Chapter 2
November 4th
One port passed, and the farm had become more busy than ever. The Harvest Festival was closing in and they needed the to have everything in order as soon as possible. Celebration decorations were being made, the prime livestock were being gathered up and fattened for the sacrifices and, of course, they would have soldiers arriving any day now, and they needed to be prepared for that. A herald had arrived on Gorodas and officially announced the impending arrival of the Norgraithian army. He assured everyone that they wouldn't cause trouble, or interfere with anyone's work or participation in the festivals. When asked about the possibility of a draft, he said deftly avoided the question by stating that there will definitely be 'recruiters' available in all towns across Umar, and that the smaller hamlets will likely be visited by martial representatives. He refused to confirm or deny the possibility of a draft and everyone was left on edge by his weariness of the subject. However, matters of the country were out of the hands of a small hamlet like Hyran. It did it's duty and held it's head when the titans of the world clashed around it, and it would do it's best to stay afloat in the chaos, but it had no delusions of it's insignificance. This was especially so for Arrongar who, though extraordinarily wealthy as far as a humble farmer can be, was, at the end of the day, still just a farmer. He even had no say in where his crops went. King Ata's overseers saw to that, divvying it up as they saw fit, some to be shipped off to Uthar, some to feed the local military, some to kept in the granaries, and some to be given to Arrongar to do with as he wished. Though Arrongar's portion was small in comparison with the entire harvest, it was still a healthy haul that brought him his wealth and stature. This year, his portion was likely to be quite small.
With how much pressure was being placed to have as much of his harvest cut as possible by the time the Norgraithians arrived in order to sell to them, Arrongar managed to convince the overseers to allow him to employ more of the town's women to help with the threshing and to glean whatever extra they could. Being given permission to do so, he set the women to hauling away much of the grain and instead put scythes in the hands of many men. Zechariah being one of them. It was hard, grueling work. His usual task of hauling the produce was already tough work, but the constant and seemingly never ending back breaking motion of swinging the scythe in wide arcs, over and over again, was torment. With a hot wind blowing off the Barrens, and the pressure to work harder than usual, the farm was oddly quiet. Generally a conversation or two could be heard, or someone would start up a song. Today however, it seemed that not even the livestock had it in them to make a sound of any kind. The swish, swish, swish, was all that could be heard. Swing after swing, swish after swish, sharp clang, pain in his hands.
Amir screamed, falling to the ground. Heads arose all across the field, confused until they saw a man laying on the ground screaming in agony, a scythe piercing his leg. Cries of alarm arose, and people began moving in haste, some running for help, others running to help, and quite a few standing around awkwardly, not sure of what to do. As everyone began to move, Arrongar arrived demanding to know what was going on, and quickly learned that Zechariah had just thrown his scythe right at another farmhand. Arrongar looked up for his son, and found Zechariah stood still, eyes wide, staring off towards the Peak.
"Zechariah." Arrongar called, but received no reply. "Zechariah!" He shouted but still received no response. "Keep his leg raised and keep pressure on the wound." He instructed as he stood up, "Amir, I'll be right back." he said as he turned to confront Zechariah.
"It's not his fault Father." Amir said through clenched teeth, "He doesn't have any control over it."
Arrongar paused but only for a moment, until he made his way over, calling to his son a few more times but heard no reply and saw not even a twitch upon his posture. As he reached Zechariah and moved to grab his shoulder, he saw Zechariah's face. A look of pure terror, eyes staring sightlessly into the distance, tears running down his face, breath short and shaky. His heart was pained for his son. He could not imagine what it must be like to see such horrors, but he needed him, and he needed him awake, and not sleeping all the time. But damn it, this wasn't the first accident Zechariah had caused, it was only the worse. Next time might not be so lucky. Arrongar grasped his son shoulder, and saw the boy jump in terror, as though he'd been struck by lightning, crying out the same. He looked at his father, and began to weep openly. Arrongar embraced him and let him cry.
"What did you see?" Arrongar asked after a short time. Zechariah just shook his head still buried in his father's shoulder. "Zech, tell me. What did you see?"
"Not this one Father. I won't share this one." Zechariah said, succeeding, though slowly, to regain control of himself.
