Dear Grayle,
You were a man of absolutes, were you not?
You were a priest, and you felt your role in this world was to enlighten people, to instruct them on the way of the world, the meaning of life. You knew how the world worked and your place in it...with absolution. The way you taught me, as your singular congregation, I can only imagine that they imprisoned you for it. You were deprived of not only your freedom, but your free will...your ability to do the thing you felt was your duty. Hells, your life itself. They didn't even kill you. I wonder if it were considered mercy or to teach you long suffering for whatever crime it truly was you committed. Did they call you traitor for using the old names? Did they shun you, or throw stones at you before they pushed you forward into that same dark hole in the stone into which they prodded me? I was so young. Were you yet a man? Were you a child like me? Is this the desitny of all children? The only child I have seen in Cear was a walking corpse.
I know you would have told me, in my doubt and worry 'seek Utu's guidance.' and I would have shaken my head, dismissing your words as folly. You would have then professed to me all the things you know to be true in life. I would have said they might be true. I considered possibilites whereas you shared an ultimate wisdom. I would have said why and you would have simply said 'because it is.'
To you, my teacher, I was wrong. And yet, believing this as you must have...all your doctrines and essays were shared as a loving human...a nurturer. A man of compassion. My trust was important to you. Why? Is this also what the gods profess...to explain the unexplainable meaning to our lives and the inexplicable will of the gods? Or subject us to them?
I know. There will be no more answers from you, will there? I hope you are somewhere with a nice cushion on which to sit. Of all the things I know you might have longed for in the Gaol, I imagine you, of all the wishes you could have possibly made...you would have wanted a soft place to rest.
Fortune favor you,
~Sebastian
That Long-Awaited Dream
Above, in the heavens...
Each droplet a world of reflections, gathering high in the misty argent. Each tiny, glassy globe blossomed in light with each flash of Ramman's mighty strides. The rain thrash upon the shale rooftops of the folk of Dasar. The wells overflow onto the leaf-strewn avenues of wet cobbled stone. None are outside this day, save a few unfortunate Pike. Thier fires become visable through the mist, each cloaked man warming hands as scraggly hair droops from the helmet. Streams sputter to streets below.
The gutters fill, the city cistern damaged in the great war some thirty years before. Mud and rock become the soggy streets of the poorer district, beyond where the walls were before finally being demolished. Only the rats venture through the soup, seeking in desperation for higher ground. The lamplighter's wax succumbs to the drench, leaving only a few struggling wicks to challenge the stormy night.
Sixty feet below the water cascades loudly into a deepening pool, only the lightning flashes ignite the sunken tower that is a prison. Every few moments...a calculation of some unknown cypher might be illuminated, or a word or two seen in the lightning. The marks were very deep, made over time by deft hands. The flood is deafening, each drip reverberated by stone and depth.
The water rises. A large beam of old wood floats within the pool, turning slightly when the spill crashes upon an end. Sebastian is soaked through, doing push-ups to keep his body warm. There is only one dry place in the pit, thet where the old man's corpse lay within the makeshift shroud and stonepile. Summer had been terrible...the young man becoming sick at the stench of the bodily decay. Vermin were constant for a while, until Sebastian had sealed every hole. Winter had been the coldest thing ever this year, but it had been dry. Somehow, the food had persisted... the beef even. The water. Every morning...offered in pure dark through a fissure. Noone had ever answered in many years of trying, until the young man stopped yelling to whomever it was providing the meal.
The mans muscle tensed and released, the exercise quickly pushing him to exertion and a face full of mud. The floor gives away beneath, quickly dousing and pushing Sebastian into a mirk as his rasp shout echoes under thunder. He has never swam and horror comes over him. He stands a moment in depth to his knees, the matted hair and beard of his face whipping in panic. His eyes burn under the lids.
The muddy drink ascends. Sebastian clings to the wooden beam, rising upward as the rain continues. Soon, even the cistern pipe normally so high above was underwater, it's flow somehow reversed but offering no challenge to the seep from the streets above.
Sebastian stared at the words on the walls as they were swallowed. The old man's remains were far below muddy water now, weighted down by the stone. The darkness that was the ceiling grew more oppressive the higher Sebastian floated. Eventually, fatigue nearly taking him as he lay upon his back, the rising water halted. The rain slowed. The water receded, having swept away most of the tattered remnants of the cell. A muddy smell had replaced the musty scent of death. The body had vanished, only the writing on the walls remaining of Grayle to this world. Sebastian clutched himself, shivering as the breath became clouds of mist. Reversing it's flow, the cistern above again began pouring, the water at the low end of the room clouding with silt.
The morning came.
"Are you alive in there?" She asked. Her voice echoed such in its feminine uniquity that to the Dasarian...it might just as well have been the voices of the gods. "Do you know what day tomorrow is, Sebastian?"
The man blinked afraid, unsure what to do.
Moments. Dripping moments of silence. Sebastian finally barking wait! never to hear a reply. A bowl of beets and an old tankard were left behind, but Sebastian didn't feel hungry. Not at all.
Each droplet a world of reflections, gathering high in the misty argent. Each tiny, glassy globe blossomed in light with each flash of Ramman's mighty strides. The rain thrash upon the shale rooftops of the folk of Dasar. The wells overflow onto the leaf-strewn avenues of wet cobbled stone. None are outside this day, save a few unfortunate Pike. Thier fires become visable through the mist, each cloaked man warming hands as scraggly hair droops from the helmet. Streams sputter to streets below.
The gutters fill, the city cistern damaged in the great war some thirty years before. Mud and rock become the soggy streets of the poorer district, beyond where the walls were before finally being demolished. Only the rats venture through the soup, seeking in desperation for higher ground. The lamplighter's wax succumbs to the drench, leaving only a few struggling wicks to challenge the stormy night.
Sixty feet below the water cascades loudly into a deepening pool, only the lightning flashes ignite the sunken tower that is a prison. Every few moments...a calculation of some unknown cypher might be illuminated, or a word or two seen in the lightning. The marks were very deep, made over time by deft hands. The flood is deafening, each drip reverberated by stone and depth.
The water rises. A large beam of old wood floats within the pool, turning slightly when the spill crashes upon an end. Sebastian is soaked through, doing push-ups to keep his body warm. There is only one dry place in the pit, thet where the old man's corpse lay within the makeshift shroud and stonepile. Summer had been terrible...the young man becoming sick at the stench of the bodily decay. Vermin were constant for a while, until Sebastian had sealed every hole. Winter had been the coldest thing ever this year, but it had been dry. Somehow, the food had persisted... the beef even. The water. Every morning...offered in pure dark through a fissure. Noone had ever answered in many years of trying, until the young man stopped yelling to whomever it was providing the meal.
The mans muscle tensed and released, the exercise quickly pushing him to exertion and a face full of mud. The floor gives away beneath, quickly dousing and pushing Sebastian into a mirk as his rasp shout echoes under thunder. He has never swam and horror comes over him. He stands a moment in depth to his knees, the matted hair and beard of his face whipping in panic. His eyes burn under the lids.
The muddy drink ascends. Sebastian clings to the wooden beam, rising upward as the rain continues. Soon, even the cistern pipe normally so high above was underwater, it's flow somehow reversed but offering no challenge to the seep from the streets above.
Sebastian stared at the words on the walls as they were swallowed. The old man's remains were far below muddy water now, weighted down by the stone. The darkness that was the ceiling grew more oppressive the higher Sebastian floated. Eventually, fatigue nearly taking him as he lay upon his back, the rising water halted. The rain slowed. The water receded, having swept away most of the tattered remnants of the cell. A muddy smell had replaced the musty scent of death. The body had vanished, only the writing on the walls remaining of Grayle to this world. Sebastian clutched himself, shivering as the breath became clouds of mist. Reversing it's flow, the cistern above again began pouring, the water at the low end of the room clouding with silt.
The morning came.
"Are you alive in there?" She asked. Her voice echoed such in its feminine uniquity that to the Dasarian...it might just as well have been the voices of the gods. "Do you know what day tomorrow is, Sebastian?"
The man blinked afraid, unsure what to do.
Moments. Dripping moments of silence. Sebastian finally barking wait! never to hear a reply. A bowl of beets and an old tankard were left behind, but Sebastian didn't feel hungry. Not at all.
Dear Grayle,
It has been nine months since I came to Cear, searching for your family. I wish you had been less cryptic about your life. I still know little of who you were and why you were in that terrible place. My friend Maeve spoke to me of Paladins. Is that what you were? I always assumed you were a priest because of the way you revered the gods, and a heretic by the old names you gave them. You often implored me to turn to thier guidance, but how could one placate the sun and the moon when so little light of them reached us in that pit? We might as well have been under Coloths sandels. You were so old to me, already a man before having received your condemnation and sentence. You had had your experiences with the world, for good or ill, while I didn't yet have a hair on my chin. What did they accuse you of? Was it Treason? Why did they not simply lop off your head? Were they afraid to?
