Spoils of War - Chapter 9
Here is the next installment of this one. Ride gets a bit bumpy again...
Chapter 9 - The Last Straw
Inzilanî stuck the needle into the fabric and once more thrust the sharp point into her finger. She muttered a word that the urkan used to say when he was particularly upset, and then blushed. Malheril smiled indulgently and put her own beautiful embroidery down to patiently adjust Inzilanî's hands one more time. Inzilanî couldn't imagine herself doing the fine work that her mistress seemed to create so effortlessly, but she kept at it because this seemed to be one of the few tasks her mistress would genuinely allow her to do now.
But her flowers were lop-sided and looked nothing like the example that the lady had stitched into her square of material. No matter how hard she tried, Inzilanî just couldn't get the petals all the same length, or keep them the same width. And her knots… Malheril had turned over her work once to tie off one thread before starting with a new one, and the underside of her work looked almost as neat and beautiful as the topside. Inzilanî had turned her work over and looked with disgust at the extra threads that had looped where she didn't want them.
This was just another example of what a poor slave she was: she couldn't even learn to use a needle and thread properly! But Malheril didn't punish her for failing to produce something even half-ways of the same quality; no, the mistress would nod encouragingly and then demonstrate a particular stitch once more, working very slowly so Inzilanî could watch again. Her mistress' patience was something Inzilanî had never experienced before, and it confused her. She kept waiting for a blow that never came, and it made her nervous.
She gave a sideways glance through the door of her bedchamber to the little window that looked out over a meadow far below, and noted that the daylight was waning. Immediately she looked over to the apartment door; Borongil would be coming back soon, and this gentle torture would be over for another day. Then she would be allowed to help set out the plates on the table, and move the bowls of fruit and the loaf of bread from the sideboard, where the other slaves had left them. She would then fill the three cups with fresh water from the pitcher - another thing the other slaves would bring - and set them out.
Inzilanî saw her mistress' head rise just before she heard the latch on the apartment door rise, and she tucked her needle into her work for the next day and was on her feet immediately. "Aduial vae," she greeted her owner the moment his face appeared in the doorway.
"Good evening to you, Inzilanî," Borongil replied in slow nimîr words with a smile for both her and for the mistress. Inzilanî made quick tracks to the sideboard to begin her evening duties while her owners greeted each other. But his voice called her back with an excited "Wait!"
She turned to see Malheril literally dancing on her toes, and Inzilanî slowly came back to the parlor. She folded her hands in front of her, but refrained from going to her knees to wait patiently for what was coming next. They didn't like her to kneel to them at all for some reason.
Borongil was obviously sorting through the words that he knew she understood. "We eat tonight at another place, with all."
Inzilanî was astonished, but she did her best to show little of her surprise. "Na."
"Come! A new dress tonite!" Malheril put out her hand in obvious excitement.
It was hard to suppress her surprise at the announcement; Inzilanî was certain that the gown she was wearing was the only one she owned. Still, the mistress was waiting, and so she put her hand out obediently to be pulled into her little chamber. Malheril wagged her finger in the old sign for her to stay, and then also tugged on her gown and ordered, "Off!" before darting back out of the open door.
Inzilanî shook her head, but set about doing as she'd been told. She carefully folded her gown the way she'd been shown, and placed it in the same place she left it every evening when she put on the sleeping gown. Not exactly certain what to do next, she sat down on the edge of her bed and folded her hands. The mistress would come back for her and tell her what to do. She hoped she would, anyway.
When the lady came back, however, Inzilanî was so shocked that she couldn't help staring. She had never seen anyone wear such a wonderful gown in all her life. Crafted of material that moved with Malheril's slightest movement or the least whisper of air, and in a delicate green that was almost white, the gown accentuated the dark hair and slender beauty of the nimir woman. And over her arm was material that looked very similar, only this time in palest blue, with thin slippers to match.
Inzilanî put up her hands when directed and otherwise didn't dare touch the beautiful material that was now covering her from shoulders to feet for fear that her work-roughened hands would somehow catch the material and mar it. Obediently she stepped into the slippers to find them a perfect fit. Malheril gave a final tug on the laces and then moved to stand in front of her. "Very pretty," was her comment, brushing Inzilanî's hair back over her shoulder and then catching at her hand. "Come with me."