"Arrongar!" Geb shouted moving up to where he stood. "Arrongar, your son isn't fit to work. He's a danger to us all!"
"Geb, I know this was a bad accident but you know, as everyone else does I might add, that Zechariah isn't to blame for this."
"Blame?" Geb said. "It has nothing to do with blame. Arrongar, you could have lost a son just now."
"What?" Zechariah said, finally looking over to the crowd of people.
"You threw your scythe right into Amir." Geb explained. Zechariah went white.
"He's going to be fine Zechariah." Arrongar said reassuring him. "It just pierced his calf."
"Which you are lucky is all that it peirced. It could have taken out his hamstring, or his Achilles , or worse, torn an artery."
"Geb that's enough." Arrongar said. "We are not stupid. Now go get some water and cool down."
Geb glowered at being dismissed like that, but turned away all the same.
"Father, is he going to be alright?" Zechariah asked, still looking pale.
"I'm sure he will. Look," he said pointing to a horseman approaching fast, "The Physician's here. Everything is going to be fine." He patted Zechariah on the back, and returned to Amir's side, Zechariah followed closely behind. As they broke through the ring of people kneeling next to Amir, Zechariah realized that it was not as lucky as Arrongar had suggested. The scythe's blade and slashed horizontally into Amir's right leg, piercing through the calf and almost cutting it's way out of his leg, and he was bleeding a lot.
"Amir! Amir I am so sorry!" Zechariah said falling down next to his brother. "I didn't mean to, I, I just lost control of it, and it was out of my hands before I knew what was going on."
"Ha! Zech, I should be thanking you." Amir said forcing a laugh through his clenched teeth.
"What? What for?" Zechariah replied.
"This way, I won't be fit for a draft!" Amir explained, genuinely laughing despite the pain at Zechariah's incredulous look.
"I'll make this right," Zech swore, "I'l make sure it's okay."
The Physician arrived then, and shooed everyone away save for Arrongar, and set about inspecting the damage. Arrongar called for everyone to take a rest, and get something to eat. They'd resume work at the next Quarter. Once the scythe had been removed and a temporary bandage was placed to help stop the blood loss, Amir was moved from the fields to a more isolated and sanitary location for surgery. Though people went about getting some lunch of biscuits, water and dried meat, the unease in the air was thick. People gave Zechariah a wide birth, and no one spoke with him or offered him comfort. After grabbing some water, Zechariah made a corner for himself, and sat in it. Several moments later, right on the Quarter, Arrongar returned to the field and work gong was rung. As everyone went back to their work, Arrongar approached Zechariah again.
"He's going to be fine." Arrongar said. "The Physician says that he'll not be able to work for quite some time as his wound heals, but...he should be fine."
"Should be fine? What aren't you saying?" Zechariah asked.
Arrongar took a deep breath before continuing. "The Physician says that he may never walk properly again. The damage to his calf is...extensive. He says we won't know till it's healed."
"What's the worst?" Zechariah reluctantly inquired.
"Worst case, he won't be able to do any manual labor again. But the Physician says that that outcome is unlikely. Best case, he just has a small limp the rest of his life, and he'd still be able to work the livestock or scythe. But, he'll likely have little strength left in his leg."
"I can't believe this happened. I've never done something like this before." Zechariah said putting his head in his hands.
"No. You haven't. But you also haven't wept like that since you were a kid." Arrongar added. "They've been getting worse?"
Zechariah nodded, running his hands through his hair. "I've never dreamed standing up before. It..." He shuddered, "it was horrible."
"What did you see Zech." Arrongar asked again.
"It doesn't matter Father. The delusions of a disturbed mind have no meaning. Right?" Zechariah asked, eyeing his father, the conversation with Amir last port bouncing around in his head. Was that guilt or deep thought he saw on his father's face?
"I just thought that sharing it might help ease the burden of your..."
"Curse?" Zechariah interjected.
"Condition." Arrongar finished pointedly. "But I suppose you are right, and we do need to get back to work. I think it's best if you work with the women in the gleaning. I think there's far less that could be disturbed by another episode there." Arrongar concluded. It hit Zechariah like a ton of bricks. Reasonable though it was, it felt like a final rejection.
