Chapter 13:
To Be Whatever You Must
The Lightbringer withdrew his gaze behind the horizon as they traversed over the rocky, sloping terrain at once familiar and not. He didn’t know its contours, but the similarities to the landscapes of home were many, barring some differences in vegetation. The ubiquitous graybrush was never denied, and he still saw white flowers blooming, with buzzing rosa often in evidence. Small comfort, all, in the presence of aliens.
Can I really allow myself to believe in something so fantastical as people from another world? That I might step foot on it? The circumstances sapped any excitement he might relish toward the idea. It had become a harrowing prospect instead of a childish wonder.
That was beyond the simple absurdity of how that would even occur. There were no known methods ever discussed — even the dictionary was silent on it. How knowledge about the cosmos existed was supposedly due to a long evolution of advanced mathematics, astronomical science, and of course direct observation of the heavens. Deros was not well-versed in the advanced matters of the Ahbra’s creed thanks to his Blessed status and duty drawing him away, but he was reasonably familiar. Such familiarity included much probing about going from one planet to another, and they did not have the capabilities. It was unthinkable, even for what was known of the ancients.
As such thoughts twisted in his head, he saw them crossing down and back up the valley, essentially angling from the north side to the south. Kerrick had blown his strange horn along the way, and six more soldiers were waiting for them, falling in line as an obvious guarding escort, with Semõìn and Paetas in the middle. Perhaps they weren’t taking any chances after the death.
No one is stupid enough to come for us on some seed-brained rescue scheme. They’ll escape, as is their duty. Even a fool could see they wouldn’t have a chance at success.
The terrain soon became smoother, with less sharp juts and outcrops, overall maintaining enough elevation to frequently see down the valley back north and east. In the fading light, the river was still not visible, though Deros knew it resided some hours east over a few discernible bends. The soldiers showed no signs of stopping as their path angled back toward it. It was plain they knew the terrain well, following a path that slowed to navigate around unfavorable features, but never stopped.
Paetas seemed to catch up a bit with Semõìn, ending up side by side. Deros eyed Palamera, but she wasn’t paying much attention to anything, her eyes cast down in thought.
“Oda, oda, Paetas,” Semõìn called suddenly, angling close up to her. “Remember, now, if we aren’t ti good boy and girl, Mistress Soriel will punish us. Zeko?”
Paetas turned her head and in her thick drawl, with additional exaggerated, dulcet tones, said, “Keirtum Soriel can punish me any day. Eta sey kelambrique. Zeko zeki.”
Semõìn burst out in laughter, even rocking backward, where the beast under them was slightly disturbed and Deros had to adjust his own balance. Semõìn also leaned over to press his fist up to Paetas’s shoulder and push slightly, likely some gesture of support between comrades. He repeated her, ‘zeko, zeki’ barely discernible amidst his laughter.
Ahead, Kerrick looked back and barked something that had to be ‘shut up’. Semõìn gravitated away from Paetas, his chortles slowly lessening as he increased his pace ahead.
What an idiot. I see some things aren’t much different world-to-world, between warrior societies. Somehow, despite the distorted voices, he felt they were ‘young’. Younger than he, perhaps, but he was often accused of having an ‘old soul’ among the Taldecca, even finding others older than him immature, at times. Like Daexo.
Nudging Deros, Semõìn whispered, “Oda, kampriço — she has a crush, et? Says it would be perfection! I knew she’d say some pont like that! Oda, look… zeko? Means affirmative. Zeko zeki means affirmative, will comply!” Low chortles accentuated the revelation.
Deros found his face grimacing at the unwanted details, but the final bit was useful information on their strange second language. “I bet she would,” he replied in what he hoped was the proper vulgar emphasis. It was like chewing sand to be so familiar with his enemy — with loathsome scum such as their like — but anything that would help him to eventually escape was vital. Including exchanges of altogether base rapport. He would exploit it, as necessary.
