Masis sat by the door, waiting. One minute he would grin and chuckle to himself. The next he would hang his head, rubbing the back of his neck, all the while a grimace twisted his mouth into unnatural shapes.
They had left him there. He had left him there.
When the match had concluded and the shouts and cheers had died away, Casm had surrendered Ava back to him, thanking him profusely. Masis had waved it all away, springing up into the saddle. His other teammates had done the same. Everyone except Casm. His own horse still had the issue of having thrown a shoe.
And that is when it had hit him. The idea, the scheme, the prank. Why not make him walk back?
Sitting in his saddle, the brine of sweat rising to Masis' nostril with every creak of the leather, he had praised the champion of the match as he stood before him and his mounted compatriots. Everyone had cheered. He had extolled Casm as their best player. Again, cheers had gone up. Then Masis had grown more contemplative and the rest had gone silent waiting for the next invitation to cheer.
"I think our champion deserves a special recognition for his feat," Masis had said, winking to either side of himself. Some caught on faster than others. "A procession of honor leading to the victory luncheon is what the situation calls for I would say."
A general murmur of agreement arose from his teammates.
"But are any of us truly worthy to ride alongside someone so prestigious?" Masis had asked. Mock sincerity cloyingly present in every syllable.
Those that had caught on shook their heads with downcast eyes and near comical frowns.
"Well, I suppose we had better leave him to all his glory then. Shouldn't we?"
By then everyone had gotten the drift and nodded their ascent. Casm stood there with a slack face.
"You lot have to be joking," he had said. He had glanced at each in turn. None had said anything. "You wouldn't."
Again, no reply. Some had smirked. Others had averted their gaze sheepishly.
"Oh, I can't believe you. You'd leave me here after I won the game for you?"
"We're not leaving you," Masis had said innocently. "We are honoring you. But please, don't take too long with your honor. We want to start the luncheon in no more than an hour."
With that he had spurred Ava into motion, drawing the rest of the team after him.
Now, sitting there on the smooth bench growing up out of the floor, Masis pondered how mischievous pride and chagrin could exist within him simultaneously. Of course, the co-habitation was not peaceful. His insides twisted about never letting him sit completely comfortably. A knock at the massive main doors kept him from plummeting back into his mind.
"Who is at my door?" Masis called through the wood. "Friend? Foe? Or neither of the two?"
"I am friend to all within." Casm's voice though muffled from the door was easily recognizable as well as the sarcasm that colored it.
During the day, throughout most of Haimlant, it was customary for the person answering the door to open it. If one wanted to be extremely formal and maybe a touch cheeky—Masis' mischievous side winning out—he or she went on.
"If friend, test your truth upon my threshold's strength. If enemy, withdraw or test your strength upon my sword. If neither, meet me upon the stoop that I may find you friend or foe."
History said that the elaborate door ceremony had started not long after night wights had first come into being. Supposedly, they could not cross the threshold of anyone's abode unless expressly bidden to do so. And while everyone knew the exchange's extended version, few these days used it because almost no one went out at night and no one knocked on another's door during those hours.
One of the double doors sailed inward on well oiled hinges. Masis had to jump back a bit before it thunked into the wall. Casm stood there his features dark as the daylight backlit him.
"I'm neither right now," he said, "but I'm coming in anyway."
He strode in, not even the slightest hitch in his step as he passed the threshold. He stopped a step away from Masis. Not a smile, not a wrinkle, betrayed him on his face.
"Well, what has put you so out of sorts?" Masis asked, playing innocent, but starting to move down a hallway, forcing Casm to follow.
"What has put me out of sorts?!" Casm parroted back. His features tightened about his eyes and mouth. "What has put me out of sorts?!"
"Well, are you going to answer? So far, I have asked the question once and you twice. The suspense is almost unbearable."
"You're unbelievable!" Casm exclaimed tossing his hands into the air with a snort.
"On the contrary, my mother informs me that I'm quite trustworthy." He paused considering, rolling his eyes. "When I want to be...sometimes." A final bob of his head signaled that he had qualified enough.
