by A. Giannetti
It lacked an hour to nightfall when Elerian and Ascilius reached the outskirts of the war camp of the Tarsi. Orianus had already entered well before them with his guard. From the heights, Elerian had seen the great crowd of people that had gathered to great him after he was first sighted on the road above the war camp. The sounds of horns blown in celebration, as well as shouts and cheers, had risen up through the air on the side of the mountain.
When Elerian entered the tent city with Ascilius, he felt his head spin as he attempted to take in the enormity of the shifting crowd. The storm of sounds that washed over him deafened his ears, which were more used to the quiet of solitary places. To his great discomfort, Elerian soon found himself the center of a crowd when people began to notice Ascilius.
Dwarves had become an unfamiliar sight in this land since the coming of the dragon. Assuming that Ascilius had come from Ennodius, many people shouted questions, asking for news of the Dwarf city. Few of them paid much attention to the dark haired, battered stranger who rode next to Ascilius on a gray stallion that appeared thin and insubstantial when compared to their own powerful, handsome steeds.
Before Elerian and Ascilius had progressed very far into the camp, a tall, young Tarsi mounted on a handsome bay rode up to the wagon. Ignoring Elerian, he spoke directly to Ascilius.
“I have come to lead you and your companion to a tent that Orianus had set aside for you. After you have bathed and dressed, you are invited to a feast tonight in honor of those who brought about the victory over the Goblins.”
Ascilius immediately climbed down off the wagon seat with his two bags of winnings and his ax. Like Elerian, he had no other possessions since losing his pack at the Scissura. The guide’s eyes widened with surprise as Elerian swung the Dwarf up behind him onto Enias with an effortless pull of his right arm. He gave Elerian a closer look, as did some of the crowd who had witnessed the surprising display of strength, but there seemed nothing worthy of note about this stranger except, perhaps, his clear gray eyes, which seemed to shine with their own light.
The guide turned his mount and Enias followed after him, the crowd parting before the two horses. They followed a meandering lane between the tents and wagons which filled the valley. As far as Elerian could see, they did not seem to be arranged into any particular pattern, as if their owners had set them wherever their fancy dictated. Here there was a tight cluster of tents, there an open grassy space, and beyond that a scattering of widely spaced tents and wagons. Cook fires sent blue plumes into the air, and the savory smell of food was everywhere as the people of the encampment prepared their evening meal. Children ran between the tents, and the air was filled with the sound of laughter and clear voices. Elerian thought the Tarsi camp was very like a city, but without the permanent buildings.
After many twists and turns, the guide led Elerian and Ascilius to a collection of tents that stood by themselves near the center of the encampment on a little rise of ground. He reined in his horse before a small, sky blue tent that stood a little apart from the others.
“This will be your abode while you remain here,” said the guide. “Inside you will find everything you need. I will return in an hour’s time to guide you to the site of the celebration.”
“Have you a currycomb that I could borrow?” asked Elerian as he and Ascilius dismounted.
“You will find one inside,” said the guide approvingly, for the Tarsi took care of their horses before they attended to their own needs.
Ascilius had already entered the tent, discovering brushes and combs in a wooden bucket by the door. Opening the tent flap, he tossed Elerian a currycomb, which Elerian deftly caught in his right hand. He took time to brush Enias and to examine his trim black hooves for stones, the stallion standing patiently while Elerian worked, enjoying the attention. Soon, as a result of Elerian’s brushing, his sleek gray coat gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Elerian stroked Enias’s neck and then spoke softly to him.
“There is no grass here fit for you to eat, my friend. Go join the herds on the plain and eat your fill.”
The stallion nuzzled his face before turning away. Because of the higher ground he stood on, Elerian was able to watch him pick a path through the camp, toward to the open grasslands that lay to the east. When Enias cleared the last tent, he began to run, mane and tail streaming out behind him. He seemed to float over the ground, and Elerian felt his heart stir with admiration, watching his friend run over the green grass with the speed of the wind itself. A crowd gathered to point and watch, until Enias disappeared into the middle of one of the great herds out on the plain, the other horses parting respectfully before him.
