The friends drank their pitcher of ale and ordered another before they ordered some food. Dythegg was the only night for a communal hunt; on this night they would eat lamb that had been reared by farmers with the sole intention of it becoming food. By the time the second pitcher arrived at their table, Gorren realised he was going to have to wink or provide some other sign of attention to the barmaid - whose name he still couldn't remember - or it was more than likely that she would spit in their food. He still had no intention of bedding her, though.
Cranak was the capital of Dorvek, but Dorvek was not a densely populated country, and Cranak was not a large town. The inhabitants of the country were spread wide across its lands. All the settlements tended to be the size of large villages or small towns. For Gorren, who had replaced the vice of drinking with one of women, this meant that he was very close to exhausting the supply of available, willing and attractive women. He thought it might be just as well; he was beginning to tire of such casual games. He felt like he was looking for something, but he hadn't found it in mead, and he hadn't found it in firm breasts and wet flesh. Frustratingly, he still couldn't define where his sense of restlessness stemmed from.
On this night, mead would do. If he got sloppily drunk, or at least made the pretence of being so, the bar wench would turn her attentions elsewhere. Gorren made a great show of downing the contents of his most recently filled mug and refilling it before the food arrived, greatly exaggerating its effects.
After their haunches of lamb had been deposited on their table, and once the barmaid was out of earshot, Delban leaned across to Gorren."I believe you must be more out of the habit of drinking than we had feared."
"That's an unfortunate reason to have to visit here more often than we already do." Ornef laughed.
Jorm appraised Gorren over the rim of his mug. "No, I think our brother has a career on the stage in mind."
Gorren refilled his mug and tilted it in salute at Jorm. "Indeed. The lovely lady thinks herself a queen after one night. I'd like to let her down gently, but I didn't think it fair to risk our meal being spoiled."
"Deffry," Ornef offered.
"Huh?" Gorren had no idea what his friend was talking about.
"Deffry. Her name's Deffry." Ornef flushed, but only briefly.
"Fancies herself a queen, does she?" Jorm laughed. "A queen of hearts, I'll wager."
"A queen of cocks, more like," Delban agreed. "I think that's the most ridden horse in the stable."
"Damn," Gorren swore. He hadn't wanted to encourage the girl, on this night especially, but his pride was ridiculously pricked at finding out he hadn't been the sole focus of her attentions.
"You've had a narrow escape, brother." Jorm nodded over to the side of the room, where the barmaid, Deffry, was leaning, more heavily than was necessary, over another customer as she exchanged an empty pitcher for a full one. "She's shit out of luck tonight with every man in town, anyway." Jorm finished his mug and refilled it. "Even the most drunken bastard can scent she's in season."
Gorren didn't need to take a deeper breath to know what Jorm was talking about, as Delban and Ornef did; he'd caught the aroma as soon as Deffry had approached their table. Dorvern women were only fertile for a short window during each month, usually around the time of the full moon, and they gave off a pungent scent at that time. There was no need for prophylactics in Dorvek; a man only needed to use his nose.
Judging by the receptiveness with which Deffry's most current target was accepting her advances, the man was either beyond drunk, or willing to take chance at conceiving a child. A girlish squeal rang out as the oaf pulled Deffry into his lap. Gorren was relieved that he wouldn't have to keep up the pretence of drunkenness all night. He sipped at his mug of mead more slowly.
The four friends finished their meal, and another pitcher of mead, and then made their way back to the town square. The sunset was colouring the sky. Darkness would only reign for a few short hours on this night. It would be a brief introduction for the new wolves into the fullest extent of their world.
The next stage of the Prowv was for the king to call the new wolves to change, and then they would fight the chosen Barnoor. This year, the role of the Barnoor was to be taken by Noridan, Gorren's elder brother. Gorren did not hate his brother, but they were not friendly. Their father's obvious preference had always stood in the way of true affinity, so now they were polite and civil and simply existed together. Gorren did not envy his brother this task. Although the fights between the Barnoor and the new wolves were never fatal, they were vicious. The new wolves had to be thoroughly tested. Gorren remembered the young girl who had withstood the pain inflicted by Wodell so bravely, and knew that he could never hurt an innocent such as she.
The townsfolk gathered outside Cranak Hall. King Dorll and his Queen, Rehan, were standing before the locked doors. Noridan, already in his lupine form, was sat waiting patiently by his father's side. Gorren and his friends were not so very bothered about being at the front of the crowd. The Prowv was a sight to witness, but it held no great attraction for them. They had fought bloody battles against the trolls of Heethl in defence of Dorvek's borders. These games would be tame, children at play, by comparison. They were attending for tradition's sake, for the atmosphere and the event, rather than any true interest in the proceedings.