Semõìn chuckled with a tweaked high tone that made it into nonverbal, tawdry agreement, nudging Deros once more. “Look, we both know you’re the Prettyboy Tribal, just don’t think you can try those primitive charms on Ironbloods — you zeko? We’ve got protocols of non-fraternization, here. Lots of reasons. Big one: diseases. This enõìve is sealed, you zeko? No sharing all that personal parta. Bâvâ. Better for both of us. Deliberate violations would be punished big time, maybe even like crimes. Not worth it, that’s for sure — even for ti hotpont like you. All of this makes sense?”
“Yes. Zeko zeki.” He certainly did not have even the slightest inclination toward seducing insectoid-wrapped double aliens, or whatever they were.
With an indulgent, appreciative exclamation, Semõìn grabbed Deros’s shoulder and shook him in emphasis. “Oda, oda, you get it! Noki et! You’re a natural, kampriço — a natural. Got me an easy one, you. Pont, maybe too easy? Might have to keep an eye on you, et?”
Deciding to play it as a joke, Deros replied, “Well, you’re not wrong there, Hornhead.”
His captor’s snicker and laughter were all the answers Deros needed that it was indeed the right play — another check mark for him, on the side of ingratiating himself with one of his enemies. As his father taught him, ‘one needs only one pawn of a side to be on the board with its rulers’.
Ahead, Kerrick blew his strange horn for a short period, during which Semõìn opted for quietude.
Twilight descended, and Keramus became more and more visible to the east, providing a glow most could see by for most of the night. For Deros — and apparently also the Ironbloods — it was more than enough. Arcing down after the hidden Azrom was Mondamarus, and further up in the sky was big, bright Balgus-Orvakon, the twin planets, though such details were reduced to a singular disc with the naked eye, irregular in shape at times.
Deciding to test the efficacy of his rapport with his captor, Deros shifted and nodded his head over toward Mondamarus, asking, “Is that planet anything to you? Are you familiar?” He turned his head to look up at Semõìn, after.
The helm shook ‘no’. “Basically just a star to me. Just like that brighter one above. Sky maps aren’t my department. This sky is…” He trailed off, shaking his head again.
Different? Strange? Are you from so far away the stars are not the same? Surely not.
Deros just nodded and turned around instead of pressing, knowing he’d likely not obtain more. “The one closer to the horizon is Mondamarus. It’s impressive in a telescope. The bright one is a binary planet. Balgus and Orvakon. Called just Balgus, to most you’ll meet. The galactic disk is called Keramus.”
“You know it’s our galaxy?” He sounded genuinely shocked, adjusting uncomfortably in his seating. “I heard you ponts thought it was some giant ball you rolled on. You must be the son of some wise tribal sage or something, kampriço. Nokieu! Anyway, et, I remember this ‘Balgus’ now. Elek mentioned it. Heard in passing. Said some binary star or something was in the sky and was rare. She’s ti real erudite. I call her a fathead.”
Deros was thinking of how he might draw out further admittances when Kerrick dropped back — even with the inexpressive helmet his glare at them was palpable as he said, “Shut. Up. Do you understand, Ironblood? That’s an order, right? Do you understand what an order is?”
“Et, Vaetor. Zeko zeki, Vaetor,” Semõìn replied crisply.
“Wonderful.” With that, he drifted back ahead.
In the enforced silence, Deros mostly just endured the jarring torment of the ride and his restrictive bonds keeping him from any semblance of comfort. As it grew darker, the fatigue of the day rapidly began penetrating through the alarm keeping him alert. He was exhausted and cold. Sadly, sleep was an impossibility, as was daug’makar to keep the lethargy at bay. If it even could help. So he fought off the weakness with sheer willpower, even as his body wanted to just collapse. Minutes passed, then hours, through the continual grueling discomfort. The ringing and deafness in his ear abated at least, though a slight remainder, just noticeable, persisted in the quiet.