Elerian turned and entered the domed tent, letting the flap fall closed behind him. A mage light hung from the polished, curved poles that supported the ceiling, casting a soft yellow light over the interior of the round tent. Soft rugs of wool, dyed brown or black, covered the ground inside, and two wooden tubs full of steaming water had been set in the middle of the tent. Ascilius was already wallowing happily in one of them. He was vigorously scrubbing off the accumulated grime of the battles they had fought and the trip over the plains.
Elerian threw off his own clothes and stepped eagerly into the other tub. He had forgotten what it was like to soak in hot, soapy water. When they were done, the dried themselves with the soft towels hung on wooden racks near the tubs. Clean clothes were hung there, too.
They dressed in loose white linen shirts, brown linen pants, and short boots of soft brown leather that fit even Ascilius reasonably well. Sleeveless satin doublets for both of them, bright blue for Ascilius, and a rich gray for Elerian, completed their attire. They both used the butter soft leather bands that hung on the racks to tie back their hair. Ascilius brushed out his thick beard so that it fell down past his waist in gleaming, brown waves peppered with gray. Tonight, he looked the part of a king’s son.
“If I had a hood, I would feel a proper Dwarf,” said Ascilius regretfully.
Despite the fact that he now knew that Ascilius was royalty, Elerian found that he was unable to treat his companion any differently than before.
“Even without a hood, you look positively magnificent,” said Elerian with a gleam in his eye, but Ascilius refused to be baited into responding.
“Try to restrain your mad humor tonight,” he said in a serious voice. “We will be sitting with Orianus and those who are of high rank in his realm. It will not do to make a bad impression on our first night in their company.”
“I will be on my best behavior,” promised Elerian, “but I fear already that this will be a dull affair.”
At that moment, their same guide entered the tent, pausing to look them over. Satisfied with what he saw, he said, “It is time to leave for the celebration.”
THE FEAST
“Lead on,” said Ascilius cheerfully to their guide. The hot bath he had just taken and the prospect of a fine meal accompanied by various and plentiful vintages had put him in an excellent mood. He and Elerian followed their guide out of the tent and walked on foot to a huge, dome shaped pavilion that had been set up in an open space in the center of the encampment. The sides had been raised to let in the night breeze, and the interior was lit by the soft yellow glow of mage lights hung from the posts and the ceiling.
Upon entering the pavilion, Elerian saw that polished wooden tables were arranged end to end inside of it, forming a great square. All of the tables were set with silver plates and fine crystal goblets. Glass decanters filled with red and white wines were everywhere, and there were great drinking horns filled with mead. The open space inside the tables was perhaps fifty feet on each side, covered with thick turf clipped to a height of two or three inches. A slight gap between two tables in front of Elerian and Ascilius gave access to this open area.
Seated on folding wooden chairs around the outside of the square formed by the tables was an elegant crowd of Tarsi, both men and women, but none younger than twenty years old. The men were dressed like E
lerian and Ascilius; the women wore long gowns of satin or velvet. The sparkle of the precious jewels they wore was rivaled by the gleam of their eyes, ranging from soft gray to dark blue. The sound of merry voices and laughter already filled the pavilion.
Elerian and Ascilius drew many curious stares as their guide led them to the left around the outside of the tables toward Orianus, who was seated at the far side of the pavilion. Ascilius, perhaps being more used to crowds, was at his ease and waved to those who called his name, but Elerian felt uncomfortable in the midst of so many strangers. The guide seated Ascilius in an empty chair at the king’s right hand. Elerian was seated next to Ascilius. Next to Elerian sat Decius, the king’s second in command. He nodded to Elerian, but said nothing, being occupied with talking to an older woman who sat next to him, on his right. At the king’s left hand sat Dacien. Next to him was a young woman, but Elerian did not look at her closely. He sat in his chair, ill at ease, with his eyes on the table cloth in front of him, acutely conscious of the many fair faces and bright, curious eyes turned in his direction.
