Blood Will Tell [Closed]

[Ghant]

On the Train
Between Cities, Nalaya

Based off of what Quenthel told him about L’i’dol, it sounded like something natural, something organic, not unlike something that might be found in northern Ghant. There, people went out out of their way to escape the trappings of modern civilization, shunning it living as simply as they could, in tune with themselves and the land, which they held sacrosanct. It wasn’t that Ghant couldn’t force it upon them, contrary to what some outsiders might have believed, but rather it was that Ghant respected the old ways and the peoples that chose to adhere to them. If that was their will, then so be it.

“Indeed, what is a man but just another beast?” Errando contemplated.

Errando nodded as Quenthel explained that. It made so much sense. For if some viewed themselves as beasts, would they not feast upon manflesh, as certain beasts oft do? Even in Ghant, among the most savage and feral tribes, there was a similar orientation, hence why they were regarded as beastmen. The beastmen of northern Ghant, living in the deepest mountains and thickest forests, were also known to eat manflesh. They were a nuisance, and the local clans and lords had to spend a good amount of time and energy keeping them at bay, often times with the aid of Ghish, who sent men with guns. Guns were very useful in a part of the country where most people preferred the use of blades. Errando could handle a firearm and possessed a few himself, but like many of his northern countrymen, he too preferred the skill and honor that came with wielding a bladed weapon.

Errando asked a follow up question in a curious tone. “Has the Quarval-sharess eaten manflesh?”

"Surely Ghant has its own traditions in such a vein, though perhaps not to our extreme." Quenthel said with a smile.

“…You would be surprised. There are parts of Ghant that are total chaos, feral and savage. Beastmen with no laws, just their primal whims, living like animals.” Errando answered.

"What are the seven great qu'ilinasar…and which one was yours?” Errando asked following her explanation.

After Quenthel’s explanation of the balance between not appearing too eager to challenge but not too weak, she asked what Errando considered to be the million dollar question. "Tell me of your House, Errando. I know that is as close as a foreigner comes to a qu'ilinasar, though most are so small that we would call them ka'lum."

How do I even begin to explain? Errando thought. Then he just decided to wing it. “House Odolaren is ancient and storied, one of the most in all of Ghant. It is said among the people of Odolargia that in the old days, when the Gods still walked amongst men, that there was imbalance, for the fabled Orin Orinbere was a great demigod king who founded the great city Gauekoizarra, and with his glowing sword he struck down all the wicked things in the world. For the Old Gods, this would not do, for there must always be balance in the world between all things. So it was that the Blood God himself took to the bed of a female warrior. From this union was born a son, named Odola, a child terrible to behold, for he was truly monstrous.

The boy learned to fight, and because of his terrible size and terrible nature, the people hailed him as their God-King. Mad with hunger and thirsting for blood, he endeavored to bring all men within his domain. Those he defeated in battle, he consumed, eating their hearts and drinking their blood from their flesh. For every such warrior consumed, Odola added their strength to his own, making him even more powerful. He demanded sacrifice to appease his father, and he even founded an order of warriors known as the Odolzaldun, a company of savage men nearly as terrible as he.

Yet, as they painted the earth red with the blood of the defeated and the sacrificed, the limitations of his ambitions became known. For to the north was the great crack in the earth from which the Esku River flowed into the ocean, and across the chasm lay Thule, whose savage and frozen folk stared on in a mocking fashion. To the west lay the mighty Zorgindutako forest, sprawling and neverending. For as fierce as Odola and his Odolzaldun might have been, they were no match for the demons and monsters that dwell within that ancient grove.

Then to the south lay Gauekoizarra itself, with their mighty warriors. They were ever cunning and devious, and they made sure that Odola was never able to pass south beyond the Odoltsua Marches. So it came to be that Odola was trapped within his realm that lay in between the three, the place that became known as the Kingdom of Odolargia. His son took the name Odolaren, and every son since has carried it. In the millennia that passed, many have waged war against us, namely Dakmoor. Everytime they came, they were punished, and reminded of why we are feared and loathed. The price of violating our sacred land is blood, for only blood can appease our God. This is what House Odolaren is. The avatars of a bloodthirsty god who demands satisfaction to sate his tongue. There is no pride in it, for it is a necessary thing to maintain balance in the world. For what is born must die, what is built must be destroyed, and what lives must bleed. For the Blood Will Tell.”

[Nalaya]

On the Train
Between Cities, Nalaya

"The Quarval-sharess has consumed the flesh of man. It is known," Quenthel said. She was reassured that he had not panicked or reacted with disgust. It was even more interesting to know that there were some not dissimilar traditions within Ghant's borders. Perhaps if they were shown the Linath, they too would be part of the faithful. It was a strange thought indeed. Her beliefs had spread to certain parts of Nalaya, but to her knowledge they had not passed beyond the borders any significant distance.

"The seven great qu'ilinasar are Auvryndar, Syr'thaeryl, Nasadra, Masq'il'yr, Zauviir, Daevion'lyr, and Dalael. Each controls a different city and that is what makes them great. Together they form a ruling council of a sort. I was born to qu'ilinasar Nasadra, though I was not within its circles long. In those days I was Nasadra Quenthel T'sarran dal Sabrae, whereas now in place of a qu'ilinasar name there is merely 'Yath'. The name of one's qu'ilinasar comes before the personal name in formal speech. That is not terribly important for you to remember, as the Yath are not tied to the bonds of the mundane once they have become initiates. We keep our ka'lum names and family names, but that is only so that we can tell each other apart if we have the same personal name. For the most part, they are only used in reference to a yathrin or one of the others by outsiders—as you saw the Protector call me Siruhi T'sarran."

She sighed a little bit as she thought about Nasadra and her childhood. Her mother had been at once proud and furious when she found out that her only daughter was leaving to become Yath. Cutting the bonds of family had not been what was expected of her. There was an ugly distance that had replaced the fondness she had enjoyed in her childhood. But if they stayed away from her family, such a thing would not become apparent. She preferred that Errando not see it.

She listened attentively to Errando's story. It was strange to think of the forces that moved beyond human comprehension as gods, distinct and fallible. They gave name to spirits, yes, but none claimed to control creation. They were merely aspects, individual facets of the same unfathomable gem. But to claim ancestry from a god seemed like something that would certainly inspire a certain level of wariness. "Some say it is better to be feared. Many among my people prefer to strike awe, not distinguishing whether it is that of admiration or terror. They do not care so long as they are respected. I do not know what I believe."

A thought struck Quenthel. "I had forgotten. I will need a full name to introduce you by. It will help them to understand more of your history. What is your father's first name and your mother's last name? Or vice versa, if your mother is more powerful than your father. Errando Odolaren may be sufficient for beyond the Mak'ur Homeland, but within, a name defines one's place in society. To not have a full name is to be shebali, one without honor. It is how you may tell the disgraced—they have no qu'ilinasar or kith and kin to claim them."

[Ghant]

On the Train
Between Cities, Nalaya

Errando nodded when Quenthel informed him that the Quarval-sharess had consumed manflesh previously. “I see. That is good to know.” Errando didn’t flinch or express disgust. It was what it was, and there was nothing to be disturbed about. Perhaps a puny southern Ghantar might have squirmed, but in the north, such was not unheard of, and as a result it shouldn’t be seen with revulsion. For it was what it was.

In regards to Quenthel’s explanation of the qu’ilinasar, Errando smiled. “Ah, I see. In Ghant, you might be known as Quenthel Nasandra, the first being your given name and the second your clan name.” Errando thought some more, and despite his better judgment, he asked a follow up question. “Do you miss your clan?”

Quenthel ruminated on Errando’s story. "Some say it is better to be feared. Many among my people prefer to strike awe, not distinguishing whether it is that of admiration or terror. They do not care so long as they are respected. I do not know what I believe."

The Crown Prince pondered that for a moment before speaking. “I believe that balance is key. A modest dose of fear can be healthy, as it should always be known what someone is capable of. Although also, love is worthwhile too. To earn the respect of people through goodness and kindess, to earn the keep the love of the people. Respect then, flows from both aspects…love and fear.”

Quenthel then asked him about his name, that of his mother and father. The idea of having a name that featured them both was rather fascinating. As Errando looked out the window past her, he answered. “My father’s first name is Kame, and my mother’s house name is Aljiba.”

[Nalaya]

On the Train
Between Cities

His companion smiled. "Love is a powerful passion, perhaps the most powerful. I have seen it illuminate gently like a candle's flame and burn like a meteorite that races down from the sky. To inspire it in others is as rare a gift as a black pearl. From love springs mercy, and that is the trait which separates true leaders from tyrants. Not that tyranny does not have its uses."

She listened to him when he asked her about her clan, and then when he answered her question about the names. "Then your name is Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame. It is a fine name," Quenthel said, buying herself time to contemplate his question. Quenthel Nasadra. It sounded very strange to her. "If you have such a thing, they will not discard you out of hand as dishonored. A small detail, but it is shorthand for a great deal. Many overlook such things when they go to deal with my people. It rarely ends as they imagined it would."

Her blue eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she considered her past. "I..." she began pensively. "I had not thought of my qu'ilinasar or my ka'lum in some time. They are memory to me, though they will no longer be solely a memory when we arrive at Karsoluthiyl. I have long enjoyed the freedom to define myself without the expectations of anyone. To be Yath may be sacrifice, but it is also freedom. The weight of expectations when I was young were crushing. I was an only child at the time. I may have siblings now, I do not know. It has been more than eight years since I was last in Karsoluthiyl. I would not be surprised to learn that I had at least one brother or sister. To answer your question, however, to be without ties to the mortal world is...it is how I imagine having a missing limb. Forever you will know it is not there, but you grow accustomed to doing everything just as well without it. And sometimes there are phantom pains, though they grow rarer and rarer."