Totally bemused, Inzilanî was dragged from her chamber and into the one that her owners shared. Near a tall, carved chest, Borongil was shrugging into a different kind of garment, and when he turned to smile at both her and his mate, Inzilanî's mouth dropped open in undisguised shock. This was not the look of a simple nimir warrior, surely! The deep green robe, with its lighter ties artistically arranged in front of the wide sash, looked rich. Borongil's silver hair had its usual small braids at the sides, but now they were fixed with small golden beads, and there was a very narrow but woven strip of gold that circled his head. Was her owner a king, and if so, who was Pharazôn?
But Inzilanî wasn't given much opportunity to stare at her keeper; Malheril had her sitting down before a low chest that had, hanging on the wall behind it, a mirror. Once more Inzilanî had to stop and stare, this time at the woman-child in the reflection. Was that her? Yes, the curve of the brows, the cant of the black eyes, the color of skin - so much darker than the pale and glowing nimîr - were hers, but the girl in the reflection was actually pretty! Inzilanî almost flinched at the idea that a monster could look so fair.
The lady wielded the comb with skill, and then in but a few moments more had created small braids back from Inzilanî's temple that, when caught together in back, were a simple, elegant look. But Inzilanî sighed silently to herself when her mistress leaned over and fished a small, silver bead from a box on the low chest and used it to finish the braid.
Borongil's smile was wide when his mate finally turned a finished Inzilanî to face him. "Very nice," was his comment. He spread his hands wide and herded both Malheril and Inzilanî into the hallway outside their apartment, then settled his lady's hand in the bend of his elbow. "Come," he told Inzilanî and held out his free hand to her.
Now Inzilanî was certain that he and his lady considered her a pet rather than a slave. Slaves weren't given new, beautiful clothing to wear, or silver beads for their hair. Her place tonight was very clear to her now too: she was an adornment, and a new one to be shown off at that. This was something her Umbari captain had prepared her to do very well, and she would do her utmost to show her owners at their very best.
Still, her heart beat hard in her chest as her owners led her into a large number of nimîr, all going in the same direction; even as many days as she had spent in this cavern, she had had no idea how many dwelled there below the mountain with her. She edged closer to Borongil, feeling very insecure all of a sudden.
Surrounded by nimîr, the three of them walked into a huge hall, and Inzilanî could hardly believe her eyes. Tables lined the walls, and were set in rows; and at the very end of the room was a raised platform with yet another table, dominated in the middle by an ornate, carved chair. And seated in that chair, in robes of the same design as Borongil's, but of a golden material that gleamed almost as brightly as his hair, was Pharazôn. Inzilanî stared at the circle of green leaves and wildflowers that adorned Pharazôn's head, far more grand and beautiful than anything a child could weave for a parent. That was a crown; it could be nothing else. She had been right: Pharazôn was indeed the King here.
Borongil led the two of them past all the other tables and then up onto the platform. Amazingly, Pharazôn had risen from his seat at their approach. "My son!" he said in that deep voice of his that Inzilanî had never forgotten, and then had embraced Borongil fondly. Inzilanî stared; her owner wasn't a king, but a prince. And she hadn't known at all. But now that she saw them side by side, she could see the resemblance.
Pharazôn's gaze next rested on Malheril, and she too was gifted with a warm hug. Inzilanî wasn't entirely certain, but she thought the words her mistress had said meant, "Welcome home," or "You look well;" and the King answered her in soft tones that were hard to hear, and Malheril laughed merrily.
Finally the King's gaze landed on Inzilanî, who trembled so much that it was hard to stay standing. Every muscle in her body wanted her to plant herself with her face to the rug on the platform, but Inzilanî knew that such was not appreciated among the nimîr. They didn't even like to see her on her knees. And her purpose this night was to lend prestige to Borongil, so it wouldn't be wise to go against the wishes of her owners. She didn't dare approach the King any closer, but she put her hands to her heart and bent as low as she could with as much grace as she could muster, and then straightened and forced herself to look at the rug.
"Better," was the King's greeting to her, and his hand rested for a small moment on her head. Inzilanî felt herself relax automatically; at last someone had made the proper gesture of dominance! Then the hand cupped her cheek and turned her face up to his. Those green eyes, the ones that had seen too much, the ones the color of spring leaves, were smiling at her. Inzilanî made herself return the smile; after all, a well-trained pet would smile at a Great One, even if the smile hid the monster inside.