“I would rather fight a company of Goblins than be here tonight,” he thought uncomfortably to himself. “This is nothing like market day in Sidonia or dinner at the Black Boar.”
Ascilius felt no such pangs of embarrassment. He turned to Orianus and said boldly, “Our thanks to you for your hospitality old friend. We are honored to sit at your table.”
“It is I who am honored,” said Orianus. “You have restored my son to me and helped to save my kingdom.”
“Elerian must take most of the credit for that,” said Ascilius, cheerfully clapping Elerian on the back with a hand so heavy that Elerian had all he could do to keep his seat.
“Ascilius did as much as I,” protested Elerian when he had recovered.
Orianus laughed and said, “You are both too modest about your exploits. Do you remember my daughter, Anthea?” he suddenly asked Ascilius. There was no trace of anger in the King’s voice, so Elerian supposed that any difficulties between him and his daughter had been resolved.
“She was but a child the last time I saw her,” said Ascilius. “Now I see that she is grown into a beautiful, young maiden.”
Out of the left corner of his eyes, Elerian saw that Ascilius was addressing the young woman seated at Dacien’s left hand.
She spoke to Ascilius now in a clear, playful voice. “I still remember sitting in your lap as a child and pulling your beard.”
Ascilius smiled. “I remember also. You were a high spirited youngster, always prone to mischief.”
“I was sad for many days after I heard that you had died at the hands of the Goblins,” said Anthea quietly. “You were always kind to me and told the most marvelous stories. Was your captivity difficult?”
“It was a hard, bitter time for me,” said Ascilius. “I will not say more than that about it. I would still be a captive even now except for the help of my friend Elerian. We were chained together for many years in the Goblins’ mines before we finally escaped and made our way to your land.”
“Does your friend have a voice?” asked Anthea, sounding amused. “He has not spoken a word or taken his gaze from the table top since he took his seat.”
Stung by the comment, Elerian raised his head and looked to his left, past Orianus and Dacien. Anthea wore a simple gown of gray satin, and like all of the young women that Elerian had seen sitting around the table, was tall and slender, with lustrous, dark hair. Like Orianus, she wore a simple but elegant circlet of twisted silver on her white brow. When he looked her in the eye, Elerian felt his heart lurch, for here was the woman that he had seen in the orb.
“Her eyes are not black after all. The blue was concealed by the night,” was Elerian’s startled thought, for Anthea’s eyes were a dark, rich blue.
Feeling as if Ascilius had struck him on the head with a heavy fist, Elerian sat, unable to speak a word as Anthea gave his face a deliberate, appraising look with her steady blue eyes. There was no trace in her face of the yearning he had seen in the orb, only a lively curiousity.
“Where are you from, Elerian?” she asked. “You look like a Tarsian, although you are not as fair of face as my people are.”
“I lived in Hesperia before I was captured by the Goblins,” said Elerian, flushing slightly at her frank comment about his looks.
“I have met Hesperians on trading expeditions,” said Anthea with a questioning look in her eyes. “You do not look anything like the southerners.”
Elerian was spared the trouble of an explanation by the arrival of a dinner that was abundant and varied. Servers set out great silver bowls filled with stew made from lamb and vegetables as well as whole partridges, venison, beef, and wild boar roasted on a spit and served on great silver platters. There was fresh bread, wine, and cheese, as well as all manner of fresh fruit and sweets.
Elerian took a little of everything, savoring every bite. “It will be a long time,” he thought to himself, “before I forgot the years of privation Ascilius and I suffered at the hands of the Goblins.”
Beside him, Ascilius ate and drank mightily, talking at length with Orianus who, like Elerian, took only a little of each dish. The meal was almost over before Elerian became aware of Merula sitting far to his right, just past the point where two tables met to form a corner. He had passed the Tarsian on his way to his seat but had not recognized him from behind.
