Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2006 15:36:24 -0700 (PDT) From: Jae Monroe Subject: The Gift of Ys Chapter 3 This work is a product of the author's imagination, places, events and people are either fictitious or used fictitiously and any resemblance to real events, places, or people, living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author retains full copyright to the material, and sincerely hopes you like it! If you have something to say about it that isn't flaming me then email me at: jae.monroe@yahoo.com Acknowledgment: Thanks so much to Richard for all his editing. The Gift of Ys By Jae Monroe Chapter 3 "Isidore?" Eiren's voice was soft as he entered Isidore's chamber, finding him curled up on the bed, his tears subsiding but his hurt no less. "Have you heard?" Isidore's voice was muffled as his head was still buried in his arms. He felt the bed shift slightly as Eiren climbed on to it. Then he felt his friend curling up next to him. "I have heard of the brother-Svarya's request, the whole castle has," Eiren replied. "And your father's response. Why are you so upset, baby?" Isidore turned to face him, his eyes red from crying but his complexion back to its creamy hue. "He plans to give me to him," he said, his eyes welling again. "No," Eiren replied, hugging him reassuringly. "He told the whole receiving room that the Svarya was improper to ask for you; that he would never consider it. This you know; you were there," Eiren reminded him. Isidore shook his head. "No, he is going to the chambers to discuss the terms now; he is considering giving me to the Svarya for an alliance." His voice rose as he stated the prospect. "And he wouldn't let me go, even when I asked him a second time." Eiren paused as he thought on this. "Then it must mean that he is not going to trade you for your brother," he pronounced after a few moments. "Think about it, Isidore, if he had any inclination to do so then he would have let you sit in on the council proceedings, unprecedented though it might be. But he has not; this must mean that he is not even considering it, which is why you didn't need to be there." "Or that he was, and he knew that if I sat in on it, I would be compelled to speak up on my own behalf," Isidore sniffed. Eiren looked at him reproachfully. "Do not say that of your father; he has your interests far closer to his heart than that. Shame on you." Isidore wasn't upset by the reproof; it was what he needed to hear. "Do you think so?" he asked in a small voice. "Absolutely. It can only be that your father is in no doubt that you will not be traded with the Sherim-Ran svarya for your brother, and so your presence as they discuss how many more talents of gold and such like to give them is completely unnecessary." Isidore shifted somewhat. "Are you sure?" he asked his friend. "Utterly so," Eiren told him, his expression earnest. "Come now; you have upset yourself all over nothing, silly baby." Isidore smiled, feeling very much like a silly baby at that point. Of course his father had said nothing to support that he was entertaining the counter-offer. It had just been the stress of having a near-sleepless night and his father's unusual response to his request to be present which, when Eiren explained it to him, now seemed perfectly reasonable, and so he really had upset himself all over nothing. "How about we get ourselves some nice spiced wine and go and sit out on the balcony, hmm?" Eiren was all smiles now that his friend had picked himself up out of his misery. "That might be nice," Isidore said, walking to where there sat a ewer of cool water in which he could bathe his eyes. After he had taken down the swelling somewhat, he turned to his friend looking much better. "Poor Svarya Kerim," Eiren commented, giggling. "Why do you pity him?" Isidore asked. If anything they should pity his brother to be in the custody of such a man. "Because he will not have you," Eiren said. "I can see why he asked, brash, stupid and utterly undiplomatic thing it was to do; but he must have been told of your beauty and wanted you for himself." Isidore flushed. "It is not as undiplomatic as it might appear," he told his friend as they made their way to the west balcony which would be bathed in the light of the brother-suns as they made their way back to their home. "How is it in the slightest bit appropriate?" Eiren asked, pouring the wine for both of them so that they did not have to have the attendants by to do so, desiring some privacy for their conversation. "What better way to create an alliance than for a Dara-son to be given to the Svarya of the other city? It has been done before." Isidore had gleaned as much from his readings into the histories of the brother-cities. "Oh, poor you! That must have been why you were so scared before," Eiren said, his hand flying to his mouth. "See, this is why knowledge is a dangerous thing. It can prompt you to draw all sorts of conclusions, just because one Svarya back a million years ago gave his Dara-son to another." "A million years ago?" Isidore laughed. Giggling also, Eiren sipped his wine. "This is just what we need," he said, changing the subject. "Some good wine, some nice relaxation. Pity the view is only of the gardens." The gardens were in fact becoming lit to their best advantage by the golden light of the retreating suns, every color becoming burnished and having a rosy appearance. This view became utterly resplendent about the time of suns-set, but that was some time away. "You wish we were looking at a bunch of mucky Dajani wrestling around in the mud or clashing swords in the dusty arenas?" Isidore murmured into his wine, inhaling the spicy scent of it. "That might be nice," Eiren replied. "Would you like to be sent to the Sherim-Ran Svarya?" Isidore asked him suddenly. "Is that a request?" Eiren laughed nervously, his grey-green eyes widening as he turned his gaze on his friend. "No, a musing," Isidore replied. Eiren sat back, thinking about it. "I don't know," he said after a time and Isidore was a little surprised. "I know last night I was saying how huge his phallus would be and the like, but if I was really to consider it, I mean...I would have to leave my home..." "You left your home to come here," Isidore reminded him. "But that was when I was seven years old. And I was very sad at the time, if you will remember." Isidore did remember. Eiren had cried day and night for two whole weeks about being in his new home in the castle, fostered in the Svarya's household so that he might be a companion for Isidore and also so he might himself have a companion closer to his own status since his father and brother were always busy with warrior-business. "Also I had no choice; my father just told me one day that I was going to be fostered at the Svarya's palace and