Night descended upon the mountain and Mert Graveltongue led the Yjagtari speaker to his quarters. “I had the room prepared to accommodate you, Grend. It’s in a central chamber away from the general living quarters. Should provide you with plenty of time away from the hustle and bustle of this place.” Grend gave an appreciative nod of his head as he followed Mert.
“I know that it was no small feat to convince the others of my intentions. You truly have a tongue for man and beast. You would be a Klakari, if you were to count yourself among the ranks of the Yjagtari.” Grend paused to adjust a carved idol on his hip. “It is an esteemed role.”
“Then I shall be taking it as the highest honor, Speaker. If you need anything, I’ll be in the aviary looking after the birds. Just enter the chamber next to where I met you and try enter slowly as to not startle the fledglings.” Grend nodded once more and bid Mert goodnight.
The quarters were compact and Grend scanned his surroundings. A set of pillows rest on a stone slab in the corner of the room. The pillows bore the crest of the Whitemane clan and appeared to be infused with small flecks of gold to catch the eye of passersby in marketplaces. A blanket of wolf’s skin lay folded at the edge of the stone slab. A sturdy end table was carved into the wall and an empty flagon and bowl rest on it. A stack of parchment, quill, and ink well had been placed on the ground at the foot of the bed. A candle flickered inside of a bronze lantern on a latch hanging out of a hole dug into the ceiling.
Grend unfastened the idol he had been adjusting prior to entering the room and set it on the end table. He carefully unfolded the blanket and lifted it up to examine the waves of dark fur down the spine of the creature. He traced the ridges of his own fur across his forearm and chuckled. “Won’t make a garment of me.” Grend lay the skin out over the stone slab and examined the pillows carefully. He pressed a tentative claw into the fabric and watched it retract from his touch. He elected to set the pillows aside and sit on the edge of the slab.
Grend retrieved the idol and traced the grooves of the wood with his claw. The figure had two twisted horns of stone and a body of birch. “Pale Ram, know that this is what must be done to secure our kingdom.” Grend began a series of chants in the Tongue of Beasts while holding the idol within his hands. Still clutching the idol, Grend rose, lifted the tiny hatch on the lantern, and snuffed out the candle quickly. His chanting filled the room and the noise masked the creaking of the door to his chamber.
A harsh candlelight broke the darkness of the room again and a tall figure stood in the doorway. Urleno entered the room with an unrecognizable Starcharter. Grend did not break his chant but turned his gaze up towards the pair. “I see you’ve found lodging, ram.” Urleno’s tone was harsh and he made his way closer to Grend. He brought the open flame of the candle close to the Yjagtari’s face and examined his eyes. “You nab those eyes off a sickly cat? Almost didn’t need a candle to see you in here.”
Grend broke his chant and shut his eyes. “Did you come to gawk or do you have a reason for visiting me at such a late hour?” Upon opening one of his eyes, Grend noted the captain had his palm resting on the pommel of his sheathed blade. “Must we always keep the blade on hand, imperial?” Urleno swiftly drew his blade and trained it on Grend’s throat.
“You prefer it drawn?” Urleno gave a flick of his other hand in the direction of the Starcharter. The scribe turned to face the ajar door and slowly closed it. Grend scoffed at the captain and returned to his chanting. “Making peace with your heretical deities?”
“Not quite, captain. I’m placing a binding upon us.” Urleno noticed the shifting on Grend’s fingers and turned the blade downward towards his hand.
“What’s within your grasp, beast?” Urleno flicked his blade and carved a small wound within the back of Grend’s hand. As soon as the blood rolled off the coarse hairs on Grend’s hand, Urleno winced in pain and dropped his blade. The steel clattered on the ground and Urleno cursed the beast. “Archaos, damn you! Incantors and demons, all your ilk will be the death of me yet.”
“I’d hope not, Urleno, for you see, we are bound by the same fate until the bindings are undone by the Pale Ram himself. If I bleed, so too shall you. If I fall at the blade, your heart will stop soon after. But if you should perish in some gory melee, it will be as if I was at your side through the entire scrap. I could be enjoying a fine broth then find my head floating in the bowl.”
“Why damn yourself further, you monster?” Urleno retrieved his blade and aimed for the pulsing chest of the Speaker. “Was ill birth not enough for you?”
“Oh captain, I thought that this demonstration would dissuade you from further hostilities. But alas.” Grend scrapped his nail against the stone wall and Urleno grimaced. Grend drove the jagged nail into the fresh slice in his hand and began to prod the exposed muscle. Urleno let out a piercing howl and dropped his blade once more. The Starcharter lunged forward for the sword but Grend pressed his hoof onto the blade. “I’d prefer not to tie my life force to you as well. You don’t seem as battle hardened. Now Urleno, are you ready to listen?” Urleno looked up at Grend from his crouched position and spit at him. “Indeed. I will weaken the curse, I cannot remove it, but I will ensure that our pain is no longer shared. I doubt you could handle the pain of breaking a horn. But I recognize that you are a veteran of war and have parleyed with my kind over a dance of steel before so I trust that you will not fall in battle just yet. Therefore, you continue to be a good soldier for the Imperium and I will continue to be a representative of my people. Am I clear?” Grend released Urleno’s blade and turned an eye to the Starcharter. The man kneeled down and lifted the blade. “You may leave me now to my rest.” The Starcharter helped Urleno to his feet and the captain shoved him aside.
“Hand me my blade, fool.” Urleno grabbed the sword and returned it to its sheath. He swung the door open and continued to shove the Starcharter out of the room and down the hall. Grend rose slowly to shut the door behind them and examine the wound on his hand.
“The cost of diplomacy is ever increasing.” Grend muttered to himself as the creaking door shut out the last of the candlelight.