind him and sought solitude away from Ervel’s presence and his gaudy high-speak. The edge of the forest was quite a distance away but he estimated he had plenty of time until Ervel finishes his pompousness. The trees were still a novelty for him, a forest still had an allure that he felt would take him years to satiate. As he sunk into it, he started making deep breaths, enjoying the scents of wet earth, rotting bark and leaves that he would rub between his fingers. He felt like he was at home. Nearby, a murmur of water, a stream. He suddenly felt thirst and carefreely jutted forward to it. It was a thin snake of water, you could create a dam with your hand if you wished it so. But the water cut its path through a very narrow furrow, so it flowed quickly. He smiled, reached down and eagerly gulped, quenching his thirst. It was divine, cold, tasting a bit earthy, rich with the blessings of the ground. He continued drinking, wanting to get rid of thirst for days to come from this wonderful find. A thought crossed his mind to store some of this majestic water, but he had no container with him. The last few mouthfuls felt a bit off, warmer and less pleasant, but that was alright, he will walk back to the wagon, get a canteen and fill it up for later glory. Just before parting with it, he closed his eyes, made a small bowl with his hands and splashed the water across his face.

Atef opened his eyes and there it was. Hind left leg up, its face gleeful with its tongue stuck out in mocking laughter and piss coming down into the stream.

- You fekking mutt! – shouted Atef feeling the momentary revulsion. He fell on his ass from surprise, looked at the wolf stunned and then started hysterically laughing. – Come ‘ere!

Magic roll: 75 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to speaking with animals ; current level 8/50

Madness roll: 37 out of 100 [5d20s] ; 0 to madness ; current level 7/100

Secret roll: 79 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to a mystery ; current level 7/100

- Grrrrr followed auuuuaoooh! Grauuah, kai kai, grrr – grumbled the wolf jumping into his arms. Atef paid no mind to its growls, sneers and barks and just hugged it, petting its shabby mane.

- Shame you couldda not come to Golden Oar! ‘Tis a booze place and gits worthy of your chompers sit there!

The wolf kept its head slanted for the duration of Atef’s short retelling of the terror he experienced at the Golden Oar and how he exacted vengeance onto Ervel. He also almost whisperingly told him about his suspicions regarding Erleia and Ervel. It sounded to the wolf almost as a report of personal shame. It bit Atef’s arm and before he could get mad, it licked his face.

- Why you did that?!

- Wake up auhauauhauahua! – tried explaining the wolf.

- I’m awake numbnut!

- Grrauh dumb-grr! – the wolf sardonically concluded leaving wisdom imparting for some distant future.

- You dumb!

Wolf’s response was to turn around, lift his tail and loudly fart in Atef’s general direction. Then it proceeded to move towards the edge of the forest.

- Wait, mutt. You canna not go to that bunch of ninnies, they will bash your mutt skull in!

The wolf knew this simple fact of life better than Atef and only wanted the boy to follow him. At the edge, it pointed its snout towards the wagon and then towards the road.

- Where auuuuoooh grr?

- To light. I reckon in Jarat I find answers. To how I understand you, to how I understand Erleia, to how I burn, ice, heal. To everything! – replied Atef realizing from the intonation that he was asked a question.

- Us?

- Like ‘ere in Jarat they will bash you.

Wolf gazed at Atef, wondering whether the bond they share, its zealous calling will last past the moment he walks into that town.

- Why you like and follow me so much mutt? – asked Atef pondering the same as the wolf, trying to understand it for the very first time and not just accept its presence as a given.

A series of growls, raspy and low pitched came as a response. They undulated in Atef’s ears conveying something mellow and sad. Then the wolf’s howls became aggressive, warlike, a curse of wicked past times. Atef’s heart rate synced with the emotion conveyed and recognized that under all that strife there was a silver lining, gratitude. It broke through all the noise, became the base of a beginning of understanding. Spinning the yarn of destiny, the sense of gratitude merged with the mellow and sad and formed a thread of what is to come. Their shared fate was unwritten, yet divinely mandated. Atef felt it in the mystical endpoint of wolf’s declamation. Instead of uttering a single word, acknowledging in any way, Atef just stood there and soaked up all the emotion, his imagination giving meaning to beast’s cries. Then he winked at the wolf, patted it on the head, hugged it and waved a “see you soon” as he headed back to the wagon.

