She did not look at him and simply said, “I’m sorry, quartermaster. It won’t happen again.” Tears formed in her eyes as she quickly picked up the scrolls and the Parthans’ documents. Her hands shook violently as she handed over the documents to Hephaestion.
He reached out for her arms, holding them for a moment to calm her down. Hephaestion then slid on her arms towards the documents and took them. “Thank you.” When he looked up, his eyes met the quartermaster’s who had a menacing smile on his gluttonous face.
“Scribe, leave us.” The quartermaster violently gestured, and his command was executed immediately. The woman was nowhere to be seen, just some footsteps rushing behind an opened door by the corner.
“Thank you, quartermaster,” Hephaestion said. The quartermaster stopped his departure before he had a chance to nod and leave.
“Call me Flagrum,” The quartermaster said. He stood up and walked towards Hephaestion, looking wearily at the pikemen standing around. “Come, there is something I would like to show you.”
Hephaestion nodded and allowed himself to be led by Flagrum deeper into the structure. He gestured to the others to remain in the hall.
After some time, enough for Rein to grow impatient and start fidgeting around, Hephaestion appeared alongside Flagrum. The quartermaster had his right arm around Hephaestion’s shoulder, an awkward posture for the shorter man, and they both shared a laugh.
“My friend,” Flagrum said, “I’m glad that the path of Rayogin was finally revealed to you. We’ll share many drinks, you and I. I have no doubt about it.”
“Certainly, Flagrum. I will not pass on such opportunity. You know where we are staying and you will most certainly know until when we will be staying there.” Hephaestion winked at the quartermaster and patted him on the back.
“Rayogin be with you,” the quartermaster said.
“Rayogin be with you.” Hephaestion and the other Parthans headed back to their inn, The Devout Servant.
4
“End the world?” Ganis said. The Parthans were back in The Devout Servant. They took a table by the corner of the tavern below, in the shadows and far enough from the patrons to have the loud music mask their speech, yet it did not deter the Scylds from eyeing Glowleaf wearily.
“End the world we know,” Hephaestion corrected. “Flagrum said that the Scylds were preparing for a war that would end the world, the final war.” He reached out for the fresh mug of ale brought a few moments ago by one of the tavern maids. “But it seems to me that they want to bring the entirety of Utyirth under their reign.” He took a sip from the ale, tasting it before drinking any more. It was satisfactory and he continued taking larger sips throughout the conversation.
“It is not uncommon for a religious group to have such goals,” Rein said, in a voice louder than prudent. He looked around before leaning in closer and said, with a lower voice, “Many religions in Nosgard say of an event that would end the world. None ever came to be.”
“But on many occasions rulership changed,” Hephaestion added.
“Yes,” Rein said. He then paused for a moment and corrected his accent, “Aye, it’s but a reference to a great change in the way the world works. You’re right, captain.” He leaned back and took his mug with him, yet did nothing other than hold it.
A few loud patrons passed by, and the Parthans all remained silent, sipping their ales and pretending to watch the bards and jugglers.
When the patrons passed, Hephaestion continued, “The Book of Rayogin, their religious text, tells many tales of the past and future. The particular passage that Flagrum showed me in his study was about a great war that will rid the world of heathens.” He took a gulp of his ale after brushing his brown hair back, clearing his face from a strand that obstructed his vision.
“Flagrum,” Hephaestion continued, “is not a particularly strong believer. He thinks that the only thing that the Book of Rayogin foretells is the intention of the Scylds to march on the Southern Dwellers. For him it is an opportunity for riches, selling information and smuggling Southern Dwellers into Scyldur.”
“And what of the believers?” Rein asked. “What do they think of it?”
“They believe that this war will usher a new era of righteousness and benevolence, an era where Rayogin can descend and devour us all.” He paused for a moment, imagining the sight. “It is supposed to be the only way to attain salvation and reach the highest level of Gehenna.”