With a hand landing on her shoulder, Borongil directed her to the third seat to the right of the King. Once she was seated, and the slaves had finished serving the food to the raised table, Inzilanî looked out across the crowd of nimîr, seeking out the other captives that had been taken with her. Were they as confused at every turn as she was? Were they, too, kept as pets? But as her gaze swept the room, she could see none of the boys who had been taken from the urik camp when she had been. She looked again, her eyes resting on warriors she was certain had been with the company that had participated in the battle, but not a single dust-head did she see anywhere in the hall.
Slowly she turned to stare at Pharazôn with consternation. Where were they?
The answer was like being kicked in the head: they were dead, of course. The nimîr had come to recognize that all of them had become the very monsters that had abused them, and they had taken pity and sent the boys on to their ancestors before they could do anything worse. It was only right. Only a monster would have rejoiced in the blood and the pain of another the way they had. But…
Why was she still alive, then?
Was it a nimîr form of torture to force her to face those the urkim had so harmed because they knew that the ugliness that had happened in the trees had been her idea? That she had started the violence? And now they dressed her well and paraded her before others to demonstrate that they could catch and tame the monster? Her stomach turned, and suddenly even the thought of the fine food that sat on her plate made her ill. This was cruelty of a sort that cut with kindness, and it hurt as much as any blow to the head or crack of the whip.
Malheril turned to her with a gentle smile on her face and smoothed her hair back over her shoulder. "Eat, Inzilanî," she urged and then turned when Borongil spoke to her. Inzilanî had to force herself not to recoil with horror and fury as Pharazôn laughed heartily at something his son said. How dare they leave her alive! How dare they force her to endure when the others had been freed from the stains on their lives! Every kindness she had been shown here had been meant only to cut her all the deeper! It was a lie - all of it!
But, well-trained pet that she was, she pasted a smile on her face and slowly choked down her meal. She would bide her time, letting them think that they were clever, until she learned the way to the vat. And then what little honor she guarded in her soul would see that she would be free, and the stain of being a monster would be washed away at last.
If nothing else, her time with the uruk had taught her patience and endurance, and she had survived that. She would need those traits, now more than ever.
For the first time in her life, she was grateful to the uruk.
Vocabulary
aduial vae - (S) good evening (aduial=evening, vae=good (mae, lenited))
mae - (S) good, well
na - (S) yes
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
Pharazôn - (A) Golden One
urik - (A) orcs (obj. case)
urkim - (A) orcs (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)
Chapter 9 - The Last Straw
Inzilanî stuck the needle into the fabric and once more thrust the sharp point into her finger. She muttered a word that the urkan used to say when he was particularly upset, and then blushed. Malheril smiled indulgently and put her own beautiful embroidery down to patiently adjust Inzilanî's hands one more time. Inzilanî couldn't imagine herself doing the fine work that her mistress seemed to create so effortlessly, but she kept at it because this seemed to be one of the few tasks her mistress would genuinely allow her to do now.
But her flowers were lop-sided and looked nothing like the example that the lady had stitched into her square of material. No matter how hard she tried, Inzilanî just couldn't get the petals all the same length, or keep them the same width. And her knots… Malheril had turned over her work once to tie off one thread before starting with a new one, and the underside of her work looked almost as neat and beautiful as the topside. Inzilanî had turned her work over and looked with disgust at the extra threads that had looped where she didn't want them.
This was just another example of what a poor slave she was: she couldn't even learn to use a needle and thread properly! But Malheril didn't punish her for failing to produce something even half-ways of the same quality; no, the mistress would nod encouragingly and then demonstrate a particular stitch once more, working very slowly so Inzilanî could watch again. Her mistress' patience was something Inzilanî had never experienced before, and it confused her. She kept waiting for a blow that never came, and it made her nervous.
She gave a sideways glance through the door of her bedchamber to the little window that looked out over a meadow far below, and noted that the daylight was waning. Immediately she looked over to the apartment door; Borongil would be coming back soon, and this gentle torture would be over for another day. Then she would be allowed to help set out the plates on the table, and move the bowls of fruit and the loaf of bread from the sideboard, where the other slaves had left them. She would then fill the three cups with fresh water from the pitcher - another thing the other slaves would bring - and set them out.
Inzilanî saw her mistress' head rise just before she heard the latch on the apartment door rise, and she tucked her needle into her work for the next day and was on her feet immediately. "Aduial vae," she greeted her owner the moment his face appeared in the doorway.
"Good evening to you, Inzilanî," Borongil replied in slow nimîr words with a smile for both her and for the mistress. Inzilanî made quick tracks to the sideboard to begin her evening duties while her owners greeted each other. But his voice called her back with an excited "Wait!"
