Dryad Eyes, part 16
Today's word count is 2,528.
I've fallen way behind this week. Dammit. Hopefully I can knock another entry out today, and again tomorrow. I have a feeling that I may miss Sunday as well, as I have to close and will be stopping in at a friend's Christmas Party afterwards if they're still up.
Alone in the dusty, old, out-of-the-way library that served as the former's study and office, Haron and Bawo sat across the little table from one another. Before both of them sat a bowl of warm broth, which had arrived but moments prior in the hands of a young but homely serving girl. Had her hair been but a little longer, or her nose a little shorter, she might have been passably pretty. Until she smiled, that is. Her teeth were crooked and stained black. Still, Bawo suspected that it was her looks that had caused Haron to express a preference for her service to her superiors. With a little polish, and a little imagination, she would look a great deal like Charis. The stout, stern faced bastard son of a minor noble could only shake his head at this. His friend had it bad, and at times, it seemed to be particularly worse than others were.
The two of them often took their lunches together, even when Thanik was unavailable to join them. In his absence, it was not uncommon for the entire hour to pass without a single word being said between them. Bawo had never been a particularly great conversationalist, and Haron's mind was often preoccupied with other matters. For this reason, the stout, shaven headed man was surprised when his friend, the officer with the close cropped hair and heavy mustache, set aside his bowl and looked at him seriously.
"Bawo," he began. "Have you ever been stuck in a job you hate?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about it."
"It was a few years after my bastard of a father sold me that I was freed from slavery. I was still a boy, but old and strong enough to work, so I hired on at a small shop in Gawain." Bawo answered without hesitation. Gawain was one of the smaller villages that dotted Camelot's landscape. It was, essentially, an overgrown fishing community that also served as a stop for trader's of all kinds. He had met a number interesting characters there, but had never particularly liked it. "We bought and sold locally made food, and a small variety of supplies whoever might be passing through. The owner was a bigot, and paid me only because I had a strong back."
"Ah." Haron answered. He said nothing for several long moments. When he did speak, it was with carefully considered words. It was not that he did not trust Bawo, but that he greatly desired to get his point across clearly. This was one of the various qualities that had earned him his present position. "I hate my job."
"I know."
"You also know why. I hate Geran. Not only did he steal my lover, but his ineptitude is sweeping in scale. That is why Camelot, our homeland, burned. I thought that he might have changed when we joined his army here, to have united the Free Kingdoms behind him, but the problem remains. His promoting me was one of his few, token efforts to set things right." The officer rubbed a hand across his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "It was too little too late. It's a wonder that this fortress has not yet descended into chaos."
On this point, Bawo had little sympathy for his friend. He simply shrugged and said, "When I realized that I hated my work, and the man I worked for, I did not stay on for so long."
"I wouldn't have either, but for her." Haron lamented. There was no question as to what 'her' it was to whom he was referring. "But as we move forward with these plans, to possibly depose of Geran, I begin to see a path that I hadn't truly considered before. What if I could replace him, and thereby transform this job I hate into a labor of love?"
"You want to be a king."
"I want to help my people, Bawo! Beginning with beautiful Camelot, which we could build anew, and extending to all of the Free Kingdoms. There is no denying that the union has been beneficial. You see, my goals are the same as Geran's, but unlike him, I have not lied about my parentage, not even by omission. And... " Reaching out with his right hand, he tapped thrice upon a neat stack of papers that sat off to one side of the table. Next to them were the books and scrolls by which they had drawn their conclusions concerning the King's lineage. There was the prophecy that appeared to describe him, as well as several other useful accounts that Thanik had unearthed even more recently. "I excel at the day to day work that he shirks."
"So how do you intend to go about this?"
"I'm not sure."
"I thought you saw a road."
"A path, Bawo. It isn't entirely clear, but it is there."
"This sounds convincing. I will bring the bread crumbs."