Across progressively flatter terrain than the hills, though never completely flattening, they approached and angled around the great sharp bend in the valley that was the obvious target from the onset. Behind it was immediately revealed the gleam of the river’s water, at which point they began to slow in their approach. Deros assessed from the positions in the sky that it had been somewhere between two and three hours since the silence reigned.
Avoiding the immediate shallow banks, they crested another rise to reveal an obvious camp nestled near the wider portion of the river. It had a low mudbrick wall built around it and was peppered with strange round buildings of an amber color. Yurts, he suddenly realized — he’d seen a few paintings of them, as they were common in the nomadic cultures of the north. There was only a faint glow to the camp from irregular muted sources, and no smoke was generated at all. A few sentries about appeared unsurprised in noting their arrival. The great mounts whose riders were doubtless indoors seemed to just hang around the houses, laying at their ease on their bellies and chins. Their heads lifted and watched those approaching, but they were silent and did not rise.
I hate these beasts. Too quiet, too obedient, as though utterly cowed. Eerie. I don’t think I want to see what is inside the carapace…
His eyes were drawn out to the water, where a large boat of two masts sat in the river at the end of a wooden pier. Deros had never seen a boat of its like, though he’d heard of their existence sailing, rowing, and being drawn down the Talqua by the Sylmex, a powerful and multi-community tribe. Along Miracle River back home, only traders worked sails, and there was never more than one mast. While the one on the water was perhaps not quite double the size, even at a distance Deros deduced it was possibly only a quarter from it.
Kerrick turned and stopped, holding his hand up and out flat. The Ironblood escort all gathered up close to him, at which point he dropped his hand and called, “The other boat is obviously long gone, and this one was waiting on us, essentially. We’ll head out soon, but I need to see Monsien and Raetmus and snag whoever is coming with us. And figure out who is going to night-run for us. Aloseau, you can come with me as a witness for any bâvâ that happens. Oertice and Seirna, secure our camp supplies and bring it all to the pier where the rest of you can wait and help load up. Be ready to go when I arrive. Zeko?”
They all belted out more or less together, “Zeko zeki!”
The riders all split off in slightly different directions, with the five directed to the boat sticking closer to the river. Their pace was in no hurry, which ultimately was a blessing on Deros’s body after the journey prior. He craned his head around to get a look at Palamera. She looked haggard and miserable, physically leaning back against Paetas with eyes barely staying open. He felt horrible for it and knew it was probably all the more frustrating without the benefit of his better night vision along the way, to keep one’s bearing.
“I’m going to sleep my ass right off on that boat,” one of the Ironbloods said wearily.
Another one yawned loudly. “All we do is wait like meuro ponts, lately. You’d think that would mean more shut-eye.”
Semõìn snickered and replied, “You act like the bosses can see through the bug eyes! Need to learn how to sleep upright. You get woken up, you just yell, ‘zeko, zeki, vin!’ And all is well.”
There were a few chuckles, and the one Semõìn addressed said, “Right, right. And with my luck, that’ll be exactly when some tribal sneaks by and stabs someone in the neck.”
“Oda, oda, look, that’s when you say, ‘oh, I was watching my north like an eagle — they must’ve come from that smelly kessa Elek’s south. She just watches for clouds and stars.’ Will work for you easy, kampriço.”
Laughter erupted at this, and then the obviously-nearby Elek replied darkly, “I heard that, Semõìn, you pólosekú nokieuri le parta. Roast yourself in a roux of pont and vomit.”
There was more laughing, particularly from Semõìn, who annoyingly leaned forward into Deros as he guffawed, seemingly delighted by the impassioned insult. He then dropped back and led his beast over to ride alongside her.
“Elek, look,” Semõìn said, leaning over toward her. “My kampriço here, he’s into stars and planets and all that le noka. Even knows we’re in a galaxy. And about that binary whats-it you mentioned.”