She turned to see Malheril literally dancing on her toes, and Inzilanî slowly came back to the parlor. She folded her hands in front of her, but refrained from going to her knees to wait patiently for what was coming next. They didn't like her to kneel to them at all for some reason.
Borongil was obviously sorting through the words that he knew she understood. "We eat tonight at another place, with all."
Inzilanî was astonished, but she did her best to show little of her surprise. "Na."
"Come! A new dress tonite!" Malheril put out her hand in obvious excitement.
It was hard to suppress her surprise at the announcement; Inzilanî was certain that the gown she was wearing was the only one she owned. Still, the mistress was waiting, and so she put her hand out obediently to be pulled into her little chamber. Malheril wagged her finger in the old sign for her to stay, and then also tugged on her gown and ordered, "Off!" before darting back out of the open door.
Inzilanî shook her head, but set about doing as she'd been told. She carefully folded her gown the way she'd been shown, and placed it in the same place she left it every evening when she put on the sleeping gown. Not exactly certain what to do next, she sat down on the edge of her bed and folded her hands. The mistress would come back for her and tell her what to do. She hoped she would, anyway.
When the lady came back, however, Inzilanî was so shocked that she couldn't help staring. She had never seen anyone wear such a wonderful gown in all her life. Crafted of material that moved with Malheril's slightest movement or the least whisper of air, and in a delicate green that was almost white, the gown accentuated the dark hair and slender beauty of the nimir woman. And over her arm was material that looked very similar, only this time in palest blue, with thin slippers to match.
Inzilanî put up her hands when directed and otherwise didn't dare touch the beautiful material that was now covering her from shoulders to feet for fear that her work-roughened hands would somehow catch the material and mar it. Obediently she stepped into the slippers to find them a perfect fit. Malheril gave a final tug on the laces and then moved to stand in front of her. "Very pretty," was her comment, brushing Inzilanî's hair back over her shoulder and then catching at her hand. "Come with me."
Totally bemused, Inzilanî was dragged from her chamber and into the one that her owners shared. Near a tall, carved chest, Borongil was shrugging into a different kind of garment, and when he turned to smile at both her and his mate, Inzilanî's mouth dropped open in undisguised shock. This was not the look of a simple nimir warrior, surely! The deep green robe, with its lighter ties artistically arranged in front of the wide sash, looked rich. Borongil's silver hair had its usual small braids at the sides, but now they were fixed with small golden beads, and there was a very narrow but woven strip of gold that circled his head. Was her owner a king, and if so, who was Pharazôn?
But Inzilanî wasn't given much opportunity to stare at her keeper; Malheril had her sitting down before a low chest that had, hanging on the wall behind it, a mirror. Once more Inzilanî had to stop and stare, this time at the woman-child in the reflection. Was that her? Yes, the curve of the brows, the cant of the black eyes, the color of skin - so much darker than the pale and glowing nimîr - were hers, but the girl in the reflection was actually pretty! Inzilanî almost flinched at the idea that a monster could look so fair.
The lady wielded the comb with skill, and then in but a few moments more had created small braids back from Inzilanî's temple that, when caught together in back, were a simple, elegant look. But Inzilanî sighed silently to herself when her mistress leaned over and fished a small, silver bead from a box on the low chest and used it to finish the braid.
Borongil's smile was wide when his mate finally turned a finished Inzilanî to face him. "Very nice," was his comment. He spread his hands wide and herded both Malheril and Inzilanî into the hallway outside their apartment, then settled his lady's hand in the bend of his elbow. "Come," he told Inzilanî and held out his free hand to her.
Now Inzilanî was certain that he and his lady considered her a pet rather than a slave. Slaves weren't given new, beautiful clothing to wear, or silver beads for their hair. Her place tonight was very clear to her now too: she was an adornment, and a new one to be shown off at that. This was something her Umbari captain had prepared her to do very well, and she would do her utmost to show her owners at their very best.
Still, her heart beat hard in her chest as her owners led her into a large number of nimîr, all going in the same direction; even as many days as she had spent in this cavern, she had had no idea how many dwelled there below the mountain with her. She edged closer to Borongil, feeling very insecure all of a sudden.