The Prowv began and continued much as it had every year that Gorren had seen it. Noridan was a good choice for Barnoor; he tested the new wolves thoroughly, but without cruelty. Gorren pushed through the crowd when it was the turn of the youngest girl. Her wolf was almost an ethereal silver grey, she looked too small, too delicate for the fight, but her looks were deceiving. She fought Noridan with surprising strength and skill. She used her speed and slight frame against his bulk. Ultimately, she lost the battle, she was smaller and weaker than the older, more experienced wolf, but she had lasted the longest. Gorren saw his father's and mother's looks of interest, and he shared their curiosity. The girl had the potential to rise high in any pack she was a part of.
Once the tests were over, the crowd dispersed to their homes, or to further celebrations. Gorren and his friends did not immediately depart with everyone else; they were caught in a dispute about where to continue their drinking. Gorren did not have much of an opinion on the matter and was leaving the arguments to the other three, when he scented his mother and felt her hand on his arm.
Gorren was not startled that his mother should approach him, only that she should do it so openly. His father had prohibited Rehan from visiting her son at the barracks, but they had managed to make secret arrangements to meet on several occasions over the course of the time that Gorren had been absent from his home.
"Gorren, your father wishes to speak with you."
That explained it. Rather than risk a public embarrassment caused by Gorren's refusal to speak to his father, Dorll had sent his wife to deliver an invitation to their son.
"And if I don't wish to speak to him?" Gorren murmured. His words were for his mother's ears only, not the dregs of the crowd that still milled around them.
"It's not a request, Gorren. This is duty."
His mother's eyes, normally so clear and bright, like clear blue skies, were shuttered and dark. Gorren sighed and felt his soul fold in upon itself. He could pretend all he liked, but his blood was still that of a prince, whether he wanted the role or not.
"Brothers." Gorren interrupted the discussion which was rapidly becoming a squabble. His friends turned. Their expressions ranged through friendship, concern and curiosity when they realised that the queen was present. "I've been summoned. Don't wait up for me."
"Bollocks." Jorm's brow was creased with concern. "We'll wait. We'll be right here when you're done."
"He may be some time." Rehan's voice was soft. Gorren didn't think he ever remembered hearing it raised in anger, but he'd never wanted to disobey his mother, either. The thought of her disappointment had always been the cruellest punishment imaginable.
&
nbsp; "We don't care. We'll be here." Jorm's tone was not disrespectful, but it was firm.
Rehan nodded; her red hair was loose, and flowed like water over her shoulders. Even though she was small, the top of her head barely reached his chest - and his friends were equally as tall as he was - his mother wasn't intimidated in the least. "As you wish. Come, Gorren."
Gorren locked eyes with his friends, and clasped fists with Jorm before he followed his mother into the hall. Of his three friends, Jorm had always been the one most incensed at the treatment Gorren had received from his father. Gorren loved that about his friend, but recognised the futility in it. Being angry at Dorll was like being angry at the wind or the rain; it kept on blowing or pissing down, regardless.
He followed his mother into the hall, and was instantly assailed by the scents and sounds of home. The barracks had been his main residence these past ten moons, but Cranak Hall would always be his home. Rehan did not speak as she led him through the corridors, their destination unmistakably that of the throne room. Gorren's stomach churned the food and drink he'd consumed that night. If his mother would not give him forewarning of the reason for his summons, then it was important, important enough that she was worried about his father seeing that he'd been appraised of the situation beforehand.
The tall oak doors of the throne room were carved with depictions of the history of Dorvek. Usually, as he walked through them, Gorren picked out one or two familiar scenes. On this occasion he kept his concentration on what he was bound to find on the other side. Dorll was sitting on the huge carved wooden seat that served for his throne, although he was reclining slightly over one arm rather than sitting formally. Dorll held his hand out to his wife. Rehan took it as she took her seat by his side, arranging her dress with movements made swift by habit. She sent Gorren a look that he interpreted as sympathetic, which only worried him further. Noridan had not yet changed back to human form. He was lying stretched out at their father's feet with his muzzle resting on his forepaws.
"Father, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Perhaps a greater degree of civility would have been more appropriate, but Gorren had lost the patience for the pretence a long time since, and they appeared to be in private.
"Gorren, as deferential as ever I see."
"You've interrupted my night. I'm eager to return to it.
"To return to drinking and lifting skirts. Yes, I'm sure you are." His father's tone was withering. Gorren bit his tongue. This was an old argument, one that he could not win. "Well, I won't keep you. I called you here tonight to inform you that you're to be married."
"What?!" Gorren exclaimed, almost shouting in his astonishment. Of all the things that had run through his mind, the arrangement of a marriage had not been one of them.
"Yes. It's time you stopped humiliating your family with wenches and simpering idiots. It's time you stopped using our name to get under the skirts of girls too stupid to know better."
That was a false accusation, a ridiculous one. Gorren had never traded on his heritage to get anything he wanted. He pulled himself up to stand straight and spoke through clenched teeth. "I thought I made it clear during our last conversation, Father. This family is no longer any of my concern."
Dorll reclined further on his throne, feigning nonchalance. "It is your concern, whether you like it or not, unless you intend to abandon Dorvek as well as your duties?"