“Binary satellite system Azrom Seven? Balgus and Daradeko.”
Deros cleared a dry throat and managed, “We call them Balgus and Orvakon, madam.”
“Really? You can see they are two in your telescopes? I heard you have observatories of some kind, some places. And I am no madam. Nokieu. Elekzârie, Elek for short. And you?”
Deros blinked. She was the first to ask. “I-”
“Semõìn!” Elek barked suddenly. “You muddy pigrat. Give the man some water before he shatters his tongue trying to speak!”
“What?” The soldier so addressed was genuinely at a loss. “Water? Oh. I don’t have any of his gear. Right… do you have one of their bladders?”
Elek made a ‘tsk’ sound and a string of low, likely obscenities in her throat as she reached around to grab a very ordinary-looking waterskin to hand it to Semõìn. He opened it and held it up to Deros’s lips, allowing a few mouthfuls with minimal splashing. Deros obliged gladly — fed like an animal or no, water was life.
“Alright,” Elek said. “Now for your name.”
“Prettyboy Tribal,” Deros joked initially, which elicited a chortle from Semõìn. “No. Sorry. Deros. A pleasure, Elek. Relatively speaking, anyway.”
“You mean compared to this dirtsack? It’s not saying much. But likewise, too. Haven’t spoken to anyone very educated, here. We barely got to stay in Many Sands, and it’s very primitive anyway. And stinks of that foul dye and tanning.”
“Oh, sure,” Semõìn interjected, “he’s being all nice to the girls, but he challenged Vaetor Kerrick to a duel, insulted Raetmus, and mouthed his face off to me about us being slave mongers. Gives the men hell, but this kessa here is ti real lady-killer, gotta watch his ass.”
“Well, you know, Semõìn,” Deros began and wasn’t entirely sure where to go with it. “I am what I am.”
It gained chuckles and a mild snicker and shake of the head from Elek. Meanwhile, ahead, Palamera somehow twisted enough to look back, face suddenly curious. She had perhaps not entirely caught the conversation, which Deros would count as a small blessing. He could hardly count on getting her alone to explain it.
“Seriously, though,” Deros continued, “You know this is miserable. I’m just making the best of it. The less I have to dwell on being in a… pont situation and pass the time, the better.”
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“Now that’s a sensible gent,” someone said.
“Can’t blame you telling us off,” Elek said. “I would. We’re all scum here, just some worse than others. Nokieun rich Cerovuâ, dangling too much scrip to pass up. Make a deal with a devil, you’ve got to become one, et? Stuck out with all the sadists and psychopaths. Usually, I keep my nose in manuals and engines and away from frontier-running bâvâ. But here I am.”
“See, I told you, kampriço,” Semõìn added. “Head fat and full with so many things, especially attitude — that’s our techie, Elek.”
“Techie?” Deros asked. “Technology is your specialty?”
“If you want to call it that,” Elek answered dismissively. “Babysitting these nokheads to mitigate how much they break… try and fix pont they do. Maintenance. And being trusted with the few sensitive instruments. Communication gear. Nestique le monei. Or longsenders.” She reached back to pat a rather large, thick-looking case on the back of her mount, then pointed off toward the camp. “More compact and deader version of those, in terms of the receiver. Mostly parta compared to them.”
Deros looked over and was surprised to see they were much closer to the camp than he realized, practically adjacent along the border. Where she pointed was somewhat obscured between two other yurts, but had a much taller feature, where something like a dull metal pole rose up high from the center of the roof of a building, obscured by an additional mudbrick wall around it. At the top was an array of something like great bronze bowls fused end-to-end, filled on the inside with some brownish, irregular substance, possibly a fabric. There were two horizontal poles holding a double-bowl top and bottom on each side, the bowls facing different directions, some perhaps to the cardinals.
“Deader?” Deros queried in confusion as he looked.