As Arrongar turned to resume working Zechariah asked "What happened to my hand?"
Arrongar paused in his tracks. "What do you mean?" He asked, turning back.
"What happened to my hand?" Zechariah repeated.
"You crawled into a fire when you young. Your mother and I were busy with your sisters, and turned away for just a moment. You know this already Zech. Why are you asking?"
Zechariah paused. Yes, that was the story he knew. Why had Amir told him to inquire further then? "No reason. Just confused by my dream is all." Zechariah said dismissively. Arrongar nodded, wearily accepting Zechariah's explanation and returned to work. Zechariah sat there for several moments longer, struggling with everything going on inside. His feet began to itch again. He stood, and with a reluctant sigh, joined the women in their gleaning.
November 5th
November 5th
Later that day, Zecariah placing his final sack of grain in storage for threshing tomorrow, turning to face the Sunpeak and taking a swig from his flask. Each bushel taking approximately a Half Rise to thresh, and though it was a long and arduous process, it was one that was done with joy for the promise of reward that would follow. If nothing else, King Ata was a fair king who considered work equally. A carpenter may be paid more than a farmer, but all farmhands were paid equally and all carpenters were paid equally, unless it was matters of art in which case it was based on the trade agreements arranged by the individuals. Consequently, the queue was long this evening with the increase in farm hands and though some may claim that gleaning or threshing was not worth as much as the reaping, no one voiced their ideas for the overseers held the coin. Like usual, Zechariah passed the queue to enter his home, head bowed away from the waiting farmhands. It had been an afternoon of shame and embarrassment, and none had conversed with him save to give instruction. He made his way to Amir's room, and upon opening the door found Caldna by his bedside holding his hand in quiet conversation. They looked to Zechariah as he paused in the entrance to his room, awkwardly unsure.
"Come in Zech." Amir said calmly. Zechariah entered, approaching his brother's side.
"I'm so sorry Amir." Zechariah said.
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault." Amir assured.
"I don't know who else to blame." Caldna said, anger simmering from her hurt and fear.
"Caldna. It wasn't his fault." Amir replied calmly but firmly. Turning back to Zechariah he said, "Take a seat Zech."
"No, I, I should go." Zech stammered attempting to excuse himself.
"Nonsense. Sit." Amir insisted. Zechariah complied pulling up a small chest to perch upon.
"How did the harvest go?"
"Well, for the most part." Zechariah answered.
"No more accidents?"Calnda inquired.
"No. Father put me with the gleaners." Zechariah explained.
"Awww," Amir said patronizingly, reaching up to pat Zechariah on the cheek. "Did little Zech have to work with the women?"
"Adorable." Caldna added making Zechariah blush.
"I'd of rather taken the scythe to the leg." Zechariah answered brushing Amir's hand from his face.
"Ha!" Amir barked, "I'm sure you would have! Any excuse to get out of the fields."
"That's not fair. I haven't made up excuses since I was little." replied Zechariah with indignation.
"Sure you have, you just got better at hiding them." argued Amir.
"That's hardly fair." Zechariah protested.
"Caldna," Amir said turning back to her, "Would you so kind as to please give us a moment?"
She eyed Zechariah before acquiescing standing gracefully to leave the room.
"Zech?" Amir said in a more serious tone. "I don't blame you."
Zechariah grabbed his hand, tears coming to his eyes. "You should. I'm nothing but a blight."
"You're anything but a blight Zech."
Amir said reassuringly.
Amir said reassuringly.
"Father said that you may be crippled for the rest of your life. How can I not be a curse?"
"I'm serious Zech. You've been nothing but a blessing to me." Amir insisted but Zechariah remained silent, not trusting himself to speak further. "In fact, I have a request for you. Considering that you are now in my debt, I figured that I should make good on it."
"Anything I can do." Zechariah promised.
"Make me a couple of wedding bands?" Amir asked.
"What?" Zechariah said pulling back in shock. "Already?"
"Yes. I'm sure of it. Now more than ever."
"But with everything going, the wars will caused increased taxes and there will be recruitments." Zechariah protested.