“What of the woman?” Percival asked. Since their arrival at The Devout Servant, most of his attention has been directed at the waitresses. Ganis often overheard him speak to Sigurd – a fairly one-sided conversation – about how attracted he was to faithful women who tended to shy away from men. He often said that the challenge exhilarated him.
“Which woman?”
“The scribe,” Percival said. “The one Flagrum kicked when she dropped the papers.” His eyes wandered towards one of the waitresses serving a table of five men. She was slender and fairly attractive, but he was more interested in her corset-enhanced breasts. “I saw him winking at you when you touched her.”
“I supposed there is a story there, too.”
Percival held his empty mug high once he noticed the waitress he was interested in make eye contact. She nodded and rushed towards the bar to return the empty mugs and plates she had collected from the many tables she waited.
“Indulge us,” Percival said, dropping his hand and resting the mug on the table with a loud thump.
“He offered her to me, and I accepted.”
“You accepted!” Rein retorted. He was not content with the gesture and did little to hide it. It was an opportunity for him to lash out and release some of the anger bottled within him - and such opportunities Rein learnt to take advantage of during his transformation.
“It would not be entirely prudent for us to have a Scyld amongst us,” Hephaestion said, “especially with such discussions, but I could not simply let her suffer at Flagrum’s office. It would at least give her some time away from him.” He looked at Rein. “So, I did not accept her for the reasons you thought I did.”
Rein eased back into his seat.
The waitress arrived with a flagon of ale, replenishing whatever mugs she deemed too empty. Percival raised his mug to her and said, looking her straight in the eyes, “She’s a pretty one.”
The waitress blushed, but did no effort in rushing her task, especially when filling Percival’s mug.
“Indeed she is, Percival. Yet again, I would have done it regardless of how pretty she was,” Hephaestion said.
When her task was completed, the waitress brushed against Percival’s shoulder as she returned the flagon back to the bar and resumed her tending to the other patrons. Percival and she would exchange glances every once in a while.
“And our duties?” Sigurd asked. The other Parthans were taken aback by his involvement, pausing for a moment, looking at the bald Turian in shock, before they resumed their act.
“The only mention of our duties was that they will be decided and determined for us, on the most part. But I suspect that with the arrangement we have, it will not be entirely unreasonable that we will have some say in our assignments.”
Sigurd hummed and emptied his refilled mug in one large gulp, smashing the empty mug on the table when finished. It was still intact, but Ganis heard a clear cracking of wood by the gesture.
“For now,” Hephaestion said, “we have enough oboi to last us a moon or two.” He looked at Drain, “As long as some of us remain reasonable with their expenses.”
5
Over the next few days each Parthan was summoned to the quartermaster’s office. Flagrum presented them with a set of questions about their skills and abilities, to assess what they could do to contribute to the Scyld effort, and when the investigation was concluded they were all presented with possible assignments, an unusual offer that was only made possible by Hephaestion’s relationship with Flagrum.
At the ta
vern below The Devout Servant, the Parthans met again. They had become frequent enough visitors, and fairly well paying ones, that the corner table was almost always prepared for them, except when the tavern was overflowing with patrons, a rare occasion.
Percival had gotten to know the waitress fairly well, her name was Sua and she frequented Percival’s room often enough to start a rumor among the patrons and other waitresses. She had become entirely smitten by him, it seemed to Ganis, as he by her.
“I think she is the one,” Percival said, eyeing Sua as she danced around the tables, serving the other patrons gracefully, glancing at Percival whenever she got the chance. When her eyes and his would meet, she would giggle and sometimes wink.
Drain sat next to him, waiting for the others to arrive, drinking his ale with little appetite. “I heard you say this many times, brother, and yet you never settled.”
“But she is different. I can actually talk to her.” He looked away from Sua and towards Drain. “You’re jealous.” He chuckled. “You’re jealous because you’re restrained.” He leaned towards Drain and whispered, “Tell me, sister, do you find women attractive now…with your condition?”