- What’s that unique musk you bring from the woods my liege? – asked Ervel.

- Forests are so nice at this time of year! – responded Atef exercising a little bit of coyness he picked up from Ervel himself.

- Oh how genuinely wonderful. I’d love to discuss the wonders of aimless strolling but I must say we are well behind our schedule and it would be invariably great that we get on our way. Would you kindly fetch lady Erleia?

- Ye, ye save your air.

When Erleia saw him, she knew it was time to leave so her kissing plan was put into practice. The girls started cooing and clamoring as she tended to each of them and saying “thank you” to all the smiling mothers. She slowly walked backwards and kept waving while wary mothers held their darlings from running towards the Aebor, not wanting to extend this unusual and alien encounter any longer. Finally, she turned and joined Atef feeling the scent of the wolf on him. She smiled, feeling a spark of some unusual belonging. Was it enough to sway her mind?

Lita was caressing Sur while Baor slowly slipped into the distance painting the world sickly purple. The beauty of the Baor’s section of the sky contrasted to the brackish hues of the blue and black void emanating from Lita’s grip of Sur, killing off the orange and red haze of their first kiss. Jarat finally stood in the distance. It’s most prominent feature from afar is a massive tower, tall and seemingly indestructible, pointing towards east. To Untar, to the source of timeless woe. It was the first serious barrier to any incursions from the Boneyard, as the locals called the narrow strip of land over which Untar and the Empire have fought for the better part of three centuries. Many great battles turned the region, counter-intuitively judging by its name, very fertile ensuring great wheat yields to the side which controls it at any given time. That’s why it was oftentimes referred to as the Golden Boneyard. Currently, it stood firm in the grip of Untar and it felt like no matter how large an army the Empire musters, Basileus Magrak will fight for it until the bitter end. And the bells of Jarat’s tower would be the first to announce that conflict. The tower resembled a colossus that gazes east and carries in its grey, stone skin a symbol of a gryphon elevated on its hind legs and clenching with its front claws the twin suns. Its eye, a giant ruby commissioned after a very embarrassing defeat of the Untar Denateri, who failed to destroy a surrounded Imperial army, reminded any would-be intruder that Jarat watches and is the beacon of Empire’s full might. That is, the Empire of old, before the Hoplon fields, before Besria, before the war that turned it into a shadow of itself. Atef and Erleia couldn’t see this historically significant emblem of the Empire though. The wagon was approaching Jarat from the south and the veil of darkness allowed only for the contours of the colossus, its surrounding towers and the walls to be visible, anchored by the night watchmen’s fires.

- The great tower is the Sentinel’s rest, some like to cool it Baurak as well. You see how big it is? The Empire has been suspicious of Untar since Jarat was first claimed by the Empire. There are other towns, forts and villages further to the East, all part of the Empire, but this is the first and foremost barrier to the madmen from the East – explained Ervel grunting, always the storyteller before something he considered majestic.

- Madmen? – asked Erleia particularly curious about the word as it was mentioned at least twice when the merchants haggled over her.

- Rage and hate filled reasonless fools who cannot let the past stay the past and find a way to live together in the present. Bloodlust is all they know and that’s why the saying goes: Gold is born out of crimson.

- Wha’ kind of saying’s that? – interjected Atef mesmerized by the size of the city. It seemed enormous to him, a magnificent edifice. He recalled masters Togrin and Everard telling how important is for the Empire what happens below the ground. A spark of pride ran through him; he was partially responsible for such an immense statement to the power and prestige of the Empire.

- A kind of which tells how easily and mindlessly people throw their life away at one specific place. As if it was ordained by gods that there will lie the killing fields!

- Where?

- The Golden Boneyard. It’s quite a far away from here, but the showdown always ends there. I once drove through it on my way to Untar, back when I was still foolish enough to think that the grass is greener on the other side. You could smell it; the stench of those clashes is still in the air. If you poke around you’ll definitely dig up a sword or two, or armor, or arrowheads and who knows what more. And not to forget the bones. So many bones.

Atef listened with interest and kept his eyes mostly closed as if he was visualizing. In fact, he was seeking the guiding light which brought him there. It pulsated behind the walls, tucked away somewhere on the streets of Jarat, as if a prize of a giant labyrinthian puzzle.

