As we entered the feasting area, at the center of it we saw a large and expansive table set with nearly thirty chairs, each garnished with colorful floral arrangements of the likes I had never seen before. Upon the center of the table were platters and platters of fresh fruit, some from the Twin Oaks Province, and others from distant lands. Greeting us were several servants each carrying a platter of goblets full of wine, mead, or ale. Because I had heard my father, on occasion, speak of its many good qualities, I chose the ale.
“Ah, the first to choose the ale,” stated our gracious host, “It is a good brew, but to appreciate it you must take notice of its aroma before you taste it upon your tongue. The sense of smell will add to your experience when drinking. But even before such things as smells and tastes are indulged, one must take notice of it by sight first and foremost. Notice its color and clarity. Only after such is done, should you inhale the full depth of its aroma. This particular style is ripe with floral and fruit reminders, yet no flowers or fruits were added in the brewing process. Then only after understanding the complexities of its gentle effervescence can one take a gentle sip, not to completely appreciate its flavor mind you, but to appreciate how it feels in one’s mouth. Is it crisp and harsh, or soft and velvety? Answer this and you are well on your way to being able to taste what others cannot. I shall not speak while you drink. Nor will I offer my own interpretation, for that is something that belongs to you and you alone,” said Lord Henchat as he too chose the ale.
I followed his instructions and attempted to indulge with as much passion as he did, but I was inadequate at each of the steps. Saving me from the embarrassment forthcoming when my Lord was going to surely ask for my interpretation, we heard several more of our Lord Henchat's guests enter the feasting area. Out of necessity, he asked his leave and walked over to welcome them with a warmhearted hug and handshake.
These first guests began what quickly developed into a steady stream of nobles entering the area, each of whom was greeted in exactly the same manner as their predecessors; with the grace and eloquence of Lord Emordin Henchat, always the host. While the guests were entering, we were directed to mingle amongst them by one of the Lord’s servants; however, spurred on by not knowing anyone, we were reluctant to seek out any company not our own. And then, as if presented at just the right moment, when we could not have appeared more socially awkward in our isolation, we saw the familiar frame of the Lord’s First Counselor, Sintrinos enter to our relief. He wasted no time in walking straight up to us and embraced each of us in a short, but firm hug.
“All five of you did exactly as you were supposed to do. I did think that young Drin Martos here was going to collapse, but then he managed to gain his bearings while staring at the Elf woman,” he concluded with a slight grin and chucked under a forced clearing of his throat. “That is perfectly ok, Son, she possesses a beauty to stop whatever gods there may or may not be. But we are not here for that. We are here to feast upon the graciousness that is our Lord Henchat who has prepared this meal for the sole purpose of showing his deep appreciation for what you are about to do. If you would be so kind as to follow me, there are several people I would introduce you to. This way.”
Sintrinos, ever efficient, wasted no time with our introductions. He first made his way, with us in tow, to a very fit man in his middle ages. He had a scar across his left eye that presented a hard first impression based solely on sight. He stood very erect and purposeful and though his hair was noticeably greying, behind his eyes rested a youthful vigor.
“Lord Captain Coinir, may I present our five Selectees this year? Gentleman,” he referred to us as such, “this is Lord Captain Coinir, High Captain of the Kings Guard and Lord Henchat’s first cousin. Yes, that makes him also the High King’s brother,” stated Sintrinos. Captain Coinir bowed his head respectfully and we all followed suit, albeit a bit more awkward than he.
“Lord Coinir, what make you of the first round of the Martial Tournament? And what of that young boy, Vennesulte Duul? That was indeed unexpected was it not?” Again, it was Sintrinos orchestrating the direction of the conversation.
In a deep voice that almost reverberated within our chests, “I must admit, I did not think the boy stood a chance against Bractos. He is one I would not want to battle. I have been privy to witness the mental and physical training regiments of The Brotherhood, and would not wish to meet one of their monks either. But to expect that skill from a boy" he paused, "was something no-one could have foreseen.”
