rix_scaedu

kunama_wolf

Orges and Leodes were ushered by their long-lost brother Birgenes through a series of courtyards and cloister-like walkways to a laver. The centre of the room was occupied by a three tiered fountain with water cascading down the three tiers into the basin at the bottom. A stack of fresh towels stood one end of a bench, there was a bowl of soap sitting in the middle and the wicker basket of used towels sat beside its other end. The top two towels in the basket were blood stained.

“Looks like Zarana and Kaeso had a rough lesson this morning,” commented Birgenes. “I know Tito knows what he’s doing with their training, but I still worry.” He proceeded to pick up a piece of soap to wash his hands and smiled at his two brothers who were still looking around them, “Come on you two, you don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

The brothers reluctantly copied him and allowed themselves to be led out into the adjoining courtyard. There they found themselves confronted by a long table laden with food and lined with people. Birgenes led them straight to the tall, athletic woman their own age seated at the head of the table. Both brothers noted that she fitted the description their brother’s old friend, Forgenes, had given them of his owner.

“Dear,” Birgenes was addressing her in a tone that neither of his brothers had ever associated with slavery, “I’d like to present my older brother, Orges, and my younger brother, Leodes. Gentlemen, this is my wife, Saprista Birgenia.” While his brothers’ minds were still grappling with that, Birgenes went on, “The large, worn man in the middle of the table is Saprista’s brother, my brother-in-law, Tito Wesnivus. He instructs the household in weapon use.” Tito seemed to be smiling, but the scars made it difficult to be certain. “Then there are our children. Apina, you’ve already met. Zarana and Kaeso,” he indicated a teenaged boy and girl with their mother’s build, then his hand moved on to indicate the oldest looking boy on the far side of Tito, “our eldest son, Nones, and our eldest girls, Callista and Yiara. Then coming back this way,” his hand moved to point at the younger children sitting on the side of the table nearest them, “Publio, Eramilla, Serto, Gavia and Lustia. Now, you two come and sit with me up here and we can talk over lunch.”

Stunned by the overturning of the their ideas about their brother’s situation, and the profusion of individual combinations of mixed Benarian and Gelaharine features before them, Orges and Leodes sat quietly in their places beside their host at the true head of the table.

I wrote this to ysabetwordsmith's fourth prompt.  It follows on from Forewarning.

Birgenes hadn’t told anyone where he was going, what he was doing or why.  He had a real fear that if he did, he’d be stopped and detained.  As a religious candidate, former religious candidate in his own mind, there was a real chance he’d wind up in a corrective retreat being prayed and chanted to, over and about.  The example of Brother Laerches at the seminary was all too clear in his mind – once you were subject to that you were never the same again.  There was no appeal to the civil authorities either, the business with the dam had proved that.

It had also been Birgenes’ decision point.  He’d had doubts before, raised by the religious texts he’d been studying, but the sheer callousness and feeling of entitlement that the dam scheme demonstrated had made him reject membership of both the priesthood and the people of his birth.  If the Benarian hierarchy thought the murder of thousands in a pseudo-miracle of the most macabre sort was appropriate, then Birgenes would uproot his life so as not to be a member.

He tramped westward through the spring night towards the nearest border, consulting the navigation stars when he needed direction.

*************

Archaeology in The Wash, as the glacial rubble that covered the ancient ruins of Senlor was called, could be very profitable if you went the right way about it.  Birgenes had carefully opened up an entrance into the mound with a crowbar, spade and a saw, for the tree roots, while Saprista stood guard.  Now Saprista thrust the lantern into the hole before her and, when the flame didn’t change colour, followed it with her drawn sword, her head and then her whole body.

“Nothing’s moved in,” the voice of the Gelharine swordswoman who was now his full partner floated back out of the opening to him.  “Looks like a temple – this’ll be another donation.”

“Ah well,” Birgenes joined her inside the relatively intact building, holding a second lantern.  “The good will of the clergy means no-one interferes with us.  Being respectful costs us nothing,” the beam of his lantern caught the intact altar and he bowed to it while Saprista saluted, “and the temple tells us where to look for the other interesting buildings: libraries, prominent houses, town treasury.”

“Blacksmith, goldsmith and potter,” Saprista finished off for him with a laugh.  “Whose temple is this anyway?”

Birgenes let his lantern beam wander further beyond the all-around glow given off by Saprista’s.  “Thaladeneth’s, by the look of things.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Saprista admitted.  “That theological education of yours is very useful.”

“Of course you’ve heard of him,” Birgenes corrected her.  “He’s The Thirteenth Swordlord.”

She turned towards him, slowly and in place, “This is The Black Scabbard’s temple?”  Her face was pale.  “Have we set off any of the traps yet?”

*************

The two middle-aged men looked at each other.  No-one built houses like this one anymore, but it went with the story they’d heard.  The building, none of it more than two stories tall, rode the crest and spine of the hill and was all white walls and red tiled roofs, purposely windowless because the rooms looked inwards to courtyards.  Orchard groves, pastures and fields of vegetables and grain surrounded it.  It was the home of a rich family, a rich Gelharine family, and the two Benarians did not expect it would be easy to rescue their long lost brother from his servitude here.  It was probably best that their sons had not accompanied them today.

The long lost brother in question was looking up at them in surprise from his seat at the table in one of the courtyards, books spread in front of him.  “Orges.  Leodes.  I wasn’t expecting you.”  Birgenes carefully closed the book in front.  He turned to the Gelharine girl beside him, “Apina, please go and tell your mother that two of my brothers will be joining us for lunch.”

“Of course.”  She made a courtesy obeisance to Orges and Leodes, then left.  She was, Leodes noted, quite pretty with almost Benarian features even if her skin was the Gelharine olive rather than the darker, god-blessed Benarian hue.

“Now we can talk,” Orges said with relief.  “Birgenes, the priests who attended the convocation at Iboshoer brought us news of your enslavement.  We’ve come to rescue you and bring you home.”

Leodes added, “Forgenes, your old friend from the seminary, told us how your owner kept you away from the Benarian delegation.  You must have wanted their help.”

Birgenes sighed.  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so careful to avoid talking to them.  I didn’t realize he was there but Forgenes still doesn’t get out much, does he?”  Orges and Leodes looked at each other askance.  Birgenes took pity on them.  “Come and tidy yourselves for lunch,” he coaxed.  “Lunch will give us time to talk.”