- Sleep? – yawningly asked Erleia gesturing she wanted to place her head on a pillow, like she did last night at the Golden Oar. Being able to embrace something soft again made her mad with joy.

- Trust me lady Erleia that’s all I am thinking of as well. We shall stay in a tavern, just beyond the gate.

- I don’t wanna! – objected Atef.

- Well sir, the only other option is the street and if we opt for that, the town guard will most likely send us off to enjoy the dampness of the dungeon.

- Is it like last night? – asked Atef with a sulking tone.

- The clientele of the place I have in mind is definitely more prestigious but the atmosphere is less unique.

- And you not lying to me and Erleia?

- He not! – exclaimed Erleia not wanting to listen to the brewing quarrel.

- Stay out of this! – commanded Atef.

- M’ lord it is really not necessary to shout at the lady, she is at the end of her wits. We all need a good night’s rest – mused Ervel, his words pure sweetness.

- Is that so? She knows nadda of last night so she canna not decide! Only I decide!

- She knows some – pointed out Ervel with the smile in his eyes. But you are right m’ lord! I propose an appeasement. If you do not like the place that I have chosen we can choose a second, or a third, maybe even fourth. Jarat in total has six tavern and all are marvelous.

- Fine! – concluded Atef.

Erleia puffed in anger seeing she is in for a long night. She might as well not sleep at all.

In the dark Jarat didn’t look inviting, the shadows dancing in the torchlights didn’t reveal much of the city. At the gates, Ervel spewed out his patented fraternizing greeting which ensured access to Jarat at such a late hour. Once inside, Atef noticed that the houses were narrow and tall, covered in carvings and ornaments which testified to the significant wealth of the city and in front of most of them there were stalls covered with brown canvas. Just beyond the first row of stalls and houses, no more than a hundred paces form the gate, two taverns stood opposite each other, the Silken caress and the Muslin kiss. They were lit up and brimming with life, looking almost like a nest of fireflies in the surrounding darkness. The only counter-force was Atef’s light. It was down the road, deeper in the city, to the left, tucked away under a gentle hillock separating the two sections of the city.

- Wha’ s there?

- Oh, nothing of importance. So, what pleases m’lord, which of the two taverns shall we pick?

Erleia pointed at the Muslin kiss having a good feeling about it, which was reinforced by the statue above entrance representing a man being kissed on the cheek by an exotic beauty covered in layers of lively colored cloth. Given the popularity of said sign, the Silken caress put up a similar one above its entryway. The distinctive difference was the fact that the exotic woman was leaning towards a seated man and kissing him on the cheek in the case of Muslin kiss, while she held the chest of the man from behind and kissed him on the lips in the case of the Silken caress. Many a fight and broken statues came out of this competition and only severe punishment and oversight from Jarat’s magistrates stopped the feuding.

- I wanna go there! – pointed Atef.

- There is no tavern in that part of Jarat m’lord. We had a long day of trekking and my hands feel heavy from all the work sire, let’s just retire to the Muslin kiss as lady Erleia suggests. It is an excellent place, known for its stuffed rooster.

- I don’t care, canna you hear?! I wanna see wha’ s there!

- Well sire, you will not see much at night. Can you hear the songs, savor the scents of food? You must be exhausted. There is always tomorrow.

- No! Now!

For the first time since they met him, Ervel’s face turned dark. Good manners dissolved under the hammering pressure of insolence, pain and tiredness.

- It is not safe for us there boy! Let’s stop the charade and head for rest in the tavern that the lady kindly picked for us.

Atef opened his mouth ready to taunt the bastard and then he saw her eyes. Tired of him above any measure, turning poisonous from all of his insufferableness.

- Always like this with you! It will be, nah?! – thought Atef glaring back at her as if his stare would convey the question. – Fine! But we go there the tick Baor shows up.

- You do what you want in the morning, I have errands that require tending. Now, let’s be merry and step in the tavern. Rugen and Carlyle are dying for rest too.

This was the last thing Ervel told Atef that night. As they entered, Ervel asked for two tables placing the boy alone, as if he was a child who is supposed to think through his acts and demeanor and maybe even apologize to the unscrupulous, sweet-talking, dastardly knave. The only solace was the stuffed rooster and the room sufficiently far to deaden Erleia’s moans and cries.