Merula dropped his gaze immediately when he noticed Elerian looking his way, as if he wished to hide his thoughts, and Elerian looked away also. He cast a sidelong glance at Anthea and had the disconcerting experience of finding her gaze trained on him, her face thoughtful but unreadable. Elerian looked away at once but was acutely aware that Anthea’s cool blue eyes were still turned in his direction.
“Why is she staring at me?” wondered Elerian uncomfortably to himself. “Perhaps I offended her somehow,” he thought to himself, wishing that he had the courage to talk to her again.
By now, most of the guests had finished eating. The plates were taken away and a sudden excitement swept around the tables. Everyone turned expectant looks toward the gap between the tables that gave access to the turf covered square in the middle of the pavilion. Before long, two young men entered the pavilion and passed through the gap. They wore brown, armored leather shirts, and each carried a sword in his right hand. The swords had rounded points, and the edges were thick and blunted.
“A sporting contest only,” thought Elerian to himself when he saw the swords.
Weapons upraised, the men cautiously approached each other before springing together with a clash of steel. Moving lightly, like dancers, they each sought a weakness in the other’s defenses, now probing with their sword points, then attacking with the blunted edges of their weapons. The ring of steel filled the pavilion, and the swords flashed in the mage lights as the crowd cheered or commented on each stroke. Elerian saw that both men and women were making bets on the outcome of the contest. Beside him, he heard Ascilius make a sizable wager with Orianus.
The men were evenly matched, and the contest lasted for some time before one disarmed the other. As the contestants left the square, the guests at the tables cheered, but Ascilius groaned, for he had bet on the loser.
“You have the advantage of me,” he complained to Orianus. “I have little use or interest in swordplay. If they had carried axes, I could have judged them better.”
“Let us see if experience has made you a sharper judge then,” laughed Orianus. “Bet with me again on the next round.”
At that moment, Elerian saw Merula rise and circle the tables to enter the square. His face was composed and handsome, and he walked with a confident step, a young lord at the height of his powers. He was widely cheered, especially among the younger maidens, but Elerian noticed at once that Anthea did not join in the applause. She sat at her ease, her face composed and her eyes distant and unreadable.
Orianus turned to Ascilius and Elerian saying, “Merula is thought to
be one of the best swordsmen of all the Tarsi. It will be surprising if anyone here rises to challenge him.”
In the center of the grassy square, Merula waited for a moment, his confident eyes sweeping the tables, but as Orianus had predicted, no one rose to contend with him.
“Come now,” shouted Merula in a voice filled with good humor. “Surely, someone will challenge me.” He turned around and stared directly at Elerian with a challenge in his arrogant blue eyes. “Perhaps one of the heroes of the west will cross swords with me?” he said loudly.
The thought immediately flashed through Elerian’s mind that this was what Merula had intended from the moment that he rose from his seat, a contest between the two of them.
“He tries to hide it, but he dislikes me as much as I dislike him,” thought Elerian to himself. Unconsciously, he turned to his left and saw that Anthea was regarding him with a curious look, as if waiting to see how he would react to the challenge.
“Take up an ax and I will gladly go a bout with you Merula,” shouted Ascilius in his deep voice.
Merula smiled and bowed slightly. “Nay, I am no ax man prince of Ennodius, and even if I were, your prowess with that weapon is well known. I have seen your companion wield a sword, however. Perhaps he will challenge me?”
There was an eagerness about Merula now, and Elerian had a sudden premonition that the Tarsi would humiliate or injure him if he could under the guise of a friendly match. He became aware of Ascilius tugging on his left sleeve for his attention, but he ignored the Dwarf. He was not afraid of Merula, and he was intensely aware that Anthea was still watching to see what he would do next.
“I accept your challenge,” Elerian said quietly to Merula. Rising to his feet, he walked with a light step to his right, around the rows of tables, until he reached the opening between them. Ascilius shook his head in disapproval, a frown of displeasure on his face as Elerian walked into the turf-covered square.