Haron laughed at his long time companion's sarcastic obstinacy. The man was, as ever, a breath of fresh air for anyone who dealt frequently with politicians and their double-edged words. "Very well, my pragmatic friend. But would you back my bid up until we are lost for certain?"
"Of course." Bawo snorted. "Don't be stupid."
"Thank you."
"You are late for your meeting, by the way."
"Damn!" Taking a quick, last spoonful from his broth, Haron rose from his chair. He was to meet with Keeper’s Gateway’s city council to present to them what he had cited as being ‘information of interest concerning Lord Geran.’ It had been a lie when he told them that a young scribe had brought it to his attention, but a boy fitting that description had already received a large sum of money to play the part. As soon as the weather cleared, that boy would be on his way north to study in DarMinask. Gathering said 'information,' which came in the form of the books and scrolls that Thanik had presented to him on the night that the loose lipped dryad girl brought all of this to their attention, Haron bolted for the door.
------------------------
Two hours later, there was a pandemonium in the large, relatively empty building that had been set aside as a gather place for the City Council of Keeper's Gateway. The council was comprised of the coolest heads the fortress had to offer; organizers and leaders, long-term diplomats and a few prominent merchants and business owners. When Haron had first presented them with his find, they had scoffed collectively. A scholar had been sent for, to confirm whether these were, indeed, authentic texts. Then another was sent for, then another. Cool heads grew hot, and arguments grew more and more vehement.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Turry Larn, a tall businessman was saying. His hair was gray, as was his mustache, and he still carried the weight of a man who had once been quite muscular. Over a year earlier, though he did not stand on the Wall during the Battle for Keeper's Gateway, he had been a pivotal player in organizing the distribution of supplies and bodies throughout the fortress. "We must keep a level head about this! Calm yourselves!"
Beside him, his own brother shook his head. Smaller Shander Larn, with less hair and the same mustache, had arrived at Gateway several months after the Great Battle had ended by his brother's invitation. Within a week, they had presented Geran with a plan for bringing more people and new businesses to the fortress, and had been working tirelessly toward that end since. "You can't blame them for being angry, Brother. I'm angry! The thought of some subhuman halfling wearing a crown that gives him authority over men just turns my stomach!"
So it went, the argument making rounds about the floor in various forms. Haron stood by and watched it all transpire, feeling quite satisfied with himself. At least he had not been laughed out of the council chamber, though he had, at first, feared the worst. Having stirred the pot, he was presently waiting for the most opportune moment to nudge the chaos he had created in the direction he desired. It would be easy, especially since these men were turning out to be so much more easily rattled than he had expected.
"No, that isn't right." Rikson the Carpenter was telling Derland the Baker. "It’s a prophecy about a male dryad, sure, and it appears to be about Geran, but it doesn't mention Malor anywhere in it at all. As far as I know, that story is just some storyteller's affectation."
"Correct," one of the scholars, who had been listening in on this particular conversation, agreed. "The prophecy about Malor the Usurper's return doesn't seem to exist, except in the minds and on the tongues of some local Storytellers."
"That's not what I heard," Derland, like Rikson, was a relative newcomer to Keeper's Gateway. Each of their businesses, however, was thriving, thanks to their incredibly strict work ethic. It was the one trait that the two men shared. "I heard that there were some books on the matter recently discovered right here in the Keep."
"A likely story," the carpenter snorted.
Several feet, and half a dozen people from the two of them, an elderly woman by the name of Lin Repu, who was trusted by a good many of the farmers that had begun hauling their goods to Gateway for selling, had drawn her indignation about herself like a cloak. She was a small, stern woman, with her hair tied back in a tight bun and a perpetually angry face. Looking almost comical with her wild, bulging eyes, she shook a finger in the air as she ranted and raved, dominating the conversation in her immediate vicinity.
"Well, I think we should depose of him immediately! Just march right up to his room and arrest him! This is outrageous! I would rather live under the yolk of Kerim Thiath than allow him to pervert our Free Kingdoms even one step further!"
