Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

  Valor looked at his brother. They knew to be wary when Lobosa asked questions, since it was usually a sign that something deeper was probing at his mind. “Maybe…” Valor offered. “They feel words can be bought. They own so much, Warden, that perhaps they feel language can also be owned.”

  Lobosa’s eyes widened, long lips stretching back. “Isn’t that a revelatory thought… your brother’s getting smarter, Orrin.”

  Orrin looked across to Valor. He could tell his brother wanted to smirk.

  Lobosa stepped towards the crowd, Orrin and Valor following in tow. Valor sniffed himself as they moved between the rich. He still smelled of dirt, but clean dirt, since bathing just that morning. New sweat was spreading through his underclothes, trying its hardest to erase his scrubbing and washing.

  The Warden took a long stride towards two nobles that Valor knew more intimately than he cared for, Lord Berring and his wife Sethah. The lady’s jaw went slack upon noticing Valor. “Warden,” She managed to say, though her mouth moved to form Valor’s name.

  “Ah, Warden!” Lord Berring cried out, extending a fancy hand towards Lobosa. “Excellent to see you here. Enjoying your own festivities, finally! Loosening the grip a bit?”

  The Warden smiled without teeth, a skill Valor had watched him practice.

  “Loosening?” Lobosa said, tongue flicking over his lips. “Maybe not quite. Allowing some time to enjoy my work - that might be a better way to put it.”

  Valor moved behind the Warden’s back, facing the empty part of the pavilion, guarding his rear. Orrin took position behind Lord Berring.

  “Agreed,” Lord Berring said with an aggressive finger pointing. The sharpness of the movement caused Valor to imagine the Warden biting it off. “It’s good to see that we in Kashrii can still be of some use to you. You’re so… organized. I mean truly, Warden, what can I say. Redstone and I, and the others, we are beyond impressed. You and yours are wonderful hosts. And the Golden Sands is more beautiful than ever.”

  Lobosa gave a slight nod, and a wave of the hand. “Compliments are appreciated, Lord Berring, but without training and effective measures from Kashrii, we’d be dead in the sand. I would say dead in the water, but the metaphor is not as apt.”

  “Truly!” exclaimed Lady Sethah with a laugh. Valor could feel her desire for him, her need to run her fingers through his wild hair, knowing full well she wished it to be her fingers. “I swear, every year these boys get more handsome. Young Valor, turn around, would you?”

  Valor did as was asked of him, turning with a soft smile and a stomach full of disdain. Lady Sethah was equal parts attractive and insane. His simple touch sent her spiraling out of control, but despite her and Lord Berring’s sexual proclivities, there was no true passion in her. Valor knew he was no artist, nor a genius of any measure. But he could understand passion, something Lady Sethah pretended she had in barrels, when in fact she had none at all. She yearned to be more than she was, which to Valor was nothing but a pretender at life, like so many people who had too much money, claiming the infection of rich boredom.

  She put a hand to his face. “Gorgeous. I know these boys have dangerous jobs, Warden, but if the world should lose such beauty… I might not be able to stand it.”

  Lord Berring smiled, crooked and uneven. Valor stared into his eyes. The last time he had done so had been while he was inside the man’s wife. He claimed to have enjoyed the sight, but Valor wasn’t keen to believe it.

  “Enjoy the clams.” Lobosa said, immediately moving between the swaths of people. The lord and lady bowed, smartly moving out of the Warden’s way.

  As they walked, taking greetings both curt and ostentatious, Valor caught the eye of Drake Redstone. It had been years since he’d seen the High Merchant of Kashrii.

  Redstone did not usually attend the games, and instead sent Lord Berring to act as an emissary on behalf of Kashrii, with a contingent of lesser lords.

  Both are here, Valor thought. Interesting.

  The Warden moved towards Redstone. “High Merchant,” he said in a polite, quiet tone. “Glad you could make it.”

  Valor gave him as curt a bow as possible. Redstone instinctively moved a hand to his shoulder wound, which seemed to have healed properly since that day in the desert. Valor remembered that day only in bursts of memory, fuzzy on many of the details. But he would never forget the sight of Lobosa thrusting his dagger Jaws into Drake’s left shoulder, the one he now clutched.

