by Luke, Monica
“Dare he refuse his name?” he chastised hearing Loth, “Given to you as you came out of your mother’s womb.”
“I know of no other,” his retort, “Than that of Laad.”
“Have you come for the truth?” he asked, as he now sat, “Or shall you go on living the lie you have lived for twenty four summers until your death?”
Laad looked at him befuddled, and slightly irritated.
“I honor your age,” he voiced, “And from that I will guard my words. I have journeyed far to hear them and have no time for riddles.”
“You came to me,” his lofty reply, “Not I to you.”
Laad couldn’t counter his truth and irritated or not wisely knew to hold his tongue and just answer the questions asked without antagonism.
“When you were born, I marked you,” he told him, “If the marks are not upon you; then you are not Ronegavlaad.”
“What such marks?”
“First,” he said cautiously, “Show me the ring.”
Laad gave him the other ring Irek wore that was now his, and after he looked at it closely, again he spoke. “Remove all your clothes.”
Laad’s expression showed his skepticism, and he looked around the room uncertain how he felt about his request.
“What reason is there for it?” he had to ask.
“For the truth …”
Hesitantly, Laad complied and removed his tunic.
“My words were to remove all,” Apalgohor demanded.
Still hesitant, but left with no choice, Laad complied and removed his boots and pants before he crossed his arms.
As he stood there, he shook his head in disbelief that he was now in the middle of a strange tent, with others around him staring at him completely naked.
“Out of the womb I marked your body such that one day should you appear before me, I would know you.”
Laad’s chest suddenly heaved. He knew his body had marks that no one ever explained how he got, making him listened intently.
“The right side of your body is marked,” he told him, as he boldly walked to him to look at them, “You have a burn on your hip, one under your right arm, and on your right foot.”
As he examined Laad to see if he had them, pleased he did, he again went back to sit.
“The box,” he then requested.
After Laad again dressed, he took the box to Apalgohor.
“Break it,” he ordered without touching it.
Obeying, Laad smashed it under the heel of his boot making it splinter, and when it did, something shiny appeared.
“What is that?’ Loth questioned, as he tried to lean in and look at it.
Curiously, Laad picked up the shiny object and his jaw dropped. It was the crest of Worrlgen like that of what King Rone, Lord Baric, and Lord Bayl wore around their necks, but only one half.
“Give it to me,” Apalgohor ordered.
Laad did as asked and gave the halved crest to him, who when he did put it with the half he had in his hand.
“Stolen and divided,” his words as he joined the sides, “One half with Irek, the other with me to one day be a whole again with its rightful heir.”
Beside himself with confusion, that suddenly his life could change for the better or the worse deepening on how he handled it, Laad’s head spun.
“How did it come to be that my life is as it is?” Laad asked, as his angst built more within him, “I was happy and asked for no more. Why reveal this to me now to change it all?”
“You are who are you,” Apalgohor only offered.
“And who am I?”
“The brother of the king.”
Loth made a low gasp, always certain his friend was destined to rule.
“Speak all to me of this truth I came to you to hear,” Laad’s interest now peaked, “I have only known Boek as my father, as was his claim to be.”
“He was your father because he cared for you and loved you,” he told him, “Yet, you are not of his seed.”
“And my mother...” Laad spoke almost afraid to hear more.
“Young and beautiful,” Apalgohor said, “Sent to King Kael to warm him as he shivered most nights, but one of those nights and only once he lay with her, and from it his seed took hold. The king died not long afterward.”
While Laad listened, he looked away, as his mind ran with thoughts.
“Queen Nohla, one consumed with place and power was who when she found out the old king still had fertile seed within him, with another’s help, since King Rone was away many seasons fighting a battle, took it upon herself to have you killed as you came into this world.
She knew the Law of Worrlgen was that when a king dies the brother and not the son inherits the throne if he is living. A law put into place long ago by King Helkar, who loved his brother and despised even the sight of his own son. A bastard child you would be, but the king’s pure blood would still be running through you.
She had already bore a male heir, Lord Baric and carried another child in her womb believed to be a male. Knowing the king was ill to near dying, she waited quietly longing to be queen and have her son be a king, and you Ronegavlaad, stood in the way of that.
Boek, Irek, along with me and your mother lied claiming the child in her womb died when born, but in truth we marked and switched you with a dead male child deceiving Queen Nohla.”
“Why were you a part of this?”
Apalgohor sighed.
For what seemed longer that it should have been he went into private thoughts of his own, and only after Laad made a grumble sound, did he continue speaking.
“I was not only a healer to the old king. I was a friend to Irek, and as I just revealed, am who pulled you from your mother’s womb. When the old king died, an uprising brought about what we later called the dark season. It failed of course, but Irek chose to remain at Worrlgen. I did not,” was all Apalgohor would offer.
Now shaken, Laad looked stupefied as thoughts of his childhood ran through his mind. He thought of how they lived away from WorrlgenHall in a cottage far out in the glens, and that it was only later in his childhood that they returned to live within it.
“I have no words good or bad,” Laad could only utter, “I fear to reason why this is made known to me now.”