I revealed myself tonight to one that is almost a complete stranger. I was confused, frustrated. I felt very alone in the world. Sil is his name, and he was very kind. He seemed sincere in his desire to hear my tale and offered me comfort. Perhaps I have made a new friend. I seem very fortunate in my friends, Which is strange to me as this world seems very full of potential enemies. Sil told me that if you were indeed accused of Heresy, and you had relatives still living in Cear, they might have changed thier names, if they indeed live. I hadn't thought of that before. My hopes in continuing to use your name was to draw thier attention, if they still walk the streets of Cear. My risk in this, of course is that there could be others, too, who have heard of you. I doubt somehow that 'Sebastian the Broom-makers son' is on the list of high criminals of the Empire, but you might be. Still, you were released at the appointed hour, even if you were truly dead and I, who inherited your name also inherited your freedom.
So, I have nowhere to begin, no leads to explore. It seems I must give up this dream for the time-being, and continue to live my life as it is. The past is a dead thing, just as you are. I will continue to use the knowledge and wisdom you so passionately passed on to me, but it is time to move on. The future is mine to do with what I will. You did not fail me, old man...and I will not fear death. Fear profits man nothing. Besides, I have more than myself to think about now - I have the tribe. I am tired of being the sort of person who always takes more than they have given back. I owe them much as I owe you, only they are not long dead.
Some say that the skein of our lives was woven long ago and that nothing we do can alter our destined path. Some say that we make our own fate, that nothing is pre-written. You chose to believe the former and in my childhood I believed your wisdom was the only wisdom in the world. I am a man now, and I don't know what to believe in anymore. Maybe that is my true quest. Why is it that truth, love and knowledge are only gained by giving them away?
Fortune favor you,
~Sebastian
It has been nine months since I came to Cear, searching for your family. I wish you had been less cryptic about your life. I still know little of who you were and why you were in that terrible place. My friend Maeve spoke to me of Paladins. Is that what you were? I always assumed you were a priest because of the way you revered the gods, and a heretic by the old names you gave them. You often implored me to turn to thier guidance, but how could one placate the sun and the moon when so little light of them reached us in that pit? We might as well have been under Coloths sandels. You were so old to me, already a man before having received your condemnation and sentence. You had had your experiences with the world, for good or ill, while I didn't yet have a hair on my chin. What did they accuse you of? Was it Treason? Why did they not simply lop off your head? Were they afraid to?
I revealed myself tonight to one that is almost a complete stranger. I was confused, frustrated. I felt very alone in the world. Sil is his name, and he was very kind. He seemed sincere in his desire to hear my tale and offered me comfort. Perhaps I have made a new friend. I seem very fortunate in my friends, Which is strange to me as this world seems very full of potential enemies. Sil told me that if you were indeed accused of Heresy, and you had relatives still living in Cear, they might have changed thier names, if they indeed live. I hadn't thought of that before. My hopes in continuing to use your name was to draw thier attention, if they still walk the streets of Cear. My risk in this, of course is that there could be others, too, who have heard of you. I doubt somehow that 'Sebastian the Broom-makers son' is on the list of high criminals of the Empire, but you might be. Still, you were released at the appointed hour, even if you were truly dead and I, who inherited your name also inherited your freedom.
So, I have nowhere to begin, no leads to explore. It seems I must give up this dream for the time-being, and continue to live my life as it is. The past is a dead thing, just as you are. I will continue to use the knowledge and wisdom you so passionately passed on to me, but it is time to move on. The future is mine to do with what I will. You did not fail me, old man...and I will not fear death. Fear profits man nothing. Besides, I have more than myself to think about now - I have the tribe. I am tired of being the sort of person who always takes more than they have given back. I owe them much as I owe you, only they are not long dead.
Some say that the skein of our lives was woven long ago and that nothing we do can alter our destined path. Some say that we make our own fate, that nothing is pre-written. You chose to believe the former and in my childhood I believed your wisdom was the only wisdom in the world. I am a man now, and I don't know what to believe in anymore. Maybe that is my true quest. Why is it that truth, love and knowledge are only gained by giving them away?
Fortune favor you,
~Sebastian
"Any runaway slaves in yer cart there, crone?" The grey-haired guardsman stepped up onto a side slat of the wooden tram, leaning over the rail and examining the large pile of smelly hay. Another guard walked around the wagon, grasping a long spear which had been leaning against the wall. The former nodded a command to the latter and he began prodding the hay with violent thrusts, the dull thud of each hitting the wooden flooring of the bed. The old woman wore a long cloak, from under which her hand cupped her ear. She leaned out.
"WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID YOUNG MAN?" She said, blinking. Her dwarven accent was very subtle.
"She's ugly and deaf."
"Shame she's not dumb, also" He said. The guard leaned forward sniffing. The stench was wet and of rot.
The grey-haired guard repeated each word slowly, loudly. "DO. YOU. HAVE. ANY. SLAVES..." he stopped and frowned seeing that the old harridan was still having trouble hearing him. He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day and the ale was heavy in him. He regarded his subhordinates last spear thrust and waved a hand. The old womans head bobbed slightly, as if just coming to hear and understand the question.
"NO, I'M NOT A THRALL, YOU IGNORANT OAF! I WORK AN HONEST LIVING FOR MY OWN GOOD. Y'THINK BECAUSE I'M AN OLD WOMAN I STILL AIN'T USEFUL TO NOONE? DWARVEN WOMEN AIN'T SO WEAK AS YOUR SKINNY KIND."
With that, she whipped the reins. SQUEEK CREEK. The guards stepped back at the whinny of the donkey. The wagon shuddered forward out the gate, kicking up a cloud of dust. Sebastian quickly covered his mouth, the cough from under the cart muffled by the old woman's hoarse calls at her beast.
"Dwarves are stupid." The younger guard said as he leaned on his spear.
"Shut up and mind your duty." the older guard sneered.
One of the wheels was loose and squeeked with each rotation. SQUEEK CREEK. It wobbled back and forth slightly as the cart lurched up the hill northwest of the city. SQUEEK CREEK. The cart crested the hill and disappeared into dusk.
The old woman hopped from the wagon, spinning a pair of pliers in her hand. Her fingers were large but very nimble.
"You know...it might have been safer to simply walk out the gate. I mean, it's not as though they are going to stop you." She took a short stool hanging from the side of the wagon and dropped it on the ground beside the lame wheel. " You almost got spit on a pike. Why all the drama?" she asked. She rubbed pig fat on the axle.
"I don't want anyone knowing what i'm doing. Not friend, nor foe. I have no gift for subtlety. This seemed the only way." The voice came from beneath the wagon. Sebastian slid out from under the faux flooring. He stretched his back, then crawled beneath the wooden cart again. The donkeys ears twitched at buzzing flies.
The dwarven woman made a dismissive gesture. "I moved the money again. It was just like I told you...this city is under an inquisition. Somehow I think, this is only the beginning. Them Talon are not stupid, and thier being here is not normal." She stroked the few strands of white hair on her chin, examining the wooden wheel.
"No, they're not...but I'd be interested to hear what you consider normal." With a grunt, Sebastian pulled out two large leather bags from under the wagon. Both were stuffed to bursting with gear, armor and weaponry. The shaded sky was almost pure creamy pink, with only one cloud obscurring the perfect empty. "You know, this hay stinks. This wagon stinks." Needle-like insects swarmed around the rotting vegetation.
"My husband stank, too. I keep this wagon to remind me of him. 'Course I could easily afford a new one, both wagon and husband, but they both require such constant repair. One is enough for me. Besides, the smell disuades the overly-curious." She smiled her wrinkled but girl-like smile, batting her eyelashes. "Lift."
Sebastian lifted the carriage about a foot, straining against gravity's pull. The wheel stood upright and the old dwarf tightened the bolt with deft gnarled hands.
"I don't suppose there is anything I can do or say to make you change your mind, Sebastian. You're more stubborn than my mule." She stated, rubbing her hands together. "This isn't necessary, you know? Very dangerous, too."
His tone was calm but stern. "I feel it's necessary. I missed some vital clue down there, but this time will be different: I'm no terrified helpless boy they can shove in a hole."
Sebastian shouldered his satchels, adjusting the straining straps. He drew his sword halfway out the scabbard and regarded the dying sunset in the reflection of the newly cleaned and sharpened blade. The hilt and rainguard clinked as he sheathed.
"Make sure you're available to Jack and William. I'll return from Dasar by the twelth month. If I do not...then I am killed. I've left you certain instructions if..."
The venerable dwarven woman reached upward and placed a hand upon his lips. Her fingers were rough.
"You're a good boy, Sebastian. Return safe by the twelth month." She said.
With that, the man adjusted the weight of his gear, looked east towards Cear then turned northwest. He became just another ordinary traveller on the road.
The wheel repaired, the old widow's cart made no noise as it slowly returned to Cear. Other than the crickets chir, the evening was very, very quiet.
"WHAT WAS THAT YOU SAID YOUNG MAN?" She said, blinking. Her dwarven accent was very subtle.
"She's ugly and deaf."
"Shame she's not dumb, also" He said. The guard leaned forward sniffing. The stench was wet and of rot.
The grey-haired guard repeated each word slowly, loudly. "DO. YOU. HAVE. ANY. SLAVES..." he stopped and frowned seeing that the old harridan was still having trouble hearing him. He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day and the ale was heavy in him. He regarded his subhordinates last spear thrust and waved a hand. The old womans head bobbed slightly, as if just coming to hear and understand the question.