that was all that was said about it." "But you grew used to it," Isidore commented. "I did." Eiren grinned. "Even if I did hate you at the beginning." Isidore smiled back, remembering. Eiren had hated Isidore with a passion upon entering the castle because the boy had picked him as the reason why he was there. He had decided that, since he had been sent from his home to be a friend for this little boy, the best he could do was to spite them all by not being his friend and then he might be sent back home. Of course Isidore had loved him to bits because he had had no friend his own age who was Daran like him, and it had been Isidore's persistence which had won over the outsider. It was after only a month that neither of them would hear of Eiren's going back to Nom-Tomik. "Well it is an idle musing anyway," Isidore said. "It is, but I will say this; I can see why you were so upset. The idea of not only going to another house but another city that is two months ride away; that is daunting to say the least, and especially for you..." Here Eiren stopped himself. "What do you mean especially for me?" Isidore asked with a slight frown. "Well, you know, since you're..." Eiren flushed though he wondered why he was so embarrassed about it. "Well, since you're a virgin." "I know," Isidore said, his voice going conspiratorially low, though they were alone on the balcony. "That was part of what was so awful in considering it. I mean; I know you say I am naïve, but I'm not so juvenile as to not know what would be part of the price paid for the alliance. Lodur help me if I'd been expected to satisfy him in that way...I wouldn't know the first thing about it." "Some Dajani like that," Eiren replied. "Really?" Isidore cocked his head to the side. "My brother said he did not like virgins because they were all quivery with fear and too uncomfortable to be any fun." "Your brother would say that because he does not keep interest with any Dara for more than a sennight, but they are not all like that," Eiren replied. "You said you and he did join not so long ago." Isidore recalled their conversation before the morning's ride. "Oh, indeed; but we have come to somewhat of an understanding. He knows not to fool around with me in any but a physical sense, and in return I will not sic you on to him," Eiren replied easily. "Oh, and you assume I will let myself be sicced upon my brother?" Isidore asked. Eiren grinned. "He doesn't want another stern talking-to like he got after the first time he played around with my feelings." Though it was two years ago, Isidore remembered the time well. Apparently his brother had a habit of promising his heart and soul to whoever was so pleasuring him in the heat of the moment and then, after climax and when his senses returned, he was back to his carefree unpledged self. Eiren had told Isidore amid a torrent of tears that Barik had told him he loved him, and so on and so forth, and then afterwards tried to say he was only jesting; therefore Isidore was to hate him forever as Eiren planned to do from then on. Whilst Isidore had held no less love for his brother after hearing this news; he had held considerably more ire and had marched up to his brother, in front of his friends, and told him, amongst other things, to have a care over where he stuck his prick and what he said when he did so. "I don't think it was the talking-to that bothered him; I think it was that his friends nearly pissed themselves laughing that he let himself be set down by his five-foot-nothing little brother." "No, it was that it was you," Eiren told him seriously. "Your brother has never been able to stand up to your disapproval." Isidore felt a pang. "I hope he gets back quickly. I hate to think of him stuck out there in Sherim-Ra while their great ogre of a Svarya decides how many talents of gold each of them is worth." "Your brother is a grown man, Isidore, and fearless before any except you and maybe your father; do not worry so over him," Eiren admonished him. "Barik doesn't fear me," Isidore snorted. "Not you yourself; but he fears your disapproval, Isidore. You are the only boy that he truly loves; he would do anything for you, as would your father," Eiren told him earnestly. "Which is why you were so silly to worry that your father would give you to the Sherim-Ran Svarya." "I know," Isidore replied, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment at his own over-reaction. "But...I guess it was just that I was so worried about Barik and I knew that if the only way to get him back safe and sound was to trade myself for him, then I would have no choice but to do so." "Luckily, it shall not come to that," Eiren said confidently. "Some talents of gold, a few braces of oxen and a cow for his dinner; that is all it will take to appease the barbarian Svarya of Sherim-Ra." Svarya Kenit and his advisors did not emerge from the council-chambers before Isidore was ready to retire that night so he went to sleep without seeing or speaking to his father. As might be expected, his fears played on his mind in his dreams and several times he had to wake himself and spend several minutes assuring himself that he had in fact dreamed being given to the Sherim-Ran Svarya. He was still angry at himself for becoming so worked up the previous day as to make his night's sleep so unpleasant and decided that he needed a nice hot bath to calm himself in the morning. Such was fixed for him with alacrity and so it was not too long after he had awoken that he was sighing amid the very warm water that he liked for his bath. Alan had mixed a very pleasant concoction of perfumes as well and their commingled scents rose on the steam around him as he slid down until the water lapped at his chin. "Can you wash some of that into my hair, Alan?" Isidore murmured above the water. "I was planning to, highness," Alan told him as he sponged down his master. "What say the castle gossips this morning?" Isidore asked his servant. Alan grinned. "That your father and his advisors emerged from the stone chamber some time after the middle of the darkness and retired to their beds their expressions wearing their lack of sleep most openly." "Did they look anything but haggard?" Isidore asked. "Not that I heard, just tired is all, and to be expected I would say, highness." "I wonder how much he is getting out of us then," Isidore said, his top lip curling. "Not a word of the price has been but whispered, more's the pity." Alan vigorously scrubbed his young master's thick black tresses. "The envoy has been called though, so he will accompany back the carts of gifts I would say." "He wouldn't want to be around after his Svarya has extracted so much from us, I imagine," Isidore said, supposing that this would be the one slice of good got from the whole of this farce; at least that