"Can't you ever be serious?" asked Casm, stopping, pulling Masis up as well.
Masis rubbed his chin. "No, I don't believe I can. Mother named me Masis when I was born. I don't think I can ever be 'Serious.'"
Casm made to go as Masis caught him by the arm.
All right, you stupid git, thought Masis at himself, inwardly grimacing, enough is enough.
Stepping backward to stand in front of Casm, Masis held both his hands, surrendering as much and as best he could. "Casm. Casm, hold for a moment. You're right. You're right. What we did to you wasn't very nice."
Casm lowered a single brow.
"All right, all right," said Masis quickly, shushing with his hands. "It was wighting rude of us. We never should have left you there."
Casm seemed to consider the sincerity of Masis words locking eyes with him. Masis held his gaze, eyes wide, lips parted. The tension in the rest of his body hidden as well as he could.
They stood there for several seconds.
Hands still up, palms sweaty, Masis waited for some reaction from his older peer. Come on, come on, they're waiting for us.
Casm relaxed, rocking onto his heels, the motion making his boots creak.
Sighing, a smile beaming as the breath dissipated, Masis grabbed Casm's shoulder tugging back toward the direction they had been heading.
Thank Wilo above for that! He let out another sigh that ended with a more mischievous grin as sight of their final destination came into view.
"Besides," began Masis, innocently, "it could have been worse."
Casm turned to protest, his mouth beginning to form words, but Masis just shoved him through a doorway, cutting him off with words of his own.
"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, I give you Casm Asthrona, Champion of the Bolae field!"
A cheer went up as the dumbfounded Casm stood there awkwardly, his feet pointing in at each, arms held out to steady his balance. It was like watching a toddler caught in the act of some mischief trying to decide how best to survive the coming chastisement. Some of that went away as he straightened but he still appeared as a cornered rabbit.
Masis quietly chuckled at the sight. He stepped just into the doorframe. "Please, let us sing his praises with a verse of the Conqueror's Hymn."
Everyone present, Masis' teammates and their families, launched into the first verse with all the gusto the song required and then some. Of course, there was more than one verse—two-hundred seventy-six to be precise, a verse for every kind of hero imaginable—but most only ever learned the first, making it work as an honor for any and all kinds of situations. The last few measures grew in their raucous nature until all semblance of rhythm, beat, or tune disappeared under the cacophony of every person trying to outdo the other. With one final blast of errant notes and mangled cords the song died away, a suffering creature finally put out of its misery. A few whoops and shouts, seemingly at the triumph of the kill, followed.
Masis stepped to the center of the room, raising his hands, his voice rising above the still milling, mumbling room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to thank you all for that rousing rendition. And now, if you will all take your seats, the luncheon can begin. May Wilo beam and Werold bestow. Of one accord."
"Of one accord," the room intoned.
Those that had not already found seats began to seek out some place at the many tables spread out throughout the banquet hall. It occupied nearly the entire primary level of the Forest Tower that the Domraes did not use for their residence. Teammates, their families, and a few additional guests were mixed and scattered to every corner of the space. Lord and Lady Domrae ended on one of the far sides seated between two lieutenant foremen. Masis had not noticed them when he and Casm had made their initial entrance. He caught their eye, and both smiled in his direction, before he earnestly sought a seat. He ended up between Casm and Trihm. Conversation remained light amongst all those present, producing a low murmur that burbled in the air. Then the food came in and all talked died.
Servants, dressed in their better leather livery, carried in tray upon tray of food, each covered by finely carved wooden cloches. The coverings could only dampen the dishes' aromas so much. Masis mouth filled with saliva as his nose picked out the savory presence of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, hearty loaves, and sweet desserts. One by one, the servants placed the trays upon the tables. One by one, the servants placed their hands on each cloches' handle.
Swallowing down a mouthful of spit, his stomach protesting at its neglect, Masis snatched a glance to his father, expecting him to start the feast with a gesture. He found his father's bright eyes on him. His father gave him a nod.
Wait?! Masis thought, eyes widening. He wants me to start it?