It was Bartin Mares who spoke up next, “I have heard they spend years and years in training with the sole goal to do a push up on only two fingers. But even so, my Drahino always said that a skilled swordsman reaches a spiritual extension of nature that no other weapon can follow.”
Captain Coinir again spoke with a voice mimicking thunder off in the distance enough to slowly roll toward us instead of striking with fury, “Ah, and is your father Gorin Mares, the Captain of Lord Henchat’s personal guard?”
“Yes, he is my father.”
“Sintrinos, if you would not mind, may I borrow the insights of Bartin? I would like to hear more of his and his Drahino’s spirituality regarding the sword.”
“But of course Captain Coinir. We have other guests to meet,” said Sintrinos with a slight but clearly satisfactory grin upon his face.
The next three introductions proceeded very similarly to this dialog, except they all centered on different topics coincidentally shared as a commonality between one of the selectees and whoever was the object of the First Chancellor’s introduction. One by one, our numbers diminished as we were assimilated into the social graces of the other guests. When I was the only remaining selectee standing next to Sintrinos, I saw him pause while looking around the room. There was a faint annoyance developing upon his face at just the very corners of his mouth and eyes. A moment later, he faced loosened and brightened. He looked to me and motioned that I follow.
The man we approached was large in circumference. He wore robes of elaborate browns fading into golds which then faded into a type of greenish yellow. Around his neck he wore a very thick golden, interlocking chain necklace that hung down to his mid-stomach. His hair was mid length, combed and oiled neatly. He wore 5 rings upon his fingers, each of thick gold. He was garnished by a very thick belt made of green leather and buckled in the front.
When we were within grasping distance, he turned, immediately embracing Sintrinos with a large, welcoming hug, and said, “Sintrinos! My Good Lord! How have you fared these long years? I do not believe I have seen you since we tried to convince that reluctant farmer to allow us to use his lands as the experimental grounds for magically enhanced farming products. It is a pity he did not consent; he would have made a fortune by now. His wealth might even have rivaled mine!”
“Easy Amoos. If you hug me any tighter, you will force me to retire to my chambers to use the privy!” This produced a huge laugh from Amoos and Sintrinos alike. “It is good to see you too Amoos. Have you had a chance to meet young Drin Martos here? I believe the farmer you were referencing is his father, Intari Martos.”
“Why I do believe you are correct Sintrinos! He does have the look does he not? Tell me young Martos, son of Intari, where do you stand on the position of magically enhanced farm products?”
I had never heard my father tell tale of this man, Amoos, before in any of the lessons he had taught me. He did, from time to time, mention how using magic to enhance the growth process for plants and animals alike seemed too unnatural to allow. We had always heard stories of how the use of magic leaves ripples continuing to move within the fibers of the universe which is one of the reasons only a select few people are able to work it. My father would always say how it just did not seem right or fair for people to ingest the magical ripples that must be remaining in the source of food. In truth, we do not know how long the magic persists, nor do we know the long term, or even short term effects of allowing it to gain entrance into part
s of us such as the brain and heart, let along our stomachs.
Based with this limited knowledge, I began to voice my constructed, more to the point remembered, response, “Well Sir, I do not have the knowledge to wield magic, nor do I have the years of research behind it, but I do know this: if sources of food, such as animals, plants, and plant seeds were meant to be enhanced, they would have been this way in the beginning. We have all at least heard of some of the more unnatural things magic can do, why would we want to eat it?”
Amoos was all too ready to respond, “Because my dear boy, if we magically enhance the source, we can guarantee a greater yield of crops. Also, we can guarantee more meat from your animals. Would you not like to see your store houses filled? Would that not mean you and your family would make more money to make it through the harsh winters? Would that also not mean that there would be more food for everyone? But what is more, with being able to sell more of it, would it also not mean you could lower the price of it making it more affordable for everyone ultimately allowing their store houses to be filled to a greater degree?”
