Chapter 503

503 Vizier

“My Khan!” the vizier (Venkatar ibn Samish ibn Al’Katar) said, “You simply must hear this!”

The khan set down a piece of roasted bird. “This had best be worth the interruption. Many things are happening that ought not in polite company.”

“That was better, my khan. Much more intimidating than normal. Perhaps next time, don’t mention politeness?” Venkatar said.

“Do you truly think so?” the khan asked.

“He is asking you.” Venkatar said.

“I have little gauge for how intimidating the khan has been in the past.” I said. “The threat is a bit vague for my personal taste.”

The khan spat a seed at my face; I caught it.

“Amazing distance, for a mere spit.” I said.

“I am a man of hidden talents.” Asheph said. “Including a patience that will spare my vizier, but not you.”

.....

“The young monster brings good news, my khan.” the vizier said.

[You are being watched by a target you cannot see.] my System warned me.

“The hobgoblin army is dependent upon supply caravans from their homeland.” I said.

“I know this.” Asheph grunted. “We provide partial security for the damn things.”

“No.” I said. “I mean they literally do not have enough to feed themselves without the caravans.”

“And I mean,” Asheph said, “Even the death of my cousin doesn’t free me from my oath to see those very same caravans safely into the hands of those red skinned devils.”

“But what about what happens afterward?” Venkatar asked. “Say perhaps a day or no more than two?”

Shinabib swallowed. “A lot of cargo can get unloaded in a day. The enemy will be able to hold that fortress town on the hill.”

“Out of the mouths of babes.” the khan said. “I fail to see how this is worth celebrating.”

“My khan, we need not fight the infidels to defeat them. If the supplies get no farther than Whitehill, their army withers on the vine.”

“Life is not easy in the scrublands.” I said. “Supplies meant for colonizing a foreign land would help your people.”

Asheph smacked his lips. “Is the land not abundant?” he asked Venkatar. “I was told...”

“Yes, my khan, yes.” soothed the vizier. “Compared to our former territory, this land is abundant with food, and has water almost pure enough to drink.”

I blinked. “That is hard to believe.” I said. “To survive in worse terrain than this would have taken... vast amounts of land.”

Shinabib laughed. Asheph and Venkatar chuckled.

“No.” the khan said. “We are not the Munadil, to throw out a treaty over a single death, no matter how grievous the loss. We are not... yet... at war with the filthy red skinned infidel.”

“Shall I remove the monster from your sight?” Venkatar asked.

“That would be wise.” the khan said. “If it says anything worth bringing to me, please do so with your own voice.”

Venkatar bowed. “Of course, my khan.”

He led me to a tent which I presume was his own. There were two women and a few children. The elder wife sighed upon seeing him.

The emotions... were much like you would find in any other household. The hearth ward wasn’t as strong as a normal house, but also wasn’t too shabby for a mobile ward.

“I am Venkatar ibn Samish ibn Al’Katar,” he announced in a loud voice, “and I am home until at least dawn tomorrow.”

The elder among his children swarmed him with hugs, followed by the younger. The toddlers behaved as children of their age should.

“Ima. Tomar. Glin. Xaxes.” he said, kissing each on the forhead. “I trust you have brought happiness rather than burdens to your mothers?”

Tomar tilted his head at me. “What is that?”

“Ah.” Venkatar said. “This is Rhishisikk, a Voice of Truth.”

“He’s staying with us and eating our food?” Glin asked.

“Glin, there is no shortage of food in this new land.” the younger wife reprimanded him.

“For now.” Xaxes said.

“Xaxes!” the elder wife snapped. “You will treat Ziza as you do me. You came out of my womb, yes, but she is also your mother, and you will respect her.”

“And I am your elder.” Ima said. “Your lack of manners reflects poorly on me, as well.”

“You aren’t my mother!” Xaxes snapped at her.

Venkatar reached out, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “She is a woman, and she is your sister. She is your family, Xaxes, and you should honor her as such.”

All resistance sank out of Xaxes. “Yes, father, I am sorry.”