Lord Domrae gave a few more nods, encouragingly. Lady Domrae added her smile of encouragement as she laid a hand on her husband's.
Masis swallowed again, but this time he had no spit to swallow. It was one thing to run into a room impetuously wanting to appear the blaggard. But it was another thing entirely to take precedence over one's own father, especially if one's father was one of the only four dukes in all of Haimlant.
Masis stood, his body somehow heavier. Part of his father's mantle of responsibility had settled on his shoulders along with a realization. One day his father would not be there. One day it would not only fall to him to start every banquet but oversee all of Asthurn. Its workings. Its minutia. Its people. One day all that his father shouldered, heavy in its immensity and requirements would shift to his seemingly much feebler shoulders.
In that moment, facing the assembled guests, all eyes on him—waiting, watching, expecting, hungry—Masis felt Truth with near absolute clarity.
It was mountainous.
"Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen," began Masis, finding his voice, as his split-second glimpse at Truth evaporated, "For what is provided."
"For what is provided," they all responded.
Cloches lifted as Masis sat back down and the full extent of aroma and culinary perfection filled the room. Haunches of pork, beef, and venison roasted, braised, and grilled sat on each table. Tureens filled with potatoes, beet, carrots, and green beans, smothered in butter and sprinkled with a variety of exotic spices, steamed before them. Loaves, plain and plaited, added their yeasty accent as well. Then there were the desserts. Sweet cream whipped to high peaks topped pastries that emitted honey and apple accents. Cakes dusted with confectioners' sugar sat alongside pies, trays of biscuits, and crumbly scones.
In short, a feast befitting a king.
And all there went to it with the gusto befitting such an array.
The initial hush of assessment turned into a low roar as plates and cutlery clinked and conversation began between mouthfuls.
"You certainly know how to lay on a decent meal," said Trihm, one portion of her plate occupied by a few vegetables and a thin cut of venison, the rest dominated by a mound of sweets. She shoveled in a heaping spoonful of sweet whipped cream into her mouth.
Masis stifled a laugh as she struggled to keep her mouth closed. His own plate had a few goodies as well, but a bit more balanced with a mix of vegetables and a healthy cut of pork. He noticed that Trihm wrinkled her nose any time he offered her anything green.
"Thank you for holding the meal for me," said Casm, halting Masis' fork before it could reach his mouth.
"You're actually lucky." Setting down his utensils, Masis turned to face Casm more fully. "Most of this lot wanted to start without you. I had to convince them that waiting was in their best interest."
"How did you do that?"
"I made a wager out of it all." Masis shrugged keeping his features as neutral as possible, but all the while his face wanted to twist with sarcasm.
"A wager?!" Casm's eyes narrowed. "So, let me get this straight. First you give me your horse so I can win the game for you, then you abandon me at the field, making me walk all the way back, all so you can make a wager with a few of our teammates..."
"All of our teammates and a few of their parents, actually," said Masis cutting in.
Casm's face went slack. "Unbelievable."
"Well, I wouldn't say that it had been my grand, master plan, but in the end, it worked out quite nicely."
"And how much did you make on me, if I can ask?"
Masis tapped his chin, tabulating the figures. He already knew the full amount. He just sought to heighten the drama. "Fifty silvers. Which reminds me."—turning toward the table nearest them— "Polras where is that silver you owe me?"
"My own brother bet against me?!" Casm asked, eyes widening. "An entire silver?"
"Five actually, but he only had four on him."
"Five silvers?!"
Masis did not think much of five silvers, but others had to. Ten silvers made a gold. Most families made a monthly wage of about thirty coppers. It took thirty coppers to make a single silver. Of course, lieutenant foremen made five times that, but still five silvers represented a fair amount of money and fifty a staggering amount for the lower classes.
And I didn't even have to twist his arm, thought Masis, but not adding it to the conversation so as not to compound insult with injury.