"There will always be taxes, and I'm pretty sure you just saved me from any drafts." Amir said with a smile. "Honestly Zech, though it might pain me my whole life...this may have been just what I was needing."
"I...I'm speechless." Zechariah stammered.
"Then I'll give you the words. 'That's wonderful Amir, I'd be glad to make you your wedding bands.'" Amir said putting on a false accent mocking Zechariah.
"Like I'm going to say it like that." Zechariah laughed. "But absolutely. I'd be honoured." he added.
"Good." Amir said grasping Zechariah's hand. "I'm glad of it."
"When are you going to ask her?" Inquired Zechariah.
"On the Festivals' Eve. Hopefully, we'll be blessed by Aleen's spirit." Amir said.
"What of a home? Do you have plans for one?" Zechariah pressed.
"No. I had thought I'd want to ask her sometime, but I hadn't planned that far in advance.
"I can help you build one. It shouldn't take to long to get something thrown together, but there wouldn't be time to construct a full building in, Gods it'll be less than half a Cycle!"
"Zech." Amir said trying to interrupt Zechariah.
"And the dower, and the gifts. There will be so little time!" Zechariah continued in his rant.
"Zech, you're calm down. You're beginning to panic." Amir said finally getting Zechariah's attention.
"How can you not be panicking?" Zechariah asked incredulously.
"Because it's going to be fine. I'll speak to Father about living here for a time till we have everything sorted, I have more than enough finances for the dower, and the gifts are unnecessary frivolities."
"I suppose so." Zechariah admitted.
"What's wrong?" Amir asked, noting a slight change of attitude in Zechariah. Before Zechariah could deny it Amir insisted, "And don't say 'nothing'."
"It's fine?" Zechariah asked sheepishly. Amir gave him a flat look. "Really," Zechariah insisted, "It's fine. I'll start planning those rings then." He said standing up. "Any idea about what designs you'd like?" he said changing the subject. Amir eyed him but conceded to his secrecy.
"You're the artist Zech. I'm sure whatever you make will be beautiful."
"I wouldn't call myself an artist, but thanks for the vote of confidence." Zechariah said making his way to the door. "I'll make sure that they're the best in the Hyran." He nodded to Caldna as he left the room, making his way to the private, though barren, comfort of his own room. Washing up quickly, he prepared his whet stone again, and laid out his tools in a row on his desk. Slowly, methodically, he went about sharpening each tool to the finest edge he could manage. Then, he pulled out his fine grain whet stone. He'd payed an artisan in Perdale quite a high drop for this particular tool, and he preserved it like it was made of glass. Preparing this stone, he went through all his blades again, achieving a sharpness that was fit for only the most talented of craftsmen. But this was only the beginning.
Reaching into his desk, he pulled out his quill, several sheets of paper and his ink stick. Wetting the ink and with a little effort, he made a puddle of ink, into which he dipped his quill, and began drawing. He sat there, hunched over his paper for several falls, drawing design after design. Should it represent life Hyran, by the farms that bind us all here, or should it try to grasp the awe inspiring dunes of the Barrens? Perhaps it should grasp the life bringing flow of the Artery, or the heart of the world and it's brilliant light? Though, perhaps it should be inspired by the abstract designs he always carved in the peace of his own mind? A touch of his own creation and flair. Yes, that was it. Two lightning bolts made of interlocking geometric shapes that, upon clashing in the middle, swirled up into a small flower in which he would set a gem. It was perfect. Now...he just had to try to make the most intricate carving of his life.
He set out his various blocks of wood. He would need something dense, hard enough to handle a beating over the years without breaking, and something that would withstand a firing. Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of softwoods. Most of the desert trees were quite hard, not having a lot of moisture available to them, they didn't like to sweat any water. Looking over his options, he chose the ebony. It would be hard to work with, but the depth of it's color and grain would be beautiful. Late though it was, he didn't want to stop working. He had to, in some way, pay for his mistakes. This would hardly make up for his failure, but it was the least he could do, and by Krulnac, he'd do the best job he could, no matter the cost. He worked late into the night, until the light of of his candles dimmed, and he needed to acquire more. He put his tools down, watching the last of the flames wick out into the darkness of the night, before sighing to himself and heading to bed.