She turned her head, studying the green of the countryside outside. "The Yath are a good home and a fine family. We care for each other in our own way. Many times our bonds are closer than that between blood siblings who may have warring alliances that bring them into conflict. There is no such permitted division of the Yath, though conflicts of such strong personalities are natural. I best heard it explained by a tongue twister in English: we'll be together whatever the weather whether we like it or not."

The conversation flowed by like water and time passed with it. The countryside began to change as they climbed over mountain passes and finally crossed the massive, churning white waters of the Chath Niar'hannin. Quenthel smiled despite herself at the sight of the massive river, a quarter of a mile wide at this particular bend. It became calmer and even wider towards the ocean, cooling its fury as it approached the salt waves awaiting where all rivers flowed eventually. It was a formidable boundary line that threatened consume whoever fell in, but it was not unnavigable.

Around them, the mountains became harsher and rockier, the lush green becoming a golden brown. Clusters of thorns and trees broke it up among the blade like projections of stone from the ground, colors given life by lichens on the rocks. Wildflowers dotted the landscape in white, blues, and reds. Snow dusted the upper peaks, but there was little of it. The beauty of the semi-arid landscape was a harsh one. Finally, they summited the pass and came down in a broad, beautiful valley of widely spaced forests surrounded by pristine, glaciated mountains. There was farmland and rangeland butted up together, though the most notable crop appeared to be fields of delicate red and black poppies. Anyone who knew their plants would know they were opium poppies, the source of a great deal of revenue and trade for the Homeland.

The city of Karsoluthiyl was grey stone and polished glass, graceful spires rising from a city that had grown beyond the bounds of its walls into a sprawling metropolis. Buildings were angular, but many of the lines were softened by swirling script graven into the stone itself. Walls broke the city up into numerous districts. It was night when they pulled into the station, and the whole city was alive with shimmering lights of countless colors like a sea of glowing coals. The Mak'ur seemed fascinated by light, enchanted by it, at least if their city was any indication.

The train came to a halt and Quenthel grabbed her bag, ready to disembark. "Here we are. I imagine they will have sent someone to meet us outside. I hope you are ready."

[Ghant]

On the Train
Between Cities

Quenthel explained the nuances of love and Errando’s local name. "Then your name is Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame. It is a fine name," Quenthel said.

“…Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame. That does sound nice, doesn’t it?” Errando chuckled. “The Emperor of Ghant would thus be Gentry Nathan Zuria dal John. Doesn’t sound quite as nice,” Errando laughed. The Crown Prince was not a fan of the Emperor of Ghant, for what few times they interacted, the Emperor proved himself to be rather callous, inept and foolish. It was widely known throughout Ghant that if it was not for Sophia of Dakmoor, whom Errando once courted, his reign would be at its end already.

Then he asked another question, more to her first point. “Have you ever loved, Lady Quenthel?” The Crown Prince wasn’t sure why he asked…perhaps more to the point of curiosity. He would be lying to himself if he thought that he wasn’t at least interested in learning more about her, especially since she could very well mean the difference between life and death for him.

As their conversation flowed with ease, Errando watched as the countryside began to transform. Errando took it all in and studied it as they grew closer and closer to the city of Karosoluthiyl. Both the countryside and the city itself were quite fascinating, unlike anything he had ever seen. Eventually, the train came to a halt and Quenthel grabbed her bag. "Here we are. I imagine they will have sent someone to meet us outside. I hope you are ready."

Errando grabbed his bags as well. “As ready as I am like to get. I have not forgotten your advice and warnings. Time to put it to the test.” Indeed, the time was nigh, and it was times like this that he was thankful that he had a sharp memory. He would need to remember the honorifics and such, and probably need to put them to effect quickly.

[Nalaya]

Arrival
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Have we not all loved, in some form or another?" Quenthel said with a small, wry smile. "I have loved yes, but in childish and foolish ways. None were the kind of love that endures until the stars fall into the sea."

When they arrived, Quenthel peered out the window. She could see a pair of yath'abban waiting with one of her fellow yathrin. She recognized the man in charge, a powerfully built Mak'ur nearly as large as Errando himself with the tattooed likeness of a wolf superimposed on his features in black. That could only be Sorn. They were not on poor terms, but nor were they the closest of friends. She knew that his view of the outside world was a particularly unpleasant one, however. This would not go as smoothly as she had hoped. Still, there was nothing to do but face him.

The large Mak'ur man was waiting practically at the door when they disembarked. <<Welcome back to the homeland, Yath Quenthel T'sarran dal Sabrae,>> he greeted stiffly in their native tongue, dark red eyes narrowing at even the sight of Errando. Sorn was powerfully muscled without an ounce of fat on him, skin bronzed by the sun like Quenthel's with short white hair. The smoothness of his skin was broken up by many vicious scars of wounds that should have killed him. He was probably in his mid thirties if one had to guess, his body showing no appreciable signs of age. Quenthel knew he was a formidable fighter. Should she come to blows with him, she knew that unless she was very lucky, she would lose. It was not a comfortable awareness. <<What is this?>>

<<This is Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame. He is an envoy from the Empire of Ghant,>> she explained. <<He is the reason an audience was requested, at the suggestion of the Tigress.>>

<<Do not begin to pretend that the creatures have true names,>> Sorn said harshly, glaring at Errando. The large Mak'ur man's whole attitude suggested an unveiled hostility. He was not drawing a weapon, but he was not far from it either. <<Does it speak Latin or have you learned its tongue in your foolishness?>>

<<He speaks Latin,>> Quenthel said, stressing the pronoun even as her lips grew thin. Her posture had stiffened as well. They were two apex predators meeting on common ground and this conversation had the appropriate level of tension. <<Errando is my guest. You will treat him with the courtesy that demands or find yourself in conflict with me.>>

<<It is an intruder. We owe it no courtesy. However, you are within your right to beg an audience and so I will take you to the temple. Know you have done wrong in a way only the Quarval-sharess may forgive,>> Sorn ground out. He switched to heavily accented Latin. "Come, og'elend. I am Yath Sorn Naerth dal Pharaun." He nodded to the pair of yath'abban, both male as well. "Tell them we are coming...and that it is here." Immediately and obediently, the men with the green tattoos—theirs in swirling spiral patterns of script—took off at a healthy jog.

<<Your manners are atrocious,>> Quenthel said disapprovingly.

<<I am not the one who brought a foreign apostate to speak with the Quarvel-sharess. Had we known that you dared to attempt such a thing, you would not have been allowed into the city,>> Sorn retorted. His lip curled in disdain, showing white teeth complete with fangs just like Quenthel's. <<Ilharess Nasadra would speak to you as well.>>

<<She knows I am here?>> Quenthel said, unease churning in her stomach. That had not been on her list of things to do for the day, though it could probably wait for tomorrow. She was grateful they were having the conversation in her tongue rather than Latin. Errando would be able to pick out some words that were familiar, but the whole of the conversation he would not be privy to this way. It was for the best that he not know of the things she would have to attempt to repair later.

<<She makes it her business to know all the comings and goings of the city. Besides, she has a vested interest in you whether you are Yath or not,>> Sorn said coolly.

<<I have no desire to be engage in her mind games so swiftly after my arrival,>> Quenthel said with an undeniable note of frustration. She took a deep breath and looked over at Errando. In Latin, she said, "I apologize for my kinsman. He is not as...understanding as I am of the world beyond this one. Sorn is a good man, but he is not at his most welcoming now."

Sorn grunted in displeasure, but he did not say anything. As far as he was concerned, Errando was an affront to be borne in silence now that he had voiced his displeasure. In his opinion, Quenthel should have known better than to do such a thing. But he was not her keeper nor her mentor and so he had no power to rein her in.

Quenthel sighed. This was not going to be a pleasant walk. At least Karsoluthiyl was beautiful at night with its shimmering lights and occasional strains of music. There were very few cars on the road and so pedestrians walked where they pleased. The city was surprisingly clean, though not as immaculately kept as the Holy City. The Mak'ur had very particular ideas about what was appropriate to do with one's home. Gone were the days of skulls on the doorsteps. The buildings were old stone, but the amenities seemed modern even if spartan. Radio and cellphone towers even jutted up into the sky. The reception was excellent within the city, though outside it there were massive dead spots. The breezes blowing through were sweet with the smell of orchards and farmland and just a hint of a coming rain. Clouds could be seen rolling in from the south as was common for storms in this part of the country.

"When will the Quarval-sharess see us?" Quenthel asked despite Sorn's sullen silence. She knew that he would answer her even if he was ignoring Errando's existence.

"She will be informed of the og'elend. However, she is preparing for Isto d'Or'shanse. I expect she will wait until the holy day has passed," Sorn said grudgingly. "Ilharess Nasadra, however, would see you tomorrow when you rise from sleep." He glanced back at Errando. <<I trust you will not take it with you when you speak to the Ilharess.>>

<<And leave him unattended with you?>> she shot back. Sorn was a good man, but he had a hot temper and a violent streak a mile wide. Leaving him and Errando together would end with them both dying of wounds. <<Tell me you wish it be so and I shall make arrangements.>>

Sorn grunted. <<Take it. I will be glad to be free of its presence.>>

[Ghant]

Arrival
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Soon enough, the train arrived at the station in Karsoluthiyl, and Quenthel and Errando disembarked. The Crown Prince should have suspected that trouble would greet them not long thereafter. A large, physically imposing man roughly the same size as Errando was waiting, for them. He had tattoos in the guise of a wolf, and the ink was black. Can’t forget that, Errando thought.

The man and Quenthel began to speak in their strange native tongue, and from the sound of it, this man was none too pleased about something…Errando’s money was on it being him. The only thing he recognized was Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame, which the man responded to with a glare at Errando.

After some back and forth between Quenthel and this man, he addressed Errando in Latin. "Come, og'elend. I am Yath Sorn Naerth dal Pharaun." He nodded to the pair of men tattooed in green. "Tell them we are coming...and that it is here."