smirking, Dara-hating bastard would be gone from their midst. "Has father risen?" he thought to ask as Alan washed down his chest. "Not before I came in here," Alan replied. "Poor father, he will be tired after going nearly two days without sleep, he and his advisors," Isidore sympathised. "Aye," Alan murmured as he continued his bath time ministrations. When he was completely washed, and the heat of the water started to dissipate, Isidore left the bathing chamber so that his bath might be used by another, and trotted back to his own suite wearing only his robe. Not long after he had reached there and, as Alan was still trying to dry the last of the water in his hair, a servant entered to say that Svarya Kenit had risen and wished his son to make his way to his chambers as soon as he was ready. Isidore felt all the excitement that could be engendered from being one of the first to find out just how much Svarya Kerim was extracting from the Svarya of his brother-city. Alan had first to dress him and tie back his hair. Since he was in a good mood he decided to let Alan tie the end of the braid with a small gold circlet when usually he preferred a plain black band. He still only dressed in black with a muted trim of one thin gold band lining the neck and sleeves of his camic. "You look very striking, highness, if a little stark in these clothes you insist on wearing." As his personal servant, Alan felt he had somewhat of a right to question those clothes his master chose to wear which understated his striking features. "They will do fine, Alan." Isidore didn't much care what he was wearing this day, for his mind was entirely on his meeting with his father this morning. Alan sniffed to indicate how he felt about that summation as he tugged on his master's boots, smaller than his own. So small was his master, but perfectly made. Alan knew, since he bathed and dressed the boy day after day, that everything was perfectly formed and perfectly mouthwatering; but the young Svaraya would allow no Daja the pleasure of discovering this, which was the shame of it all. When Alan was finished clucking ruefully and rubbing his outfit down so that the velvet nap sat all in one direction, Isidore was able to leave his servant and make his way to his father's chambers. He was admitted into these as soon as he arrived, and his father received him in the parlour, much as he had done two days ago. "So, father." Isidore's spirits were bright as he strode into the parlour. "What has the Sherim-Ran Svarya extracted from you?" Kenit-ya noted his son's cheerful demeanour and smiled slightly. "Come here, Isidore." He held out his arms and Isidore quickly acquiesced, giving his father a hug. His father, being much the same size as his brother, smothered him in his arms and he had to push out of the embrace as it got too tight for adequate breath. "Father, what is it?" he asked, catching his breath. "Sit down, baby boy," his father instructed, taking his own seat and waiting for his son to do the same. Isidore perched on the edge of his seat, his expression registering his confusion. "You might be aware that we talked late into the night, son, for the debate over what was an appropriate offering was fierce." His father broached the subject he had initially called upon his son to speak about. "Your brother and his friends killed two high-ranking Sherim-Ran lords and injured a Svar, so we must make their Daja-ren in gold." Daja-ren being the payment for a man wrongly harmed or killed. "Is it a lot, father?" Sheq-Kis-Ra had a schedule of man-prices which varied in value depending on the ranking of the lord killed. Isidore knew the Svar's injury alone would cost them a lot of money, but he was not sure of the rankings of the two other men killed. Then there were the animal offerings which had to be transported to Sherim-Ra to make atonement to the gods to which the nobles were attached. "The Daja-ren is much the same between the brother-cities," Kenit-ya said in a distracted voice. "And so what have you decided upon as atonement for the slight?" Isidore asked. "This we took longest to debate, son, and the decision was not reached easily," Kenit-ya replied softly. Isidore sat for a moment expectantly, then at the silence and in the face of his father's expression, his eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Father, do not say it!" His hand flew to his mouth. "I must son; I held out on this for the longest but...then I was made to realize that in this I must think as a Svarya and not as a father." Kenit-ya's tone was firm, though his eyes revealed how this decision had not easily come to him. "But the message said 'one son for another'; you are a father no matter the choice." Isidore's voice was still faint. "No, son; you know this is not so," Kenit-ya said gently, his eyes full of sympathy. Oh, Isidore knew. Too well he knew which son was the more valuable; and though he loved Barik with all his heart and would do anything for him, including willingly selling himself to some great unknown beast in Sherim-Ra, he couldn't help the sting of knowing whom they all thought was the expendable son. "Was there no recourse?" he demanded in a voice tight and hurt. "Were you so quick to sacrifice me?" "What do you think a warrior Svarya itching for a fight would do did we demur on this?" Kenit-ya asked, his tone gentle but his expression grave. "Do you really think it would be so? Would he be so foolhardy?" Isidore asked, his fingers still pressed against his lips. "We do not know; but could we risk it? Could we risk your brother's life to find out?" his father asked him, his brown eyes penetrating the midnight-blue ones of his son. "No!" Isidore jumped up suddenly, his eyes growing even wider, the mere mention of his brother being in harm's way had put any further protestations completely out of his head. "No never, I must go immediately ere he hurts Barik." Kenit-ya pulled his son on to his lap; appropriate behavior with a Dara. "Relax, baby boy; your brother is safe - until such time as I get my hands on him - but I am glad you have accepted your lot so quickly." "What are his terms, father?" Isidore thought to ask. "For how long am I to be given to him?" "We do not know, little one, but our offer will be for you to be given in perpetuity. Should he not want you for that long then it will be up to him to relinquish you." Kenit-ya did not think that would be a likelihood and, even now, his father's protective response rose to think of the barbarian Svarya putting his hands on his son, but it was something he had been compelled to come to grips with. "Forever?" Isidore asked, his head on his father's chest as he sat within his lap. "But will I be able to return for visits?" "I cannot think why not," Kenit-ya told his son, "but it shall be at the