"NO, I'M NOT A THRALL, YOU IGNORANT OAF! I WORK AN HONEST LIVING FOR MY OWN GOOD. Y'THINK BECAUSE I'M AN OLD WOMAN I STILL AIN'T USEFUL TO NOONE? DWARVEN WOMEN AIN'T SO WEAK AS YOUR SKINNY KIND."
With that, she whipped the reins. SQUEEK CREEK. The guards stepped back at the whinny of the donkey. The wagon shuddered forward out the gate, kicking up a cloud of dust. Sebastian quickly covered his mouth, the cough from under the cart muffled by the old woman's hoarse calls at her beast.
"Dwarves are stupid." The younger guard said as he leaned on his spear.
"Shut up and mind your duty." the older guard sneered.
One of the wheels was loose and squeeked with each rotation. SQUEEK CREEK. It wobbled back and forth slightly as the cart lurched up the hill northwest of the city. SQUEEK CREEK. The cart crested the hill and disappeared into dusk.
The old woman hopped from the wagon, spinning a pair of pliers in her hand. Her fingers were large but very nimble.
"You know...it might have been safer to simply walk out the gate. I mean, it's not as though they are going to stop you." She took a short stool hanging from the side of the wagon and dropped it on the ground beside the lame wheel. " You almost got spit on a pike. Why all the drama?" she asked. She rubbed pig fat on the axle.
"I don't want anyone knowing what i'm doing. Not friend, nor foe. I have no gift for subtlety. This seemed the only way." The voice came from beneath the wagon. Sebastian slid out from under the faux flooring. He stretched his back, then crawled beneath the wooden cart again. The donkeys ears twitched at buzzing flies.
The dwarven woman made a dismissive gesture. "I moved the money again. It was just like I told you...this city is under an inquisition. Somehow I think, this is only the beginning. Them Talon are not stupid, and thier being here is not normal." She stroked the few strands of white hair on her chin, examining the wooden wheel.
"No, they're not...but I'd be interested to hear what you consider normal." With a grunt, Sebastian pulled out two large leather bags from under the wagon. Both were stuffed to bursting with gear, armor and weaponry. The shaded sky was almost pure creamy pink, with only one cloud obscurring the perfect empty. "You know, this hay stinks. This wagon stinks." Needle-like insects swarmed around the rotting vegetation.
"My husband stank, too. I keep this wagon to remind me of him. 'Course I could easily afford a new one, both wagon and husband, but they both require such constant repair. One is enough for me. Besides, the smell disuades the overly-curious." She smiled her wrinkled but girl-like smile, batting her eyelashes. "Lift."
Sebastian lifted the carriage about a foot, straining against gravity's pull. The wheel stood upright and the old dwarf tightened the bolt with deft gnarled hands.
"I don't suppose there is anything I can do or say to make you change your mind, Sebastian. You're more stubborn than my mule." She stated, rubbing her hands together. "This isn't necessary, you know? Very dangerous, too."
His tone was calm but stern. "I feel it's necessary. I missed some vital clue down there, but this time will be different: I'm no terrified helpless boy they can shove in a hole."
Sebastian shouldered his satchels, adjusting the straining straps. He drew his sword halfway out the scabbard and regarded the dying sunset in the reflection of the newly cleaned and sharpened blade. The hilt and rainguard clinked as he sheathed.
"Make sure you're available to Jack and William. I'll return from Dasar by the twelth month. If I do not...then I am killed. I've left you certain instructions if..."
The venerable dwarven woman reached upward and placed a hand upon his lips. Her fingers were rough.
"You're a good boy, Sebastian. Return safe by the twelth month." She said.
With that, the man adjusted the weight of his gear, looked east towards Cear then turned northwest. He became just another ordinary traveller on the road.
The wheel repaired, the old widow's cart made no noise as it slowly returned to Cear. Other than the crickets chir, the evening was very, very quiet.
Last edited by Grayle on Mon Jul 30, 2007 3:28 am, edited 12 times in total.
Two days from Cear.
Kor lakelarks called out shrill krees into the sunlit afternoon. The birds migrated south as the snows capped the mountains, feasting on what whey and seed might be found in the ripe pastures of the Cear peninsula. Thier white forms ghosted among the crops, even as thralls of the empire reaped thier daily tasks. Every once in a while on the road, wagonfulls of taught youths and men would be shifted in and out from the great farmlands, steadily tending to thier duty as the bread basket of the empire. The armies moved and fought and conquered only because of the hard work of the endentured. Sebastian saw the fatigue in thier eyes, but also a certain pride. Thier work was well done. They stood tall on thier wagon. It was a strange notion to Sebastian that thralls might be able to put behind them even thier very identity as slaves, if it brought them some measure of happiness. Happiness, to a slave, is a taskmaster satisfied with the days work.
In the late afternoon, Sebastian noticed he was being followed at a distance by a boy. He was carrying a walking stick which occasionally tapped the ground behind the man. Sebastian turned and regarded the youth, but the boy would simply stop and look back at Sebastian, saying nothing. Sebastian could see that although he was tall, he was no more than ten years old, with unruly hair and a slender frame. He was barefoot and his feet were dirty. For several miles the two travelled along the road without a word. Sebastian forgot he was there until upon pausing to rest, he spied the boy again watching him. Sebastian lowered his waterskin, furrowing his brows at this curious stranger. He cleared his throat.
"Somethin' you want?" He said.
The boy carelessly twirled his walking stick, first looking to the ground, then meeting Sebastian fully in the eyes.
"You thirsty?" He held out his skin, offering it.
The boy was cautious or simply shy. He moved forward slightly then shook his head.
"Hungry?" The man rummaged through his bag, producing an apple.
The boy looked famished, but still he refused what Sebastian offered. A lark sang out from somewhere near.
Sebastian paused, thinking.
"You alone? Where are your parents?"
The boy didn't answer, but simply stared at the Dasarian. Sebastian reached far into his mind, considering the possibilities.
"Are you a thrall?"
The boy slowly nodded.
"A runaway Thrall?"
It was obvious the questions were slowly transforming his shyness into fear. The boy was very subservient in his manner and posture. Sebastian drew in a long breath, sighing heavily and shaking his head to the ground. He stood, rummaging through his haversack. The man placed a woolen cowl over the boy's head and shoved the apple into his palm, closing the fingers around it. Sebastian became aware he did not feel comfortable looking at the boy directly in the eyes. The boy looked down at the fruit, but did not bite.
"Let's find you some shoes." Sebastian said as he started again on the road. The boy followed, absently clutching his apple as though it were something precious to be saved and hid.
Kor lakelarks called out shrill krees into the sunlit afternoon. The birds migrated south as the snows capped the mountains, feasting on what whey and seed might be found in the ripe pastures of the Cear peninsula. Thier white forms ghosted among the crops, even as thralls of the empire reaped thier daily tasks. Every once in a while on the road, wagonfulls of taught youths and men would be shifted in and out from the great farmlands, steadily tending to thier duty as the bread basket of the empire. The armies moved and fought and conquered only because of the hard work of the endentured. Sebastian saw the fatigue in thier eyes, but also a certain pride. Thier work was well done. They stood tall on thier wagon. It was a strange notion to Sebastian that thralls might be able to put behind them even thier very identity as slaves, if it brought them some measure of happiness. Happiness, to a slave, is a taskmaster satisfied with the days work.
In the late afternoon, Sebastian noticed he was being followed at a distance by a boy. He was carrying a walking stick which occasionally tapped the ground behind the man. Sebastian turned and regarded the youth, but the boy would simply stop and look back at Sebastian, saying nothing. Sebastian could see that although he was tall, he was no more than ten years old, with unruly hair and a slender frame. He was barefoot and his feet were dirty. For several miles the two travelled along the road without a word. Sebastian forgot he was there until upon pausing to rest, he spied the boy again watching him. Sebastian lowered his waterskin, furrowing his brows at this curious stranger. He cleared his throat.
"Somethin' you want?" He said.
The boy carelessly twirled his walking stick, first looking to the ground, then meeting Sebastian fully in the eyes.
"You thirsty?" He held out his skin, offering it.
The boy was cautious or simply shy. He moved forward slightly then shook his head.
"Hungry?" The man rummaged through his bag, producing an apple.
The boy looked famished, but still he refused what Sebastian offered. A lark sang out from somewhere near.
Sebastian paused, thinking.
"You alone? Where are your parents?"
The boy didn't answer, but simply stared at the Dasarian. Sebastian reached far into his mind, considering the possibilities.
"Are you a thrall?"
The boy slowly nodded.
"A runaway Thrall?"
It was obvious the questions were slowly transforming his shyness into fear. The boy was very subservient in his manner and posture. Sebastian drew in a long breath, sighing heavily and shaking his head to the ground. He stood, rummaging through his haversack. The man placed a woolen cowl over the boy's head and shoved the apple into his palm, closing the fingers around it. Sebastian became aware he did not feel comfortable looking at the boy directly in the eyes. The boy looked down at the fruit, but did not bite.
"Let's find you some shoes." Sebastian said as he started again on the road. The boy followed, absently clutching his apple as though it were something precious to be saved and hid.