Errando, up to this point, was doing as Quenthel bid him, trying not to appear too weak but also not appearing too threatening or looking for a challenge. His eyes danced around between different things, never lingering for too long on one thing. When the man with the wolf tattoos addressed him and introduced himself as Sorn, Errando’s eyes shifted to meet his, large and red. “Well met, Revered Sorn.” The words were heavy despite being short, and then Errando averted his eyes and remained quiet, until such a time as he and Quenthel might be able to speak more privately.

When such a time came, Errando leaned in close and spoke softly. “What was all that about?” The Crown Prince suspected that things were not exactly going swimmingly, but then again, he hadn’t gotten into a fight yet, so perhaps it was going better then it could have. He didn’t know…but Quenthel probably did. His reliance upon her was more evident now than ever before.

[Nalaya]

To the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Sorn glanced from Errando to Quenthel when he was greeted with the proper honorific. <<You taught it to speak?>>

<<Fuck off,>> Quenthel snapped.

The Mak'ur man chuckled, his face cracking into a smile for the barest instant. He seemed to appreciate Quenthel's attitude, at the very least. Once his amusement had worn off, he resumed his silence and let the other two talk. He could understand Latin but he didn't like to speak it. For him the manner of speech was an awkward thing. It didn't dance across his tongue like his native language did.

When Errando asked what was going on, Quenthel sighed and swept her hand through her sun-bleached hair. "He is unhappy," Quenthel said quietly so there was less chance of Sorn hearing not that he probably cared all that much what she told Errando. "Sorn has a certain...dislike, let us say, of foreigners. He fought on the front lines against the Norveni, from the beginning of the war to the bitter end. There is much cause for his passion. He feels it is an affront to the Linath that I have brought you here to speak to the Quarval-sharess. It is, in a way, but a necessary one. Change does not come easily."

"It is not your place to force it, Quenthel," Sorn said, cutting in with the sharp rebuke.

"That is not for you to decide, Sorn," she said a bit coolly, blue eyes hard like sapphires. She was not going to openly challenge him, but it was worth reminding him that he was not on top of the totem pole. When it came down to it, the final arbiter would be the Quarval-sharess. She cleared her throat and looked back at Errando. "There is also the matter of the Ilharess Nasadra. She...wants to see me. I do not know why, but I imagine it is because she wants something. She may already know about you. She is a very well informed woman. I will ask you to accompany me for your own safety. It is not that I do not trust Sorn, but he is not a gentle soul. The two of you would likely find ground for conflict and that would be most unpleasant."

Even as they spoke, they were walking deeper and deeper into the city, weaving down its illuminated streets and the somewhat sparse crowds of people that moved to and fro. Heads turned to follow Errando—it was beyond sticking out like a sore thumb, beyond idle curiosity. It was a feeling that he didn't fit, like some kind of Martian. Many people looked with narrowed eyes, but the presence of two yathrin kept the peace. After a good twenty minutes, they reached the heart of the city—a large, sprawling building of grey stone that looked centuries older than everything around it surrounded by high walls. "This is an orthae qu'ellar. It is a combination of a monastery and a cathedral. It is a stronghold and a safe haven for the Yath, as well as any of the faithful who require shelter," Quenthel explained. "You are fortunate. Og'elend are not normally permitted to set foot on such sacred ground. No one like you has been within the walls of the one in Karsoluthiyl for centuries."

"And with every step he profanes the very stones he walks upon," Sorn growled as they walked in beneath the angular arch that passed through the thick wall. The inside of the wall was absolutely covered in carvings of animals, mythical and real, bound together by swirling lines of script that interlocked like chains. Graven thorns and other plants formed borders and breaks to the motifs. The area they had walked into was a garden...of a sort. It looked completely untended, a sudden growth of wilderness within the city. Thorny tree branches tangled together and spread their twig fingers into the night air, covered by climbing vines that flowered in a deep purple. The long grass carried a sweet smell to it, growing particularly thick by a large, irregular but basically oval, pool that formed the center of the approach. The still surface, lit by moonlight and reflected lights of the city, was occasionally disturbed as if fish were moving beneath the surface. Of the many plants that surrounded them, whether bush, briar, or flower, virtually all had medicinal or psychoactive properties. Many were also poisonous in too large a quantity. Deadly nightshade was the most familiar of all such flowers, but there were others.

The building that rose up before them was as old as the wall, at least a thousand years old, though it had been tended to well and its statues carefully maintained. Great iron braziers burned on either side of the main doors, lighting the approach and casting dancing shadows as they walked up the broad and weathered stone steps. A small breeze picked up, swirling wood-smoke around them. Quenthel's eyes watered slightly, but she did not make a sound of complaint. Instead, she opened one of the heavy wooden doors.

It was not unlike a cathedral, a row of great pillars on either side holding up the vaulted roof. There was even an altar at the far end, a great slab of stone covered in part by a red cloth. A silver bowl and a long knife sat on the altar alone. There were no candles on it, the area instead lit by more braziers whose smoke was vented through holes cut into the stone ceiling. In front of it was a special ceremonial fire. When it rained, covers were pulled closed above, but on this clear night the moon could be seen through the holes in the roof. The statues on either side in the many alcoves were perhaps unsettling, their feral eyes gazing down at those who walked by. They were primal spirits, not wholly animal but certainly not men. Most had aspects of predators, but not all. The chamber echoed back the sound of their feet on the stone, or at least Errando's feet. Quenthel and Sorn moved like whispers in the shadow after a lifetime of studied stealth.

Doors led off to either side, leading off to different parts of the temple complex. Sorn veered to the right with Quenthel and Errando, leading them into what appeared to be living quarters. There were open areas with cushions spread around and low tables for sitting on the floor, the walls lined with shelves of scrolls and books. "Each orthae qu'ellar is a repository of knowledge," Quenthel explained. "History is stored here, but also knowledge of other peoples and other religions, along with the sciences. Much of it is in many languages. The keeping of such records is part of the duty of the Yath, carried out largely by the yath'abban. It is a venerable and vital task."

At this late hour, they were the only ones here. Sorn lead them further in, towards a corridor with many curtained arches to either side. It seemed to be their equivalent of a dormitory. He stopped at one of them that had light coming from beneath. "Here, Quenthel. The journey has been long. Rest well, sister," he said courteously. He added in their native tongue, <<And keep it on a leash.>>

"You as well," Quenthel said, trying not to sigh with impatience at his paucity of manners. She swept the curtain out of the way to reveal a room with a bed complete with blankets and pillows on either side and a low table in the center of the room on a thick rug. There were chests at the foot of the beds for belongings. "Rooms like this are kept for traveling Yath. I am surprised they are not all full if the Quarval-sharess is here. Her presence is a blessing and many seek to enjoy it while they have the opportunity. She rarely leaves the Holy City."

Quenthel dropped her things on her bed and took in a deep breath. "I am sorry, Errando. You are not seeing us at our finest, though that may change tomorrow. Sorn was curt and not like the courteous and noble man I know him to be. There has been much damage done by the outside world and those wounds have in many ways made us bitter. The more violent and sometimes vengeful passions tend to rule yathrin rather than things like kindness and mercy. We are holy warriors at our hearts, the defenders of the faithful. Often that has brought us into conflict with the og'elend even within Nalaya."

She rubbed at her eyes. It was late and the train had left her tired in its own way. She hadn't been able to sleep on the way, her mind too alive with rumination on what was to come. Now that they were here, it all seemed unimportant. Things would either go well or badly as determined by fate and there was little she could do now to alter its course. The news about Nasadra put her ill at ease as well. Was it possible that they already knew about Errando? If so, it would explain the request for a meeting. They would want to know how much of a threat he posed to the status quo. Quenthel could not even begin to guess what their motives might be. Even the Yath despite their status were not immune from the politics of the world around them, no matter how they tried to avoid it. "We should sleep," she said more quietly. "It would be good if we were up early. I would like to see what this difficulty with Nasadra is before the day becomes busy with people. Besides, it may be possible then to see the Quarval-sharess before nightfall...unless she is as deep in preparation as Sorn suggested. If that is the case, we will need to wait. It is never wise to disturb any Yath in prayer."

The muscles in her neck had stiffened and set. She rubbed it to try and get it to loosen up, but only with marginal success. The day was not turning out as she had hoped.

[Ghant]

To the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

More exchanges took place between Sorn and Quenthel, before she spoke to Errando on what was being said. Ever so quietly, Quenthel explained Sorn’s…reservations.

“Change never does.” Errando articulated, quietly. “Aversion to it can be healthy. Plenty in my own country have similar attitudes.” On the subject of the Ilharess Nasadra, Errando nodded in agreement. “I will accompany you, rest assured.”

It took about twenty minutes of walking through the city, drawing less than friendly looks before they came upon a large, old looking building of grey stone. Quenthel described it as an orthae qu'ellar, and how he was the first outside to set foot in it in centuries…something that Sorn was not pleased about. This Sorn wearing my patience, Errando thought. He stayed his tongue, however, for nothing good would come of antagonism.

The inside of the orthae qu’ellar was covered in animal carvings, and there were many plants besides. Some looked as though they might be poisonous. There were some holes in the ceiling where the moonlight penetrated the dark room otherwise permeated by the light emanating from some braziers. There was some wood-smoke in there, and Errando squinted through it. His footsteps echoed against the stone floor.

Sorn led them to what appeared to be living quarters, and then a hallway with several arched rooms closed off by curtains. It seemed like they might have been the only ones there. Sorn spoke to Quenthel, wishing her a well sleep, before leaving them there by a curtained doorway.