brother-Svarya's discretion." "You mean he may refuse?" Isidore asked, paling. The thought that some barbarous Daja could refuse to let him see his father and brother and all those he had to leave behind in Sheq-Kis-Ra was too awful to contemplate. Kenit-ya sighed. "At first he may prevent you from returning, for you will have to adjust to your new home. You cannot achieve that if you are constantly escaping back to your former one. But, after some time has passed and if he is pleased you have accepted your new life, then I can see no reason why he would stop you from seeing your family." "How long may he consider this time of adjustment?" Isidore asked. "I cannot know, Isidore, perhaps a year?" Kenit-ya guessed. A year; he could probably survive that, only just though. He hugged his father tight; pressing his face into the man's chest, still hard and thickly muscled despite his years, for he continued to train daily. He wondered how he was going to live without his father's hugs; without those of his brother; without those of his friends. A thought struck him. "Would I be able to bring Eiren, if he agrees?" he asked, looking up at his father. Kenit-ya regarded his son's hopeful expression and his own was sad. "Not just now, son; it is likely that Kerim-ya will not want you bringing too many reminders of home and we would not want to presume at this stage when we do not know him." Isidore's expression turned woeful and his father hugged him tighter within his arms. "Perhaps you might ask your new Svarya when you arrive there, hmm? And then you may send for Eiren if you gain his approval." "He is not my Svarya; you are my Svarya, father," Isidore said, his expression hardening. "No, son; you will be part of his household; you will be bound to him by my word, and you will therefore accept him as your Svarya and Daja-protector." Isidore's expression fell. "And what do we get for this hefty sacrifice?" "His alliance," Kenit-ya replied. "You do not serve just your household, Isidore; you serve the whole of Sheq-Kis-Ra with this noble undertaking." "I know, father," Isidore said, "but I would still do it even if it were just to get my stupid, Lodur-cursed brother back home so you can beat the life out of him." Kenit-ya chuckled and Isidore felt the rumble against his cheek, pressed as it was to his father's chest. "Be assured that I will be doing that, son." He sighed, stroking his son's midnight locks and drawing his hand along the braid which felt cool and silky against his fingers. "And this will probably be the one time when Barik will agree the beating is entirely deserved." He was overseeing the packing of his possessions when Eiren found him, tears in his grey-green eyes. "Isidore, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Do not be, Eiren, I am resolved to not mourn my lot," Isidore replied, his expression showing more resolution than he felt. "Why are you taking so little?" Eiren looked about at the two small trunks that were being packed. "Father says it's best if I bring only those possessions that are absolutely vital to me at the beginning, more may be sent for when I am settled in," Isidore explained. "Oh." Eiren suddenly felt at a loss for words. "I feel guilty, Isidore, I told you that your father would never bargain you away like this." "Betimes he must make decisions as a Svarya and not as a father; this was one of them," Isidore answered in a firm voice but it wavered slightly at the end. "Oh, baby, you don't want to go do you?" Eiren asked, pulling his friend into his arms for an embrace. "No," he sniffed, trying to hold on to his tears, "I don't want to leave you all behind." "Can I go with you?" Eiren asked in a whisper. "Father says not; he has advised me to go with the minimum of possessions so that I may appear to be ready to accept my new life." He raised his head from his friend's shoulder. "But if you would like to come, I may ask my new Svarya permission for you to do so, but only if you want to." "Of course!" Eiren answered vehemently. "You will be all alone there; I hate to think of you all by yourself." "I know. Who will I turn to for comfort when I am homesick?" Isidore asked, biting his lip. "He would be a beast to refuse me, yes, in this he will acquiesce, I am sure." "As am I, so you must send a missive for me and whatever possessions you require as soon as you have obtained his permission to do so, which you will ask as soon as you arrive at his castle." "I will, and you will not miss too much being here?" Isidore asked, looking up at his friend who was an inch or two taller than him. "I will miss it far less than I will miss being with you, and I will even bring all your boring old books with me; how is that? Then you will really know I have missed you!" Isidore giggled; for the first time feeling as though his spirits were lifted over the whole affair. Yes, things would not be so bad, he would have his friend with him and a whole other city to discover as he had the occasion, and then when Svarya Kerim tired of him, or felt so fit, he might even release him back to his own home and all might be back to normal, but for the potential war that had been averted. The black spot on his now far more optimistic horizon was that he had to ride with the Sherim-Ran envoy who looked upon him with no less poorly concealed contempt than he had when they had been in the palace and Isidore had to wonder at what caused the man's considerable animosity. He kept his head high, his expression coolly detached as they looked out over the Sheq-Kis-Ran countryside that he was leaving for at least a year. That was what he had reconciled himself to. Still, he felt himself grieve to leave his home even for that short amount of time; for it had been his home for seventeen years. He did not want to leave it even for the one. His feelings he kept on the inside, though. His patrician features remaining serene, for he wasn't going to give the Sherim-Ranian the satisfaction of seeing him down. Gomar il Barin let his eyes stray to the Dara on more than one occasion as they traveled, taking in his proud features as he looked out over the countryside, his expression one of superiority. Of course he knew the Dara thought he was above him. A whole complement of Sheq-Kis-Ran guards proved how valued the Dara-Svaraya was to his father and indeed to all Sheq-Kis-Ranians, Daja and Dara alike; and Gomar knew the boy knew it. Well, he would find out differently when he got to Sherim-Ra; for there all Darani were below Dajani, no matter their rank or origin. Then, how would the Dara's cool demeanor hold up; how would his pride withstand the fact that his position would be demeaned to that of the serving class? Gomar could not wait; he verily swelled with anticipation. He could not wait to see this beautiful Dara-Svaraya be