"Be still with that kind of talk," Haron snapped at the woman. He had been on his way to a relatively open area of the floor, the next phase of this event in mind, when her intrusive voice stole his attention. "Regardless of what is decided here, I am still a Keeper of the Gate, and I'll not listen to that garbage within these walls."
The officer's sharp reprimand served only to incense the woman further, but before she could launch a new tirade, her husband appeared at her side, covering her mouth for a moment while he whispered into her ear. She did not seem to like what he had to say, but nodded anyway. The two of them turned away and made a swift departure from the Council chambers. Haron almost grinned. Lin was likely on her way to begin spreading the story, soaked in her anger, to the people of Gateway. That suited his purposes perfectly, as she would simply be joining the ranks of the dozen or so men he had already hired to begin that same chore.
Moving to stand in the heart of the open space he had spotted moments before, Haron observed the chaos for a moment. It was definitely time, he decided. He had to act immediately, before anybody else could present a course of action reasonable enough to satisfy everybody present. Bringing his hands to his face, and his fingers to his lips, he emitted a shrill whistle that cut through the noise. Then he did it again. Conversation died away as more and more faces turned to face him. When he had their complete, undivided attention, he spoke in a loud voice.
"I have been listening to your ideas and suggestions," he began. "Some of them have been good, some not. However, it is difficult to make a decision about how to deal with this matter without Geran's own input. Perhaps the information is accurate, from the prophecy that appears to describe him to the rumors of an alleged dryad boy that was nearly stoned to death in Caltheria. Perhaps it is not. What we need to do, in my opinion, is reach out to our King. Ask him to verify or deny these charges, and make a formal request for information regarding his true parentage."
The Larn brothers were nodding. It was a rare sight, as one might have guessed, to see them on the same page. Turry added this. "It has always bothered me that we have virtually no documentation concerning his lineage. Had it not been for his marriage to Queen Leeann, Gods rest her soul, he would have had to present more than he has to even sign on with most armies."
"Right," Shander agreed. "And if he has nothing to hide, I can't see him having a problem with the inquiries."
"Agreed," came Erikson's simple response.
Another hour passed, and the City Council of Keeper's Gateway fell back into a more sedate, routine mindset. Together, amid a more moderate kind of bickering between the same parties, they drafted a letter for the King that would bring the matter, and the requests that Haron had suggested, known to him. Nearly every man and woman present praised the officer at one point or another, for his level head and quick thinking. He was, as Turry Larn put it, 'a good, natural leader' that the Free Kingdoms as a whole might be able to rely upon. He accepted the compliment graciously, though inwardly he flinched as Geran himself had offered nearly the same words upon promoting him so many months ago. It was a strange kind of irony.
Finally, when everything seemed to be in order, a courier by the name of Andrek was summoned and given the task of delivering the letter to Geran. The boy was timid when he took the letter from Haron's hand. He still had a black eye to commemorate the beating he had received at the hands of Bawo following the incident between the Fyrendi woman called Pelessa and the pretty redheaded girl whose name he could not remember. The officer did not seem to remember him, which was a relief.
A few moments later, the soles of Andrek's soft boots were on the cobblestones outside the City Council's building. It was a cold night, and snow that was nearly a foot deep could be seen on several of the nearby side streets. This one, of course, had been cleared. Important men did not wear wet shoes when they did not absolutely have to. Hearing distant shouts, the boy looked up and took note of the red glow that seemed to be coming from a couple of streets over. There was trouble at the Silver Kettle, he thought. He knew the location by heart, as often as he had had to carry messages to and from the upscale tavern. Turning away, with a sense of trepidation that not even the thought of meeting Geran for the second time in a week could vanquish, he hurried toward the Keep.
Okay, time for a drink of water, a few minutes of video game goodness, and then right back to work on DE17. Hoo-Rah!