Drain paused for a moment, glancing at Sua, and said, “We’re in the middle of a city with thousands of people who wouldn’t hesitate about killing us if they knew who we were and had the chance.” He shook his head sideways, making his braided red hair brush against a candle behind him and causing Percival to gasp at the calamity that could have happened. “It’s not the time for such things.”
Percival slowly reached out to Drain and pulled him away from the candle, not explaining the purpose behind the gesture or getting any resistance from his now-brother. “It’s always the time for such things.” He noticed Hephaestion and the others entering the tavern and said, “Ah, they have finally arrived.”
The twins stood up and sat in the corner, giving them a full view of the bar while allowing them to still face their companions. It was a habit of theirs, not having their backs facing anything but a wall, but in reality their interest was more about watching others rather than safety.
”Did you know that most religious Scylds do not venture taverns?” Monolos said, with a voice far too loud for Hephaestion’s liking; as his grimace suggested.
“Did you know that you’re as loud as your beasts?” Percival said, chuckling. He looked at Sua and gestured for a round of ale. She immediately rushed to fulfill the order.
Monolos sat next to Percival, before anyone else took a place by the table, and stared at the wooden roof. His curly black hair had grown enough to rest on his shoulders, making him look more like the wild beasts he often surrounded himself with than the man Ganis remembered him to be.
By the time all Parthans were seated, Sua came with seven additional mugs and two large flagons of ale. It was a heavy order, yet she made it look like she was carrying air. “Percy,” she said, “I hope you and your friends will not mind the new ale.”
“As long as it comes from you, I won’t mind it,” Percival said.
Sua blushed and the two shared a wide smile.
“Just remember,” Drain said, “she doesn’t know who you really are. If she did, I suspect her passion would quickly turn to hatred.”
“Sua isn’t like that. She really does love me.” Percival maintained his ridiculous smile.
“You are a fool, Percival,” Sigurd said.
Speech stopped on the Parthan table and so did Percival’s motion of sipping at his ale – he held it half-way to his lips as his eyes fell dumb on Sigurd.
“You’re in a chatty mood,” Percival said before taking his delayed sip.
“It helps me gain the trust of others.” He raised his mug slowly, an unusual gesture for the Turian, and took a sip, which still emptied half of the mug, but it was still a sip by his standards.
“Has anyone given their final word about their assignment?” Hephaestion asked. He produced his pipe from within a pouch in his belt and started preparing it.
“I have,” Sigurd said.
Hephaestion paused for a moment, carefully picking up a calculated dose of herbs for his pipe, expecting a continuation which never came. “And what assignment would that be, Sigurd?”
“The local guard within Scyldur Keep.”
Hephaestion filled the pipe and pressed the herbs perfectly to match his taste. “Has anyone been offered a position beyond the walls?”
“I have,” Ganis said, “but I have no intention of taking it. I believe it would be best if we stay within Scyldur at first.”
“I agree. We need to integrate more.” He lit his pipe and puffed on it thrice. The smoke arose and slowly started filling the room with the aromatic smell of Ninazu’s mix.
“Percival and I,” Drain said, “were offered to be law enforcers or wall guards.”
“Chose the first,” Hephaestion said. “It will be a good opportunity to know more about Scyldur and the Scylds.”
The twins nodded.
“Flagrum seemed inclined to have me as his personal guard,” Ninazu said. He played with his ale, twisting his finger in it and watching the bubbles form. “I’ll take it.”
“Good choice,” Hephaestion said. He inhaled from his pipe and blew the smoke in a single stream above him. “What about you, Monolos?”
“Wall guard. Nothing else.”
“Wall guard and gate guard,” Rein said. “Thalus and I have been given the same choice.”
“And I was offered to supervise new recruits.” He took a sip of ale between puffs of his pipe. “Flagrum wants me to try and find others who would be willing to join his band of information brokers.”