  Valor noted that the arm wasn’t damaged, which he had seen from so many victims of stab wounds in the past. Redstone was rich, and could afford the best healers possible. He chalked it up to the benefits of wealth.

  Valor could smell the High Merchant’s anxiety through his sweat. Drake’s hand on his shoulder was a movement borne of fear. Then there was Drake’s stare, which never left Valor unless the Warden was speaking, always fixated on Valor’s body. It made him uneasy.

  “Warden,” Redstone said. “Boys. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Just beautiful.” He extended a hand and a satisfied smile.

  To Valor, something was off about Drake. He had only met the man once, but the frenetic ego was unforgettable, and now gone. The old Drake had been replaced by a new Drake, this one more calm, though still just as fat.

  Valor wondered if Lobosa would speak with wariness and consideration of the newly opened ears on the pavilion. Valor noticed the body language of the entire floor shift, ever so slightly, the moment Lobosa approached Drake.

  They’re all too good to be obvious, Valor thought, though not good enough for him not to notice. The way their bodies turned to profile to eavesdrop, hearing aimed to receive, and watching the mouths of those too ignorant to be silent hand them the mask of other, falsely precious engagements.

  Orrin caught his brother’s attention and signed, [ Behind Drake. ] Valor nodded, and resumed his position behind the Warden, back to back, while Orrin maintained the front.

  Valor’s eyes searched for threats, while his ears stayed focus on the conversation between the two men of power.

  Drake grumbled. “What’s going on with the a’tashi? They’ve been acting up again.”

  Valor could feel Lobosa shake off the comment, which was as much a question as it was an accusation of negligence. “They’ve gotten new weapons from the Laranuans. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  He heard Drake sigh. “Last time they gave the a’tashi some contairu. Magic weapons, Warden. We need to crush them, completely. Leave no trace. Move beyond the Raging Sands and dispose of them like trash.”

  Casual talk of genocide irked Valor, but he kept his mouth shut. He turned his head left, and caught Lobosa turning a shoulder towards Drake.

  “We’ll do as we did in the past,” the Warden said. “The a’tashi have no organization. The Laranuans can give them all the weapons they want, High Merchant. You know as well as I that it means nothing if one cannot wield them within a structured regiment of forces. Strategy and long bows will eliminate any concern.”

  Valor could feel the breath run out of Drake’s body. In the years since they’d known each other, Lobosa had slowly gained the upper hand in their conversations. Valor was not close enough to the Warden to know the truth of who gained the better of their relationship. But their conversations always leaned in towards Lobosa, like a tiny pearl drifting towards the edge of a tilted table, slipping into the Warden’s cup, winning once again.

  Valor felt Lobosa’s shadow move away from his body. He turned an ear, and heard Drake’s thick handclasp onto the Warden’s furry arm. “Where are we?” Drake asked.

  Valor closed his eyes for a moment, his hearing intensifying. It was a strange question to ask, as he was certain Drake did not mean it literally.

  Lobosa whispered. “Far enough along…”

  Valor opened his eyes, turning, getting the sense that Lobosa was feeling Drake out.

  The two men began to walk slowly, saying not a word. Valor followed in the Warden’s shadow.
Orrin kept pace, just two steps away.

  Just as Valor sensed there was more conversation to be had, it ended, and Drake moved towards two couples in violet dress.

  Where are we, Valor asked himself. It was a question one asked to know either literally or figuratively, and it was obviously the former, referring to a state of present being. A state of being pertaining to what situation, though, was the question that now burned in Valor’s mind.

  Where are we, he asked himself again.

  Two tall figures approached, elves in leather and mail armor, like hawks turned into men, grey and white feathers adorning their raiment. One was taller, with white hair, the others was black and braided his height less. Lobosa greeted them. “Abassan. Innith. Glad to see you could come.”

  Abassan bowed, as did Innith.

  Valor smiled as he bowed in return.

