The Outcast, page 32
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
Upon arrival at their destined manor, they found the gates guarded, denying entrance to those not invited. Al’Rhun’s lead servant, who had walked beside them as they were carried through the streets, stepped forward and produced invitations. Words were exchanged and the gates were opened, admitting the palanquin inside.
“You will be staying with this one until dismissed,” Al’Rhun told Rowan as they were borne inside the gates. “And after I dismiss you, you must still remain at the party. At least for a time.” The palanquin stopped and Al’Rhun stepped down, followed by Rowan. The party was already well underway. In fact, they had arrived late—at Al’Rhun’s insistence. But many others were still arriving, some riding in palanquins as Rowan and Al’Rhun had, while others entered in carts or upon strange creatures Rowan didn’t recognize. Not a single one had simply walked.
“Do not speak to those above your station, and do your best to act contrary to your usual self. Al’Rhun enjoys you, but he does not think that others will find you as appealing. It would be bad if you were to—”
“I know how to conduct myself among nobility, Al’Rhun.”
“Not just nobility, Parren-nihm. That is for your country. Here there are people of true power and influence, not just those who claim a noble heritage.”
Rowan scowled at the comment. He was only there because of his debt to Al’Rhun. Let the man parade him around. He would quickly tire of Rowan who could then leave and seek out Nel. She would be waiting for him. She had promised, and made him promise as well.
“You already look to be disinterested. Come with me, Parren-nihm. The night has only just begun and there is much to do.”
Rowan followed Al’Rhun into the party. He didn’t like to admit it, but the party was actually magnificent. Gaudy, but magnificent. Rowan had seen festive events during his time in the capital, but this was something else entirely. It was fantastical. There was almost too much for him to take in.
Most of all, he was overcome by the colors. All were dressed in rich and vibrant attire, even the staff who wore outfits of vivid golden orange. There were musicians and dancers and acrobats. Servants walked about offering trays of exotic foods and drinks. It was overwhelming, but Rowan maintained an air of nonchalance.
He allowed Al’Rhun to lead him around the party, introducing him to the other guests. Rowan kept silent unless addressed directly, as Al’Rhun had instructed. He nodded and exchanged greetings, committing names and faces to memory out of habit. But he did not smile.
Rowan owed a debt to Al’Rhun. He would not disgrace the merchant or his reputation, but he did not feign interest in the man’s political games. Some of the men and women introduced to Rowan found this irritating while others enjoyed it or simply didn’t care.
“You are doing well, young Parren-nihm,” Al’Rhun said after yet another meeting. To Rowan, they were all beginning to blur together. This last one had been with a middle-ranking member of High House Nagga and her husband. spice merchant,“You could be doing much better though.”
“I suppose I could,” Rowan replied. “But I am tired and I don’t much care to try, beyond what is required of me.”
“Perhaps you should take some time alone, away from Al’Rhun. Go out and socialize with those of your station and allow this one to—how did you put it—play the game? Yes, allow Al’Rhun to play the game of politics while you mingle.”
“If that is what you want, then I am not opposed.”
“Good. Al’Rhun knows that he is your only acquaintance here but your actions show that you prefer solitude. So go now and occupy yourself, but do not depart until this one has given you leave.”
“Very well,” Rowan said. He bowed to Al’Rhun as the man left with a flourish.
Left alone, Rowan moved to the edge of the party. He had no one to speak with and no desire to mingle. He would simply wait for the party to end or for permission to leave. He could then go and meet Nel.
Rowan accepted a drink from a passing server and downed it quickly. It burned like a cold fire, but the taste was not so bad. The impact came hard and fast, rendering him physically numb and dull in the head. No doubt, he’d downed high quality alcohol.
“What is the dog doing here with the people?” said a voice full of disgust. One that he recognized.
“E’lin,” Rowan said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. He turned to face Seto. The boy wore fine clothes—more polished than Rowan’s—and bore a scowl. He looked Rowan up and down with a critical eye.
“You look the fool. Your attempt to dress up only emphasizes your status. You are a daizhan, a dirty Greenlander trying to play the part of something you’re not.” Seto’s voice rang with derision. He chuckled softly but his eyes showed none of the same mirth.
Rowan shrugged, trying to ignore the boy. He searched for Seto’s father and cousin. Surely he had not come alone. Seto was a mere annoyance. His father, though, was a dansool. Rowan wasn’t foolish enough to make further trouble if he could avoid it. Not after the man’s threat. Not after his fight with Illan Ishtar.
Rowan continued looking around and located Iasu Ael on the far side of the grounds. Illan Ishtar stood with Seto’s father and had a beautiful woman on his uninjured arm, while surrounded by a small crowd of sycophants. One of his legs was bound and he obviously favored his healthy one.
“Are you ignoring me, dog?”
Seto’s voice rose with anger, drawing the attention of those around them. Many looked on with interest. They recognized Seto and could see that trouble was brewing. They were watching with interest, curious of the outcome and eager for gossip.
“How has that girl been?” Seto suddenly leered. “Does she miss my attention yet?”