“Come now.” Venkatar said. “We are all here, and we are all safe. And, as my wife has pointed out, there is...” he sounded hopeful, “...no shortage of food?”

“Mom and I cooked some stew!” Ima said. “Let me get you some.”

“Ima.” her mother said. “You will sit down. I am the wife, and you the daughter. Next year, when you are twelve, you may help serve food.”

“In preparation of serving your own family.” Ziza added.

“Is it so near?” Venkatar asked.

“You always ask that.” Ima said. “Every day.”

“Until you leave us for... is it still Enrin?” he asked.

“Enrin is a poopy head.” Ima said, crossing her arms before her.

“Well.” Venkatar said, crossing his own arms before himself. “No poopy head is marrying my daughter.”

They nodded at each other.

Glin muttered something.

Venkatar said nothing. While we were waiting, a cat pounced on my head.

“Bwah!” someone yelled in my voice. (It might very well have BEEN me, but ... okay, it was me.)

The tent, large as it was, reverberated with laughter.

“Here.” Tomar said, handing me a nugget of raw meat. “She’ll want tribute in food.”

She was, in fact, curled up in my lap, twisting to find her comfortable spot. To this day, I swear she deliberately bit my finger rather than the nugget. (Although she did make short work of that, as well.)

“Make nice with Black.” Tomar said. “She is family here, and you are a visitor.”

“Alas.” Venkatar said, “Such is life. We adapt to Black, because she will not adapt to us.”

“I will take heed.” I said.

For many hours, the children monopolized his time. He was bombarded with stories, and little tidbits the children had learned that day, and asked questions which (in Achean culture) would tend to be asked by older children.

It was as though I was invisible, so I fiddled around with my System.

Eyes or no, I saw the System prompts clearly.

“And what occupies you so?” Ziza asked, once the children were tucked away in the center of the tent.

“Oh, I’m just fiddling around.” I said. “Your husband taught me something yesterday, and I’m trying to see if it applies to any other area of my System.”

“Some would call that deadly serious.” the elder woman said. “What did he teach you?”

I told her, and both of them verified that their System inventories worked the same way. “And yet,” Venkatar said, “None of us knew that.”

Ziza may or may not have shrugged. “Something to pass on to our children.”

“I would have thought you were working on replacing your eyes.” he said to me.

I waved a hand. “I am well fed. One or both of your wives is a Cook, and infuses all their ingredients.”

“Tailor.” the elder woman said.

“Leatherworker.” Ziza said.

Venkatar chuckled. “Any man can split firewood. Why should imbuing be any different?”

“Well...” I actually thought about it. Had I ever been told it was specific to Cook classes? “I guess it isn’t. Still, my compliments again to cooks.”

Black lurked in Ziza’s lap, playing with her waggling fingers.

“So.” Venkatar said, “What is your story?”

“Well,” I said, “I was born in a small estuary...”

“Not your past story.” he chuckled. “Your story now. What do you want? What stands in your way? What flaw are you most working on correcting?”

“I’m not certain I understand.” I said.

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.....

“He wants to know what you want.” the elder wife said.

“Uhm. I’m an explorer by nature.” I said. “I like going to new places, and meeting new people. For now, I am quite content.”

“But that’s a horrible story.” Ziza said.

“Ziza!” the elder wife snapped.

“What I mean is, you aren’t choosing to explore?” she asked. “You’re just... letting the winds of fate blow you all over the place?”

“Pretty much.” I said. “Yes.”

Venkatar sighed. “Are you passive because you have been passive in the past, or are you choosing to be idle regarding your life?”

“Well... I...” I stuttered. “I guess I haven’t thought about it. I mean, I’m only six years old.”

“Six?” the elder wife asked.

“Start at the estuary.” Ziza said, “Leave nothing out.”

Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh, whom I will call Asheph, and I shall keep calling Shinabib al’Katar ibn Nareesh merely Shinabib. This is not diplomatic, and is highly insulting, but the man had gouged my eyes out and has never apologized.

No! It is NOT like Kismet. Cats like to nibble on my tail. This one was sneaky, and quiet, and well bathed. I remember it because it was so unexpected.