I've fallen way behind this week. Dammit. Hopefully I can knock another entry out today, and again tomorrow. I have a feeling that I may miss Sunday as well, as I have to close and will be stopping in at a friend's Christmas Party afterwards if they're still up.
Alone in the dusty, old, out-of-the-way library that served as the former's study and office, Haron and Bawo sat across the little table from one another. Before both of them sat a bowl of warm broth, which had arrived but moments prior in the hands of a young but homely serving girl. Had her hair been but a little longer, or her nose a little shorter, she might have been passably pretty. Until she smiled, that is. Her teeth were crooked and stained black. Still, Bawo suspected that it was her looks that had caused Haron to express a preference for her service to her superiors. With a little polish, and a little imagination, she would look a great deal like Charis. The stout, stern faced bastard son of a minor noble could only shake his head at this. His friend had it bad, and at times, it seemed to be particularly worse than others were.
The two of them often took their lunches together, even when Thanik was unavailable to join them. In his absence, it was not uncommon for the entire hour to pass without a single word being said between them. Bawo had never been a particularly great conversationalist, and Haron's mind was often preoccupied with other matters. For this reason, the stout, shaven headed man was surprised when his friend, the officer with the close cropped hair and heavy mustache, set aside his bowl and looked at him seriously.
"Bawo," he began. "Have you ever been stuck in a job you hate?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about it."
"It was a few years after my bastard of a father sold me that I was freed from slavery. I was still a boy, but old and strong enough to work, so I hired on at a small shop in Gawain." Bawo answered without hesitation. Gawain was one of the smaller villages that dotted Camelot's landscape. It was, essentially, an overgrown fishing community that also served as a stop for trader's of all kinds. He had met a number interesting characters there, but had never particularly liked it. "We bought and sold locally made food, and a small variety of supplies whoever might be passing through. The owner was a bigot, and paid me only because I had a strong back."
"Ah." Haron answered. He said nothing for several long moments. When he did speak, it was with carefully considered words. It was not that he did not trust Bawo, but that he greatly desired to get his point across clearly. This was one of the various qualities that had earned him his present position. "I hate my job."
"I know."
"You also know why. I hate Geran. Not only did he steal my lover, but his ineptitude is sweeping in scale. That is why Camelot, our homeland, burned. I thought that he might have changed when we joined his army here, to have united the Free Kingdoms behind him, but the problem remains. His promoting me was one of his few, token efforts to set things right." The officer rubbed a hand across his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "It was too little too late. It's a wonder that this fortress has not yet descended into chaos."
On this point, Bawo had little sympathy for his friend. He simply shrugged and said, "When I realized that I hated my work, and the man I worked for, I did not stay on for so long."
"I wouldn't have either, but for her." Haron lamented. There was no question as to what 'her' it was to whom he was referring. "But as we move forward with these plans, to possibly depose of Geran, I begin to see a path that I hadn't truly considered before. What if I could replace him, and thereby transform this job I hate into a labor of love?"
"You want to be a king."
"I want to help my people, Bawo! Beginning with beautiful Camelot, which we could build anew, and extending to all of the Free Kingdoms. There is no denying that the union has been beneficial. You see, my goals are the same as Geran's, but unlike him, I have not lied about my parentage, not even by omission. And... " Reaching out with his right hand, he tapped thrice upon a neat stack of papers that sat off to one side of the table. Next to them were the books and scrolls by which they had drawn their conclusions concerning the King's lineage. There was the prophecy that appeared to describe him, as well as several other useful accounts that Thanik had unearthed even more recently. "I excel at the day to day work that he shirks."
"So how do you intend to go about this?"
"I'm not sure."
"I thought you saw a road."
"A path, Bawo. It isn't entirely clear, but it is there."
"This sounds convincing. I will bring the bread crumbs."