The following days passed in a blur. Rise into fall, day into day, and port into port. Before long, it was the 19th of Fraktios, and the Harvest celebrations were only two portless away. Amir was bed bound, and though he received visitors very frequently, there was always work to be done, and he often laid there, staring at the roof wishing he'd payed more attention to learning how to read when he was little. The book Caldna had been reading to him was fun, but he wished he could read it on his own. Arrongar had insisted that he work on the farm as early as possible though, and to a young boy, working in the fields with your father certainly was more interesting than sitting at the dinning room table struggling with headaches. Caldna had begun to teach him some about reading, but he was realizing that he was a long way off from being able to read on his own.
Zechariah went about his work methodically, conserving as much energy as he could for his late night labor on the rings. He'd already ruined three attempts, the thin and delicate carvings breaking as he tried to weave his magic. But he was determined to make it work. Each time it broke, he reassessed his designs, strengthening a bit here with a stronger shape, thickening that particular branch of lightning. Each time he got closer to the finished product, but was taking quite a bit of time. He'd have to work even harder to get it done on time. Today, however, was a strange day. The 'Blood Barbarians' as they were known, had arrived. Arrongar called Zechariah over, and with the overseers, went to greet the approaching army.
"Father, why do you want me to come with you? This isn't a good idea."
"I agree," spoke the overseer named Dawda with a nasally accent, "You shouldn't bring the cursed one to great the army of an alliance. Something could go wrong."
"Your business is he finances and the taxation, not Hyran's representation." Arrongar instructed. "It is both honorable to present one's family, and a show of unity. My eldest may be...unavailable, but Zechariah is of as much import as he."
"Thank you father." Zechariah answered, though the Dawda hadn't had his fill of words.
"If you think they of equal value Arrongar, perhaps I should speak to King Ata's council about your apparently flawed judgement." The Dawda responded.
"If you believe my ability to operate and lead this farmstead is indeed in question, then do you as wish. However, Dawda, I have served King Ata more efficiently than any other, and though I may be nothing more than wealthy serf, I'm sure the council would be interested to hear how I've only increased productivity and profits, despite your interference, for not only Hyran but also Perdale. So, unless you have an issue with my efficiency, do as your name implies." Arrongar turned away from Dawda's withering glare, and stepped forward to present, in all it's humity, the town of Hyran to the Norgraithan army.
They disembarked their warships, anchoring the larger vessels off the shore of the great river, and being transported ashore in smaller Dhow. Upon arriving upon the shore, they gathered in groups and the officers began inspection. Several approached Arrongar, Zechariah and the overseers, to express their thanks, before returning to their soldiers. There were many variations of this. Some of the Warlord's soldiers wore nothing but firs and leathers, leaving a lot of bare skin, looking like vicious wolves. Others were clad in metal armor, ranging from chain to a few in full plate. Regardless of equipment or the lack of lines in some camps, they were well organized and presented an imposing force. Then, something happened that Hyran had not anticipated. A larger vessel than the rest, embraced by golden and silver inlays running the entire length of the ship approached shore, and King Aurvan himself, strode into Hyran.
November 6th
November 6th
Arrongar was not prepared for this. He froze in place, not sure what was the appropriate protocol. Should he bow, kneel, prostrate? A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Dawda whispered "Kneel." Firmly pulling Arrongar down with him, Zechariah quickly following. "Don't look at him until he welcomes you to." Dawda instructed. Arrongar found it hard not to, but forced himself to comply. The sound of metal clad feet approached as the King's Guard marched beside him. He stopped several paces away and spoke in a clear and bold voice "Hyran was it? The name of this hamlet?"
"Yes your Majesty." Arrongar replied, fearing his response was too curt and would appear rude.
"And you are it's Lord?" Aurvan asked.
"No your Majesty. His Royal Majesty King Erol Ata owns these lands. I am but his servant, Arrongar Feldman. I do however, lead these good people in his stead, as he resides in Uthar, with the aid of his Yeoman, Dawda." Arrongar said, still kneeling and not looking up.