Casm fell silent and both he and Masis watched as Polras had a quick, low exchange with his father, where more than a few disappointed looks fell hard on Masis' friend. In the end, Casm and Polras' father produced a silver handing it reluctant to his son who trudged toward Masis where he gave an apologetic shrug to his brother before depositing the coin in Masis' hand. He retreated much more quickly than he had arrived, much like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
Pulling a pouch from off his belt, Masis added the coin to its jingling mass. Weighing it a second longer, he tossed it into Casm's lap.
"All yours." Masis added no further explanation, going back to his food without so much as another glance at the small fortune.
"I... I can't... I can't take this." Casm finally managed to stammer out a few words, his eyes traveling between the coins in his lap and Masis' face. His hands hovered over the pouch as if it were a thing too hot to touch. He snatched it up with one quick motion tossing it back to Masis. It landed with a solid jangle next to his plate.
Masis swallowed deliberately, eyeing the coin pouch.
Why does he have to make this so difficult?!
"Think of it as an apology for leaving you there." He tossed it back.
"This is too much for an apology." Casm tossed it back.
"Not if the person apologizing had been a particularly annoying arse about it." Masis set the coins next to Casm's plate.
"I've never met anyone that was fifty silvers of an arse." The bag again plopped toward Masis.
"Well, you did today."
"I'm sure I didn't."
"Trust me when I say you did."
"No, I..."
"You don't trust me?"
"No...yes... I mean I trust you most of the time, but you weren't nearly as big of an arse as you think you were today."
"So, you think I have a small arse?"
"What?! No... I mean... I don't look at your arse."
Masis assumed a state of mock indignation. "And why not? My arse is just as good as the next man's. It is neither too large nor too small. It is a perfect arse by any standards."
"Masis!" Casm snapped, loud enough to draw some stares from a neighboring table. "Lord Domrae," he continued, using formality as an apology for his tone. "I cannot accept a boon of fifty silvers. I'm sorry but I cannot. I will not. And there is nothing you could do to change my mind."
Masis measured Casm's resolve in his tight mouth, his clenched jaw, and unwavering eyes. He would never accept the fifty silvers under normal circumstances with only Masis' encouragements.
I suppose I'll just have to make the circumstances abnormal.
Masis stood. He nearly jumped to his feet. "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, a moment of your time please!"
Utensils clinked porcelain as they were set aside. Napkins dabbed at lips politely. Silence consumed chatter.
"I would like to thank all of you for attending our match today and lending us your support and encouragement."
You're welcomes, our pleasures, and claps followed his words.
"At the end of the second third, I'm sure more than a few of you thought that we had little to no chance under Wilo's Light of rallying and taking the match."
Some nods. A few chuckles.
"Quite frankly, I didn't think we had a chance either. But then something happened. Someone came walking out of the woods. Someone that would turn the tide back in our favor. That someone was Casm Asthrona."
Cheers and applause filled the room as Masis first gestured to Casm and then added his own claps to the general clamor. As it faded, Masis picked up the pouch, hefting it in his hands so that the jingle of coinage would be apparent.
"In recognition of his pivotal role in today's match, my teammates and I have felt that some additional boon be given him and so we are very proud to present him with these fifty pieces of silver that I'm sure all will agree are well earned."
Cheers roared up this time with more enthusiasm, urging Casm to take his reward. Glancing out through the crowd, Masis noticed more than a few of his teammates stifling laughter, the real reason of how and why those coins had been procured tickling at them.
Stiff, reluctant, Casm stood, not meeting Masis' eyes. Reaching out slowly he took the weighty bag, pitching the room into a louder round of hoorahs.
Masis had won but still his smile faltered. Winning this way did not feel like winning. More like forcible submission. He turned again to the crowd, looking at the different faces. Happy for the meal. Happy for the boon. Happy for the day. Smiles beaming, hands clapping, none of them now knew the oily weight that now sat in Masis innards.
He eventually found his parents. Their expressions added a heat that flared in his cheeks. Both were clapping politely. Neither smiled. Not with their eyes at least. Not with genuine joy. He read disappointment there in their stiff, tight postures just as surely as reading letters on a page.
And the day had been going so well.
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*