Haron laughed at his long time companion's sarcastic obstinacy. The man was, as ever, a breath of fresh air for anyone who dealt frequently with politicians and their double-edged words. "Very well, my pragmatic friend. But would you back my bid up until we are lost for certain?"
"Of course." Bawo snorted. "Don't be stupid."
"Thank you."
"You are late for your meeting, by the way."
"Damn!" Taking a quick, last spoonful from his broth, Haron rose from his chair. He was to meet with Keeper’s Gateway’s city council to present to them what he had cited as being ‘information of interest concerning Lord Geran.’ It had been a lie when he told them that a young scribe had brought it to his attention, but a boy fitting that description had already received a large sum of money to play the part. As soon as the weather cleared, that boy would be on his way north to study in DarMinask. Gathering said 'information,' which came in the form of the books and scrolls that Thanik had presented to him on the night that the loose lipped dryad girl brought all of this to their attention, Haron bolted for the door.
------------------------
Two hours later, there was a pandemonium in the large, relatively empty building that had been set aside as a gather place for the City Council of Keeper's Gateway. The council was comprised of the coolest heads the fortress had to offer; organizers and leaders, long-term diplomats and a few prominent merchants and business owners. When Haron had first presented them with his find, they had scoffed collectively. A scholar had been sent for, to confirm whether these were, indeed, authentic texts. Then another was sent for, then another. Cool heads grew hot, and arguments grew more and more vehement.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Turry Larn, a tall businessman was saying. His hair was gray, as was his mustache, and he still carried the weight of a man who had once been quite muscular. Over a year earlier, though he did not stand on the Wall during the Battle for Keeper's Gateway, he had been a pivotal player in organizing the distribution of supplies and bodies throughout the fortress. "We must keep a level head about this! Calm yourselves!"
Beside him, his own brother shook his head. Smaller Shander Larn, with less hair and the same mustache, had arrived at Gateway several months after the Great Battle had ended by his brother's invitation. Within a week, they had presented Geran with a plan for bringing more people and new businesses to the fortress, and had been working tirelessly toward that end since. "You can't blame them for being angry, Brother. I'm angry! The thought of some subhuman halfling wearing a crown that gives him authority over men just turns my stomach!"
So it went, the argument making rounds about the floor in various forms. Haron stood by and watched it all transpire, feeling quite satisfied with himself. At least he had not been laughed out of the council chamber, though he had, at first, feared the worst. Having stirred the pot, he was presently waiting for the most opportune moment to nudge the chaos he had created in the direction he desired. It would be easy, especially since these men were turning out to be so much more easily rattled than he had expected.
"No, that isn't right." Rikson the Carpenter was telling Derland the Baker. "It’s a prophecy about a male dryad, sure, and it appears to be about Geran, but it doesn't mention Malor anywhere in it at all. As far as I know, that story is just some storyteller's affectation."
"Correct," one of the scholars, who had been listening in on this particular conversation, agreed. "The prophecy about Malor the Usurper's return doesn't seem to exist, except in the minds and on the tongues of some local Storytellers."
"That's not what I heard," Derland, like Rikson, was a relative newcomer to Keeper's Gateway. Each of their businesses, however, was thriving, thanks to their incredibly strict work ethic. It was the one trait that the two men shared. "I heard that there were some books on the matter recently discovered right here in the Keep."
"A likely story," the carpenter snorted.
Several feet, and half a dozen people from the two of them, an elderly woman by the name of Lin Repu, who was trusted by a good many of the farmers that had begun hauling their goods to Gateway for selling, had drawn her indignation about herself like a cloak. She was a small, stern woman, with her hair tied back in a tight bun and a perpetually angry face. Looking almost comical with her wild, bulging eyes, she shook a finger in the air as she ranted and raved, dominating the conversation in her immediate vicinity.
"Well, I think we should depose of him immediately! Just march right up to his room and arrest him! This is outrageous! I would rather live under the yolk of Kerim Thiath than allow him to pervert our Free Kingdoms even one step further!"
