Continued from here.
The air was silent. That was unusual for the grasslands. Perhaps the plains were as wary of this newcomer as the Keha’al tribe, and as the young hunter that followed them. Whatever the case, there was a tension to this silence thick enough to cut with a knife.
Jinyel, the Keha’al leader had told him. The stranger is looking for his grandson: Jinyel.
Jinyel had never given the Keha’al his name. His tongue had been too twisted when he first met them, and now the name ‘Loshova’ was as comfortable as an old glove. This stranger from the Empire, he knew Jinyel’s name. Had Jinyel once given it to him? Would this stranger recognize him?
Would he recognise this stranger?
Three winged kahrunowak flew overhead. With an unknown Avriel, it never hurt to have more warriors in the air. The Avriel were known slavers, and the fact he came from Raskalarn’s land didn’t absolve him of that. Raskalar held slaves, too.
The meeting point waited between two low hills. All around, the grasslands stretched into golden infinity. The kahrunowak circled, marking their destination, meanwhile the ground-bound kahrun carried their riders to meet this lonely traveler.
The stranger was easy to spot amongst the grasses ― partly because he was Avriel, but mostly because he was Imperial. The black clothing of Raskalarn’s followers stood against the gold like obsidian against sand. Jinyel waited for some flash of remembrance, for something to stir in his heart where his wrecked dreamscape used to be, but there was nothing. Not as they drew closer, not as he saw the stranger’s features, not even when the stranger turned to look at them.
When the Avriel looked at him, Jinyel felt nothing at all.
“Hail!” called the Loktul, leader of the Keha’al. “At ease, stranger. We shall raise no weapon until you do.”
The Avriel made a chuffing sound and scanned the assembled group. He saw the Keha’al to Jinyel’s left, then to his right. And then his eye passed over Jinyel without even a pause of recognition.
“You are kind,” said the Avriel, his Common thickly accented with Atvian. The accent of a native Imperial, not an immigrant from Athart. “If you wish, I am happy to peace-bind my swords to prove I mean no harm. I honor your hospitality.”
Swords, plural. The Avriel carried a rapier on one side, a shortsword on the other, and both handles were well-used. Despite the dust, the man’s traveling clothes were cut sharp and dyed dark. Black dye was expensive to acquire and difficult to use; no one would wear black by accident. It was almost a military uniform, Jinyel thought, but with no chains or other signs of rank.
“Your offer is accepted,” said the Loktul, “and appreciated. You and you, see to his weapons.”
Instead of allowing the Avriel to bind his own weapons, two warriors dismounted to do the binding for him. The Avriel didn’t blink an eye as they invaded his space.
“Your name is Vex, is it not?” continued the Loktul. “I understand you are looking for someone.”
“Yes,” said the stranger. “Vex Halladrin is my name. I’m looking for my grandson, Jinyel.”
“You are welcome to rest with us,” said the Loktul. “But we have neither seen nor heard of another Avriel in these past seasons.”
“Oh, he doesn’t take after my good looks,” Vex assured them. “Takes more after his grandmother. Dark hair, Jinyel has.”
The Loktul blinked. “We… have seen many people with dark hair. We have many people with dark hair. None who are named Jinyel, however.”
“I understand. It’s a vague description. My grandson isn’t very good at standing out.”
Jinyel resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Could this be a misunderstanding? He’d never met anyone else with the same name as him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t another Jinyel somewhere in the world. He barely remembered anything of the year he’d lived in the Empire ― if he’d somehow gained a grandfather in that time, surely such a grandfather would recognize him.
And yet.
The Avriel shook out his wings, looking once more over the Keha’al welcome party. Once again his gaze passed uncuriously over Jinyel.
“I would be most grateful for your hospitality,” said Vex, “though I cannot stay overlong. And who knows? You may not know of my grandson, but perhaps your stories and friendship will show me the way to him.”
The Loktul took one more glance at the newly peace-bound weapons, then nodded. “Fate deals a strange hand these days. Come, Vex of the East. Return to our camp, and we will see what can be done for you.”