That got Rowan’s notice. He whirled on Seto and growled, “You don’t speak of her. She is off-limits.”
“Nothing is off limits for me.”
With rage consuming him, Rowan stepped forward, fully intending to teach the arrogant boy a lesson. After what Seto had done last time…
Fear flashed across Seto’s face as the boy flinched. The onlookers’ excited murmurs drew Rowan’s attention and he froze, suddenly aware of what he was doing and the potentially dire consequences.
He forced himself to relax, taking a step back and adopting a less hostile posture. He raged internally, but maintained his control, projecting a calm appearance.
“Nelliel will not be bothered by you,” he hissed.
The murmuring of the crowd grew louder. Rowan glanced aside to see Illan Ishtar approaching, a hard look on his faceEveryone parted to make way for him.
“What is this?” Illan looked to Seto, completely ignoring Rowan.
Rowan cursed to himself. This was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. It was the reason he hadn’t wanted to come with Al’Rhun. He’d made an enemy of this man. Now he was in a position of weakness and without a weapon. If ever there was a time for Illan to look for retribution, this would be it.
Seto also seemed uncomfortable. For all his boasting about the influence and power he had through his association with his cousin, he bowed fast and deep to show deference. When his answer came, it was stiff.
“Greetings, cuz. I was—”
“Nevermind,” said Ishtar, waving his good hand dismissively. He turned away from his younger cousin and looked directly at Rowan. His gaze revealed the intensity of the man’s rage over his previous loss. From that gaze, Rowan knew that this was the man who’d sent an assassin to kill him.
“What are you doing here in my presence?”
“Greetings, Illan-hahn,” Rowan said, using a familiar honorific to annoy the man. He did, however, bow in deference. Illan Ishtar was still above him in station and displaying a certain level of respect was required. If he didn’t…well, that would give the man grounds to take him back to the arena. “Are you surprised to see me?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I was obligated to attend. Had I known you were going to be here, I would not have come.”
“You truly did not think that I would be here?” Ishtar seemed genuinely surprised. Illan’s voice turned cold then. “Do you know what I could have done to you?”
“I know what you have done. Or at least, what you have tried to do.”
“And what is that?”
“I think you know.”
“You had best guard your tongue, you insolent whelp. I will not tolerate disparagement of my honor or the honor of my house.”
“You sent a man in red to kill me,” Rowan hissed.
“And yet here you are,” Illan said.
Rowan thought to glare, but decided to smile instead, knowing it would annoy the man. “Here I am.”
From the look he received, Rowan thought Illan Ishtar might very well draw the dueling sword that hung from his waist.
“I would not have thought to see you here. And yet here you are,” Illan said. “I find myself quite annoyed by your presence.”
“You could leave.”
“I could kill you where you stand and every one of the people here would swear that you attacked me and my actions were justified. That is the power of my family name.”
That gave Rowan pause.
What Illan Ishtar had said to him was probably true. His family name was very important and Rowan was just a greenlander—a foreign daizhan. If Ishtar chose to draw his blade, there was no winning because Rowan could not fight back. They were outside of the arena now, and Rowan was skirting disaster as it was just by antagonizing the man.
“You seem to be catching on,” Ishtar said. “I am a dangerous man and you have chosen to disrespect me. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
I probably should have, Rowan thought.
The two of them shared a very cold silence for several moments. Then Illan surprised Rowan by stepping toward him. The man leaned in close and spoke so that only Rowan could hear.
“You had best watch yourself, daizhan d’hag. This is not a warning, it is a threat. I do not suffer defeat lightly. To be defeated at your hands, that has been a humiliation worse than death. And I will use every resource at my disposal to make you suffer a thousand times what I have suffered. And when you lay broken at my feet and beg for death, I will drag you back into the arena and I will slay you myself. That, I promise.”
Before Rowan could respond Illan turned on heel and strode away. His sycophants and followers quickly hurried after him, not wanting to be left behind. Everything had been still and quiet before and now that stillness was upset by a flurry of motion. Rowan watched as they left, following their leader. All of them. All except one.
Seto Ael remained where he stood, looking annoyed. He watched his cousin leave with his minions, having expected something more from him. Seto had clearly wanted to see Rowan humiliated or perhaps something even worse, and that hadn’t happened.
Rowan glanced back to Illan Ishtar, watching him leave. Despite the severity of the man’s threats, Rowan couldn’t help but notice his limp. Rowan had injured that leg when they fought. He wondered, could he do it again if it came to that?
He wasn’t quite sure. Illan had been a skilled duelist, but so was Rowan. One thing was for certain. If they fought again, he would not leave Illan Ishtar in any state fit to make such threats against him.
Rowan turned away from Illan and found Seto glaring at him. The boy wore a scowl and his eyes were like daggers.
“Seto!” Iasu Ael’s voice rang out. “Come to me. It is time for us to leave.”
Seto didn’t move.
“Go to your father, E’lin. Don’t do anything that you might regret.”
The boy’s eyes flared in anger and just as he made a move forward, he felt his father’s hand upon his shoulder, halting his move.