"Be still with that kind of talk," Haron snapped at the woman. He had been on his way to a relatively open area of the floor, the next phase of this event in mind, when her intrusive voice stole his attention. "Regardless of what is decided here, I am still a Keeper of the Gate, and I'll not listen to that garbage within these walls."
The officer's sharp reprimand served only to incense the woman further, but before she could launch a new tirade, her husband appeared at her side, covering her mouth for a moment while he whispered into her ear. She did not seem to like what he had to say, but nodded anyway. The two of them turned away and made a swift departure from the Council chambers. Haron almost grinned. Lin was likely on her way to begin spreading the story, soaked in her anger, to the people of Gateway. That suited his purposes perfectly, as she would simply be joining the ranks of the dozen or so men he had already hired to begin that same chore.
Moving to stand in the heart of the open space he had spotted moments before, Haron observed the chaos for a moment. It was definitely time, he decided. He had to act immediately, before anybody else could present a course of action reasonable enough to satisfy everybody present. Bringing his hands to his face, and his fingers to his lips, he emitted a shrill whistle that cut through the noise. Then he did it again. Conversation died away as more and more faces turned to face him. When he had their complete, undivided attention, he spoke in a loud voice.
"I have been listening to your ideas and suggestions," he began. "Some of them have been good, some not. However, it is difficult to make a decision about how to deal with this matter without Geran's own input. Perhaps the information is accurate, from the prophecy that appears to describe him to the rumors of an alleged dryad boy that was nearly stoned to death in Caltheria. Perhaps it is not. What we need to do, in my opinion, is reach out to our King. Ask him to verify or deny these charges, and make a formal request for information regarding his true parentage."
The Larn brothers were nodding. It was a rare sight, as one might have guessed, to see them on the same page. Turry added this. "It has always bothered me that we have virtually no documentation concerning his lineage. Had it not been for his marriage to Queen Leeann, Gods rest her soul, he would have had to present more than he has to even sign on with most armies."
"Right," Shander agreed. "And if he has nothing to hide, I can't see him having a problem with the inquiries."
"Agreed," came Erikson's simple response.
Another hour passed, and the City Council of Keeper's Gateway fell back into a more sedate, routine mindset. Together, amid a more moderate kind of bickering between the same parties, they drafted a letter for the King that would bring the matter, and the requests that Haron had suggested, known to him. Nearly every man and woman present praised the officer at one point or another, for his level head and quick thinking. He was, as Turry Larn put it, 'a good, natural leader' that the Free Kingdoms as a whole might be able to rely upon. He accepted the compliment graciously, though inwardly he flinched as Geran himself had offered nearly the same words upon promoting him so many months ago. It was a strange kind of irony.
Finally, when everything seemed to be in order, a courier by the name of Andrek was summoned and given the task of delivering the letter to Geran. The boy was timid when he took the letter from Haron's hand. He still had a black eye to commemorate the beating he had received at the hands of Bawo following the incident between the Fyrendi woman called Pelessa and the pretty redheaded girl whose name he could not remember. The officer did not seem to remember him, which was a relief.
A few moments later, the soles of Andrek's soft boots were on the cobblestones outside the City Council's building. It was a cold night, and snow that was nearly a foot deep could be seen on several of the nearby side streets. This one, of course, had been cleared. Important men did not wear wet shoes when they did not absolutely have to. Hearing distant shouts, the boy looked up and took note of the red glow that seemed to be coming from a couple of streets over. There was trouble at the Silver Kettle, he thought. He knew the location by heart, as often as he had had to carry messages to and from the upscale tavern. Turning away, with a sense of trepidation that not even the thought of meeting Geran for the second time in a week could vanquish, he hurried toward the Keep.
Okay, time for a drink of water, a few minutes of video game goodness, and then right back to work on DE17. Hoo-Rah!