“Mm. Shapertech up there. Modified organisms — like the enõìve suits, et? These are like big ears, sensitive to the infrasonic, each a separate, linked, simple creature. Attached inside the brass bowls like shells. Nerve-lines in the hollow poles, and running down to the operator below, where another array is ground-anchored and out of the wind noise. The operator wears a special crown to centralize it all. They work together as a system to filter for the right sounds. Signals. The longsenders. Screamers.”
Elek gestured vaguely at a rise immediately east of the camp. “Can’t see it from here, as it's kept separated from the camp, but we have a sender. Nasty nokieuri makes a sound like tortured hell-beasts. Not alive — inspired by the toséqua and incorporating certain organs, but not alive. Directional, fortunately… but you can still feel it in your nokieun bones, even here. Warning sirens go off before a sending, to drop and quiet the receivers on our crowns. Otherwise… well, it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Right of passage,” Semõìn added in his typical facetious tone. “Every rook’s gotta take it from a hundred meters.”
“Bâvâ,” Elek exclaimed dismissively. “You mean dung-for-brains like yourself do. Any with two seeds of sense will tell you to nok yourself down a ponthole before doing something that stupid. Imbeciles.”
“Rooks have one seed, at best. That’s what we exploit! You’re just so full of vinegar, no one tried it with you.”
Scoffing and shaking her head, Elek didn’t respond further.
Deros found himself staring back at the array over the tops of the walls and yurts. The insides of the bowls, the brownish, possibly furred or hairy living matter. Ears. The thought was repulsive. He shivered, though he wasn’t sure if — in part — it was caused by the growing cold.
“The suits,” Deros made himself say while forcing his teeth not to chatter. “They’re impressive, to say the least. They’re certainly no… simple organisms.”
“Oda, you are telling me?” Elek exclaimed. “Try your noki ass at fixing shapertech when it malfunctions on a panicky soldier. Usually, it’s self-sufficient, but men eyõì le ti henosaen do'drâs… when it goes nok, it goes noki skrófa nok. And it’s mostly beyond me.”
“A guy in the 21st had his thermoregulation keep going all to pont,” one of the unidentified Ironbloods offered. “They said he was paranoid, loony. Couldn’t sleep from it. Afraid it was going to fail completely, force him out of the enõìve. He got sent back to headquarters before we got to Many Smells. I bet he hoped he was going to get pardoned out of here, with pay.”
“Then he would be hallucinating as well as paranoid. Nokieu. Anyway, et. Common issue.”
“Thermo… regulation,” Deros said, feeling the words out. He understood basically what it meant. “Heat control. The suits overheat?”
“Et.” Elek reached around to indicate her back with her thumb. “We have coolant pack inserts for the worst of this noki heat. Which is at low altitude, especially. Fortunately, the night’s cold here carries a lot of the load. The enõìve is a symbiont that needs our heat to begin with and has its own mechanisms for storing and releasing it. Waxy fat layers, for instance… and it can sweat. Needs all of that pont to deal with our trapped heat and extremes of the external. It considers us the heart, the core of itself… so it’ll overheat and break down before we do. Even with generations designed for this trip through the nokieun oven.”
“Oda, Oda, Pretty Boy Tribal over here,” Semõìn once again interjected, in mocking tones. “Trying to sniff out our weaknesses, et? Watch out, he’s going to engineer a heat bomb under our noses, and then we’re all nokzeû.”
Numerous chuckles resounded from the quip.
“Actually,” Paetas suddenly joined the conversation with, “aside from being funny, that is ti point. Maybe better not to disclose so much things...”
“I assure you all,” Deros intoned, “I have no designs of any note, and it is just my simple curiosity getting the better of me, at such superior and fascinating technology. It was this or maybe pass out from exhaustion, zeko?” After a momentary pause he added, “Now if you bring me three eyes of the red lizard, a bundle of necrotic blooms, and the intestines of an ancient eel, I can’t promise I won’t curse you all with tribal magic.”