The fleet horse sped by at such a gallop that Grayle was certain the rider would have killed them if they happened to be in the way. Sebastian let go of the boy's hooded cowl and waved the air. A billowing cloud of dust disolved and settled on the muddy road, leaving them alone again in every direction they could see. The hilly way to Landon crosses many small creeks. The mossy stone bridges at one time served as horsing stations, but banditry has caused them to fall into disrepair. Few travel this route anymore, save for columns of soldiers and large defended caravans. Small groups of strangers often avoid each other entirely and only fools and criminals travel alone.
The boy tilted the skin high in the air, the water trickling onto his dry, dirt-caked face. He noticed Sebastian watching him and smiled, his teeth very white against his olive skin. The child was obviously part Cuhannan. Or something foreign. Sebastian would often look over his shoulder during the day, watching the curly-haired boy tap the ground with various sticks he would find and pick up. He had relaxed, but still paced behind the tall man, as is appropriate for a slave to it's master.
"What was it you did...before you left?" Sebastian said as the road sloped slightly downhill. The shadows of a small copse of trees cooled the air.
The boy tilted his head.
"You know...your tasks?"
Sebastian noticed the only noise in the world was thier feet kicking loose stones upon the road. He looked back at the Cuhanna boy and began walking backwards. The child had sling the wineskin over his shoulder, cradling it with one arm. Sebastian nearly tripped then turned around again as the boy giggled, covering his mouth as if he might be punished. Sebastian felt the smile on his own face vanish. He continued the trek with his head bent in thought. The boys stick occasionally tapped the ground.
The two travellers turned with the road round the shoulder of a hill within the valley near Landon. In this dell a shallow creek full of cat-tail and reed trickles from hilly springs further north. Upon the short arched bridge, four raggedy men had been sleeping. Sebastian had not even noticed them in the shadows until they were nearly within swords reach. Rousing, they stood and clambored near the man.
"Please! We're so poor and hungry!" They admonished. "Etoth bless you, give us alms please?" They pawed Sebastian with clutching hands. Sebastian raised his hands, shaking his head.
"I'm too poor to help you myself. Another mouth to..." he stopped mid-sentence. One of these beggers was clean-shaven. Another smelled of a recent drink. "...to feed." The quiet boy was ignored. His manner was very submissive and he looked at the ground.
"Here...I can give you just a few coins." One of the men was grasping his wrist with growing strength. Sebastian slid his free hand from his leather satchel to the hilt of his broadsword. Two hands slapped upon his forearm, startling the man into a wide-eyed realization.
"You...son of a bitch!" He yelled, kicking the man in front of him full on the chest. He flet the mans sternum give.
The Dasarian felt the blow, but did not hear it...and he staggered. His right ear smashed under the weight of an ash club. The skin of his temple swelled and split, trickling blood. Sebastian nearly fell under a wave of euphoria, his legs were toppling pillars. He was panting as one man held each of his arms... a red stream stinging his eye rousing him, lips parted, teeth clenched. One of the men grappling his arms was speaking, the words of which slowly coming to comprehension as his mind cleared. One of them already had his sword.
"...is so unnecessary. We just want to eat, you know? This might as well be our empire-sanctioned job, see? We get out of bed and all day we walk and hunt to make ends-meet. Such as it is, robbery of commoners is not so great a crime as poaching in these parts, so you are just one of the unlucky prey." This fellow had obviously at one time been a soldier. Sebastian could tell he was the alpha male, his manner the most imposing, his jaundiced eyes full of apathy.
"So, you can give up and praise Lochwar you still have your life, or we can send you straight to Culnul right now. What'll it be?" He sneered, holding Sebastian's face in his hand, thinking the man still feint.
Sebastians strong sword arm tore free from the weaker man holding him. His fist connected solidly with the negotiating brigand, exploding his nose in a spray of blood.
A knife blade pressed against Sebastian's neck, cutting him slightly as the wielder flew forwards over his shoulder. Sebastian kicked him in the head and knelt to pick up his sword. A leather boot stepped upon the blade while the wieght of another lept on Sebastians back. The man stumbled forward, gripping the bandits head in his arm and pummeling his crown as they impacted against the stone road. Sebastian felt the tip of a blade pass into his belly. His eyes clenched in pain, but he felt none of the muscles rip nor his bowels free themselves, tho his leather travelling gear was stained with blood. He set his knee upon the neck of one of the men before him, picking up his knife. Sebastian's ear played tricks with his balance and hearing. He turned his head, scrambling for his sword. The man fell backward as the arc of a short blade passed in front of his face.
Sebastian thrust...the long blade gashing deep through his attackers abdomen, broken ribs and fat wrenched free with the wound. The bandits head bobbed madly, then hung limp. Sebastian let him drop. One of the other men turned and began running. Another crawled on his hands and knees, slumping over the side of the bridge and splashing into the creek.
The bloody-faced brigand leader held his knife to the boy's throat. His nose was horribly mangled.
"By all the gods, I'll kill him! I swear I will if you take one more step!" He yelled, sticky spittle clinging to his dry mouth.
Sebastian held his sword forward, pointing it straight at the bandit. "I'll chop you to pieces if you do not flee this place! Now!" He started quickly forward. The brigand turned and ran. The boy opened his eyes, unhurt and unafraid.
The Dasarians weary arm dropped the point of the sword into the road. He stood there for a time until his breath returned. The boy held up the waterskin to the man and Sebastian smiled through staggered breaths. The dagger thrust had gone through leather belt and tunic, but only barely into muscle.
The boy tapped his own chest twice. His word was thick with accent.
"Jaleel" he said, over and over. His voice was desperate.
Sebastian regarded the child, nodding his head in comprehension. He smiled with blood-tinged teeth.
"Grayle" He said, placing a hand upon his own chest. He then pointed his long bloody blade towards the corpse on the bridge and nodded.
The boy understood. Jaleel ran over to the dead body and began pulling at a boot.
The boy tilted the skin high in the air, the water trickling onto his dry, dirt-caked face. He noticed Sebastian watching him and smiled, his teeth very white against his olive skin. The child was obviously part Cuhannan. Or something foreign. Sebastian would often look over his shoulder during the day, watching the curly-haired boy tap the ground with various sticks he would find and pick up. He had relaxed, but still paced behind the tall man, as is appropriate for a slave to it's master.
"What was it you did...before you left?" Sebastian said as the road sloped slightly downhill. The shadows of a small copse of trees cooled the air.
The boy tilted his head.
"You know...your tasks?"
Sebastian noticed the only noise in the world was thier feet kicking loose stones upon the road. He looked back at the Cuhanna boy and began walking backwards. The child had sling the wineskin over his shoulder, cradling it with one arm. Sebastian nearly tripped then turned around again as the boy giggled, covering his mouth as if he might be punished. Sebastian felt the smile on his own face vanish. He continued the trek with his head bent in thought. The boys stick occasionally tapped the ground.
The two travellers turned with the road round the shoulder of a hill within the valley near Landon. In this dell a shallow creek full of cat-tail and reed trickles from hilly springs further north. Upon the short arched bridge, four raggedy men had been sleeping. Sebastian had not even noticed them in the shadows until they were nearly within swords reach. Rousing, they stood and clambored near the man.
"Please! We're so poor and hungry!" They admonished. "Etoth bless you, give us alms please?" They pawed Sebastian with clutching hands. Sebastian raised his hands, shaking his head.
"I'm too poor to help you myself. Another mouth to..." he stopped mid-sentence. One of these beggers was clean-shaven. Another smelled of a recent drink. "...to feed." The quiet boy was ignored. His manner was very submissive and he looked at the ground.
"Here...I can give you just a few coins." One of the men was grasping his wrist with growing strength. Sebastian slid his free hand from his leather satchel to the hilt of his broadsword. Two hands slapped upon his forearm, startling the man into a wide-eyed realization.
"You...son of a bitch!" He yelled, kicking the man in front of him full on the chest. He flet the mans sternum give.
The Dasarian felt the blow, but did not hear it...and he staggered. His right ear smashed under the weight of an ash club. The skin of his temple swelled and split, trickling blood. Sebastian nearly fell under a wave of euphoria, his legs were toppling pillars. He was panting as one man held each of his arms... a red stream stinging his eye rousing him, lips parted, teeth clenched. One of the men grappling his arms was speaking, the words of which slowly coming to comprehension as his mind cleared. One of them already had his sword.
"...is so unnecessary. We just want to eat, you know? This might as well be our empire-sanctioned job, see? We get out of bed and all day we walk and hunt to make ends-meet. Such as it is, robbery of commoners is not so great a crime as poaching in these parts, so you are just one of the unlucky prey." This fellow had obviously at one time been a soldier. Sebastian could tell he was the alpha male, his manner the most imposing, his jaundiced eyes full of apathy.
"So, you can give up and praise Lochwar you still have your life, or we can send you straight to Culnul right now. What'll it be?" He sneered, holding Sebastian's face in his hand, thinking the man still feint.
Sebastians strong sword arm tore free from the weaker man holding him. His fist connected solidly with the negotiating brigand, exploding his nose in a spray of blood.