Having been duly shown I did not possess the required knowledge to refute any and all of his claims, I might have acquiesced to one of, if not all of his arguments, had it not been for my complete and utter trust in the words of my father. So I repeated them, “I am afraid I lack both the knowledge and skill to properly answer your questions, but what happens beyond today? What happens beyond this season, or the next season? What happens to the soil which has undoubtedly been altered by the magical remnants for years to come? Will it still be able to produce any food at all? And what happens to us? Are we to expect that after years and years of eating magically enhanced food that the build-up of the possible effects of the magical remnants, over that vast amount of time, will have no consequences? Yes, I am sure more money is involved. And I am sure more food may be produced, but at what cost in the long run?”
“Well, well, well, it does appear that the son of Intari did not fall far from his father’s tree at all. Very good points and questions, Young Drin Martos. I am quite sure that if you continue to take this stand and educate yourself in its line of arguing, I may one day find myself pitted against you and not just your father for the favor of the King’s ear!” As he finished he extended his hand with a large smile. I took it and shook it. He patted me on the back the way a teacher would to a student who has just “won” his first debate, albeit, a small and uninformed debate.
Just then, a clear and sharp single bell was rung from somewhere in the preparation area signaling the beginning of the feast with the first course. I was very pleased to hear this as my hunger had grown throughout the day and I was beginning to feel a little fuzzy in my face, no doubt the effects of my ale consumption combined with my empty stomach. All of the guests quickly and politely concluded their current conversations and made their way to the table to find ornately decorated name cards reflecting a predetermined seating arrangement. To my direct right sat Amoos and to my left sat an empty seat belonging to a “Mylanas Inshanduil”.
A quiet din continued for a few short minutes until each and every guest was seated and engaged. I looked to Lord Emordin Henchat and saw he was just finishing up a quick conversation with a very attractive woman seated next to him. From their matching attire, I deduced that she must be his wife, the Lady Tornia. But before I could take in her look, Lord Henchat stood up and raised his ale tankard, “This feast, while made possible by the hands who prepared it, is in honor of those who will support it. To our five Selectees, we raise our glasses and toast to your sacrifice and dedication.” As a single unit, all of the guests stood up, raised their glasses and looked toward Lord Henchat who brought his tankard to his lips signaling that all should join him in his toast.
As soon as everyone had sat down again, a flurry of silent and efficient serving staff began placing a small plate of salad in front of each guest. Amoos looked toward the Lord Henchat who nodded in approval. As he did, Amoos stood up and made an announcement, “The Lord Emordin Henchat, in all of his graciousness and dedication to the growth of the Twin Oaks Province and the Silver Empire itself has allowed me to provide you the sampling of the first magically enhanced feast. All the food you will taste today has been magically enhanced by the Wizards of the Agricultural Development Commission as directed by the High King Himself. Please notice the perfect and unblemished food along with the delectably sweet taste. Also, this meal has been provided at less than half of the cost of food found in the regular markets by the regular farmers. Please enjoy and know this is the move of the future.”
All of the guests looked down at their salads and up again at Amoos with nodding approvals. Once he sat down, thoroughly impressed with himself, another bell rang; this time reflecting a lower and hauntingly desperate sound. At the opposite end of the table, there was a small clearing where none of the serving staff entered. Walking as if floating upon a cloud descendant from heaven itself, she entered with a resounding radiance that spoke of feminine perfection. The Elven woman who had captured all of my attention on two previous occasions now sought a third, though I knew it was not she who was intentionally seeking me, but something that seemed greater, something like fate.
While still gracefully floating her way into my infatuation, she stretched her voice to hit a tone below the bell creating a harmony of doom. The length of this note extended far beyond what I thought a mortal entity was capable of sustaining. As it slowly faded from existence, more bells began to play in a rising and descending slow tempo reflecting the dubious mood the initial note created. As these bells sounded, her voice matched them perfectly, carrying the harmony to a hypnotic level. She did not sing any distinguishable words in any language, yet her message was made clear to us all. We heard resonate a story of a fallen warrior, once brilliant in his stature, now meeting his demise. We heard the aftermath of a gloriously destructive storm when all that was left in its wake was the battered landscape, dismal in its solitary continuance. And we heard the story of a once great Empire tumbling into the distant memories of its inhabitants who were harshly driven from its once magnificent lands by losing the internal struggles of pride and glory.