Quenthel entered the room upon sweeping aside the curtain. It seemed comfortable enough, featuring a bed with blankets and pillows, a table upon a rug, and a chest at the foot of the bed. Quenthel dropped her things on her bed and took in a deep breath. "I am sorry, Errando. You are not seeing us at our finest, though that may change tomorrow. Sorn was curt and not like the courteous and noble man I know him to be. There has been much damage done by the outside world and those wounds have in many ways made us bitter. The more violent and sometimes vengeful passions tend to rule yathrinrather than things like kindness and mercy. We are holy warriors at our hearts, the defenders of the faithful. Often that has brought us into conflict with the og'elend even within Nalaya."

Errando shrugged. “There is no need to apologize, my lady. It is understandable. If the Norveni did to my people what they did to yours, we might feel the same way. I cannot hold it against your people, or Sorn for that matter. I mean to demonstrate that I am different. I feel entitled to nothing, and I am content to earn whatever respect I wish to have.”

Quenthel talked about getting up early the next day, whilst appearing very tired. “Indeed, tomorrow should be quite eventful. Worry not, my lady, and please sleep well. I shall see you in the morning.” Errando said this as he put his hand on her shoulder, before smiling slightly and departing for the room across the way. He swept aside the curtain, threw his things in the chest, and laid down upon the bed, wishing for sleep to take him.

[Nalaya]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Morning came quietly to the orthae qu'ellar, or at least it did for Quenthel. She awoke when the predawn light was beginning to turn the sky from black to an ever so slowly lightening shade of blue. She rolled out of bed, memories of dreams tugging at her consciousness. They were all vague and blurry. She felt rested and refreshed, which was good news. It meant she would not be walking into the day with an unfocused mind. Navigating this mess of her own making would be a challenge at best. Immediately, she grabbed fresh clothing and headed down to the baths. Her muscles were still tense from her anxiety as she had not had time to pray and release some of that lingering apprehension.

Soap and cold water quickly banished the last traces of sleep. She shivered a little as she pulled herself up out of the water, but it was a bracing chill rather than a debilitating one. Before she could even finish drying off, however, she was approached. The soft steps of bare feet were audible to trained ears like her own.

<<Quenthel, is it true that there is an og'elend here in the temple?>> a wary voice asked. The yathrin turned to see one of their younger detholusin, a girl of probably fourteen years of age named Laele. Quenthel was quite familiar with the initiate—normally Laele was in Dyvynasshar. She had probably been sent here to train with one of the yatharil, as she had demonstrated a much gentler nature that made her unsuitable for the path of a yathrin. It was like being approached by a younger sister and not cause for great alarm. If anyone would not be hostile to Errando, it would be a creature of Laele's nature.

<<It is true,>> Quenthel said carefully. <<He came here with me. He is an emissary from Ghant.>>

<<The land of ice?>> Laele asked, sitting down cross-legged at the edge of the pool while Quenthel finished drying off and dressed. <<You trust him?>>

It was a question that she had to ponder carefully, knowing that an immediate response would probably not be what Laele was looking for. Finally, she settled on an answer that was not quite an answer. <<I think he is an honorable man who means no harm,>> Quenthel said. She halted cautiously.

Laele raised an eyebrow. <<You didn't answer me,>> she said, quick enough minded that she was unsatisfied with that response.

<<I do. He came to my defense in Sevan when I was beset by enemies,>> Quenthel said. <<But it would be better to keep such a thing secret. Sorn will say I have lost my mind more than he thought.>>

<<I won't tell anyone,>> Laele promised. She uncrossed her legs and jumped up to her feet. <<Is it alright if I tell the others that he is here?>>

<<Of course. They will find out anyway.>>

Quenthel watched Laele scurry off, smiling despite herself. She had a great deal of softness in her heart for the yatharil and the detholusin who would become them. The gentleness they offered that was sometimes perceived as weakness was offset by their gifts of wisdom and prophecy. For her part, Quenthel admired them in their quieter strength. They seemed more apart from the world of men than even the yathallar in their own way. Her thoughts wandered to Errando as they had a habit of doing over the past twenty-four hours. Had he slept well or was he worried? She imagined that he had probably slept like the dead, knowing his bravery. He seemed so certain that things would go well. Perhaps he was right, perhaps not. Who was she to say?

She brushed out the tangles from her hair before heading to the living area where food awaited. It would be better to make up a tray and take it to Errando than to have him brave the main area for any length of time. Quenthel was doing her best to avoid quarrels, as those were prone to coming to blows. It was a simple way to solve things, but one better avoided. It was not a particularly foreign looking breakfast—coffee with cheeses, eggs, some chopped lamb from the night before that had been fried with potatoes, and several kinds of bread. Some of the slices were dark and full of seeds, and some light and puffy with a sweet glaze to their crust.

She carried the tray back to Errando's room. It was not too odd of a sight, though it felt very strange not to join in a communal breakfast. It was the only meal she usually ate with the others. Around dinner and lunch she was usually out and about, returning to eat at different hours than the majority of the others. There was no way to knock, so she just breezed in through the curtain without much warning as she would with any of her brothers or sisters unless they had left a signal outside their curtained doorway that they did not want to be disturbed. Granted, Errando hadn't known about that particular nuance, but that didn't occur to her. She set the tray down on the table without looking over, her one concession to if he was getting dressed. "Good morning. There are baths down the hall if you wish to use them, but I will warn you that they are cold."

Outside the safe confines of his room, news of his presence would be spreading like fire and igniting a considerable flame. Sorn would probably make it seem worse than it was, but Quenthel trusted Laele to combat some of that at least among the detholusin. Despite all of that, the yathrin was in a fairly good mood. She had Errando's company to look forward to. So far he had proved an interesting companion and an amusing one. He made her laugh.

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando found sleep easily, and rested soundly, that was until Quenthel entered his room and woke him up. Errando sprung up from bed, stretching and yawning not long thereafter. Wiping the dust from his eyes, he could see that she brought him something…to eat. Which was a good thing, he supposed, as he was hungry and didn’t want to put himself at there more than he thought he needed to.

The tray she carried consisted of coffee with cheeses, eggs, some chopped lamb with potatoes, and several kinds of bread. Some of the slices were dark and full of seeds, and some light and puffy with a sweet glaze to their crust. It looked and smelled quite appetizing.

She set the tray down on the table without looking over, as if suspecting him to be immodest. "Good morning. There are baths down the hall if you wish to use them, but I will warn you that they are cold."

Fortunately, Errando was wearing pants, although he was shirtless, barrel chest bare. Wanting to air on the side of modesty, he put a shirt on, and went over to the table. “Thank you for breakfast, my lady. It looks quite good. Cold water doesn’t fear me, for I am used to that.” The Crown Prince responded with a smile. “Will you stay and join me for breakfast?” he asked.

[Nalaya]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel paused for a moment when she realized Errando was shirtless. Not for the first time, she acknowledged that he was a good-looking man. The urge to blush was almost overwhelming and completely ridiculous. She saw men bare-chested practically every day. Thankfully, the hints of pink didn't show in her tan cheeks. She averted her eyes and set the tray down. "I would be happy to join you for breakfast. I had not thought about eating myself. I suppose I am distracted."

Wasn't that the truth. It was honest on multiple levels. Some of her thoughts were occupied by the meeting with Ilharess Nasadra that was looming in her future. And the rest of her brain seemed to have decided that attraction was something appropriate to feel towards an og'elend. It had been there since the beginning, as Errando was handsome and his company was enjoyable. She was just getting worse and worse at pushing it aside. Still, the knowledge that it was not mutual kept her from saying anything. It was not possible that he would see a feral, demonic visage and think it beautiful. Quenthel had no illusions about the men beyond her homeland's borders.

She knelt down at one side of the low table and helped herself. She had brought enough food for the two of them sort of automatically, largely because she assumed that a man of Errando's size and build would eat plenty. Perhaps she had overestimated slightly. Still, it worked out for the best.

"When you are ready, we can head to Quellarin Nasadra. It is the villa in their district of the city from which the C'rintrin of that qu'ilinasar rule. Certain things were modeled on Rome, though with modifications. The places of the powerful are one such thing."

For the most part, Quenthel was content to let Errando eat. She hadn't even realized she was hungry until she started eating, but then her body was reminded. Outside, the sounds of more traffic through the hall could be heard, but it was not as busy as say, the streets outside the walls of the orthae qu'ellar. He would then have a chance to go bathe. It had the risk of being a hazard, with a potential for an unfiltered encounter with the Yath, but hygiene was hygiene.

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel responded to Errando as he put on a dark, loose fitting shirt. Loose fitting clothing was the norm in his homeland. "I would be happy to join you for breakfast. I had not thought about eating myself. I suppose I am distracted."

Errando smiled. “Aye, there is much going on of late. Distraction is to be expected. All we can do is focus on one thing at a time.” The Crown Prince spoke whilst making himself comfortable at the table and digging into the food, which tasted as good as it looked and smelled. He found it to be delectable. “This is quite good.”

Quenthel continued as she partook in the breakfast, explaining the next part of their agenda. Errando nodded at this. “Aye, although I wonder if I should brave the bath first. What does it consist of, by the way?”

The Crown Prince had to suspect that the bathing area was in a high visibility area, and that would mean that perhaps the like of Sorn or his ilk might be there too. If that were the case, he would have to be prepared.

[Nalaya]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel was slightly baffled by his lack of understanding, but also amused. "Do the Ghanti not bathe?" she said with hints of a smile. "Allow me to be the first to explain, then. You get water on your body, you rub soap on it, then you wash the soap off. Sometimes you even get dressed in clean clothes afterwards." It was teasing, but gently done. She didn't intend to legitimately insult him.

She considered the problem of the baths. She could easily go in there with him—it wasn't segregated—but he probably wouldn't appreciate that. There were, however, more private areas. She imagined he would probably be more comfortable there without prying eyes and less chance of running into Sorn or someone else who might take exception to his existence. On the other hand, she could only shelter him so much and the baths were virtually empty at this hour. Most of the Yath visiting made it out of bed at around midmorning. Most were travelers enjoying a day of rest with a real place to sleep rather than permanent residents, save for the yath'abban.