“Only that you know what the truth is,” he told him, “I fulfilled my promise to Irek that should you come to me, I would reveal it as I gave you the other half of the crest - your crest.”
As he spoke, he stood and walked to Laad.
“Take the crest,” he said, and gave both halves to him. “One day wear it around your neck as is your fate, or hid it from all, all the days you breathe.”
Laad took the two pieces, and looked to Loth.
“Let us leave with haste,” he said, as he walked away still not sure what to believe, “That we are not missed and questioned.”
“Ronegavlaad,” Apalgohor called to him when walked away, “Does Orhan the king’s healer still live?”
“He lives, yet is ailing and held to his bed.”
“And Orem?”
“He is dead.”
Apalgohor’s chin raised, and his face tightened contemptuously, yet his eyes showed a hint of gloating. “Some things buried and believed hidden will rise to the top of even the deepest places by no will of its own.”
Laad looked at him. His suggestive words not understood, he didn’t respond to find out what they meant, and again walked away.
Both hurried back to their horses and Loth, knowing Laad seemed troubled held his tongue until they reached them.
“Laad,” he said, as he put his hand on Laad’s shoulder, “Dare you trust me with this and I not reach out to you. A brother you are to me that I love and I will hold true my silence of all made known to me this night.”
“A brother you are to me that I love as well,” he said, as he slumped and leaned against his horse. He tried to be strong, but Apalgohor’s words of his father Boek saddened him.
“Let us tarry as
long as needed,” Loth told him, “And tell all we scouted the lands.”
“We must get back.” Laad knew, but gave an appreciative nod, “Our wives, I reason will worry if away to long.”
Before he got on his horse Laad took his knife cut the bark from the tree he tied his horse to; then marked it with words only he and Loth would know; before he dug a deep hole next it and buried both pieces of the crest, his crest, of Worrlgen in the earth.
“Blood of Blood,” Loth read aloud when he looked at the inscription in the bark; then looked at Laad.
Laad nodded.
“Dare only we know?” He resolved, as he cut his hand and held it for Loth to take.
Loth nodded.
“Dare only we know?” he repeated, and cut his hand with his own knife, then gripped Laad’s hand.
After both mounted their horses, Loth looked to Laad, who still lost in thought was quiet, and decided to cheer him.
“I must confess I am deeply troubled.” Loth’s tone serious, as he looked ahead and rode.
“Speak it,” Laad said, ready to hear.
Loth sighed loudly, and shook his head dramatically playfully disgusted.
“You naked,” he teased, “Is a sight I hope to live long without seeing again.”
“Shall I fear you longing for me now?” he jestingly asked.
At once, Loth burst in laughter and laughed so hard he doubled over and his stomach ached, and as he watched him, Laad burst into laughter too.
“Come,” he said, his heart lifted, “Let us leave this place.”
**
That morning, already aware he had to rise long before dawn Ogorec let Ovfren sleep longer while he dressed; then when it was time for him to leave, after he sheathed both his swords and tucked his knife into his belt, he woke him.
Standing over him about to touch his shoulder, he paused to look at his peaceful face before he kneeled on one knee.
“Ovfren,” Ogorec gently whispered, as he touched him, “Wake.”
Groggily, Ovfren stretched and looked at Ogorec as he kneeled next to the bed. His face right over his face; he looked right into his eyes.
“Such dark eyes,” Ovfren whispered drawn into them, “Such fierce dark eyes.”
Moving closer to his face, Ogorec kissed his lips tenderly.
“I must leave,” he whispered, as he felt misery suddenly rise within him.
“Such that I dread.” Ovfren groaned.
Again, a tender kiss upon his lips, Ogorec put his forehead to Ovfren’s head.
“I did not really breathe?” Ogorec’s lovingly words, “Until you...”
Ogorec stood and smiled; then turned to leave, and as he did Ovfren spoke too.
“Your love will be waiting,” he assured him, as he rose slightly.
Ogorec smiled, and gave Ovfren a long glance before he opened the door and closed it behind him; then once in the hallway, he paused by it fighting not to go back inside.
Inhaling deeply, he strengthened his will to walk away from the door, but unknown to him, Ovfren was just behind it longing to follow him.
As he made his way down the hallway, he resolved within himself not to show how miserable he was, but while he waited for the men load the wagons with grain, his thoughts wandering repeatedly back to how Ovfren looked as he slept just before he woke him; gloom graced his face.
“Such a gloomy face you have.” Baric immediately noticed when he passed Ogorec at the granary, as all prepared to leave.
“My night was a restless one.” Ogorec only offered, but Baric looked at him and grinned wide.
“Indeed,” he only said. Knowing what brought about his restlessness, “Such as mine.”
As they rode out, again, Baric looked over to Ogorec when he yawned.
“You yawn from your restless night,” he teased him.
Under Baric for many seasons, Ogorec was used to his playful taunts and ignored him, but he was in a playful mood and kept at him.
“Long has it been since we spoke free with our words,” he said, as they rode alongside the other, “What brought about your restless night?
Ogorec looked over to him, and then back at the trail ahead.