“How did you get him to trust you so much?” Ganis asked.
“In a land like Utyirth it is rare to find a group as well equipped as us.” He patted his red armor on the chest and said, “It usually takes a corrupt man willing to do that which honest men are not to fare as well as us. Flagrum judges us to be among these corrupt men. He will only trust me if I prove to have the same loose principles as his.”
“Then the scribe woman was a test?” Rein asked. During his short stay in Scyldur Rein had started to consume nearly as much ale as Percival, an unprecedented behavior by any other Parthan save for, occasionally, Sigurd. He demonstrated it by finishing two mugs during the brief conversation, earning him some glances from Percival.
Hephaestion nodded. “He will be testing us quite a bit - myself more than you – and it is necessary that we behave as he expects us to. Keep that in mind whenever you are offered anything from Flagrum, and do not hesitate.” He eyed them intently. “Do not hesitate.”
6
“We call it the Monastery,” said Flagrum. He offered the Parthans an opportunity to show them around Scyldur, but only Ganis and Hephaestion had the time, and will, to do so.
The three stood by the entrance of the large building the Parthans had come across during their previous visit to Scyldur. It was an artistic building which brought many painful memories back to Ganis, memories she had grown accustomed to.
Nothing changed about the Monastery, not the iron-reinforced gates, or the stained glass of a dragon spreading its wings above a city.
“The dragon represents Rayogin, and the city was once Scyldur,” Flagrum said, “but some believe it’s supposed to refer to the afterworld.” He scratched his belly, leaving marks on his grey clothes where his nails met the fabric. His necklaces rang as the violent motion made them clash.
Loud bells rang five times, the same that preceded Ganis’ capture, and the Scylds stopped whatever action they were engaged in and headed into the Monastery. Ganis winced at the sight and suddenly felt an urge to leave the area, but she resisted. Things were different now.
“Come,” Flagrum said, “into the Monastery we go.”
“Will it be a problem if we do not know what to do or say during this sermon?” Hephaestion hesitantly asked.
“Just stay by my side and follow my lead.” Flagrum cautio
usly looked once to his right, and again to his left, and whispered, “These ceremonies become rather tedious, but in time you’ll know what to do or say. No one ever pays attention to anyone else, unless they themselves care little for this nonsense. Either way, you’ve nothing to fear. We must enter now.” He led the two Parthans into the Monastery.
It was a marvel to walk into. Daylight entered the Monastery through the stained glass and left a large image of the depiction, with many shades of red, yellow, blue and other beautiful colors, decorating the interior, walls and furniture alike.
All the walls had a long strip of wooden benches pushed against them, mostly seated by the elderly, and the able crowd stood in a central clearance, facing a podium with a small group of white-robed priests standing on it in a single lumped group.
Led by Flagrum, the three made way to the front of the podium, a gesture to show their devotion – even thought it was false. Whenever Flagrum would gesture, Hephaestion and Ganis would mimic it; when he raised his hands; knelt on one knee; or looked down and covered his face with both palms.
It was a short-lasting ritual filled with many gestures and the reciting of verses in a foreign language to the Parthans, and seemingly to the audience who simply mumbled to themselves whenever a priest spoke.
As they stood after the ceremony and prepared to return to the inn, Flagrum stopped Hephaestion and offered him a leather-covered book. “Your own copy of the Book of Rayogin. A gift.” He handed over the book to Hephaestion.
Hephaestion opened the book and observed its contents. “I cannot read this.”
“Only priests can. But we common-folk are encouraged to study the letters regardless.” Flagrum nodded at the two and left, vanishing in a crowd of Scylds.
Silently, the two Parthans made their way back to The Devout Servant.
While on the way, Eos projected to Ganis, There is much similarity between the way of Rayogin and my former self’s way. The more I see the Scyld society, the more these similarities become clear.
Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Page 25