A knife blade pressed against Sebastian's neck, cutting him slightly as the wielder flew forwards over his shoulder. Sebastian kicked him in the head and knelt to pick up his sword. A leather boot stepped upon the blade while the wieght of another lept on Sebastians back. The man stumbled forward, gripping the bandits head in his arm and pummeling his crown as they impacted against the stone road. Sebastian felt the tip of a blade pass into his belly. His eyes clenched in pain, but he felt none of the muscles rip nor his bowels free themselves, tho his leather travelling gear was stained with blood. He set his knee upon the neck of one of the men before him, picking up his knife. Sebastian's ear played tricks with his balance and hearing. He turned his head, scrambling for his sword. The man fell backward as the arc of a short blade passed in front of his face.
Sebastian thrust...the long blade gashing deep through his attackers abdomen, broken ribs and fat wrenched free with the wound. The bandits head bobbed madly, then hung limp. Sebastian let him drop. One of the other men turned and began running. Another crawled on his hands and knees, slumping over the side of the bridge and splashing into the creek.
The bloody-faced brigand leader held his knife to the boy's throat. His nose was horribly mangled.
"By all the gods, I'll kill him! I swear I will if you take one more step!" He yelled, sticky spittle clinging to his dry mouth.
Sebastian held his sword forward, pointing it straight at the bandit. "I'll chop you to pieces if you do not flee this place! Now!" He started quickly forward. The brigand turned and ran. The boy opened his eyes, unhurt and unafraid.
The Dasarians weary arm dropped the point of the sword into the road. He stood there for a time until his breath returned. The boy held up the waterskin to the man and Sebastian smiled through staggered breaths. The dagger thrust had gone through leather belt and tunic, but only barely into muscle.
The boy tapped his own chest twice. His word was thick with accent.
"Jaleel" he said, over and over. His voice was desperate.
Sebastian regarded the child, nodding his head in comprehension. He smiled with blood-tinged teeth.
"Grayle" He said, placing a hand upon his own chest. He then pointed his long bloody blade towards the corpse on the bridge and nodded.
The boy understood. Jaleel ran over to the dead body and began pulling at a boot.
Jaleel knelt, tongue in the corner of his mouth. Nearly shaking with anticipation he held onto the noose. The rabbit will hop once more, you'll see he thought while trying to soften his breathing. Fireflies began appearing with the setting of the sun and the rabbit hopped forward to nibble clover. Jaleel closed his eyes and yanked!
Sebastian sat on his bedroll, his back against an ash which sent great, dancing shadows over the campfire. The wood crackled and popped, sending embers into the night air. The air was very still and the sky very clear. Sebastian turned his head from one starry cluster to another. With little sound, the boy returned to the ring of the fire, a rabbit in each hand. Sebastian regarded the quarry and grinned, the right side of his face swollen and red. Jaleel raised his eyebrows and Sebastian inclined his head as a guest does to his host. The boy began dressing the rabbits with a small knife, a practice he had obviously done before.
Sebastian stood and stretched his back.
"You can hear me, can't you?" he asked. The boy lifted his head in reaction, but did not speak. The firelight made his eyes glow.
"Good, well...you're not mute and you're not deaf." He crossed his arms, watching the boy resume to flaying the skin from the hare. "The gods truly favor us both, I suppose." Sebastians thoughts drifted skyward, losing themselves in the crackle of the fire and the vastness of the clear night sky. He could almost see the drawings upon the walls....the story the skies told his master, written in the stars by the gods. The old man was such a romantic, but he certainly believed his own words.
"That one is called The Journey" he said, stretching his hand East towards a long constellation, all bright and evenly seperated in an "S" pattern. "My benefactor would tell me a story when I was your age...of friends and heros, A journey to extinguish the evil of a far off demon." The man chuckled to himself lost in some memory.
The boy was spitting the first rabbit on a stick he had picked up. He looked upward at the stars briefly, then resumed his task.
"Grayle called that bright one the Wanderers Guide. He said every other star could be found from that one. Pirates and sea Captains alike use it to go from place to place. You ever been on a boat?"
He looked over his shoulder. Jaleel was adding twigs to the fire, unaware he was being asked a question.
"Me either. I can't even swim." He pointed. "That's the Lucid Dream and there's the Blanket. That one is...the old man said that one was a whole other world, but he couldn't even see. For many years I thought he had simply made those drawings...those stories up. Then, when I became free, I saw for the first time he had spoken true. The patterns are just as he taught them to me." He sat down by the fire. Smoke and scent eminated from the meal cooking.
"There is a town called Landon four days from here. Somehow i'll find someone to take care of you there." Sebastian said.
Jaleel tightened the wrappings around his over-sized boots, then quietly sat. Sebastian and the boy stared up at the sky. Crickets chirred.
Sebastian sat on his bedroll, his back against an ash which sent great, dancing shadows over the campfire. The wood crackled and popped, sending embers into the night air. The air was very still and the sky very clear. Sebastian turned his head from one starry cluster to another. With little sound, the boy returned to the ring of the fire, a rabbit in each hand. Sebastian regarded the quarry and grinned, the right side of his face swollen and red. Jaleel raised his eyebrows and Sebastian inclined his head as a guest does to his host. The boy began dressing the rabbits with a small knife, a practice he had obviously done before.
Sebastian stood and stretched his back.
"You can hear me, can't you?" he asked. The boy lifted his head in reaction, but did not speak. The firelight made his eyes glow.
"Good, well...you're not mute and you're not deaf." He crossed his arms, watching the boy resume to flaying the skin from the hare. "The gods truly favor us both, I suppose." Sebastians thoughts drifted skyward, losing themselves in the crackle of the fire and the vastness of the clear night sky. He could almost see the drawings upon the walls....the story the skies told his master, written in the stars by the gods. The old man was such a romantic, but he certainly believed his own words.
"That one is called The Journey" he said, stretching his hand East towards a long constellation, all bright and evenly seperated in an "S" pattern. "My benefactor would tell me a story when I was your age...of friends and heros, A journey to extinguish the evil of a far off demon." The man chuckled to himself lost in some memory.
The boy was spitting the first rabbit on a stick he had picked up. He looked upward at the stars briefly, then resumed his task.
"Grayle called that bright one the Wanderers Guide. He said every other star could be found from that one. Pirates and sea Captains alike use it to go from place to place. You ever been on a boat?"
He looked over his shoulder. Jaleel was adding twigs to the fire, unaware he was being asked a question.
"Me either. I can't even swim." He pointed. "That's the Lucid Dream and there's the Blanket. That one is...the old man said that one was a whole other world, but he couldn't even see. For many years I thought he had simply made those drawings...those stories up. Then, when I became free, I saw for the first time he had spoken true. The patterns are just as he taught them to me." He sat down by the fire. Smoke and scent eminated from the meal cooking.
"There is a town called Landon four days from here. Somehow i'll find someone to take care of you there." Sebastian said.
Jaleel tightened the wrappings around his over-sized boots, then quietly sat. Sebastian and the boy stared up at the sky. Crickets chirred.
The streets of Landon are muddy streets.
"You trade in horseflesh Mister?" Sebastian called, approaching the colorful tent.
"Begone vagabond. My mounts are not for beggers." The eccentric fellow crossed his arms, looking down his nose at the pair. He regarded Jaleel up-and-down. The boy gulped, looking forlorn at the ground.
Sebastian reached inside his leather tunic, jostling a leather pouch within. There was a jingle of many coins.
"Coloth's hairy Sack, why didn't you say so in the first place?" The man bowed in a manner strange to these lands, the feather in his hat nearly striking Sebastian in the nose. "Please...be a guest unto the humble lodging of my master" he said as he swept aside a large embroidered door flap. Both flavored smoke and the sound of drums billowed forth from within the large pavillion. "Your slave can wait outside."
Sebastian nearly snarled. He shook off unhappy urges and regarded Jaleel standing behind him. The skinny boy stared at the ground and said nothing.
"Any of your folk speak Cuhannese?"
The man stood upright, befuddled a moment, then raised a finger. "Cuhannan is the proper word, and yes...we all do within. Why?"
Sebastian regarded this well-dressed and well-fed doorward. "He comes with me, as he has business with you also. I need a translator."
The doorward blinked, smiling his salesman smile. Sebastian and Jaleel ducked into smoky darkness.
Once inside, it was difficult to believe this was a wanderers yurt. There was no odor of horse dung. The roomy pavillion was decorated with rugs and pillows, the furs of unfamiliar animals. Incense and the jingle of small delicate chimes assailed the senses. Embossed screens hid parts of the inside from view. Flowers bloomed from large urns depicted with Cuhanna images of horses. There were at least two drums being played near, the sound barely audible in the street. Here, they beat and boomed with such passion as to change the meter of ones pulse. Sebastian rubbed his irritated eyes. Jaleel sighed deeply.
The doorward clapped twice. The music slowed in tempo and softened.
"My Master, I present a coin-bearing customer who looks to have walked a long dusty road."
"Drink" came a voice from the darkness.
Again the doorward clapped his fat fingers. Jaleel began instinctively to move at the unspoken command, but Sebastian held him firm. From the side of the tent, a woman ducked under wind-chimes, presenting a golden platter laiden with fruit. Upon it was a golden chalice of red wine that sparkled in the torchlight. Sebastian took the chalice, still growing accustomed to the thick air.
"Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible in my pitiful surroundings. We are always glad to make a customer feel welcome." Sitting on a pillow, the midget looked almost like a child, tho a richly dressed one and bearing a fine long moustache. His face sparkled in the smoky shade.
Sebastian stared at him a moment. "I, uh...do you sell horses or what?"
The midget twirled his long waxed moustache, narowing one eye "Straight to business is it? A shame, as you have breached the first courtesy."
"The huh?"
"The first courtesy." He stood, barely three feet tall. "I am Kufeek of Cuhanna and thee I welcome." He said, then bowed very flamboyantly.
Sebastian stood dumbfounded. The midget looked up at him, still bowed very low.
The doorward rolled his eyes then sharply whispered "Tell him your name and origin!"
Sebastian startled. "Grayle of Dasar." He blurted, slightly spilling his wine.
"Health to you and yours, Mister Grayle" Kufeek spoke. His face was studded with small gold rings. He rose and smiled broadly. "Dasar is very far indeed may I see your money?"
Sebastian paused. "This the second courtesy?" he asked, holding open the mouth of his leather pouch. Several hundred coins were easily seen, stacked in neat rows.
"Very good!" Kufeek exclaimed. Both he and the doorward smiled white toothy grins. "How many horses do you wish to purchase?"
The question took Sebastian by surprise. "Just one."
The midget frowned then looked over Sebastian's shoulder towards the Doorward, who shrugged.
"Jakesh nafeet! May-yum yi nad danaanaa, Pook? NAhoot pook!" he barked in a voice larger than himself.
The doorward continued shrugging his shoulders. Grayle watched the two and sipped his wine. Kufeeks angry face returned to a broad grin. "fifty, no...forty-seven thousand for a sleek travellers mount."
Sebastian had never bought a horse. "Forty." He said, holding up four fingers.
"For-forty? You insult me! Normally I would have such a rude guest castrated for his gross impoliteness. NO! Wait...you are a merciless businessman, and I like that. Forty-five." He raised his eyebrows, smiling.
Sebastian was confused and stifled a laugh. "Fine, Forty-five that's fine." he said, raising his glass.
Kufeek clapped twice. The Doorward clapped twice and there was much commotion in the shadows. The drums resumed thier normal bonging timber. A small table was placed between the two men. Upon the table was carefully set a gold and glass contraption That looked to be an alchemists device. Indeed there were ashes in it.
"Now, we smoke to business!" the midget exclaimed. "I also wish to thank you for the return of my thrall."
Sebastian shuddered. "What?" he asked?
"You can only imagine how surprised I was to see him again. My current cook is very old and the boy here will make a fine replacement one day." He clapped twice as he settled cross-legged on a large orange pillow.
Sebastian suddenly felt as though he would vomit.
"I will credit you two-hundred coins for the boys return." said Kufeek.
"A horse is forty-five thousand and Jaleel here is only two-hundred?"
"Jaleel?" He chuckled. "Jaleel means thank you. That boys name is Dai'quif which means cook. That is all he is and all he will ever know." The midget put his mouth to a brass piece on the end of a woven cord tied to the great glass object. Water bubbled.
Grayle knocked back his wine and set the goblet upon the table. The man cleared his throat, speaking with an even tone. "I think we have a misunderstanding."
Kufeek blew forth a cloud of smoke, pointing the utensil towards Sebastian. "Indeed we might. The cook said 'thank you' to you. Perhaps his appreciation was in return for his freedom? Are you a thief of slaves? A man of high morals?" His gaze was shrewd and his demeanor very unlike his child-like stature. "Tsk, tsk...and a loner, too...on the road with no family to seek him." He laughed.
Sebastian took a deep breath and raised a finger. There was a loud rap and the man fell face-forward into a pillow. The doorward fingered his blackjack, smiling his salesman smile.
The Dasarian awoke to the nauseating sway of the sea. The air smelled of salt, the heavy manacles of wet rust and blood.
"You trade in horseflesh Mister?" Sebastian called, approaching the colorful tent.
"Begone vagabond. My mounts are not for beggers." The eccentric fellow crossed his arms, looking down his nose at the pair. He regarded Jaleel up-and-down. The boy gulped, looking forlorn at the ground.
Sebastian reached inside his leather tunic, jostling a leather pouch within. There was a jingle of many coins.
"Coloth's hairy Sack, why didn't you say so in the first place?" The man bowed in a manner strange to these lands, the feather in his hat nearly striking Sebastian in the nose. "Please...be a guest unto the humble lodging of my master" he said as he swept aside a large embroidered door flap. Both flavored smoke and the sound of drums billowed forth from within the large pavillion. "Your slave can wait outside."
Sebastian nearly snarled. He shook off unhappy urges and regarded Jaleel standing behind him. The skinny boy stared at the ground and said nothing.
"Any of your folk speak Cuhannese?"
The man stood upright, befuddled a moment, then raised a finger. "Cuhannan is the proper word, and yes...we all do within. Why?"
Sebastian regarded this well-dressed and well-fed doorward. "He comes with me, as he has business with you also. I need a translator."
The doorward blinked, smiling his salesman smile. Sebastian and Jaleel ducked into smoky darkness.
Once inside, it was difficult to believe this was a wanderers yurt. There was no odor of horse dung. The roomy pavillion was decorated with rugs and pillows, the furs of unfamiliar animals. Incense and the jingle of small delicate chimes assailed the senses. Embossed screens hid parts of the inside from view. Flowers bloomed from large urns depicted with Cuhanna images of horses. There were at least two drums being played near, the sound barely audible in the street. Here, they beat and boomed with such passion as to change the meter of ones pulse. Sebastian rubbed his irritated eyes. Jaleel sighed deeply.
The doorward clapped twice. The music slowed in tempo and softened.
"My Master, I present a coin-bearing customer who looks to have walked a long dusty road."
"Drink" came a voice from the darkness.
Again the doorward clapped his fat fingers. Jaleel began instinctively to move at the unspoken command, but Sebastian held him firm. From the side of the tent, a woman ducked under wind-chimes, presenting a golden platter laiden with fruit. Upon it was a golden chalice of red wine that sparkled in the torchlight. Sebastian took the chalice, still growing accustomed to the thick air.
"Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible in my pitiful surroundings. We are always glad to make a customer feel welcome." Sitting on a pillow, the midget looked almost like a child, tho a richly dressed one and bearing a fine long moustache. His face sparkled in the smoky shade.
Sebastian stared at him a moment. "I, uh...do you sell horses or what?"
The midget twirled his long waxed moustache, narowing one eye "Straight to business is it? A shame, as you have breached the first courtesy."
"The huh?"
"The first courtesy." He stood, barely three feet tall. "I am Kufeek of Cuhanna and thee I welcome." He said, then bowed very flamboyantly.
Sebastian stood dumbfounded. The midget looked up at him, still bowed very low.
The doorward rolled his eyes then sharply whispered "Tell him your name and origin!"
Sebastian startled. "Grayle of Dasar." He blurted, slightly spilling his wine.
"Health to you and yours, Mister Grayle" Kufeek spoke. His face was studded with small gold rings. He rose and smiled broadly. "Dasar is very far indeed may I see your money?"
Sebastian paused. "This the second courtesy?" he asked, holding open the mouth of his leather pouch. Several hundred coins were easily seen, stacked in neat rows.
"Very good!" Kufeek exclaimed. Both he and the doorward smiled white toothy grins. "How many horses do you wish to purchase?"
The question took Sebastian by surprise. "Just one."
The midget frowned then looked over Sebastian's shoulder towards the Doorward, who shrugged.
"Jakesh nafeet! May-yum yi nad danaanaa, Pook? NAhoot pook!" he barked in a voice larger than himself.
The doorward continued shrugging his shoulders. Grayle watched the two and sipped his wine. Kufeeks angry face returned to a broad grin. "fifty, no...forty-seven thousand for a sleek travellers mount."
Sebastian had never bought a horse. "Forty." He said, holding up four fingers.
"For-forty? You insult me! Normally I would have such a rude guest castrated for his gross impoliteness. NO! Wait...you are a merciless businessman, and I like that. Forty-five." He raised his eyebrows, smiling.
Sebastian was confused and stifled a laugh. "Fine, Forty-five that's fine." he said, raising his glass.
Kufeek clapped twice. The Doorward clapped twice and there was much commotion in the shadows. The drums resumed thier normal bonging timber. A small table was placed between the two men. Upon the table was carefully set a gold and glass contraption That looked to be an alchemists device. Indeed there were ashes in it.
"Now, we smoke to business!" the midget exclaimed. "I also wish to thank you for the return of my thrall."
Sebastian shuddered. "What?" he asked?
"You can only imagine how surprised I was to see him again. My current cook is very old and the boy here will make a fine replacement one day." He clapped twice as he settled cross-legged on a large orange pillow.
Sebastian suddenly felt as though he would vomit.
"I will credit you two-hundred coins for the boys return." said Kufeek.
"A horse is forty-five thousand and Jaleel here is only two-hundred?"
"Jaleel?" He chuckled. "Jaleel means thank you. That boys name is Dai'quif which means cook. That is all he is and all he will ever know." The midget put his mouth to a brass piece on the end of a woven cord tied to the great glass object. Water bubbled.