His father's question was the ultimatum that his mother had warned him would come, sooner or later. Gorren could not remain in the country, in Cranak, and pretend to deny his position forever.
"And if I don't wish to abandon my home?"
"Then you'll do as I ask and restore a modicum of respectability to our house."
"Father." It was all Gorren could do to keep his anger at bay, fighting his sarcasm as well was a losing battle. "It's been almost a year, don't tell me you've only just started worrying about the perception of your son."
Dorll's mouth twisted into a grim line. "You have no right to mock me. You are dissolute and undisciplined."
Again Gorren did not bother to argue, he knew he was no such thing. His standing in the army, if nothing else, was the evidence. "So, who is my bride to be? A sister of one of the wealthier merchants who might add to the crown coffers? A diplomat's daughter, perhaps?"
His father's emergent smile held no humour. "You are not so very far from the truth there. You're bride is Felthissian, a daughter of one of the consuls, sadly deceased now, although she is closely allied to the ruling house of that country. Until recently, she was ward of the First Father."
Gorren was stunned. He knew he was gaping like a landed fish, but he could not seem to make his voice work. He looked aghast at his mother, and read sympathy in her eyes. She had known of this terrible judgement, and had not warned him. She had not prepared him for this burden as she had for others. Gorren looked to Noridan. His brother appeared to be asleep. Noridan had known, too, and was not about to intervene.
"You would have me wed someone who cannot alter their form in any way?" Gorren asked, still horrified by the prospect.
"This marriage is important. Felthiss is a wealthy and influential country," his father replied negligently.
"So important that you would give up the possibility of children from it?"
Dorvern natives could only breed with each other. Associations were rarely formed with outsiders, but when they were, they never resulted in children. It was widely held that a pregnancy could not even be conceived with someone who could not shift forms.
"There is no dire need for your line to continue, and progeny is not essential to the successful outcome of the bond. You are required only to take her in matrimony for the alliance to be struck."
"It is important enough for that, and yet you have not considered Noridan for the honour?" Gorren knew the question was futile, but he asked anyway.
"No, I wish for Noridan to continue our bloodline."
Gorren was struck anew by the realisation that his father truly did not care for him at all.
"And I have no choice in this..."
"Of course you do. You can do as I request, or you can leave. But I warn you, I don't just mean back to barracks. If you refuse this duty, you refuse your family, your country. If you do not wish to do this, you must leave Dorvek."
The slightest movement caught Gorren's eye. A tear had rolled down his mother's cheek. Gorren's anger at her faded immediately. She was pleading to him with her eyes, unable to speak, lest she anger her husband. Rehan was not afraid of Dorll, she stood up to him often, but she was careful to pick and choose her battles. Dorll was obstinate; to deny him his will too many times would lead only to complete intractability, as Gorren knew well. Gorren was certain that his mother must agree with his father in some way for her to be complicit in this plan. Either she felt the shame of her son's roving attentions, or she recognised the benefits to Dorvek of an alliance with Felthiss. Either way, she agreed with this marriage, as much as she felt the dire consequences for her son.
"You barely leave me much of a choice. When does my bride arrive?" Gorren had some knowledge about Felthiss, but there was no reason that he'd know about the family of the consuls. He wondered what his bride would look like, whether she was good natured, or shrewish, whether she was old or young.
"The last messenger promised a moon from now. I'll allow you the opportunity to get to know each other, but you'll be wed soon after."
His father was all generosity, but Gorren kept that sarcasm to himself. "And until then?"
"Until then, enjoy your freedom with your friends." Gorren bristled at the disparaging emphasis his father placed on that word. "But before she arrives here at Cranak, you will return to the hall."
"And after the wedding?"
"You will both live here, of course."
"Won't that be a little crowded?" An arranged marriage and the demand to conduct it under the watchful and disapproving eye of his father. Gorren wasn't sure what he'd done
to piss the Grey Wolf off, but it had obviously been grievous.
"Nonsense, there's plenty of room here."
"And when Noridan marries?"
"Your brother's life is none of your concern."
"I don't want to conduct my marriage under your disapproval," Gorren asserted.
"And I don't trust you to conduct it properly beyond my sight."
Impotence and infuriation washed over Gorren again, until he had to clench his fists against the urge to rush up the steps to the throne and punch his father in the face. He wished he were brave enough to refuse, brave enough to leave, to carve out a new life for himself somewhere, but he wasn't. He wasn't brave enough to leave the country of his birth, to leave his people, to leave his heritage, his culture, everything he'd ever known, to be a stranger in a strange land. Gorren knew what outsiders thought about the Dorvern people: dogs, demons, less than human. He was not brave enough to face that discrimination every day for the rest of his life, alone, and he was not brave enough to leave the love of his mother, or the steadfast friendship of Jorm, Delban and Ornef. Gorren would stay and be wed to a woman he couldn't love and didn't know rather than cast himself out.
Searching the Darkness (Erythleh Chronicles Book 2) Page 6