"And they call us barbarians." King Aurvan said turning to his guard who laughed softly. "Rise." he said turning back to Arrongar, who did so somewhat stiffly looking up at the king, Zechariah and Dawda following. King Aurvan was quite a sight to behold. Arrongar had not seen the High King Malik in person, and though he was said to be aggressively cunning, it was also said that High King Malik was no warrior. King Aurvan was. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, broad of shoulder and, under the layers of his robes and armor, his muscles were taught, and strong. His hair was long, sandy blond, and his beard was full and well trimmed. A crown of teeth from various creatures, some human, woven with silver and gold wire and inlaid with vibrant gems sat upon his head, a gruesome reminder of his wealth, stature and might.
"And who is this boy standing to your left gawking at me like an invalid?" King Aurvan asked gesturing to Zechariah. In horror, seeing his son behaving so rudely, Arrongar gave him a quick smack over the head to rouse him.
"My son, Zechariah, your Majesty. I apologize for his ignorance, I pray that his gawking has not offended you."
"It's nice to know that I still inspire such awe in people. Those of court are so practiced at containing themselves, it becomes rather drawl. Tell me boy, do you honor your father?"
Zechariah was stunned, not only by the presence of the King, but also by his willingness to address him. It took him a moment to answer, a moment in which the King stood patiently. "Y- Yes your Majesty. At least," he said hesitantly, "I try to do so your Majesty."
"A good answer Zechariah." King Aurvan said approvingly turning back to Arrongar. "Small though it is, I hope you have some place where ale or wine may be consumed. It is dreadfully hot in these lands. I should like to find a place to rest after my voyage."
"Of course your Majesty." Arrongar said, "There is a small tavern named Orolic's Rest. I fear it may not be of great quality, but what little we have is yours as long as you wish to stay." Arrongar said, gesturing further into Hyran and beginning to lead the King to the tavern.
"Orolic's Rest? A fine name. You know he was one of the first to settle in Norgraith before my ancestors took over? A fine gentleman as the annuls recall."
"I had no idea, your Majesty. It never dawned on me to question it's name." Arrongar replied.
"Yes, though you in Umar like to refer to us the barbarians, we have a foundation of many fine gentleman. In relation to Orolic, as he was a farmer in his own right, I was led to believe that Hyran had prepared for us a store of grain and livestock to acquire as we journey on. I trust this demand has been met to it's fullest? Aurvan inquried as they journeyed to the tavern.
"To the fullest that we were able to provide your Majesty. I believe it will be sufficient, though, I had not known the full extent of your troops. However, we have much stored from both this year's harvest and lasts for Aleen has been good to us."
Arrongar explained.
Arrongar explained.
"Ah, yes. You do worship the Gods here. I had forgot. Aleen is the Goddess of Life is she not?"
"Yes your Majesty." Arrongar replied as they reached the tavern and Arrongar held open the door for him to enter.
"And, oh what is it you do again," Aurvan said to himself as a Royal Guard pulled a seat for Aurvan to sit upon, "You
sacrifice hundreds of animals in order to appease her?"
"To appease all the Gods, your Majesty, though it is hardly 'hundreds'. Perhaps in the larger cities the number reaches that high, but here in Hyran, we only sacrifice a few." Arrongar explained waving Delden over. Dawda and Zechariah took seats either side of Arrongar, whilst Aurvan's guards stood behind him.
"You worship all the Gods? All ten of them?" Aurvan asked somewhat incredulously.
"Yes your Majesty. Each of the God's have their own celebrations as well. Though the Harvest Festival pays homage to Aleen primarily, it is also a worship to the other Gods for not interfering with Aleen's blessings. It is the largest celebration of the Rotation." Arrongar continued.
"Harvest Festival?" Aurvan asked looking thoughtful. Arrongar wanted to continue his explanation, but got the sense that he should wait upon Aurvan. Delden arrived with a tray, bringing the finest wines, ales and spirits he had, for the King to taste at his leisure. "Harvest Festival..." King Aurvan said again, until he looked up and saw a question in Arrongar's eyes. "Speak. I do not appreciate trepidity."
"I..."Arrongar began caught of guard. After a brief moment where he recovered himself he continued, though we was not able to shake the trepidation. "I was just wondering what you believe in if you do not worship the Gods. Your Majesty, though I intend no offense or suggestion to the stereotype of barbarism that you mention here in Umar."