Grayle knocked back his wine and set the goblet upon the table. The man cleared his throat, speaking with an even tone. "I think we have a misunderstanding."
Kufeek blew forth a cloud of smoke, pointing the utensil towards Sebastian. "Indeed we might. The cook said 'thank you' to you. Perhaps his appreciation was in return for his freedom? Are you a thief of slaves? A man of high morals?" His gaze was shrewd and his demeanor very unlike his child-like stature. "Tsk, tsk...and a loner, too...on the road with no family to seek him." He laughed.
Sebastian took a deep breath and raised a finger. There was a loud rap and the man fell face-forward into a pillow. The doorward fingered his blackjack, smiling his salesman smile.
The Dasarian awoke to the nauseating sway of the sea. The air smelled of salt, the heavy manacles of wet rust and blood.
Sebastian screamed as the knife was drawn across his chest. He kicked and struggled with all the strength he could muster, but four men were holding him down, one on each limb. The iron manacles bit into his wrists as he writhed. Eyes closed, Sebastian screamed until they beat him again to unconsciousness. The darkness bobbed as a slow drum kept a looming meter.
When he opened his eyes again, his head was being held up by his hair. He blinked at the bright stinging sun as a shadow divided the white light. Seagulls were calling and someone was speaking. His vision focused on the face before him.
The ruddy man shook Sebastian's head. "Haifad! You row now or die now which?" He yelled. Sebastian panted, his breathing labored by the mans hob-nailed boot upon his chest. He wanted to tear the mans groin from his body with his bare hands, but the manacles seemed so heavy...the air even heavier within his lungs. His head drooped slightly as the taskmaster released him.
Sebastian looked up and nodded almost deleriously. "Yes...yes, I'll row. I'll be good. I'll row." The taskmaster began barking orders over the Cuhanna drum.
They carried the half-naked Dasarian back to his wooden seat. The manacles were run through a long iron chain which spanned the length of the deck through all the other mens' manacles. His breeches were all that remained of his posessions. Tankard, sword...the shirt off his back, all gone. The great oar handle sway unevenly before him, driven by the weary arms of the man chained to his left. Where was the boy? Was he near? Where the hells am I? Sebastian looked around the cramped room filled with sweaty men, four to a row divided in the middle. One of the men at the oar behind him was dead, the jaundiced corpse bobbing with each circuit. A stinging fire drew Sebastian again to awareness as the taskmaster poured seawater onto his lacerated chest. He clenched his teeth stifling a yell.
"Row!" The taskmaster shouted. A whip cracked.
Sebastians fingers trembled on the wet wood. He grasped the heavy oar and soon fell into the jagged rhythm. For now, his goal was a slaves sole goal: Keep the taskmaster happy until death take one or the other. Sebastians lip formed a defiant snarl as he threw his weight into the beat of wave and drum.
When he opened his eyes again, his head was being held up by his hair. He blinked at the bright stinging sun as a shadow divided the white light. Seagulls were calling and someone was speaking. His vision focused on the face before him.
The ruddy man shook Sebastian's head. "Haifad! You row now or die now which?" He yelled. Sebastian panted, his breathing labored by the mans hob-nailed boot upon his chest. He wanted to tear the mans groin from his body with his bare hands, but the manacles seemed so heavy...the air even heavier within his lungs. His head drooped slightly as the taskmaster released him.
Sebastian looked up and nodded almost deleriously. "Yes...yes, I'll row. I'll be good. I'll row." The taskmaster began barking orders over the Cuhanna drum.
They carried the half-naked Dasarian back to his wooden seat. The manacles were run through a long iron chain which spanned the length of the deck through all the other mens' manacles. His breeches were all that remained of his posessions. Tankard, sword...the shirt off his back, all gone. The great oar handle sway unevenly before him, driven by the weary arms of the man chained to his left. Where was the boy? Was he near? Where the hells am I? Sebastian looked around the cramped room filled with sweaty men, four to a row divided in the middle. One of the men at the oar behind him was dead, the jaundiced corpse bobbing with each circuit. A stinging fire drew Sebastian again to awareness as the taskmaster poured seawater onto his lacerated chest. He clenched his teeth stifling a yell.
"Row!" The taskmaster shouted. A whip cracked.
Sebastians fingers trembled on the wet wood. He grasped the heavy oar and soon fell into the jagged rhythm. For now, his goal was a slaves sole goal: Keep the taskmaster happy until death take one or the other. Sebastians lip formed a defiant snarl as he threw his weight into the beat of wave and drum.
"Rest!"
The drums silenced. Laborous breathing filled the room as each man struggled to quench the fire in his chest. The caravel hugged the shore for eight hours without cease, the vessel guided by burning muscle rather than wind and sail. Offal and death hung heavy in the air, inhaled with each rasping pant.
"Does anyone...anyone speak common?" Sebastian uttered aloud as his senses became clearer. Seated before and behind were men of many nations...some pale and some with skin as black as coal. Some bore tattoos with strange writings or had odd shaped eyes. Many had open wounds. There was a whisper quick breeze at his ear followed by immense pain. Sebastian reached up but the manacle held his wrist tight, a warm flow running down his neck.
The taskmaster sheathed the slender curved blade. "Hear that, you did? NO TALK! Last time jackass!" he screamed, his cruel accent echoing over the panting slaves. The taskmaster hurried from the room yelling over his shoulder in his strange language. Sebastian contorted his head, trying to reach his wounded ear.
The whisper from his left was almost inaudible. "He just nicked the lobe. Bleeds some, stings...but hurts worse than it is."
"Hurts..." Sebastian yelled, then looked around, lowering his voice. "Yes, it hurts godsdamned." He clenched his eyes shut as the ear throbbed.
"Do not blaspheme."
The man whispered again. "Don't eat the food, either. Eat only the bugs in the food or your bowels will come out your arse. And stop talking so loud when you speak." The voice was not that of a weak man.
Sebastian regarded the fellow next to him. He was staring at the floor, the dark beard glistening only slightly in the oil lamplight. His shoulders and back were covered with scars, many old, some new. Both his earlobes were notched.
"How long have you been here?" Sebastian whispered.
"Less than a month." He replied, his eyes briefly scanning about. "There are few remaining from the group in which I was brought. They ate the food...bloody Cuhannans."
"Where do you think we are? Where are you from?" Sebastian asked, but yells from the deck above distracted both men. The taskmaster again appeared in the room. A drumming began.
A whip cracked.
The two men reached forward and grasped the great wooden handle, thier blistered hands stinging from the salt.
"How are we going to get out of here?" the Dasarian asked, his heartbeat beginning to rise.
"I don't know" said the bearded slave. "Lochwar does not yet answer."
The taskmaster looked down at Sebastian who, suddenly filled with fear, began rowing with greater might.
The drums silenced. Laborous breathing filled the room as each man struggled to quench the fire in his chest. The caravel hugged the shore for eight hours without cease, the vessel guided by burning muscle rather than wind and sail. Offal and death hung heavy in the air, inhaled with each rasping pant.
"Does anyone...anyone speak common?" Sebastian uttered aloud as his senses became clearer. Seated before and behind were men of many nations...some pale and some with skin as black as coal. Some bore tattoos with strange writings or had odd shaped eyes. Many had open wounds. There was a whisper quick breeze at his ear followed by immense pain. Sebastian reached up but the manacle held his wrist tight, a warm flow running down his neck.
The taskmaster sheathed the slender curved blade. "Hear that, you did? NO TALK! Last time jackass!" he screamed, his cruel accent echoing over the panting slaves. The taskmaster hurried from the room yelling over his shoulder in his strange language. Sebastian contorted his head, trying to reach his wounded ear.
The whisper from his left was almost inaudible. "He just nicked the lobe. Bleeds some, stings...but hurts worse than it is."
"Hurts..." Sebastian yelled, then looked around, lowering his voice. "Yes, it hurts godsdamned." He clenched his eyes shut as the ear throbbed.
"Do not blaspheme."
The man whispered again. "Don't eat the food, either. Eat only the bugs in the food or your bowels will come out your arse. And stop talking so loud when you speak." The voice was not that of a weak man.
Sebastian regarded the fellow next to him. He was staring at the floor, the dark beard glistening only slightly in the oil lamplight. His shoulders and back were covered with scars, many old, some new. Both his earlobes were notched.
"How long have you been here?" Sebastian whispered.
"Less than a month." He replied, his eyes briefly scanning about. "There are few remaining from the group in which I was brought. They ate the food...bloody Cuhannans."
"Where do you think we are? Where are you from?" Sebastian asked, but yells from the deck above distracted both men. The taskmaster again appeared in the room. A drumming began.
A whip cracked.
The two men reached forward and grasped the great wooden handle, thier blistered hands stinging from the salt.
"How are we going to get out of here?" the Dasarian asked, his heartbeat beginning to rise.
"I don't know" said the bearded slave. "Lochwar does not yet answer."
The taskmaster looked down at Sebastian who, suddenly filled with fear, began rowing with greater might.
Twenty-five days from Cear.