“I wager it readying myself for the long journey,” he lied.
Baric laughed aloud.
“Oooh, Ogorec,” he said, as he slowed his horse for the other men who were alongside them to let them get farther ahead, “Your gloomy face always gives you away. It is for the one you have left.”
Saying nothing Ogorec yawned, which spurred Baric on even more.
“First gloom, and now a yawn,” he teased, “Gloom for being away and the yawn for the restless night.”
Ogorec looked to the sky.
“A rain may be coming,” he casually spoke hoping to change the topic.
As Baric looked up too, not a cloud in the sky, he looked back to Ogorec.
“You should train him such that he becomes a high guild,” he hinted, “From it, if not with you at night, he can be near you when scouting and riding the lands as well.”
Ogorec looked ahead, and remembered his vow to Ovfren not deny his love for him, even to a lord.
“How long?” he questioned.
“When he lay shot by the arrow,” Baric’s reply, which revealed he had actually known for quite a while. “Your eyes when you looked at him betrayed you.”
Quietly, both rode as Ogorec’s head spun with thoughts of others knowing, then of his love for Ovfren, and Baric knowing what he revealed probably caught him off guard, decided not to pursue the topic further, until he did.
“If my eyes betrayed me, they made known that I am in love with him,” he finally revealed after they got farther down the road.
Surprised, he made such a clear declaration of his love for Ovfren. The expression on his own void of judgment, Baric looked over at him.
“Come,” Baric merely said, spurring his horse to speed up, “Let us ride such that we not tarry on this journey this time so that you may return to what brought your restless night and me to mine.”
**
After sleeping awhile longer, when Ovfren rose he remembered Aron ordered him and a few low guilds to ride to check two water wells far away, and since he would be gone most of the day, he went to the men’s hall to get something to eat and take the rest with him.
When he walked in, he sat and waited for one of the women to bring him something to eat, but while he waited, Egar, who now despised him ever since he couldn’t move him out of the circle, walked over and sat in front of him with his food, along with two other guilds.
“You are out of place,” he hatefully said.
Refusing to reply, once one of the women brought Ovfren something to eat, after he began to eat, again Egar spoke.
“Did I not speak loud enough to reach your ears?” he asked, “You are out of place.”
Still Ovfren held his tongue, and refused to look at him, but because he wouldn’t, that annoyed Egar even more, and he boldly took Ovfren’s bowl.
“This is a men’s hall,” he said, now intentionally set on provoking him as much as possible, and turned his bowl over, “Woman are not allowed in this hall, unless you plan to serve us.”
Now angered by his insult, Ovfren’s jaws briefly tightened before he stood; then suddenly without any warning, he reached over the table and grabbed Egan by the crown of his head.
“If women are not allowed.” He gritted, as he banged his head down on the heavy wooden table, “Why are you here?”
As Egar tried to raise his head, Ovfren banged it again, but this time when he did, banged it into the bowl Egar took.
“Dare you believe you are one able to taunt me? Ovfren blared as enraged, he banged his head again, “Speak to me again like that and your skull will lay open on this table by my hand, instead of only bleeding on it!”
After he spoke, he released his hold, stood, and walked out of the room, but as he did the two who were with Egar rose to follow him.
; Watching it all, Belon who had walked Moura to the men’s hall after his night with her had waited by the door, instead of going in when he heard Egar speak, and as he listened, waited to see if Ovfren would cower.
Impressed that he didn’t, when he saw Ovfren hurry towards the door, he quickly hid; then when the two with Egar approached the door, he moved in front of it, and put his long muscled leg across it blocking it.
“You block the doorway,” one said, “Move out of the way.”
“Where are you going with such haste?” Belon asked, his leg still blocking it,
“This is between us,” one said, already knowing who Belon was; “And no worry of yours.”
“Such is true,” Belon said; but questioned, “Yet why should two follow one?”
Impatiently, one forcefully decided to move Belon’s leg out of the way, but as he reached for it, Belon tightly grabbed his wrist; then put his other hand under his elbow locking his arm straight in a hold before he moved his own body to block the doorway completely instead of with just his leg.
“Careful,” Belon warned sarcastically; then asked, “Shall I break your sword arm, and have you be of no use as a guild. Somehow, I question if you are skilled enough to use the other.”
“No.” The man painfully groaned.
“Then, what shall I do?” he asked, as he locked his elbow even tighter causing him more pain while his eyes never left the other one with him.
“Release it,” he said, as his face distorted from the pain.
Bored with his taunting, Belon decided to comply and release his arm, but not without making certain all three took him seriously.
Quickly, after moving his hand from the guild’s elbow, he shoved his palm under the man’s shoulder dislocating the socket, and as he cried out, Belon made a simple threat.
“Take your friend, and tend to him,” he told the other guild when he released his arm, “Or I shall tend to you.”
As the young man, grabbed his friend under his arm to take him away, Belon warned them.
“Be grateful, I did not break it,” he told them, “But heed my words, and let the bleeding one at the table know also, that should I see as much as a scratch on the guild that walked out, I will break an arm on all three of you so you will have to feed each other when you eat.”