Once he finished eating, she rose to her feet. "Come, I'll show you the way. I will leave you your privacy, but I intend to linger not far away in case there are problems. I do not doubt your capabilities. It is merely that someone may have to smooth things over afterwards."

The baths were an expansive room down a flight of broad steps. They were open as a rule, though there were a few small pools partitioned off and a closed room for a dry sauna. Quenthel liked to head there after she was done with the bath itself when she was not on a schedule of events. Today, however, she had not taken the luxury since someone had to bring Errando breakfast lest a brawl break out. At present, they were the only two people walking across the rough stone floor. These cut slabs had not been polished smooth like those in the rest of the building, designed so that it would be more difficult for people to slip and fall.

Quenthel hunted down some of the unscented soap and a towel, then left him be in there. The water was, as she promised, cold. It was not quite like an icy stream, designed to be warmed by sun streaming in through the high windows. However, the sun was barely up and so the water reflected that. It was another reason that the visiting Yath also went to the baths later in the morning and the evening. The pool was about five feet deep. The bottom was a little rough, much like the stone of the floor surrounding it.

The yathrin stood on the outside of the doorway, this one also curtained off, as a sort of sentinel to spot incoming trouble. However, it was not the only door and they were not the only people up early. Sorn sauntered in through the doorway from outside, not even pausing in his tracks when he saw Errando. He was not about to leave Yath territory for the sake of some og'elend's modesty. There was a cool hostility to Sorn's passing glare, but he did not make a move other than to strip and lower himself into the cold pool. He wanted a fight, but he knew he would have to deal with Quenthel then. He saw the younger woman as a formidable problem even though he could overpower her with raw strength. Quenthel didn't have strength, she had something even more dangerous: influence. She was almost yath'allar and her connection to the divine was strong. She could bring the displeasure of others down on him no matter how justified he would be in attacking an insult like Errando's presence in his way. People respected her.

Someday her abuse of that knowledge would be punished and she would no longer be allowed to get away with things like bringing an og'elend into sacred spaces. But that was not yet the case and so Sorn was prepared to suffer the indignity in his sullen silence...unless, of course, Errando decided he wanted to prove something. The male yathrin almost smiled at the thought. He hoped so. Not even Quenthel would blame him for reacting if Errando went to lay a hand on him.

Outside, Quenthel listened. She could hear the splashing of water, but no conversation. Errando was likely fine, then.

<<Is there a reason you're lingering by the door, Quenthel?>> a warm baritone voice asked, jolting her. She hadn't even seen him coming, too focused on her ears. The man in his forties, shorter by far than Sorn, but equally tough, smiled at her. It was Ildan, one of the yathallar. His tattoos were serpentine in nature, black edged in a deep crimson. His movements were as graceful as her own, but she knew they came with a vicious hidden speed much like the animal of his arlathil. He chuckled, running a hand over his shaven head. <<Waiting for someone, perhaps?>> She knew a tease when she heard it.

<<No,>> she said with a tinge of embarrassment despite herself. Rendezvous in the baths was not her particular modus operandi, though they certainly happened. She had walked in on it a time or two, but the idea of being caught had always put her off the option. Quenthel was a private person by nature and that extended to most aspects of her life, sex and romance included. <<I was just...>> She hunted for a good explanation and found nothing that wouldn't require in depth further explanation. Keeping a look out, while true, would prompt questions.

<<Good denial, but the cover story could use work,>> Ildan teased. He had a towel draped over his shoulder, so she knew where he was headed.

She didn't know how Ildan would feel about Errando, but he was in a good mood. Maybe if she warned him, it wouldn't be so bad. <<Ildan—>>

He chuckled. <<Is this about the apostate? Laele told me already. Are the Ghanti a shy people, then?>>

<<I didn't want a fight,>> she explained, relieved that his mood had not soured.

<<Unless he makes himself unwelcome, I accept he is your guest. He has nothing to fear from me,>> Ildan promised. He kissed the yathrin on the forehead in farewell before circling past her and heading in, <<Have a good morning, Quenthel. Oh, and don't stop Ryld. Unlike you, I am meeting someone.>>

Quenthel blushed and hoped Errando would be done quickly.

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel asked a question that made Errando laugh. "Do the Ghanti not bathe?" she said with hints of a smile. "Allow me to be the first to explain, then. You get water on your body, you rub soap on it, then you wash the soap off. Sometimes you even get dressed in clean clothes afterwards."

Errando shook his head as he laughed. “We do bathe in Ghant…sometimes in private tubs, sometimes in communal pools, sometimes in the rivers and streams. Alas I am not sure what kind I should expect here.” Errando said as he was finishing eating. It hit the spot, that much was certain.

Once he finished eating, Quenthel rose to her feet. "Come, I'll show you the way. I will leave you your privacy, but I intend to linger not far away in case there are problems. I do not doubt your capabilities. It is merely that someone may have to smooth things over afterwards."

Errando nodded as he stood up. “That sounds very good.” The Crown Prince grabbed some fresh garb from the bag in his chest and made his way with Quenthel to the baths. Sure enough, they were in a large room. Quenthel gave him soap and a towel, and then he disappeared into the baths. Errando stripped down to bare skin and jumped into the water. It was cold, but not that cold…certainly not as cold as what he was used to. It was about five feet deep, and he eased himself into the water.

Perhaps coincidentally, Sorn entered the baths. He saw Errando, but didn’t so much as pause. There was a cool hostility to Sorn's passing glare, but all he did was strip and lower himself into the pool. There was an awkward silence there in the pool, as Errando soaked in the water and soaped himself.

Despite his better judgement, Errando suspected that totally ignoring Sorn would provide him with ammunition to dismiss him for being a rude og’elend. That wouldn’t do. So, as Errando was finishing, he spoke, politely. “Good morning, Revered Sorn.” That was all that he was willing to say, and he said it with eye contact, red eyes burning. When it was said, his eyes looked away, studying the architecture as they often did.

Finishing, Errando rose from the pool in all his naked, pale Ghantish glory. He wondered what Sorn thought of his form, his physique, his scars. Did he care? Errando couldn’t make up his mind. Maybe he will be less of an ass if he sees that I am strong, Errando thought. The thought escaped him quickly, as he remembered that he wanted to avoid a fight, not rush into one. He wasn’t about to compromise his position this close to meeting the Quarval-sharess. That, and he wasn’t about to compromise Quenthel’s credibility. He suspected that she defended him and stood up for him to Sorn, and Errando felt the need to reward that trust by not putting himself at risk.

As it happened, Errando, merely went over to his towel and began to dry himself off. Once he was dry enough, he put on his fresh clothes, grabbed his things and left the baths to rejoin Quenthel.

[Nalaya]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Sorn opened his mouth to answer Errando with something less than perfect politeness, but he abruptly stopped when Ildan entered the room. "Good morning," the yathallar greeted in Latin, in rare form today. Perhaps it had a great deal to do with the fact that he would be meeting his lover in a very short amount of time. They were not in each other's company very often and he was looking forward to making up for lost time. "Sorn, if you continue to glower, your face will stick that way."

Sorn made a growling noise and levered himself up out of the bath. "I will do my best to continue to that end, Most Revered Ildan," he said in his harshly accented Latin. It irked him that the yathallar was not insulted by the presence of the foreigner or even apparently concerned in the slightest. He also knew that the conversation was happening in Latin merely for the benefit of their guest.

Ildan's face had an incredibly distinctive tattoo, the smiling grin of a snake permanently emblazoned on his features. The patterns of scales ran down his back and front alike, broken up by sharp, broad lines of black that represented bands. Across the back of his shaven head was the distinctive marking eyeglasses shape of an asp's hood when it was spread. Every black line was edged in that dark crimson not unlike the color of the cloth many Yath wore. "Good luck, og'elend. And be gentle with Quenthel...or not. I have never asked her which she prefers," Ildan said casually, stepping off the edge and crashing into the water with a satisfying splash. He figured that he might as well clean up while he was waiting. Sorn was vacating the premises quickly, mostly because he was irritated. The yathrin beat Errando out the door, brushing past Quenthel with a grunt.

"He is in fine form this morning," Quenthel commented when Errando arrived, watching Sorn go before looking back at her guest. She looked relieved to see the Ghantish man whole and well. They had managed to escape without too much of a problem. Ildan must have continued in his good mood. She was grateful that Errando would have had a chance to see someone who was not immediately hostile. "We should be careful when we leave. Some of the others are awake and they know that you are here. Laele will have told them."

Prophetic words if ever there were any. When Quenthel led Errando out into the main hall, people were waiting. There was about a dozen tattooed Yath seated in various places in the living area, some eating and others already in study. The symbols inked under their skin seemed to come in three varieties: black stylized animals superimposed over the body, green swirling spirals of script, or blue patterns of geometric shapes. The moment Errando entered, a deafening silence settled over the room that had been pleasant chatter. Laele sat frozen, not quite certain whether she should flee or stay for what felt looked it might be a fight. She was too young to be caught up in something like that.

The feeling in the room was not unlike that sudden prickling at a sixth sense before a lightning strike.

One of the women, the only person in the whole room with those strange, geometric blue patterns, rose to her feet. She was older, probably in her late fifties. Her hair had already turned white like milk and her skin was lighter than that of the others. She spent much less time out in the sun. Her eyes were intensely green, standing out from her dark eyelashes. She seemed calmer than the others, her eyes not boring into Errando with a frightful intensity. <<Quenthel, why have you brought this man here?>> she asked. There was no hint of accusation, only inquiry.

<<To speak to the Quarval-sharess, Revered Anluryn,>> Quenthel said respectfully. It was not for her to conduct herself rudely towards anyone, let alone one of the yatharil.