utterly stripped of his status and reduced to serving as a common Diya; knowing it was the position to which his own father had sold him. Kylar il Neran bounded across to the enclosed arena, vaulting himself over the chest-high wooden fence with ease, to approach those who were engaged within the arena. Upon seeing his friend and advisor approaching, Kerim decided to finish the training bout quickly so, with a sideways thrust of his sword, he disarmed his opponent who stood with a look of shock to have a sword-tip pressed against the base of his throat where previously he had stood with his own sword in his hand. "Oh very good, Kerim, but I could have had it in fewer moves," Kylar told his friend with his easy grin. "Less than one?" Kerim asked, looking down upon his friend, his straight brows raised slightly. "Aye, many less than one," Kylar replied easily. Kerim felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "I don't know why I keep you as advisor; you're so full of horseshit." "`Tis for my pretty face, I am sure of it," Kylar quipped. "Have you interrupted my training for a reason, Kylar, other than to annoy me with your asinine wit?" Kerim asked, his expression darkening but Kylar knew better than to take his friend's frequent scowls seriously. "You're lucky I like you," he said, "or I wouldn't bother telling you the Dara-Svaraya is three days out from your castle." "Three days out?" Kerim asked, his voice completely uninterested. "What do I care if he is three days from my castle? Tell me when he arrives, then I might interrupt my training to inspect that the Sheq-Kis-Ranians' gift is worthy." "Oh come now, do not pretend you are not even the slightest bit interested; he is said to be surpassingly beautiful," Kylar goaded, elbowing his friend. "I care not if he is Osis personified; I will not waste time going out to retrieve him when he is already on his way here," Kerim replied, holding up his sword and regarding its finely honed edge, burred in but one place from the morning's training. He turned to his friend who was still waiting expectantly. "Oh alright, you may waste your time going and collecting him from wherever he is," he conceded with a wry look at his friend who grinned widely. "Aye I shall; the poor thing. He will have been almost a two-month in the company of that pillock Barin. He will be in sore need of some of the Neran charm," Kylar stepped backwards as he said this, "ere he reaches here and encounters your total lack thereof." Fortunately he had reached the fence and was able to launch himself over it before his friend gave him a fat lip for pointing out, as he frequently did, that Kerim had a total lack of finesse when it came to dealing with any man. Kylar reached the traveling party at the end of the day; given he was atop his horse which he pressed rather hard to get there. It wasn't solely that he was interested in the Dara that he was going; he was also doing this as a favor to his best friend who would need to have his newest acquisition prepared before the child encountered him. Kerim was a brusque and oft thoughtless Daja who cared little for the feelings of those around him and had Kylar not known him since he was five years old, he would have to say he would be hard-pressed to understand this about him. That said, as a friend, a man couldn't ask for one more loyal and trustworthy and, as a warrior, there was no one to whom he would rather entrust his back. But upon first impressions, Kerim seldom made a good one. Which was why Kylar was on this mission to prepare the Dara for his new home and, in particular, its master who, in Kylar's opinion, was in sore need of someone to love and to love him. Yes; if he didn't make a hash of it, the gift of the Svarya of Sheq-Kis-Ra could be far more precious than just the pretty bauble Kerim currently thought of him. "Here comes trouble." Isidore heard the mutter of the Sherim-Ranian he had had to endure for the entire ride and he wondered what could be annoying the man now. He looked surreptitiously in the direction toward where the man's gaze was fixed and saw riding towards them a rather large warrior with light brown hair tied in two braids that fell to midway down his chest, which was bare but for a sleeveless vest that opened far down it, revealing its toned and developed musculature. Lodur help him if they all dress like that, Isidore thought, feeling the colour rise in his cheeks just to look upon this well formed warrior; and then as he came closer into view Isidore could see his face was as pleasantly put together as his body and he had eyes a shade of green. He quickly averted his own when he realized he had been caught staring and turned in the opposite direction, the colour still high in his cheeks. This was why he was startled when he heard a loud thump as something landed in the middle of the open cart in which they were traveling. He turned in its direction, getting the shock of his life to see it was, in fact, the same warrior he had been openly ogling who had effortlessly jumped from his horse to land in the middle of the carriage. He had to crane his neck to see all the way up the man's body to his face which was smiling widely as the Daja looked down at him. "So, they have been telling the truth about you, Darima," the warrior told him, still grinning. "Is there any reason why you've come to disrupt our progress, Kylar il Neran?" The envoy interrupted any response Isidore might have made; not that he had one ready for this handsome Daja. The Daja waved his hand in the general direction of the envoy's voice. "Haven't you somewhere else you want to be, Gomar il Barin?" he asked pointedly, "maybe checking the wagon wheels, or what's under them?" Isidore stifled a laugh as the envoy flushed with this pointed invitation to join Mol-Hotep in his lair. He took the invitation to leave though, stepping to the edge of the cart and then effecting a rather impressive dismount to the ground, not stumbling with the lack of movement his body would have encountered as he did so. A cart behind them that was carrying the trunks stopped to enable him to climb up and sit next to the driver. Isidore wondered who this warrior was, that he could order the envoy off their carriage. "Kylar il Neran?" Isidore spoke the man's name as it had been said by the envoy, looking up to the man who still stood over him, watching him with interest. "Will you not sit and tell me your business?" "I will, little one." To Isidore's horror, the warrior lifted him up and sat right down where he had been sitting, then pulled him onto his lap. Isidore stiffened considerably within the overly familiar grasp of this complete stranger, and then tried to scramble out. "No don't squirm, little one; it feels too delightful," the Daja told him with a wicked grin. Isidore's