When the final bell rang, she stood, holding the last note as if the fate of the sun itself rested on her ability to eternally sustain it. And when it ended, it might as well have come crashing down to burn the known and unknown world because none of us would have noticed nor cared if it had. We were raptured. At the conclusion of her hauntingly beautiful song, there was no motion for several beats of our collective hearts. She slowly began walking around to my side of the table, yet no eyes followed her. We were all soaking in the moment of something divinely perfect as an audible miracle. It was not until she was a few paces away that I realized who Mylanas Inshanduil was. And in an instant, I was jolted out of her musically induced trance and brought back to a humbling, anxiety driven existence where the only thing that mattered was not making a complete fool of myself in the eyes of this angel.
As she sat, it was all I could do not to stare at her beautiful form from head to toe. Seeking to maintain some dignity, I forced myself to fully indulge in my salad, taking in huge mouthfuls as a way to distract me from staring and being unable to speak. I heard, but did not fully comprehend her question, “So you are one of the Selectees?”
I did not comprehend it not because of the language she chose to speak, common, but rather, I could not comprehend that she was directly speaking to me. I sat in disbelief and shoved in another mouthful of salad hoping I was hearing my constructed desires manifesting as voices within my anxiety driven mind.
As she gently cleared her voice to gain my attention, confirming my greatest fear and greatest desire, I felt a delicate hand upon my shoulder at the very moment I placed the last heaping portion of food into my mouth. Her gentle and delicate touch evoked a completely involuntary response through the entirety of my body causing my swallowing to come to a resounding halt leaving the
mouthful of salad hanging somewhere between my mouth and stomach resulting in the expulsion of the remainder from a choking induced cough.
“Are you well, my lord?” she asked as her hand remained upon my shoulder but changing in its intent from making me aware of her to steadying my coughing fit.
After I managed to force down the rest of my salad and resolve my current embarrassment by understanding that nothing I said following the expulsion of salad could possibly embarrass me more thoroughly than I already had become, I answered her from a place of calm resignation, “Yes, I am well. Yet in this moment, I am anything but.”
“What do you mean, my Lord?” she asked as her hand remained upon my shoulder. Drawing upon the warmth from her fingers and palm, I felt a slowly growing sense of wholeness. In unison, my utterly horrified embarrassment previously manifested as a whole body sickness and nervous shaking, had tempered itself into a more controlled sickness of just the gut.
Still not looking upon her face, for I was truly not ready to, I let out a long and slow sigh. Sensing my resignation, she further tightened her hand into a steady grasping. Her sweet voice continued, “I do not mean to invade the privacy of your inner thoughts, my Lord, I mean only to further understand you. I do not know if you are aware of this, and perhaps I overstep the timing of such information, but can you not sense within you, even in the smallest portion, what I sense?”
What was this? She, the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon and quite possibly the mortal proof of God, sensed something within me? I had always heard tales from traveling merchants of the mysterious nature of the Elves, reported to be directly connected to several divine entities, giving them the ability to see things others cannot. I had never truly believed in such rumors, yet I could not deny the existence of a deep seeded, barely acknowledged sense that I possessed something that was uniquely me and meant only for me. And the substance that was me was intended only to be held within my body and expressed through my mind. Again I let out a sigh because I could not withhold truth from one such as her. With my head still downcast and my eyes focused upon something beyond the plate still sitting before me, I answered her question, “My Lady, I have never spoken of this, yet I find I cannot hide from you what I am able to hide from even my family. I do not know what you see in me, but I have long felt something that is only me. What that means, I do not know. But it is something I have felt, on and off, for a long while.”
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 20