  “Greetings Warden,” said Abassan. “Spider silk, I see. And from our forests, no less.” Abassan pointed his long fingers at Lobosa’s clothes. “It fits well, I hope. Clothes made from our forests usually last longer than most. Though in this heat… who can say?”

  Valor gave both warriors a nod. Once a year, the two men travelled far from their elven homes, two of few who knew the secret ways of passing through the Raging Sands. Valor had met few elves in his life, but Abassan and Innith were more human than elvish. He’d heard most were wild, furious people, living by strict societal codes. While Abassan and Innith carried some culture from their heritage, they spoke as if through a human filter, acting as unintentional translators for their people.

  Looking at both men, he felt familiar pangs of jealousy, coupled with the strange desire to become as small as a spider, crawl into their boot folds and disappear with them, his brother also in tow.

  Suddenly, Valor remembered his encounter with the arrows.

  Why, he asked himself. Why appear to me now?

  Innith stepped in towards the Warden, close enough to whisper. “You had us scheduled to fight, Warden, but no challenger’s listed.”

  Lobosa clasped Innith on the shoulder. “True enough. I thought I might allow you to look at the roster, so that you two can take your pick. There are a lot of fighters here. And a lot of money to be made.”

  Abassan smiled. “Then it is a good day.”

  “You look like you’ve gotten thick, Valor. Finally filled out a bit?” Innith asked, breaking his silence.

  Valor looked to Lobosa, who assented with a nod that he was allowed to answer.

  “Your eyes aren’t lying, Innith. But only by a few pounds.”

  “A few pounds is enough,” Innith remarked. “I wouldn’t get much bigger, if I were you. Your frame handles your weight well. It wouldn’t suit you to be like your brother. We all have our natural advantages. Yours is your reach and long frame. Lobosa’s feeding you well enough, I suppose.”

  Valor couldn’t lie about that. It was true. “All the sausage and bread a man could ask for,” he said.

  Abassan shook his head. “Did you not eat the roots we left you on our last visit?”

  Valor could feel the taste of the Lemmen tree roots in his mouth once Abassan uttered the word root. Orrin laughed silently behind him. “Orrin’s gotten bigger for certain! Look at him!” Abassan gripped Orrin by the arms, feeling the muscles on his sides, poking at his thick legs. “You’ve done an excellent job training them, Warden.”

  “Thank you,” Lobosa said. It was strange seeing the Warden give anyone enough respect for them to seem as his equal, but he seemed to consider any strong warrior to be so. “If you can stay past the fights, I would very much like for you to work with the boys on their sword forms. There is work to be done there. Much work.”

  Abassan chuckled. “You should have let us teach them the spear when we were here last. A superior weapon to the sword, in every way. Your own soldiers use them, after all.”

  Valor wanted to laugh. Lobosa would never teach them the weapons his guards used, which would include how to counter said weapon. Not that they weren’t already capable. Not as if they hadn’t done it before. But it would bring them one step closer to freedom.

  Abassan continued. “And you know that humans aren’t capable of some of our more… dexterity driven techniques. Few are capable beyond elves.” There was no hubris in his words; simply a statement of fact. The physical speed and endurance of elves was well known to Valor.

  The Warden folded his arms. Valor knew how uncomfortable he was with hearing the word no, regardless of how softly whispered it was.

  “Well,” Lobosa said, “Do the best you can with them.”

  “So you’ve been training hard?” Innith asked.

  Orrin stepped closer to them. Orrin signed [ Yes. ] Valor translated into words for him. “Yes we have. Harder than ever. I had hoped you’d come to these games.”

  Innith reached forward, putting a hand on Valor’s face, staring into his eyes. “You know you both have the aura of magic, don’t you? Gods, Lobosa, you can do such work with these boys.”

  “Magic doesn’t interest me,” Valor said.

  “Oh?” Abassan said. “And why is that?”

  Valor shot the Warden a glance, who suddenly seemed wary of what he might say. “I don’t need to know another way to kill. And it seems fairly unreliable, from what I’ve seen.”

  Lobosa seemed satisfied with his answer, but Abassan pressed the issue. “Valor, there are as many types of magic in this world as there are people. You can learn magic for fixing furniture, by gods. Though I’m certain Warden can hire someone for that task.”