A great burst of laughter answered this from the Ironbloods, just as Deros had hoped. Levity was a powerful cure for suspicion, as it could show a devil-may-care demeanor that was more bold than manipulating. It also well fit with Semõìn’s existing impressions of a man who challenged authority and mouthed off to whomever. That particular aspect he hoped to mitigate going forward but presenting a charming front with some consistency to it was useful.
Laugh it up. I’ll be the joke — until the knife is at your throat. I’ll slit it without hesitation.
Palamera caught his eye suddenly — and she nodded soberly, significantly. A nonverbal acknowledgment that she understood something of what he was doing and approved, if somewhat reluctantly. But he wasn’t sure… she looked utterly weak and too pale, with what he could only think of as an aura of sadness about her. Mourning still, no doubt, for the two tragic losses. And there was nothing he could do about it for her.
The party arrived at the pier, a sturdy, wide length of planks and posts that led out into the river. It wasn’t an old feature, but it was definitely of Bluehand or Sylmex construction, made to offload heavy goods for the caravan routes west to Miracle Springs or northwest to nomad territories. Possibly also vice-versa somehow, but Deros wasn’t sure if the pier’s location was always occupied or not. From what he understood, most of the river to Many Sands and right up until the north-to-south Talqua was very straightforward for pulling freight via aloga or froul, even against the typical east-blowing winds. The route back could almost always simply use sails, despite a mild counter-current.
The boat had signs of activity, including a few Ironbloods, and… he was shocked to see two Bluehands aboard, in their telltale blue and white robes, wrappings, and head dressings, the top of which formed a semblance of a high ponytail, but made of long cloth ribbons. Free and unbound Hamaleen. Assisting the invaders. One was manipulating or checking the riggings in some way, though clearly not yet bringing down sails. The other was staring across the distance at the party, together with an Ironblood nearby.
Traitorous scum. I’d sink the boat in the middle of the river instead of helping them. But perhaps they’re utilizing family as hostages.
At least it was a clear sign they hadn’t burned Many Sands down to the ground. That alone could persuade such a community to cooperate.
The Bluehands had more so avoided the worst of northern raids by the power of their dye trade, which was coveted and honored by most of the northern peoples. Before the treaties, his father had said the trade had become rather close to tribute, out of fear for Tensipok’s rising ambitions. They did not strike Deros as terribly war-like. His memory was foggy on their military structure, but it was — according to his father — increasingly reliant on mercenaries. Much of them were Sylmex, though at least some were Bluehand themselves, as he recalled finding the concept of home-grown mercenaries strange.
As the group paused right at the shoreline end of the pier, Elek dismounted and said, “I’m going to go talk with them. I say we keep the pier clear of rekasí until the fetchers arrive, et?”
“I’ll come with,” one of the unidentified Ironbloods said as he too dropped out of his saddle. He joined Elek and the two set off down the pier on foot.
“We need to prepare the quarin, Semõìn,” Paetas said.
“Quarin, are you kidding?” Semõìn countered as both of them dismounted. “My kampriço here will be calling the shots in a week. Two, at most. We’ll be saying, ‘yes, vin, right away, vin,’ as he thwacks us with a stick for being too slow. He’s going high places. Right, Big Man Deros?”
“Indubitably,” Deros replied in mock confidence. “I could definitely grow to like such a nickname. I’ll do my very best to live up to it.”
“See what I mean? I just hope he remembers who set him on his way. What a great friend and entertainer I was to him.”
“There is nary a chance I could forget your distinctive treatment, Semõìn.”
Paetas sniggered as she grabbed Palamera and lifted her out of the saddle to set her on her feet. “You two are too well combined. Two great clowns.” She kept a hand on Palamera, who appeared quite wobbly. “Oda, listen. Palamera. I cannot allow you to freeze, et? I am going to undo binds, so no trouble, et? I will get your coat and cloak. Zeko?”