“It is time to go,” the Dansool said, ignoring Rowan as he forcibly pulled his son away and made his exit. Rowan watched them leave, glad to have them gone and an end to the drama.
“Parren-nihm?”
Rowan turned to find Al’Rhun standing next to him.
“You look upset. Has something bad happened?”
“No. It was nothing.”
“That is good. Al’Rhun heard that Iasu-dahn and Illan Ishtar are present, as is young Seto. This one was worried and came to tell you but sees that they already found you. But you say that nothing bad happened, and that is good.”
Rowan nodded absently.
“Now you must attend Al’Rhun. New guests have arrived and you must be introduced and presented. Come. When we are done, this one will give you leave to do as you please.”
Rowan followed Al’Rhun back into the thick of the party.
“Have you heard the latest news of your home country?” Al’Rhun asked Rowan casually as they moved from one conversation to another.
Rowan shook his head. Though he’d left his country behind, he still hungered for news of his home.
He’d heard reports of raiding brigands at the border. Most believed these were soldiers of the Atlean army attempting to provoke a war. The Dansools of the High Houses had been pressing for a response from the High King.
No one knew why this was happening, though rumors abounded. Many blamed it on the coup and the death of the royal family. Even more spoke of the princess now ruling Atlea, though Rowan knew that to be false. Princess Eliza had died, just like her father. He’d been there. He’d seen it. While possible that Gannon had found a replacement in her stead, Rowan was highly doubtful.
“I’ve only heard rumors of the border raids. Is there something more I should know?”
Al’Rhun’s eyes glittered and he leaned in close, speaking conspiratorially. “Dansool Idris Lanachlen has left the city with a large number of men.”
“Why should I care if some lord takes an honor guard with him on his travels?” Rowan asked.
“No. An army. He marches to the border at this very moment. Or, well, not at this moment exactly. He is probably camped for the evening, but he will be making haste regardless.”
Rowan’s head was reeling at this news, his mind racing with the implications. An army was marching toward his homeland. “Does this mean that the High King has declared war?” he asked Al’Rhun, with urgency in his voice.
“No, not yet. Though this one thinks it is only a matter of time before that happens. The High Houses are exerting much pressure on him. They are very displeased by the Atlean attacks.”
“That is bad,” Rowan said. “Very bad indeed.”
“Yes. And the situation is made worse by the young princess’s refusal of communication. She has ordered her armies to attack us unprovoked and has closed your borders. Very unaccommodating, she is.”
“Princess Eliza is dead,” Rowan said coldly. Al’Rhun liked to speak of rumors, but by now, he should have known better than to mention the princess around Rowan. “And it is not known that the Atlean army executed the raids. It is likely, but not known for certain.”
“Come now. The both of us know that what you say is not true. And war is not such a bad thing. True, it brings much death and instability, but it can also be a time for tremendous growth and opportunity if one has the mind for it.”
Rowan bit his tongue, precluding himself from telling Al’Rhun what he really thought. The man was his sponsor and a source of information, but he was not a friend.
Chapter 31: Lord Evans
Lord Evans wore a grin on his face as he conversed with members of High House Nagga. They were hosting tonight’s party and he had been extended an invitation, which he had of course accepted. But not because of High House Nagga.
They were an influential house with some political power, but no inclination to use it. Of all the High Houses, they were the least interested in political scheming. That just meant that they were likely the best at concealing their actions. But he could be wrong. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen.
Evans’s expression was a mask. In truth, he was irritated. Impatient. He was waiting for his audience with the Buhli’dazzi.
This would be his first meeting with the secret Lauratrean group. He had not met with them since his arrival. There’d been no time, nor had he been summoned. The delay was likely intended to rile him. Most men were ruled by their emotions. Not Lord Evans.
He was good at this game.
“You have been to the arena, yes?” Evans’s companion asked. The man was a minor lord with some connections.
“I confess that I have not. I have visited in the past, but so fars business has kept me from pleasure. Has the fighting been worthy?”
“It has. There is a man the crowd calls Tattercloak. He is becoming a favorite to win every time he fights.”
“He’s fought more than once?” Evans asked. From what he remembered, it was rare for contestants to win. The odds were always stacked against them. And fighters who survived were often scarred and unwilling to return.
“Yes, yes. The man has caused quite a commotion.” Leaning in close, the man whispered, “You did not hear this from me, but his first victory was against Illan Ishtar, the E’laer of High House Ishtar. He not only defeated Illan—possibly the greatest blade-master in all of Lauratrea—but he also spared his opponent’s life.”
The man sounded appalled, so Lord Evans grimaced. He did not understand, but it was never good to display your ignorance.
“You will join me at my box in the arena and we can watch Tattercloak when next he fights.”
“Done!” Lord Evans said, clasping the man’s forearm and shaking. He used the brief pause that followed to take his leave.
It was time for Evans to meet with the Buhli’dazzi.
He sighed as he glided through the party, pausing here and there to grab a morsel of food or nod to a noble. There was no rush. The Buhli’dazzi had summoned him, but he could make them wait. Not too long, though.