mouth dropped, and his eyes widened. He obeyed simply out of shock, stilling within the man's grasp. "Do you take liberties with the Svarya's charge?" Isidore asked sitting as far back in the man's lap as he could, given he was encased by the large arms. "Do I?" Kylar asked, his smile no less wicked. "I think you do," Isidore replied, his expression no less affronted. "Well then, that settles that," Kylar replied easily, not moving a muscle to release the boy. "If 'tis all the same to you, I would like to take my own seat." Isidore tried a different tack. "But you can see 'tis not all the same to me, else I would have let you do so from the start," Kylar replied. "Well, then, if you have a care for how it is to me, might you do so," Isidore told him in a tight voice. Kylar cocked his head to the side, a strange response; he was used to coyness from Darani, but not this outright discomfort. "Very well, Isidore." Isidore noted how the Daja pronounced his name very carefully, enunciating each syllable, `Ees-i-dore', as though he might taste them. They spoke an older dialect in Sherim-Ra, so some words did not suit their tongue well. The Daja opened his arms and Isidore was able to jump from his lap and across to the other side of the cart, facing the Daja with a wary expression. "Oh come now, do not look at me like that, little one." Kylar gave him a beguiling grin. "You must at least be grateful to me for ridding you of that odious envoy." Isidore was surprised out of his discomfort. "You mean you find him unpleasant also? Lodur be praised, I thought it was just me." Kylar grinned. "Why do you think we sent him to Sheq-Kis-Ra?" he asked, quirking his brows, "and then you go and send him right back." Isidore was surprised at the complete lack of respect this one called Kylar was displaying towards their diplomat. Then he cocked his head to the side. "Who are you to have a say over where your ambassadors go?" "Clever, Darima, but then you would be, growing up in court," Kylar commented. "And you avoid my question," Isidore responded. "I did, didn't I?" Kylar replied, making no attempt to remedy that oversight. "Do not speak to me as a child, I have no child's mind," Isidore replied curtly. "Perhaps not, but you can forgive me for I have seen ten-year-old Dajani larger than you." Kylar grinned, looking up and down the small body of the Dara before him, speaking the truth. He wished he hadn't when he saw the expression in response to it, his smile subsiding as Isidore looked to the side. "I cannot help the way I was born." "Nor would you want to, Darima," Kylar replied, smiling beguilingly once more. "In fact I shall make an offering to Lodur to thank him for the way you were born." This was said with such a licentious look up and down Isidore's form once more that he couldn't stop the smile that tugged his lips in response. "You are full of foolery," Isidore told him, trying to appear disgusted but he couldn't help the mirth the Daja was stirring in him. "Is it the habit of your people always to send he that is most ill-equipped for the job to perform it?" "You wound me, and the whole of Sherim-Ra with it, little Svaraya." Kylar feigned a wound to his chest. "Tell me upon what do you form these damning suppositions." "You send that," Isidore gestured to the envoy riding some distance behind them, "for a diplomat, and yourself for a - what, messenger? - when I cannot get a scrap of sense out of you." "Oh, you wound me again, Darima; lucky you are so pretty that I would endure a dozen, no a dozen-dozen, of your arrows just to bask in your presence." Isidore burst out laughing. "Where do you get this tripe?" he asked. "But it makes you laugh does it not?" Kylar asked, his green eyes boring into the midnight-blue ones of the Dara opposite him, "and you must admit I am far better company than that sourpuss of a diplomat, huh?" "A mule is better company than that man." Isidore looked unimpressed. "Do not use him as a benchmark then call yourself any great prize by comparison." "And so I am not, but you who laugh at my poor courtiership might ask yourself who I am once more," Kylar replied, his light brown brow raised. Isidore grinned. "Oh clever courtier, to distract me from my purpose so effectively. But then ever the prideful Daja, you must remind me of it just so you may gloat that I had forgotten it, thus defeating your own purpose." "Unless I never intended to hide from you my identity and only wished to distract you to show you that you are not as clever as you would like to think, Darima," was the response of the would-be courtier. "If 'tis so, then I would wonder at your pettiness in proving so minor a point," Isidore replied. Kylar threw back his head and laughed. "You are twice the pearl I had first thought," he told Isidore when he had finished, his expression one of slightly less licentious admiration. "I thank you for your compliment," Isidore replied politely. "So tell me Isidore, what think you of your new home?" Kylar asked, watching him intently. "I think 'tis a passing fair place and resembles my own home in many ways," Isidore replied. "Your own home?" Kylar asked. "My former home, forgive me if the realisation has yet to fully settle upon my heart," Isidore replied. "And shall it weigh there heavily, little one?" Kylar asked. "I hope I shall come to enjoy my new home," Isidore replied. "'Twould be best if you do, Darima, for 'tis your opportunity as well," Kylar told him. "Know you something that I do not about what might be opportune in this for me?" Isidore did not bother with courtier-speak. "Likely many things, little one, for Sherim-Ra is my home and so I know a lot of it, but I also happen to know your new master very well," Kylar replied. "My master?" Isidore's voice was strained. "You mean as my Svarya?" "He is everyone's Svarya and therefore everyone's master; but specifically to you he is your master," Kylar replied, "for you are Dara first, Sheq-Kis-Ran Svaraya second." "Nay, I did think the rumours were exaggerated." Isidore's brow creased. "In this they are not, all Darani are servants to Dajani here; I know 'tis different in Sheq-Kis-Ra," Kylar told him. "Aye, 'tis different," Isidore breathed. "Do not tell me that even that envoy considers himself above me in station." Kylar gave him a sympathetic look. "Personally, he is not above a mule's arse, but in society, then yes, Darima, he would be considered above you in station." "And able to order me about as he would a common servant?" Isidore asked, his heart fluttering in his chest. "You are slightly different, being the Sheq-Kis-Ran Svarya's son, but any Dara, no matter of whose lineage, is in subjection to any Daja," Kylar told him gently. I want to go home, Isidore thought desperately, for he was truly so little prepared for this. He had, of