<<For what purpose? It must be something important to risk so much. Laele spoke for you, but Sorn against. She is a child and he is Yath. The scales of my thoughts wait for you to add the weight of your words,>> Anluryn said. She examined Errando with a certain cautious curiosity. She remembered the war vividly and was cautious of the outside world, but her temperament was not as violent as Sorn's. Her passions were deep and abiding.

<<To speak about Ghant and the outside world. We cannot keep ignoring it,>> Quenthel said quietly, keeping the conversation limited to Anluryn, herself, and Errando. The others would accept Anluryn's judgment as wisdom from one of the yatharil carried a great deal of influence. However, they were not easy creatures to persuade. Quenthel doubted she could do it a year, let alone a few minutes.

<<Tell him that when you return, I would speak with him. You will have to serve as our translator,>> Anluryn said pensively with a furrow appearing in her brow. <<The others will require time. This...irregularity...it is sudden to them. Give them pause to reflect upon his presence and he will become less of a threat and a target.>>

Quenthel bowed slightly. <<Thank you, Revered Anluryn. I will not forget this beneficence. I will take him from here.>>

With that, Quenthel actually caught Errando by his sleeve and pulled him across the room into the main area of the orthae qu'ellar as quickly as possible without actually running. She knew they had been bought merely seconds. She almost thought about running to the outside, but she wanted to retain some dignity.

"That went better than I had any right to expect," she said in Latin, releasing a deep sigh of relief once they left through the main doors. "I am sorry, Revered Anluryn does not speak anything other than the languages native to Nalaya, otherwise I would have conversed with her in a language you understand. She wishes to question you later. If you can impress upon her the honesty of your purpose, it would go a long way towards convincing the Quarval-sharess to listen to us. Yatharil are fonts of wisdom and seers. Their word is respected."

She let go of his arm, somewhat embarrassed that she had just dragged him away. "I apologize. That was not how I intended to depart. I hope it was not too unpleasant." Quenthel didn't make casual contact with people often. Mak'ur were not nearly as casually demonstrative as the other ethnic groups. Large amounts of touching were usually reserved for lovers or children. She cleared her throat. "If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. It is not far from here to the Quellarin Nasadra. We will be expected. I sent word with one of the detholusin while you were in the bath, before Ildan passed me. He was the yathallar with the markings of a serpent."

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

As Errando was getting ready to depart the baths, a man with black tattoos trimmed with red entered. "Good morning," the man greeted in Latin.

A yathallar, Errando remembered. “Good morning yathallar.” Errando answered back.

After a light exchange between the man, named Ildan and Sorn, Ildan addressed Errando. "Good luck, og'elend. And be gentle with Quenthel...or not. I have never asked her which she prefers," Ildan said casually. Ildan jumped into the bath, while Sorn stormed out past Errando.

Errando bowed slightly. “Thank you, Most Revered Ildan.” With that, Errando went on his way back to Quenthel.

Quenthel commented on Sorn, and on the nature of everyone being aware that he was here. Sure enough, peoople were, and when Errando entered the living area, he found a number of people who sat in deafening silence upon his entry. Errando tried to look non-threatening.

An older woman with blue tattoos got up and spoke to Quenthel in their native language. She didn’t seem hostile…at least not like Sorn. In fact, nobody seemed as hostile as Sorn. Errando stood and listened to the two women speak, until they were finished.

Once they were, Quenthel actually grabbed Errando by his sleeve and pulled him across the room into the main area of the orthae qu'ellar with haste. Errando had to wonder if something was amiss.

"That went better than I had any right to expect," she said in Latin, releasing a deep sigh of relief once they left through the main doors. "I am sorry, Revered Anluryn does not speak anything other than the languages native to Nalaya, otherwise I would have conversed with her in a language you understand. She wishes to question you later. If you can impress upon her the honesty of your purpose, it would go a long way towards convincing the Quarval-sharess to listen to us. Yatharil are fonts of wisdom and seers. Their word is respected."

Quenthel let go of his arm then. "I apologize. That was not how I intended to depart. I hope it was not too unpleasant."

“I understand,” Errando said with a smile. “Ildan seemed like a nice man. And don’t worry, I will speak to Revered Anluryn when that time comes. For now though, I need to put these dirty clothes back in my chest. Then I will be ready for what lies next.” Errando smiled again. “If you don’t think I can go back to my room, maybe you can throw them in the chest.” Errando had to hold back chuckling at the thought of Quenthel handling his dirty clothes. Yet, these were unique circumstances, after all.

[Nalaya]

To the Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Perhaps it would be better if I took them back," Quenthel said, thinking of traversing the living area again. "I promised Anluryn that I would take you from this place. The others will need time to decide what they think of you, and that is better done without the effect of your presence."

She relieved Errando of his dirty clothes and took them back to the room he was currently occupying, walking as if on eggshells around the others. The hall was still muted and the eyes that focused on her were not friendly. It would be ugly when they came back. People were only holding off now because Anluryn had persuaded them to consider things carefully first, a sort of planning and reflection not native to yathrin like herself. Quenthel knew the tension would eventually snap. She laid the dirty clothes on Errando's bed to mark it as his, then strode back out and through the living area with a fast clip. Finally, she reached the Ghantish man again. "It is done. Let us go while we still can. More are beginning to awaken."

It was on that less than pleasant note that she lead the way out of the orthae qu'ellar into the streets. There were crowds moving about, but Quenthel and Errando maintained at least three feet of space on all sides no matter how densely packed the traffic was. It was as if Errand carried some awful smell or disease. The eyes that followed Errando were again not pleasant in their aspect. Narrowed eyes and stiff bodies characterized everyone that they passed. No one seemed welcoming towards the Ghantish man. Other ethnic groups of Nalaya were permitted without much fuss here in Karsoluthiyl, but a foreigner like Errando could only mean danger from the outside world. A spy, a thief, a cheat. Their view of places like Ghant were not flattering. Quenthel would have ventured a guess that it would take lifetimes to change that, whether or not the Quarval-sharess gave him her blessing. But again, no one did or said anything in the presence of the yathrin.

The normal phenotypes for Mak'ur seemed to be tanned skin and fairer colors of hair, whether light brown, blonde, or even the Nalayan cinnamon red-brown color that was only otherwise seen in the Arusai. Their eyes were like gemstones and came in a variety of colors. Some sets of eyes were dark like hematite, many green like emeralds, a few red like rubies, and one or two purple like amethyst. Quenthel's blue was not common here among the Mak'ur, and it collected itself in certain family lines. There were tattoos here and there, many simple lines or whorls across exposed skin. There were no hints of predatory animals, but none of them resembled those he had seen in the temple or on Sorn and his comrades at the train station. Such markings were reserved exclusively for the Yath, and an uninitiated copying them usually found the tattoos removed...one way or another. The manners of dress varied, though the sari seemed to be the most common form of dress for women in the area, the cloth in countless colors and materials, while men often wore dhoti, though the younger generation of men seemed to prefer loose linen shirts with modern jeans or slacks. There was no stigma to exposed skin, but most were not as comfortable in their body image as the Yath, who exuded confidence wherever they went. Both genders walked with mostly uncovered heads.

Fortunately, it was not a long walk from the orthae qu'ellar to the Quellarin Nasadra. Removed slightly from the bustle of the city by immaculate gardens that anyone seemed free to enjoy, the villa was very much in a Roman style at the middle of this immaculately cared for park. Here nature was not left to run wild and a reflecting pool stood at the base of a statue not unfamiliar to Errando. It was one of the animal spirits from the temple, teeth and claws with the body of a wolf standing upright all carved into a dark stone. It seemed to be the gatekeeper for the villa itself. There were actually guards at the gate, these in body armor with rifles slung. They offered Quenthel deep bows, though they did not take their eyes off Errando for a second. One had put his hand much closer to the trigger than it had been before. <<What brings you here, Revered Quenthel?>> one asked.

<<The request of the Ilharess. The man with me is my guest. Do not shoot him,>> she said with firmness.

<<Of course, Revered Quenthel. The Ilharess is in on the terrace beside the triclinium.>> Here it was becoming more obvious what kind of deference the Mak'ur offered to their Yath. People actively stopped what they were doing in the halls of the villa to offer bows in their direction, effectively ignoring the fact that they disliked Errando's presence all for fear of a yathrin.

They finally entered the triclinium, an opulent dining area again in Roman style, with reclining couches surrounding a table with food. It was a small breakfast at the moment and one not much different from what they had eaten at the orthae qu'ellar. A set of doors lead out to the terrace surrounded by a private orchard, currently left standing open. Quenthel lead the way, not an ounce of the trepidation that she felt visible in her face or movements. If there was one thing that she knew well, it was that one had to walk with care around a c'rintri. She paused to explain manners to Errando. "The woman we are meeting, the way to address her is Ilharess Nasadra. Even if she gives you permission otherwise, it would be prudent not to use her name. Someone else would likely take it as impudence and intervene. A bow is a traditional greeting. Other than that, we will have to play this by ear."

The woman waiting for them could have been a replica of Quenthel aged another few decades. Ilharess Nasadra had the same sapphire eyes, the same structure of her face only without all the tattoos. She was dressed in a red sari with gold embroidery in swirling patterns, some of the material gauzy and nearly transparent but most of it was opaque silk. Her ears were pierced many times over and a bracelet with snakes of gold intertwining graced her wrist, their obsidian eyes catching the light for a brief moment. Her hair was silver and a good guess would have placed her in her mid to late fourties. All the same, the resemblance was very close...and familial. "Welcome, Yath Quenthel T'sarran dal Sabrae," she greeted pleasantly. Her Latin had the same patrician diction as Quenthel's did and sounded equally flawless. Her movements were not quite as graceful as the yathrin's, but she had probably spent much less of her life in martial training. "And who is your guest?"

"This is Odolaren Errando Aljiba dal Kame," Quenthel said. There was a certain stiffness to her manners, the remnants of an old wound. "He is delegate from the Empire of Ghant."