The air was silent. That was unusual for the grasslands. Perhaps the plains were as wary of this newcomer as the Keha’al tribe, and as the young hunter that followed them. Whatever the case, there was a tension to this silence thick enough to cut with a knife.
Jinyel, the Keha’al leader had told him. The stranger is looking for his grandson: Jinyel.
Jinyel had never given the Keha’al his name. His tongue had been too twisted when he first met them, and now the name ‘Loshova’ was as comfortable as an old glove. This stranger from the Empire, he knew Jinyel’s name. Had Jinyel once given it to him? Would this stranger recognize him?
Would he recognise this stranger?
Three winged kahrunowak flew overhead. With an unknown Avriel, it never hurt to have more warriors in the air. The Avriel were known slavers, and the fact he came from Raskalarn’s land didn’t absolve him of that. Raskalar held slaves, too.
The meeting point waited between two low hills. All around, the grasslands stretched into golden infinity. The kahrunowak circled, marking their destination, meanwhile the ground-bound kahrun carried their riders to meet this lonely traveler.
The stranger was easy to spot amongst the grasses ― partly because he was Avriel, but mostly because he was Imperial. The black clothing of Raskalarn’s followers stood against the gold like obsidian against sand. Jinyel waited for some flash of remembrance, for something to stir in his heart where his wrecked dreamscape used to be, but there was nothing. Not as they drew closer, not as he saw the stranger’s features, not even when the stranger turned to look at them.
When the Avriel looked at him, Jinyel felt nothing at all.
“Hail!” called the Loktul, leader of the Keha’al. “At ease, stranger. We shall raise no weapon until you do.”
The Avriel made a chuffing sound and scanned the assembled group. He saw the Keha’al to Jinyel’s left, then to his right. And then his eye passed over Jinyel without even a pause of recognition.
“You are kind,” said the Avriel, his Common thickly accented with Atvian. The accent of a native Imperial, not an immigrant from Athart. “If you wish, I am happy to peace-bind my swords to prove I mean no harm. I honor your hospitality.”
Swords, plural. The Avriel carried a rapier on one side, a shortsword on the other, and both handles were well-used. Despite the dust, the man’s traveling clothes were cut sharp and dyed dark. Black dye was expensive to acquire and difficult to use; no one would wear black by accident. It was almost a military uniform, Jinyel thought, but with no chains or other signs of rank.
“Your offer is accepted,” said the Loktul, “and appreciated. You and you, see to his weapons.”
Instead of allowing the Avriel to bind his own weapons, two warriors dismounted to do the binding for him. The Avriel didn’t blink an eye as they invaded his space.
“Your name is Vex, is it not?” continued the Loktul. “I understand you are looking for someone.”
“Yes,” said the stranger. “Vex Halladrin is my name. I’m looking for my grandson, Jinyel.”
“You are welcome to rest with us,” said the Loktul. “But we have neither seen nor heard of another Avriel in these past seasons.”
“Oh, he doesn’t take after my good looks,” Vex assured them. “Takes more after his grandmother. Dark hair, Jinyel has.”
The Loktul blinked. “We… have seen many people with dark hair. We have many people with dark hair. None who are named Jinyel, however.”
“I understand. It’s a vague description. My grandson isn’t very good at standing out.”
Jinyel resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Could this be a misunderstanding? He’d never met anyone else with the same name as him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t another Jinyel somewhere in the world. He barely remembered anything of the year he’d lived in the Empire ― if he’d somehow gained a grandfather in that time, surely such a grandfather would recognize him.
And yet.
The Avriel shook out his wings, looking once more over the Keha’al welcome party. Once again his gaze passed uncuriously over Jinyel.
“I would be most grateful for your hospitality,” said Vex, “though I cannot stay overlong. And who knows? You may not know of my grandson, but perhaps your stories and friendship will show me the way to him.”
The Loktul took one more glance at the newly peace-bound weapons, then nodded. “Fate deals a strange hand these days. Come, Vex of the East. Return to our camp, and we will see what can be done for you.”