  Lobosa smiled toothily. “Indeed. Valor, Orrin, you both stay here with Innith and Abassan.”

  Valor could feel the stunned expression on his face. He turned to Lobosa.

  The Warden clicked his fingers at two of his enforcers, who sprung into action, closing around his shoulders. “I want you to learn as much as possible from them while they are here. Listen well to what to say.” The words were quiet, but the face was stern. Even through the Warden’s mask, Valor read the intentions of his thoughts, which spoke as loudly as possible, and said : Tell them nothing of yourself.

  To Innith and Abassan’s understanding, Valor and Orrin were not slaves, but hired protectors. The leering in Lobosa’s eyes told Valor that the elves and their thoughts on the subject should stay that way.

  The Warden bowed to his favored champions, then left the four men to their own devices.

  “So, boys…” Abassan said slowly. “You want to learn our sword forms? You still favor the two blades, I see.” Abassan pointed to both sides of Valor’s hip, which held old blades that desperately needed to meet the grindstone. Another mark of Lobosa’s attempts to keep them in line.

  Valor nodded. He admired the two warriors in everything, to the point that he found it difficult to talk. Everything about them was perfect. Their stride alone was the subject of study by every person on the pavilion. But most of all, they were free. As free as two men could be. Not literal brothers, but close enough. They had their codes and their weird elven way, and strange rituals, and the way the enunciated every single word to completion. But Valor could only see perfection.

  Valor snapped to, and signed to his brother. [ Do you have any questions? ] Orrin shook his head no. Orrin had been fortunate to have spent much more time with the twin fighters than Valor had. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Yes. The double blades work well for me. Most people find it too cumbersome.”

  “Most people don’t have elves as teachers. Most of our people don’t even use swords. We prefer the bow or the axe, or daggers. We find swords boring. But years ago, it was much more common. Hence, the sword form.”

  Valor’s eyes became aglow with interest. “So it’s old? Ancient?”

  Innith laughed. “Listen, Valor, don’t be impressed by the words old and ancient. Especially when it comes to fighting, whether it’s a mage duel or a traditional one, or a real… I think you humans call fights scrapping, or some such thing. But listen, old is ol
d. You don’t want to fight old or ancient. You want to fight new.”

  Valor wafted his head from side to side. “But we have to judge the merits of these things on whether or not they work, correct? For instance, because your sword form is so old, perhaps no one has fought against that style in ages. At least, no one currently living.”

  Abassan and Innith laughed jovially. “He thinks so much!” Abassan said to Innith.

  Valor looked at Orrin, who was holding back a smirk, signing, [ First time I’ve ever heard that. ] Valor snorted it off and signed back, [ Me too. ]

  Abassan took Valor by the shoulders. “Alright. Instead of forms, we should be focusing on simpler things, first. Are you still eating meat?”

  Valor spread his lips thinly. “I know you said last time you were here to stop, but, look - we…” He had to be careful in the way he chose to explain Lobosa’s lack of desire to hunt down and curate an elven diet. “But what?” Abassan asked.

  Valor quickly recovered, speaking calmly. “We just can’t get some of those things out here. Like nede bread, or yellow beans, or the other things you listed to replace meat. We’re on the edge of the world here. Though my diet has been better.”

  Abassan pulled out Valors arms so that they stuck out, making a t-shape. “Stand still that way for a moment,” Abassan said. He watched the slight tension building in Valor’s arms, then asked him to put them down. “Well, you aren’t lying. You have been getting your vegetables. I don’t understand, Valor… the Warden is a powerful man. These items aren’t that hard to procure.”

  Valor shot a glance over to the Warden. “You have to ask him.”

  “And that we will,” Innith said with certainty.

  Gods, Valor thought, what I wouldn’t give to watch these two tell Lobosa that we need to eat our vegetables… like children.

  “You’re not getting enough water, either.” Abassan continued. “Your skin feels too dry, and I can smell it on your breath. Hm…” he said, inhaling Valor’s soft exhale. “Very water starved.”

  “We drink water all day,” Valor protested.