course, learned these things about the Sherim-Ranians and so the information Kylar gave him was not unknown to him; but he had blocked them from his mind because the reality was too unsettling to contemplate and now he was forced to face it. It was all as new to him. "But, and here I give away my reason for coming here, you will find the Svarya will not be so willing to bend the rules," Kylar told him. "I think Kerim-ya will be expecting you to behave as any Dara, for he has strong views about such things." "As my Svarya, I will find it not too difficult to adhere to his command," Isidore replied. "Tell me he is not as unreasonable or unjust as to make it impossible for a reasonable person to do so." "No he is most fair and just," Kylar told him with no qualms for it was the truth, "but he has a brusque manner and more often than not will offend unintentionally." "I see," Isidore replied, not being too surprised to find that the warrior Svarya was not overly mindful of etiquette. "And when he does, blood is more easily rendered from stone than an apology is from him for his offence," Kylar continued, watching Isidore's expression closely for how he was responding to each piece of news. To this Isidore merely nodded, staring out at the darkening view out of the cart. "And I will tell you that you will probably not like him when you first meet him, but..." here Kylar paused, wondering how to put the next part, "but he has a good heart, beneath all his gruff manner; he really does have a good heart." "This is good to know," Isidore replied slowly. "You might take care of it," Kylar told him earnestly. "I shall do my best to be a good servant to my new Svarya, as I have sworn it and so too has my father sworn it," Isidore replied after a pause. "As for caring for his heart, I know too little of it to tell you whether or not it may be done, or whether it may be my role to do so." Kylar sat for some time after, regarding the Dara-Svaraya in the fading light. Just a Dara in this land. He felt somewhat disappointed by that knowledge; for certainly this was no ordinary Dara. He had a quick mind and a clever wit; that much could a few Darani claim. But also he seemed to have a thoughtfulness about him, and a calm mien. When Kylar had tried to make light sport with him, he had been genuinely discomfited by it, though nothing in his expression before he had jumped in his carriage had suggested that the Dara found him displeasing. No, this was no coy Dara; perhaps he was just right for Kerim, Kylar thought. Now, if only he could stop his best friend from being a total ass and prevent him from scaring the boy off ere he had a chance to learn of his merit. On the last day of travel, they passed through the gates of the city and there Isidore saw a vast difference between his former home and his new one. Within the city walls there were many more people far more densely situated; the city was almost a...slum was the word that came immediately to mind. Kylar had stayed with their party for the three days which had pleased Isidore no end, for he had to admit the man reminded him terribly of his brother, especially in his playful nature and Dajan habits. So many things the man did and said that Isidore could very well imagine Barik doing and saying. Also the man tended to be an effective silencer to Gomar il Barin, which Isidore appreciated, though the envoy was riding with them in their cart this day as they were passing through the city. Isidore looked at the slummy buildings and the children picking around the scraps. Others were playing with various things they had found; hoops, balls, some looking to have been built specifically for that purpose; most looking to have been fashioned out of rags and suchlike. Isidore watched them with the faintest crease on his brow but, then, when he saw the beggars his brow creased terribly and he pressed his fingertips against his lips. "Do not concern yourself over them, every city has beggars." Kylar tried to reassure him. "You mean every town is blighted with beggars." Gomar's nose screwed up to see them. "They are disgraceful to us." "Have you no compassion for those who are not so blessed as yourself?" Isidore asked. "Do not speak to me of being blessed," Gomar spat angrily. "All may make of their life as they will; these have chosen this reprehensible path." "Would you give them nothing then?" Isidore asked. "Aye, not a single gile would I waste upon them." A gile was the lowest denomination of coinage minted in Sherim-Ra; not even one of these would Gomar spare. "For they have chosen this way of life. They say they beg because they have no choice, but we all get a choice and they have chosen this." "But what if they have so little property that they may never pull themselves from the mire of poverty?" Isidore asked. "'Tis said that poverty is not always a choice; that if one cannot obtain sufficient moneys above a critical level that enables them to remove themselves from their destitute circumstance, they may remain forever steeped in it. Would you so condemn them?" "Why should I give them aught, 'tis a disgrace to the city, this way of life, I will not support them in it," Gomar replied, glaring at Isidore for continuing to question him. "Perhaps you might be supporting them out of it," Isidore continued. "'Tis not my responsibility to do so," Gomar replied. "Neither is it your responsibility to pass judgment on their way of life; but you saw fit to do that." Isidore sighed, seeing Gomar flash him a murderous look out of the corner of his eye but ignoring it. When he looked up however, he saw Kylar contemplating him from where he sat opposite him; but the man said nothing. He turned back to the view of the city, blocked mainly by the mounted guard which had joined them at the city gates and escorted them through it. "This warning I will give you, little one." Kylar leaned forward to address Isidore who turned from watching the view to face the Daja. "You must keep your opinions to yourself when you first are around your new master," he said. "He does not enjoy engaging in lively debate so well as I do and will quite possibly take to your opinions much as does yon pitiful diplomat." Lodur help him, Isidore thought; the more he had learned of this man, the more unsettling was the prospect of spending even a year in his presence. "I thank you for your care," was all he said aloud, but Kylar had seen how the boy had balked at the comparison and he guessed that Isidore was anything but thankful for every new thing he learned about his soon-to-be master. Upon entry into the castle; a cold grey edifice unlike their castle in Sheq-Kis-Ra which had a white hue from the particular minerals in the rocks from which it had been built, Isidore was made to wait excessively long while the envoy delivered his