Deros had just enough time to see Palamera nod pensively in answer as he too was seized up and set upon the ground. He was reasonably steady on his feet, despite that he felt as if he’d been shaken like a child’s new rattle.
The ‘fellow great clown’ towered above him, hands at his shoulders. “Alright, kampriço, same thing,” Semõìn offered. “I’ve got to get the rest of this pont off you unless you grew attached, et? No? Then we’ll dissolve it. No problem.” He retrieved the applicator from a nearby saddle pouch and stepped around behind Deros to begin his work.
“Is it resistant to cutting?” Deros asked.
“Et. Not as much when dried out. It’s never impossible… especially isolated strands. This is easier, though. Doubt you want me digging a knife under it…”
“I entirely accede to your point.” As the work was done, Deros saw Paetas deliver the promised warmer clothes to Palamera — her gray nightcoat and off-white cloak… even her godberry scarf. She donned all of it rather placidly, murmuring thanks with little heart to it. He was glad to see her bundled up, at least. When she was finished, Paetas bound her hands anew, but from the front instead. Another mercy.
The pressure of his bindings gradually abated until — finally — Semõìn pulled off the split ‘cocoon’ of material and freed Deros entirely of it. It was a wonderful sensation even in the cold wind, and he immediately took advantage of it to stretch his arms for what felt like the first time in ages. And breathed deeply of the night-time Hamellion air.
He turned around to see Semõìn digging into his saddlebags, the material casing that had been around Deros discarded like trash on the ground. It looked like the shed skin or left-over shell of some strange creature, still erect in the general shape of his arms and torso. Deros also happened to notice the other nameless soldier was still mounted and had his weapon in his hands, though he wasn’t pointing it. Watching.
Cautious, still? As if I could do anything with this tether. Or even without it.
Deros ran his hand down the dark cording bound around his torso and anchored to the beast. On close inspection, in the gleam of Keramus, it had tiny, tight braidings, almost like a baby water serpent’s subtle scales. He had no real analog to what the material was, but it felt and seemed quite tough indeed. The very end, which was somehow merged into the cord like perhaps tendon to muscle, was different from the rest, for a length of maybe 30 centimeters. Without braiding, tinged vaguely grayer, it reminded him of a thick piece of aloga sinew. Somewhat.
“It’s all cut-resistant,” the mounted soldier declared, still watching him. “So don’t even think about it.”
Releasing the cord and holding his hands up, Deros put on what he hoped was a roguish smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend. I’ve nowhere to go, nor even the means of survival if I did escape.” Perhaps not entirely true, but believable enough. “I just find it to be another oddity, ah… may I ask your name, Ironblood?”
“Taophîllȩ. Most just call me Taph.”
Nodding to him, Deros assessed the soldier to be a bit older than the rest. He hadn’t said much compared to the others, though he hardly seemed stoic, exactly. His seasoning had likely made him more suspicious. Deciding he should feel the man out a bit, Deros offered, “I’d say it's a pleasure, Taph, but this is hardly a chance meeting at an inn, is it? Now, that’s a thought. Having a drink with you bastards under better circumstances. Amusing, to say the least.”
Taph shrugged. “Honestly, tribal, that’s a possibility. Especially with your manners and such. But it damn sure isn’t our decision what any of your fates are. All we’re doing right now is delivering you from point A to point B.”
“Kampriço, you’re making me jealous!” Semõìn almost shouted as he came from around his mount, Deros’s fur cloak in his hand. “Sweet talking everyone else like this. Be sure to save some for me, et? Here.”
Semõìn tossed the cloak to him, which he caught and donned as quickly as he could, securing it by its bronze broach at his chest. It was an immediate comfort from the chilling wind, though he certainly would’ve rather had his nightcoat to go with it. The night would only get colder. Sadly, such things remained on the dear friend he chased away. Foolish in so many ways, but he deliberately refused to let himself regret it.