"Then welcome, Errando Aljiba. I am Nasadra Sabrae Illistyn dal Kalannar, Ilharess of Nasadra," the woman greeted with a polite inclination of her head. "I imagine you may have found your presence here thus far not quite as pleasantly received as it might have been in Sevan. I had heard a foreigner was traveling with Quenthel, but I had not realized the importance of the mission that you were on. I hope at least the yathrin you are with has been understanding. I would expect nothing less after her education."

"The Ilharess is the representative of the Qu'ilinasar Nasadra," Quenthel explained. She looked almost quizzically at the older woman. "Why did you request my presence, Ilharess?"

"Do I need an excuse?" the Ilharess said with a pleasant smile. She motioned for Errando and Quenthel to sit. There were smooth cedar benches out on the terrace, currently arranged to face each other. The air of the small orchard was perfumed by the smell of the roses that grew against the far wall, carried to them by a light and cooling breeze. Fig, apples, and pear trees grew together here in the garden, fruit hanging heavy on the branches. "But I did hear that you had been called to Sevan on important business and that you were returning with a guest. I did not think he would be someone from so far abroad. So I asked you here to satisfy my curiosity."

Quenthel was cautious. "It was by order of the Quarval-sharess. It is Yath business."

"And the business of the Yath concerns all of us, as does our relationship with the world beyond Nalaya's borders. Revered Quenthel, I expect you of all people to understand the responsibilities of a c'rintri. Or have you forgotten, set apart in the ways of a yathrin?" The Ilharess turned her head to regard Errando, leaving Quenthel to a sudden silence. "Tell me, Errando Aljiba, what brings you to our fair city? Does Ghant truly have designs here in Nalaya? The idea of the Isle of Ice being so fascinated with us is quite interesting. It is rare to see a foreigner of any kind with one of the Yath. I imagine your business must be quite important. I would like to assist where I can."

Quenthel wanted to scream a warning at that. Everything with the C'rintrin had a string attached and Ilharess Nasadra was the rule rather than the exception. Quenthel knew that she would give certain people anything they every wanted, but there was always a hook. An angle. Somehow it served her purposes in return. It was one of the main reasons she had left Nasadra to become Yath. But the yathrin bit her tongue for the sake of politeness. Besides, it was possible that the Ilharess really could help them, whatever her motives.

[Ghant]

To the Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel agreed and took Errando’s clothes back to his room for him. When she returned, it was time to depart. As Errando assumed they would be, the streets were non the friendlier to him. Eyes followed him…unpleasant ones, and there was a bubble around him and Quenthel, it seemed. Probably for the best, he thought without lamentation. He was content to earn his keep, after all.

Itt was not a long walk from the orthae qu'ellar to the Quellarin Nasadra. There were some gardens surrounding the villa, which oddly enough had a Roman style architecture. There was a reflecting pool at the base of a wolf statue standing upright, with teeth and claws all carved of dark stone. How Ghantish, Errando thought. Wolf and Direwolf symbology was rampant in Ghant, with the direwolf being the national animal.

As could also be expected, there were armed and armored guards at the entrance. They bowed to Quenthel but didn’t take their eyes of Errando. Figures, he thought. Quenthel spoke to them, and then they let Quenthel and Errando inside.

Quenthel led the way through the triclinium to a set of doors that lead out to the terrace surrounded by an orchard. Quenthel spoke to Errando, informing him that he should address the woman they were to meet as “Ilharess Nasadra” and to bow when they met. To which Errando nodded and said, “Understood.”

The woman waiting for them looked like an older version of Quenthel. The same sapphire eyes, the same facial structure minus the tattoos. She even spoke Latin the same way. Errando’s first thought was that she was Quenthel’s mother. Although, now was certainly not the time to ask.

Quenthel and Ilharess Nasadra began talking in Latin, and then she addressed Errando. "Then welcome, Errando Aljiba. I am Nasadra Sabrae Illistyn dal Kalannar, Ilharess of Nasadra," the woman greeted with a polite inclination of her head. "I imagine you may have found your presence here thus far not quite as pleasantly received as it might have been in Sevan. I had heard a foreigner was traveling with Quenthel, but I had not realized the importance of the mission that you were on. I hope at least the yathrin you are with has been understanding. I would expect nothing less after her education."

Remembering what Quenthel told him, Errando bowed, and then spoke. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ilharess Nasadra. Karsoluthiyl has its charms, and Revered Quenthel has been most understanding.” Around others of her own kind, Errando would be sure to address Quenthel with full manners as to give a good impression of himself as a man of good manners and respect.

Quenthel and Ilharess Nasandra spoke some more, before she addressed Errando once more. "Tell me, Errando Aljiba, what brings you to our fair city? Does Ghant truly have designs here in Nalaya? The idea of the Isle of Ice being so fascinated with us is quite interesting. It is rare to see a foreigner of any kind with one of the Yath. I imagine your business must be quite important. I would like to assist where I can."

Errando contemplated that for a moment. “As it happens, Ilharess Nasandra, I am here to demonstrate that I possess z’ress, which, if I understand it correctly, would make it much easier for the Quarval-sharess to be persuaded that Ghant is not an enemy. This could persuade the Avangardn to be more friendly towards Ghant and our interests of friendship and cooperation.”

[Nalaya]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"An interesting idea," the Ilharess said, smiling a bit at the plan. It was difficult to tell if it was with approval or amusement. She was an expressive creature, but not an easily read one. Quenthel knew that the woman had a certain distance between her face and her heart...one not easily traversed. "You should know how difficult what you presume to do is. Even most Mak'ur do not possess that...trait. It is a quality that the Yath look for in their prospective initiates. Not to mention the risk it would be to the Yath if one not of the faith were to exhibit that characteristic. It would upset a balance that has stood for centuries. They have a vested interest in your failure. I imagine Revered Quenthel has not taken this into account."

It seemed patently obvious to Quenthel now that her oversight had been pointed out. It made her feel foolish, something she did not enjoy. "I had not considered it, Ilharess. This was a shot in the dark." There was nothing untrue to what the woman said.

"Close to correct aim, but not quite on target," the Ilharess said pleasantly. "You are young. You have not learned to see the ripples that spread from your tossed stones. Already things have been set in motion by the mere presence of an outsider. You, my Ghanti guest, are an unknown factor. What is not known cannot be controlled. Lack of control is something that many here in Karsoluthiyl do not take kindly to. You represent a threat whose fangs we know well. Allow me to offer you a different pathway to the Quarval-sharess's attentions, one that will not end in flames."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Quenthel asked, her anxiety growing rather than shrinking at the offer. Nasadra held a great deal of favor with the Quarval-sharess. They stood to lose it if something went wrong. Why then a sudden burst of altruism? Quenthel knew better than to expect the Ilharess to be doing this out of the goodness of her heart.

"This is an inexorable tide. The Protector is pushing us in a direction of interaction with the world outside. It is not wrong, but it is there. If we allow ourselves to be ruled by fear, we will lose our place under the sun," the Ilharess said. She picked up a fig from a bowl sitting on the bench next to her and turned the fruit over in her hands. She studied it rather than needing to look at them. "Nasadra will not fall by the wayside because we ignored the force that is change. It is a mutually beneficial endeavor. With one of the great qu'ilinasar speaking for you, the Quarval-sharess would have to at least entertain your message. I cannot guarantee she will listen, but I can give you a chance. I simply require a task in exchange for my support. I will not be the last person you have to bargain with for aid. The more support you can accrue, the more likely it is that the Quarval-sharess will actually listen. She is not immune to the voices of her people."

Quenthel was quiet. The Ilharess would be getting something out of this, at least up front. Likely, she would end up collecting a great deal more than she was putting in. Ilharess Nasadra was not a warrior. She had no strength of arms to earn her respect, nor armies to place upon the field, and yet her qu'ilinasar had risen to greatness over the bodies of others. A tongue and a mind had done more for her in her lifetime than innumerable swords. She spent great wealths of time planning and this would be no different. Quenthel resented being a pawn, but she could not fault the Ilharess for it. Survival was the cardinal rule.

Blue eyes focused on Errando when the Ilharess looked up. "My task is simple, Errando of Odolaren. I have faith that you will be able to perform it admirably. There is a man named Masq'il'yr Istolil Faertala dal Chenzira here in the city. Kill him and bring the documents he carries to me before sunset. That is the price of my aid."

Quenthel pulled in a hiss of breath. "And anger one of the other great qu'ilinasar?" she demanded. She could see the hidden genius to the plan. For one, there was the removal of an enemy. Two, the documents he possessed were likely very valuable. Three, it would insinuate that Nasadra had the power to control outside elements in Karsoluthiyl. All three of those things would tilt the balance of power further in the Ilharess's favor. "They will come after Errando if he does that."

The Ilharess shrugged with a faint smile. "Welcome to the City of Splinters," she said in a pleasant tone. "I am not an unreasonable woman, Revered Quenthel. The task I have set is quite easy, and I imagine your guest will not be in Karsoluthiyl to suffer the consequences. Masq'il'yr is already an enemy of the outside world and the people in it. What does Errando Aljiba have to lose?"

[Ghant]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando sat back and listened to what Ilharess Nasadra had to say. It didn’t surprise him that apparently others were counting on him to fail. I wouldn’t have it any other way, Errando thought. That will make it more satisfying when I succeed.

Then came the part where she had a task for Errando that upon completion would aid him in his quest. I wonder what that could be? he thought. Something told him that it would be something rather risky.

It was. "My task is simple, Errando of Odolaren. I have faith that you will be able to perform it admirably. There is a man named Masq'il'yr Istolil Faertala dal Chenzira here in the city. Kill him and bring the documents he carries to me before sunset. That is the price of my aid." Explained Ilharess Nasadra.