news from Sheq-Kis-Ra. Fortunately Kylar waited with him. "We should have been nicer to him on the road," Isidore commented. "Now he is doing this just to spite us, or me, for you do not need to be here." "It has been three days since I have seen my friend; perhaps I am so excited to see him that I cannot wait until this evening," Kylar responded, leaning against the wall of the small antechamber in which they waited. "You should make your falsehoods a little more believable if you seek to comfort others with them," Isidore replied with a small smile. "Are you not comforted? I see you are smiling. Or is it just that you are admiring the sight of me and cannot help but have your lips turn up?" Kylar asked, quirking his brows. "Oh, most certainly 'tis the latter," Isidore replied. "Now 'tis you who should speak your falsehoods a little more believably," Kylar accused. "My ego does suffer so under your cutting wit." Isidore grinned. "Then 'tis good there is so much of it to spare." Kylar was about to answer him when they were called into the chamber at last. It was fortunate Kylar was behind him because when Isidore walked into the receiving chamber his first instinct was to run right back out of it. As it was he stopped, his mouth dropping, and Kylar had to resort to pushing him in the direction of his new master who stood by the large chair in the room, not deigning to use it. Simply described, the man was enormous. He towered above everyone in the room; maybe not eight feet but very likely seven-and-a-half and bulging with huge muscles. Of course, this was a man who was happiest when he was with his sword; his body was a weapon in itself and a dangerous one at that. Isidore didn't know whether to praise or curse Lodur for creating such a man. It did not help that Svarya Kerim looked upon Isidore much as a hawk would eye a field-mouse; a look of proprietary knowledge that the meal would, after some time or other, be his for the taking. "How fared your three day journey, Kylar?" the Svarya asked in a deep and confident voice. Having spent just a moment with his predatory gaze appraising Isidore's form, he now turned his attention to his friend. "Well, Kerim-ya." Kylar felt like sighing out loud, but he let none of his disapproval show; though he wondered why his friend insisted on behaving so rudely around those who might give him so much if he would but let them. "And you have brought a little slip of a Dara with you I see; this is the Svaraya who is worth my goodwill towards Sheq-Kis-Ra?" Kerim looked him up and down as if he felt somehow shortchanged. "I was told he was surpassingly fair, yet I find he is only passingly so." Kylar saw how Isidore stiffened before him, and again he cursed his friend; for he knew he had seen none so fine as the Svaraya and likely neither had Kerim. He was about to speak up in such a way as to earn himself a fat lip at the evening's meal, but was preempted. "Perhaps it would please his majesty to know that the gift is costly to he that gives it, even if he that receives it finds it of little value." This Isidore said with a deferentially bowed head so he did not have the same pleasure as Kylar did to see Kerim look truly surprised. "Perhaps it would please the Dara to know that he may not speak until invited to do so in the Svarya's presence," Kerim responded brusquely. "Forgive my ignorance, Majesty," Isidore murmured politely, then he looked up, his midnight-blue eyes meeting those cold black ones of the Svarya, "and no, it does not please me to know this." Isidore's eyes dropped back to their respectful level, which was upon the man's boots but he in no way looked subservient; for years of noble bearing made even his deference bespeak royalty. "Isidore da Jornn." Kerim spoke his name. "You are now of my household; thus are you named Isidore no Jaal." The adoptive conjunction, no in Sherim-Ra, nom in Sheq-Kis-Ra; he had forgotten during his journey that he would be adopted into the household of the Svarya and thus lose his own family's identifier. "I have no further need of you." Kerim clicked his fingers, which summoned a servant out of the corner of the room. "Laien will show you where to go." "If it pleases your majesty, might I ask whether my brother is still in the city?" Isidore asked, his head still deferentially lowered. Kerim's brow raised slightly. "He is," he answered shortly; the elder Svaraya and his party had yet to be returned to Sheq-Kis-Ra with their tails between their legs. "Then might I see him before he goes, Majesty?" Isidore asked him, his eyes raising to the man's shoulder but no higher, as was properly respectful. "You may not," Kerim answered curtly. Deference failed for a moment and in his shock his eyes flew to the hard black ones of his new master. "Please," he breathed, "he is my brother." Kerim frowned; since when did a Dara ask more than once? "You will do well never to speak the same question twice, Dara." His black eyes were hard as stone. Isidore bowed his head, nodding slightly. In his household he had never asked more than twice for something important to him; but now to find out he was not even to have the right of insistence. "As it pleases your majesty." Kerim nodded slightly, dismissing him, and Isidore followed the servant out of the receiving room and into a hall that led to the rest of the castle. Once gone, Kerim let out his breath then turned to his friend. "Aye, it pleases me," he said, coming up to Kylar and punching him in the arm. "Hah! No one told me he was so...pleasing." "I thought he was only passingly so," Kylar noted, his expression less jovial, which was a rare occurrence between the two. "Argh, that one would have been told all his life that he was beautiful; he doesn't need to think he can ensnare me so easily," Kerim replied. "Is that why you refused him the boon of visiting with his brother?" Kylar asked, his green eyes regarding the hard black ones of his friend unflinchingly. Kerim frowned. "No. I refused him because it is not what he needs; to be reminded of what he has left behind can only upset him. Best he see only things that will remind him of his new home for a while." "Then could you not have told him that; he likely thinks you are a heartless tyrant that denies him only to see him suffer," Kylar pointed out. "You are ensnared by far too many Darani and have become softened by it." It was a grave reproach Kerim delivered his friend. "It is not his place to question my motives; only to know that I know best and to obey me unstintingly." "I do not think that is how he has been brought up, Kerim," Kylar told him, concern in his green eyes. "I think he has been taught how to think." "Then he can be taught how not to think," Kerim answered in the style that was so typical of him: cold, unfeeling and completely autocratic.