“So, kampriço, what weapons you got on you, here?” Semõìn’s hand was already reaching to grab Deros’s iron longknife out of its sheath, inspecting it briefly before tapping the blade on his other palm as he waited for an answer.
Deros had two more ‘weapons’, but — improvising quickly — he replied, “Well, I’ve got a big one here in my pants. Incredibly dangerous. To virgins, especially.”
The two men burst into laughter, while Paetas snorted loudly. Semõìn looked up at the sky, shaking his head. But he put his hand out insistently, all the same.
Putting on a faux self-pleased smirk, Deros undid a pouch to pull out a small folding razor and place it in Semõìn’s hand. It gave him a pang of pain to part with it, being a cherished gift from his father… but he’d be lucky to retain any of his possessions with what they were facing. He also removed the sheath from his belt, so the longknife was at least properly stored. Whether he ever saw it again, the thought of it laying around bared and rusting vexed him.
He did not retrieve his boot knife, but Semõìn was satisfied, taking the two items over to his saddlebags, still shaking his head.
I’ll never know if the crude jest was necessary, but it distracted them. Disarmed them, so that I am still armed. If barely. Better than nothing.
“So… Palamera?” Paetas inquired suddenly, seemingly still exasperated. “You really let your boy talk like that and say nothing?”
Palamera looked up, blinking in confusion, and Deros felt his chest tighten in worry for what she might say. She wasn’t accustomed to lying or acting, and she was hardly at her best. He held his breath.
“What? I…” Palamera shook her head, glancing at Deros. Then she sniffed, looking away with a subtle expression. Annoyance, and perhaps not needing to be entirely acted. “He’s not my-... we’re not lovers, at all.” There was an uncomfortable pause, and her eyes flitted over the Ironbloods. Perhaps realizing it wasn’t enough with what they had seen, she added, “He’s always wanted in my skirts, okay? But I’ve refused him because he’s bedded half a dozen girls at least with those vile charms of his.”
Paetas made a surprised whistling noise, while the others clearly found it to be the height of amusement. Deros could not keep a wince from his face, such was the sting of the words, even entirely false and faked. He supposed it was just desserts… the words were exactly what was needed, in any case.
Semõìn was absolutely giggling like a gremlin from the intrigue. He started to say something, then dropped his head, unable to get it out from his amusement, even hanging onto his mount as though he’d fall out without the support. Finally, though, he managed, “So-... so Prettyboy Tribal here, he’s in love with the one nokieun girl he can’t have? Because he ran around being a nokboy with the whole village!? Am I seriously reading this pont right?”
Gazing over at Palamera, Deros decided to add to the drama. With as much silk to his voice as he could summon, he drawled, “None of them meant anything, Palamera. Don’t get it twisted — they threw themselves at me. You’re the only one I really tried to court… I’m sorry I messed it up. Sorry I hurt you. I understand I could never deserve you.”
Palamera couldn’t help but stare back, shocked, at his oration. She blinked and then looked away after, shaking her head. “I… would be a fool, to believe you. But it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
The last words rang with true bitterness — rang with a desperate truth and fear. The humor of the moment seemed to abate for the others, then.
Semõìn was momentarily speechless. He seemed to take a deep breath and just muttered, “Wahz.”
“Wahz,” Paetas agreed, almost breathless. She looked between them for a long moment, then added, “You know, girl, he does love you. He made the turn around, came back for you. Risked his life to save you.”
Palamera didn’t look up. “He shouldn’t have… he should’ve kept going…”
Deros didn’t say anything further. He understood the sentiment… that she’d want him to get away even if she was caught. But it wasn’t a wish he could grant. Not ever.
This whole thing could be played for favor. If they somehow gain the compulsion to match-make for us, they might deign to let us be alone. Under the guise of bonding, we can conspire. We’ll take whatever we can get. None of this will matter if we are free.
He tried to burn the understanding into her with his eyes alone, but to little avail, as she still did not look up.