Errando contemplated that for a moment. …Well, isn’t that interesting? The Crown Prince suspected that he would eventually have to take a man’s life, and it would seem as though it was coming sooner than he would have liked. Hmm…

Quenthel hissed. "And anger one of the other great qu'ilinasar? They will come after Errando if he does that."

Yeah…not really sure I want that, Errando thought. Then again, apparently by killing this man he could get one step closer to his goal. So it was worth considering.

“Ilharess Nasadra, if I may, might I have a word with Revered Quenthel in private for a moment before I give you my decision?” That seemed the most sensible course of action at this present time. Quenthel was his guide, and what he did would reflect upon her. If she said don’t do it, he wouldn’t. Yet if she said go ahead…

[Nalaya]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Of course. I would not expect you to do such a thing without some consideration of your options," the Ilharess said idly. She motioned to the green surrounding them on three sides. "Feel free to enjoy the orchard. Revered Quenthel knows it, but you have not seen it yet. I will be here when you have made your decision."

Quenthel nodded and rose from her seat. She lead the way out into the garden. The sounds of running water from fountains would likely stop their conversation from reaching the ears of the Ilharess, but there was of course no guarantee. She wished that she knew Errando's native tongue so that they could converse without fear of being overheard, but she had not enjoyed the luxury to learn it. Latin was Cornellia's lingua franca, and so that was what she had learned. Her mother had taught her to speak like a noble in every language she knew, with perfect pronunciation and clear diction. It was simply expected of her. Learning many languages young had made all the difference. Now it was easy to grasp and assimilate a new one. But that aside, she and Errando now had something they very much needed to talk about.

"I had no knowledge of her designs," Quenthel said when she estimated they were safely out of earshot. "Honestly, I had thought she would merely ignore you as Sorn strives to do. That she ask anything of you, no matter how generous her reward, was not what I had intended."

Quenthel ran her fingers through her blonde, almost white hair. She did not know what to do. When it came to Nasadra and the Yath, she knew which she had chosen. But she was not an outsider. "What the Ilharess is offering is more valuable than gold," she admitted. "If what she says of the balance of power is true, and I believe it is, then the Yath will never bend tradition to allow one who is not faithful to undertake a rite and with good reason. We will need another way and she is willing to give us one. I do not know of anyone else who would risk so much. I had not thought she would. There is something at work here much larger than us and it makes me uncomfortable."

Around them, fruit hung heavy on the branches of the fruit trees. The grass was soft and trimmed under Quenthel's bare feet, well watered. It was very different from the worn stones she had become accustomed to in Dyvynasshar or the untamed wilderness that ruled outside of Karsoluthiyl's beautiful valley. Without thinking, the yathrin plucked a fig from one of the trees. She knew from experience that they were wonderfully sweet and juicy with chewy flesh and seeds that crunched between teeth. This variety had been carefully selectively bred until it was suited to Karsoluthiyl perfectly, hardy against cold and heat alike while capable of flourishing at high altitude without a great deal of water, though that was certainly available here in the villa. She would taken a bite out of it, but she was thinking and she would need to talk more, to explain herself. So instead she merely held it in her hand.

The question of killing someone was not one that troubled Quenthel as much as accepting help from the Ilharess. The woman could hook into people with a frightening ease. It only took a little foothold, a little way in. Everyone wanted something and Ilharess Nasadra was willing to be their ticket to whatever they wanted...if only they would do just a little something for her in return. She was the devil in the Faustian equation. Still, what choice did they have? They needed the attention of the Quarval-sharess to change anything. Even if, and this was as implausible as one could be without becoming impossible, the C'rintrin were willing to alter the way they thought about the outside world, their considerable power would not be able to shift the Yath without the word of the Dread Wolf.

"The Masq'il'yr qu'ilinasar may very well try to kill you if you attack a member, particularly one entrusted with valuable information. The Ilharess is choosing you for this task because she knows both that you cannot be tied back to her and because she does not have to risk the displeasure of the Yath if we are not involved. That is why she did not ask me to do this thing." And, Quenthel reasoned, because she would have refused the Ilharess had she been asked. "However, one does not attack a guest of the Yath. It is known. This may be your security if we can acquire the auspices of the Quarval-sharess. Her blessing would grant you a sort of invulnerability. It would likely take Masq'il'yr more than a day to marshal their response. They will be concerned first and foremost with damage control rather than vengeance if these documents are important and they are discovered missing."

"This is a matter of what you are willing to do to get what you want," Quenthel said finally, now that everything was laid out as best she saw it. She had left the Ilharess's intentions largely out of it because she knew that supposition was dangerous and it would be better not to accidentally mislead Errando. He could believe what he willed. "What you are willing to risk for what you stand to gain. I cannot make this decision for you."

[Ghant]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Ilharess Nasadra granted them leave to speak privately and to venture into the garden. Errando nodded at this in unison with Quenthel, who got up and led the way, with him following close behind. The thought of killing a man didn’t bother him as much as he thought it might. He was a warrior, a seasoned killer. It certainly wouldn’t be anything new to him.

Quenthel explained her position and her understanding of the situation, as well as the consequences of either choice that presented themselves to Errando. He listened attentively to what she had to say as the traversed the garden. "This is a matter of what you are willing to do to get what you want," Quenthel said. "What you are willing to risk for what you stand to gain. I cannot make this decision for you."

After the way Quenthel explained it to him, it didn’t really seem like Errando had much of a choice. It was a difficult decision to make, but a necessary one. He didn’t really see any other way. So as they walked, he stopped and turned to her. “I will do it. Let us tell Ilharess Nasadra that I agree. We will need my battleaxe though.”

Errando walked with confidence back inside, and addressed Ilharess Nasadra. “I will kill this man for you, Ilharess Nasadra.” The words flowed effortlessly from his mouth, and he was now mentally preparing himself to end a man’s life. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed to.

[Nalaya]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

The Ilharess's smile was white against her café au lait skin. "It pleases me to know that we can do business together. I hope all of the interactions between my people and yours will be conducted so smoothly," she said. Quenthel knew she would only truly be satisfied when the deed was done, but for the moment the Ilharess was nigh content. "There is one more matter that should be addressed, though privately. Will you leave us for a moment, Revered Quenthel? When I am finished, I will send Errando Aljiba to you and you may continue on your way. I will expect you here again before nightfall."

The idea of the Ilharess speaking alone with Errando did not sit well with her, but she knew that refusing would disrupt the goodwill that had been created, no matter how temporarily. Besides, Errando might not appreciate her insisting that he needed her intervention or protection. He had done well so far. She trusted him even if she did not trust the intentions of the Ilharess. "Of course, Ilharess Nasadra. I will await him in the triclinium," she said, inclining her head politely to the woman. As a yathrin, she was encouraged to never bow or show submission to anyone save other Yath. Still, there were manners to observe.

"It is ever a pleasure to host one of the Yath," Ilharess Nasadra said, giving the same tilt of her head in return. Quenthel left respectfully and stepped into the villa, leaving Errando alone with the Ilharess. With that, the elder set of blue eyes focused on the Ghantish man. "Revered Quenthel is a good woman. You are fortunate to have her acting on your behalf with such tenacity. I have asked you to remain while she does not because I would take the measure of you into consideration."

Indeed, she looked at him as if sizing him up for a fight or something of that nature. "Imagine, if you will, that you lost something very precious to you for a very long time. Then it reappears again, but just out of your grasp. With it comes something dangerous, something that may destroy this precious thing. What would you do, in that position?"

It was a loaded question. The Ilharess's resemblence to Quenthel was even more striking when her look became a questioning one. It was an expression Errando would have been able to see on the yathrin's face many times when she inquired about Ghant. Here was an older, perhaps wiser, and certainly more dangerous version. "Quenthel is doing something very dangerous. She is pushing. And she is pushing not because she has to or because it is in her best interest to, but because you wish it to be so. This is how reputations are ruined and lives are lost. I do not understand why, but her reasons are not important. Yours are. What do you hope to gain by this quest? Do you believe the sacrifice of Quenthel is worth what you seek? She is young and so she walks into a fire believing she is impervious to its flames. If she continues down this course, she will be burned. The only question is how badly."

[Ghant]

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Ilharess Nasadra seemed pleased with herself at Errando’s agreement to do as she bid. Then she asked Quenthel to leave so that the two of them could be alone. Here we go, Errando thought as Quenthel departed the room and left them to their devices.

Ilharess Nasadra looked at him somewhat aggressively as she spoke. “Imagine, if you will, that you lost something very precious to you for a very long time. Then it reappears again, but just out of your grasp. With it comes something dangerous, something that may destroy this precious thing. What would you do, in that position?"

Errando began to suspect that Ilharess Nasadra was Quenthel’s mother. It was a point that he couldn’t ignore in his response. “Ilharess Nasadra, if my child disappeared and then reappeared, just out of my grasp and with something dangerous, I would be confident that such a dangerous thing would protect my child. I would have faith in that, because perhaps that dangerous thing is only dangerous to those things that would otherwise wish to do harm.”

She continued. "Quenthel is doing something very dangerous. She is pushing. And she is pushing not because she has to or because it is in her best interest to, but because you wish it to be so. This is how reputations are ruined and lives are lost. I do not understand why, but her reasons are not important. Yours are. What do you hope to gain by this quest? Do you believe the sacrifice of Quenthel is worth what you seek? She is young and so she walks into a fire believing she is impervious to its flames. If she continues down this course, she will be burned. The only question is how badly."

That was a loaded question, but Errando was going to answer it from the heart. “Ilharess Nasadra, there is much that I hope to gain. Chief among them is redemption. Redemption for my name, for my family’s honor, for my country. I do not believe the sacrifice of Revered Quenthel is worth what I seek. Only my own sacrifice if needs be. I would die a thousand deaths before I let her come to any harm. Everything within my power I swear, that I will not allow her to come to ruin. I would see to that at the expense of my own life. For it is as you say, Ilharess Nasadra. She is a precious thing…and certainly deserving of good things.”