No Hands but My Own

Chapter 5 - Court

"A woman? After all those raids, all those 'victories' (as you called them), you bring me just one woman?"

The richly dressed rider fidgeted uncomfortably beneath the speaker's harsh words. He glared unhappily at my unsatisfactory form. 

"Scepte (so that was the lord's name), you promised me riches, slaves and land. You have failed. Miserably. How could you let your father and king down like this? You make me question our purpose here."

The speaker who was pacing the richly decorated but roughly done room paused to look at me and shuddered. Yesterday's beatings were making themselves evident with a riot of colors splattered all over my body though I was quite capable of walking unassisted. I had not had enough time to heal completely last night - besides, healing by hollow tended to be more effective the more clan members were nearby. "She's not even worth looking at!"

The look of absolute disgust curdled the face of the King of the South and threatened to break my serious mask. His thick physique and brutish limbs in combination with his blockish face twisted into a grimace and sunken eyes made him look extraordinarily like an inflated bulldog in a beautifully crafted gown. My cheek stung and an echoing smack resounded right as my face began to contort itself in mirth. Apparently my escorts were well aware of the first impression their chief had on a mere mortal. The ringing slap seemed to drag the conversation back to the problem at hand, namely, failure.

"I am ashamed." the King stated mightily, "Ashamed that my son would think that such (he waved his hand gracefully in my direction) would be enough to please me."

"Please, father. There are many more slaves hidden in these woods than you can imagine! Enough to build any edifice, sell to any merchant and still have more than enough to do whatever you please." The boy-prince interrupted his father's magnanimous speech to the king's slight annoyance. "One more chance. Please, just one more chance your Grace." Scepte fell to his knees in a desperate act of supplication. 

His father considered his prone form and pronounced his fate. "Very well. But only because you are my only son." Scepte rose happily to his feet as his father outlined his caveats, like limited numbers of men and how many slaves he expected in recompense.

"Excuse me." My voice was a bit rough from my thirst. "Excuse me."

The king and his son looked at me in surprise. One of the escorts at my side raised his hand to strike me for my impertinent action. I dodged his attempt nimbly and addressed the king directly.

"Excuse me. I am a messenger from the people of the woods. Now, I understand from my journey here and your current conversation that you are proposing to enslave us and take our land. Is that correct?"

The King remained immobile but the prince nodded his head, dumb with surprise. His shock unnerved my guards and delayed their penitentiary action. Taking advantage of the short time frame I had to say my piece, I ploughed ahead.

"Very well. I'm here to strongly disincline you from continuing your plans."

"What?" The King finally spoke. He waved the approaching guards away from my form.

"I suggest," enunciating and speaking slowly as one would to a child, I adressed the King "that you do not continue with your plans to invade the woods."

"And why not?" 

" Prevent future loss of life. Prevent destruction of the resources you desire. Prevent the damaging effects of war." I shrugged, "The list is endless. A compromise is sure to exist between our needs and your wants."

"And I what if I did not agree?" He cocked his head, his curiousity peaked. Apparently, it was amazing to him to see a dumb Midlander speak rationally.

I stared straight at the King. "Then war."

"War." He agreed. "Unless, of course, you follow my demands."

"Which are?"

The King paced with an leisurely step as he contemplated possible terms. "Half of the area of the woods for my personal use. The rest will be maintained for your homes. I command ever person in the woods and they must follow my every law. I promise, however, that none will die in the transition."

"Very well." Sighing, I turned away.

"And where are you going?" The prince's voice was rich with sarcasm. He had finally been startled out of his stupor.

"Back. To tell my people of our words."

"I think not." The words held a silent command. The guards moved to block my path.

"You see," the prince-lord walked towards me, "now that we know that you can speak our tongue, we don't really need you."

I turned to face him. "I think you do." I murmured quietly. "You see, I am one of few who can speak your tongue in the woods. That, and the ancient laws dictate that one cannot kill a war messenger. Let alone a chief."

The room erupted into laughter. 

"Chief?" the prince screeched, egging on further gales of mirth. "Who would ever believe you a chief? What absurdities!"

I stared at the purpling faces around me in silence. When at last, the noise level dropped to reasonable level, I displaced the cloth around my back. The now exposed pattern of diagonal, scale-like scars drew a disgusted silence.

"What proof is that hideousness of leadership?" The prince sneered as I covered my back.

"And this, Scepte, is it not proof?" I fished out the necklace I had hidden beneath layers of cloth. A golden pendant stamped with a seal of the Old Kings on one side and a wolf's head on the other hung from the length of leather. "Let me pass."

The guards shifted uncertainly, looking from me to their reigning king for some sort of instruction. I did not look away from the king's eyes as he stared in curiosity at the pendant. He had a similar one on display on his chest. His, however, was dangling on a matching golden chain with gems encrusted into the softly shining face of the polished pendant.

Though the South had unified, I hoped that they still followed the oldest laws of our lands. I wasn't sure, however. It had been several years since we last heard from any of our old contacts from the South. It was possible that the ancient rules that allowed for secrure cross-clan communication across the continent could have been scrapped during the elightenment in the South -- they had destroyed any and all signs of ancient traditions at that time.

"Let her pass." The king's voice rumbled out into the silence.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Sceptre sputtered in protest but was silenced with a look from his father. "We must follow our own laws. Otherwise we are nothing but heathens." He said with a pointed look at my paganistic appearance.

With a slightly mocking bow, I turned away and walked unmolested to the door. 

I paused before crossing the threshold, "I will return to further discuss our collective futures. Thank you for your hospitality."