"Arrongar," the King began in rebuke, "any man who takes true offence to a stereotype and cannot find humor in it's existence, is a man who is weak of heart. Groveling is only necessary to those who are pathetic enough to need their ego's stoked by the subjugation of another." He said taking a large sip of his wine. "Whilst I am engaged in conversation with you, unless your intention is to offend, do not be hesitant to speak."
"As you wish your Majesty. I apologize, I am simply inexperienced in these matters."
"Now," King Aurvan said as he downed the last of his wine and, whilst picking up a spirit, placed his right foot upon his left knee. "In order to answer your fair question, no, we do not worship the Gods. I find them to be naught more than wistful demons who prey upon the superstitions of lesser men. We believe in our own strength. In the strength of unity, and of our own hands. This leads you and others to call us barbarians, among other things, but to us, the worship of the Gods seems primitive." He took a large sip of his spirit, and raised an eyebrow in appreciation. But then his expression soured again. Slamming his foot back to the ground he turned and said somewhat irritably, "Solveig, what am I missing here? Why does the Harvest Festival keep bothering me?"
"Fjord Silverkin your Majesty." the guard named Solveig answered.
"Yes!" Aurvan exclaimed as he downed his spirit "Fjord Silverkin!" He exlaimed turning back to Arrongar and slamming his cup down upon the table.
"The Bard?" Zechariah asked perking up.
"The bard indeed! Though, we call him a Skald. And I'd remind to you to consider appropriate honorifics."
"Of course your Majesty!" Zechariah quickly exclaimed turning red in the face. "Thank you."
"What importance does the Silverkin have with the Festival your Majesty?" Arrongar inquired.
"He has been staying at my court these last few cycles you see, and though he refused any offers of employment and expressed no interest in journeying with me, he claimed his next stop would be Uthar, to play for High King Malik. However, he said that he likes to travel as the leaves in the autumn wind and will take some time getting there. He said that he would be near Hyran likely around the time of the Harvest Festival." King Aurvan explained as he watched Zechariah's face light up with excitement. "I must admit, I'm quite peeved that he has the audacity to be so unreliable. I hadn't though much of it until you mentioned the Harvest. He's an odd one that's for sure."
"Quite odd indeed your Majesty." Arrongar agreed. "Though I've never had the honor of hearing him play, I've been told that he utterly refuses to play in courts during celebrations."
"Yes. I've seen him do the same! Several years ago, there was a noble wedding occurring, and we all requested that he play for the ceremony or the celebration, and he swore that he would, only to be no where to be found on the day of the event! The day after the celebration, which was almost a nightmare of panicked union planners, suddenly he reappears pretending nothing happened at all! When asked why he did not play for the wedding, he said, and I quote, "Oh, my dear man. I DID play for the wedding. I played all day. It's not my responsibility that no one specified the venue at which I play, only that I play for it. It just so happened that there was no nobility around when I played." He had traveled to a nearby village and performed the entire wedding entertainment there!" Aurvan said incredulously.
"But...why?" Zechariah asked, before quickly adding, "Your Majesty." At the end.
"By the Chaos I have no idea. He utterly refused to give a straight explanation, constantly creating different excuses each time he was asked. I have no idea if anything he says truly holds any merit at all!" Aurvan exclaimed. Arrongar felt strange. It was so surreal to be sat in his local tavern, gossiping about one of the most famous people in the world, with the king of an entire nation, as though he were an old friend.
"Anyway," Aurvan began changing the topic, "I'm sure you weren't expecting me to vent my exasperation at Silverkin. Indeed, there is much that I must attend to and be about before the day is over. So, Dawda was it?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Yes your Majesty. I am at your service."
"I see you carry many papers. Ledgers I presume? Let us discuss the details of your stores and come to an agreement on trade."
Thus, the men around the table began to discuss the complicated and, even with a King present, boring matters of trade agreements. However, dull the negotiations might be, Zechariah heeded their conversation, determined to not only learn from the transpiring events, but to also honor Arrongar even if it meant only sitting attentively.
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