Surrounded by nimîr, the three of them walked into a huge hall, and Inzilanî could hardly believe her eyes. Tables lined the walls, and were set in rows; and at the very end of the room was a raised platform with yet another table, dominated in the middle by an ornate, carved chair. And seated in that chair, in robes of the same design as Borongil's, but of a golden material that gleamed almost as brightly as his hair, was Pharazôn. Inzilanî stared at the circle of green leaves and wildflowers that adorned Pharazôn's head, far more grand and beautiful than anything a child could weave for a parent. That was a crown; it could be nothing else. She had been right: Pharazôn was indeed the King here.
Borongil led the two of them past all the other tables and then up onto the platform. Amazingly, Pharazôn had risen from his seat at their approach. "My son!" he said in that deep voice of his that Inzilanî had never forgotten, and then had embraced Borongil fondly. Inzilanî stared; her owner wasn't a king, but a prince. And she hadn't known at all. But now that she saw them side by side, she could see the resemblance.
Pharazôn's gaze next rested on Malheril, and she too was gifted with a warm hug. Inzilanî wasn't entirely certain, but she thought the words her mistress had said meant, "Welcome home," or "You look well;" and the King answered her in soft tones that were hard to hear, and Malheril laughed merrily.
Finally the King's gaze landed on Inzilanî, who trembled so much that it was hard to stay standing. Every muscle in her body wanted her to plant herself with her face to the rug on the platform, but Inzilanî knew that such was not appreciated among the nimîr. They didn't even like to see her on her knees. And her purpose this night was to lend prestige to Borongil, so it wouldn't be wise to go against the wishes of her owners. She didn't dare approach the King any closer, but she put her hands to her heart and bent as low as she could with as much grace as she could muster, and then straightened and forced herself to look at the rug.
"Better," was the King's greeting to her, and his hand rested for a small moment on her head. Inzilanî felt herself relax automatically; at last someone had made the proper gesture of dominance! Then the hand cupped her cheek and turned her face up to his. Those green eyes, the ones that had seen too much, the ones the color of spring leaves, were smiling at her. Inzilanî made herself return the smile; after all, a well-trained pet would smile at a Great One, even if the smile hid the monster inside.
With a hand landing on her shoulder, Borongil directed her to the third seat to the right of the King. Once she was seated, and the slaves had finished serving the food to the raised table, Inzilanî looked out across the crowd of nimîr, seeking out the other captives that had been taken with her. Were they as confused at every turn as she was? Were they, too, kept as pets? But as her gaze swept the room, she could see none of the boys who had been taken from the urik camp when she had been. She looked again, her eyes resting on warriors she was certain had been with the company that had participated in the battle, but not a single dust-head did she see anywhere in the hall.
Slowly she turned to stare at Pharazôn with consternation. Where were they?
The answer was like being kicked in the head: they were dead, of course. The nimîr had come to recognize that all of them had become the very monsters that had abused them, and they had taken pity and sent the boys on to their ancestors before they could do anything worse. It was only right. Only a monster would have rejoiced in the blood and the pain of another the way they had. But…
Why was she still alive, then?
Was it a nimîr form of torture to force her to face those the urkim had so harmed because they knew that the ugliness that had happened in the trees had been her idea? That she had started the violence? And now they dressed her well and paraded her before others to demonstrate that they could catch and tame the monster? Her stomach turned, and suddenly even the thought of the fine food that sat on her plate made her ill. This was cruelty of a sort that cut with kindness, and it hurt as much as any blow to the head or crack of the whip.
Malheril turned to her with a gentle smile on her face and smoothed her hair back over her shoulder. "Eat, Inzilanî," she urged and then turned when Borongil spoke to her. Inzilanî had to force herself not to recoil with horror and fury as Pharazôn laughed heartily at something his son said. How dare they leave her alive! How dare they force her to endure when the others had been freed from the stains on their lives! Every kindness she had been shown here had been meant only to cut her all the deeper! It was a lie - all of it!
But, well-trained pet that she was, she pasted a smile on her face and slowly choked down her meal. She would bide her time, letting them think that they were clever, until she learned the way to the vat. And then what little honor she guarded in her soul would see that she would be free, and the stain of being a monster would be washed away at last.
If nothing else, her time with the uruk had taught her patience and endurance, and she had survived that. She would need those traits, now more than ever.
For the first time in her life, she was grateful to the uruk.
Vocabulary
aduial vae - (S) good evening (aduial=evening, vae=good (mae, lenited))
mae - (S) good, well
na - (S) yes
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
Pharazôn - (A) Golden One
urik - (A) orcs (obj. case)
urkim - (A) orcs (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)