There was a very loud shout followed by others, the gutteral language rousing Sebastian from a delerious sleep. The stink of the oardeck made him vomit, but there was little in his stomach to expell. The convulsions came and went, just as the thrall next to him had said eventually would start happening. Sebastian knew the longer he waited to act, the less strength he would have left to use, but his captors had been unceasing in thier sadistic vigilance. A man who looked these pirates in the eyes was beaten. A man who did not look up was beaten. Those who rowed too slow or seemed too excited. Any man who collapsed from exhaustion had thier throats slit and were dragged from the room, thier final release the reward of the bodies rest. No more rowing. Three throats the day before Sebastian had seen opened wide by a curved Cuhanna knife.
Murder. Death. The Dasarian began to question what would happen after his body fell apart, or the life leaked out of him for succumbing to beautiful, beautiful sleep. The arms drifted off the oars, his head bent. Eyelids...so heavy. There was sister now and mother, too. There was the cat ol' what's-his-name. Father was hammering. The pounding became deafening.
"Sebastian!" a voice said. "Row or they'll kill you!"
Everything went blurry and very white. The oar handle struck the man squarely in the jaw and he blinked, recoilling at the shock. The drums were twice thier usual meter.
"Row!" the man next to him yelled. There was a great deal of hollaring and howling from several places on the deck above. The taskmaster pushed Sebastian forward towards the oar, then turned towards another thrall a few rows before them. The Cuhannan faced the rowers, uncoiling his whip. Sebastian began rowing, the pace furious. Something was happening, it was quite obvious and the taskmaster looked distracted with keeping the slaves rowing hard rather than beating them senseless.
The taskmaster called for one column to stop rowing while the other kept on. The ship was being turned. This happened again and again. Men began collapsing to the floor.
There was a loud hissing noise and a series of thumps. Both Sebastian and the men around him heard the noises. The black-bearded slave next to Sebastian looked about as he rowed, over his shoulder as if in fear of some wild thing. The smell of smoke overcame the stink. Sebastian rowed fast and hard, trying to take the burdon of his partner who looked very pale. The taskmaster was screaming at them, his fists clenched very tight as spittle flew from his mouth.
"I told you" the black-beared man whispered. Sebastian strained against the drums frantic pace.
A louder thump. Several oars on the port side of the caravel snapped and splintered, the rowers falling in all directions as the weight of thier burden abruptly slacked. Again the ship turned. An arrow flew through a slat in the deck, sticking into the skull of a thrall who kept rowing, unaware he was a dead man. The drums beat on.
"He's coming!" the blackbeard said as he slowly stood, his pupils dilated. "I told you he would answer!"
Sebastian could only row and stare. The ship listed slightly but the man still stood, a mad smile on his face. The rhythm of the oars became eratic.
"He's coming! The King of Tyrants! Woe to ye who disbelieve for he's coming! He's here! HE'S HERE!"
The hull burst open as the ramming prow of another ship impaled the caravel. Great splinters of wood exploded into the room, crushed men vanishing into a spray of cold seafoam. Wood buckled and snapped as a deluge flooded the deck, tossing thralls about as they swung by thier bloody manacles. The roar was horrifying. Men were pulling at thier chains in desperation, shrieking. Sebastian was yanked hard and tossed in the air as the caravel listed. A jet of water engulfed aft and port sending oil lamps to shatter against wet wood. Screaming slaves and soldiers fought to keep thier footing as the ship nearly capsized. Sebastian found himself lying atop the taskmaster, whose head was bleeding. The Cuhannan lay there before him, reeling and confused. Helpless.
Sebastian thrust his hands at the Cuhanna mans neck. The taskmasters eyes opened, round with horror. He pushed upwards at the Dasarians face with a still terrific strength, but one of his arms was shattered, flailing about as the caravel shuddered. Sebastian throttled the man clenching the throat clawing inwards with a grip of rage. The taskmaster coughed and spat, his eyes bulging...his face red. Sebastian slammed the mans head against the hull, squeezing with all the strength he could muster...the strength of a caged wild animal newly freed, rejoicing at the stretching of muscle and claw. The water in the room rose over the taskmasters face. Sebastian yelled, cursed as the water rose to his chin, the taskmaster dead before him, floating lifelessly as the Dasarian continued to shake his corpse about the flood. The prow of the ship dipped very deep and wood groaned and howled under the strain. Sebastian tore the great key from the taskmasters belt as the room submerged.
The burning pirate caravel slowly disappeared beneath the ocean, it's last defiant gasp a spray of seawater erupting from the defeated vessel. The Empirial Ship-of-the-Line sailed west towards a distant squall. The Talon does not allow pirates to roam unmolested in Varana waters, as Sebastian beheld clutching a barrel floating on the surface of the tumultuous deep blue sea.
There was a very loud shout followed by others, the gutteral language rousing Sebastian from a delerious sleep. The stink of the oardeck made him vomit, but there was little in his stomach to expell. The convulsions came and went, just as the thrall next to him had said eventually would start happening. Sebastian knew the longer he waited to act, the less strength he would have left to use, but his captors had been unceasing in thier sadistic vigilance. A man who looked these pirates in the eyes was beaten. A man who did not look up was beaten. Those who rowed too slow or seemed too excited. Any man who collapsed from exhaustion had thier throats slit and were dragged from the room, thier final release the reward of the bodies rest. No more rowing. Three throats the day before Sebastian had seen opened wide by a curved Cuhanna knife.
Murder. Death. The Dasarian began to question what would happen after his body fell apart, or the life leaked out of him for succumbing to beautiful, beautiful sleep. The arms drifted off the oars, his head bent. Eyelids...so heavy. There was sister now and mother, too. There was the cat ol' what's-his-name. Father was hammering. The pounding became deafening.
"Sebastian!" a voice said. "Row or they'll kill you!"
Everything went blurry and very white. The oar handle struck the man squarely in the jaw and he blinked, recoilling at the shock. The drums were twice thier usual meter.
"Row!" the man next to him yelled. There was a great deal of hollaring and howling from several places on the deck above. The taskmaster pushed Sebastian forward towards the oar, then turned towards another thrall a few rows before them. The Cuhannan faced the rowers, uncoiling his whip. Sebastian began rowing, the pace furious. Something was happening, it was quite obvious and the taskmaster looked distracted with keeping the slaves rowing hard rather than beating them senseless.
The taskmaster called for one column to stop rowing while the other kept on. The ship was being turned. This happened again and again. Men began collapsing to the floor.
There was a loud hissing noise and a series of thumps. Both Sebastian and the men around him heard the noises. The black-bearded slave next to Sebastian looked about as he rowed, over his shoulder as if in fear of some wild thing. The smell of smoke overcame the stink. Sebastian rowed fast and hard, trying to take the burdon of his partner who looked very pale. The taskmaster was screaming at them, his fists clenched very tight as spittle flew from his mouth.
"I told you" the black-beared man whispered. Sebastian strained against the drums frantic pace.
A louder thump. Several oars on the port side of the caravel snapped and splintered, the rowers falling in all directions as the weight of thier burden abruptly slacked. Again the ship turned. An arrow flew through a slat in the deck, sticking into the skull of a thrall who kept rowing, unaware he was a dead man. The drums beat on.
"He's coming!" the blackbeard said as he slowly stood, his pupils dilated. "I told you he would answer!"
Sebastian could only row and stare. The ship listed slightly but the man still stood, a mad smile on his face. The rhythm of the oars became eratic.
"He's coming! The King of Tyrants! Woe to ye who disbelieve for he's coming! He's here! HE'S HERE!"
The hull burst open as the ramming prow of another ship impaled the caravel. Great splinters of wood exploded into the room, crushed men vanishing into a spray of cold seafoam. Wood buckled and snapped as a deluge flooded the deck, tossing thralls about as they swung by thier bloody manacles. The roar was horrifying. Men were pulling at thier chains in desperation, shrieking. Sebastian was yanked hard and tossed in the air as the caravel listed. A jet of water engulfed aft and port sending oil lamps to shatter against wet wood. Screaming slaves and soldiers fought to keep thier footing as the ship nearly capsized. Sebastian found himself lying atop the taskmaster, whose head was bleeding. The Cuhannan lay there before him, reeling and confused. Helpless.
Sebastian thrust his hands at the Cuhanna mans neck. The taskmasters eyes opened, round with horror. He pushed upwards at the Dasarians face with a still terrific strength, but one of his arms was shattered, flailing about as the caravel shuddered. Sebastian throttled the man clenching the throat clawing inwards with a grip of rage. The taskmaster coughed and spat, his eyes bulging...his face red. Sebastian slammed the mans head against the hull, squeezing with all the strength he could muster...the strength of a caged wild animal newly freed, rejoicing at the stretching of muscle and claw. The water in the room rose over the taskmasters face. Sebastian yelled, cursed as the water rose to his chin, the taskmaster dead before him, floating lifelessly as the Dasarian continued to shake his corpse about the flood. The prow of the ship dipped very deep and wood groaned and howled under the strain. Sebastian tore the great key from the taskmasters belt as the room submerged.
The burning pirate caravel slowly disappeared beneath the ocean, it's last defiant gasp a spray of seawater erupting from the defeated vessel. The Empirial Ship-of-the-Line sailed west towards a distant squall. The Talon does not allow pirates to roam unmolested in Varana waters, as Sebastian beheld clutching a barrel floating on the surface of the tumultuous deep blue sea.