The Vaeden Quest - Evelyn J. Steward (books suggested by elon musk txt) 📗
- Author: Evelyn J. Steward
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the great platform piled high with animal skins that he called bed. Hardly the exquisite cautresh the Princes had described, but then, with the almost constant battles over territory that Gruvod had only recently finally won, there had been little time yet to seek proper surroundings for the new Prime Lord, the King of the Uplands.
With the hope of a future visit such as had happened tonight, Gruvod purposely kept his accommodation and dress to a less than lavish style for just such an event. Had the Princes not visited him, then there were other Tribal Shaks to impress in a modest way. If he looked as if his Chest were already liberally lined, as indeed it was - each battle he won always brought a handsome tribute, it was Gruvod's way - then the bargain would bring less than he so desperately wanted. He had even made his daughter borrow an old well-soiled gown from one of the servers so that she would appear as one of them, poor and dishevelled, instead of the pretty, intelligent, youngest daughter that she was.
Felisa knew his ways of old and being a dutiful daughter, complied with her father's wishes, after all, someone had to look after him now that Missella had gone.
She missed her mother even though it had been two cycles since she died of a mysterious fever that had raged through the land killing almost one tenth of the population and which she and her father had caught in a milder form and so luckily survived.
What Gruvod lacked in manpower and materials, he made up for with cunning and initiative. If that wasn't enough, then sorcery supplied the remainder.. Gruvod was an old hand at winning many battles either by the brute strength of his forces or by stealth. His one-time mistress Zygara the Sorceress, had helped the outcome of many a war that had become too lengthy and costly. That information was known to few, himself and a very small elite core of Tribal warrior Princes long time allies of the Semondar.
Her advice kept him in control not only of the Semondar of recent years, but also the Centendur and the Helmader. Each of these three main Tribes controlled six other minor tribal groups each with their own minor Tribal leader or Shak.
There had been unsuccessful plots to overthrow his leadership, that was the way of things in the Uplands. A man had to be strong in every way, as Gruvod was, to hold on to the tentative peace and his ascendance to the throne of Beneraba.
Gruvod was much older than most of the allied Princes and Shaks. Oh, he had advisors that were his equal in that field, but none of the younger men thought as he did. Most would have preferred an easier peace. His was the old way and as they were no longer enemies, they had to do his will. There were many domains in the Wasteland to the north west where several Tribes still dwelt. Word had been passed for many cycles though none had ventured into the zone. He could fight and overcome them, add them to his mighty empire. For such battles he would need hordes of gold to purchase fighters, guides, extra men and weapons. With a larger army he could bring them to their knees, and for that he needed the riches of the Warshaa Kingdom.
Felisa sat at her father's feet and watched him breathing heavily as he slept. I don't trust those two she thought, I am sure they drugged his liquer, he has never been this drunk before and I watered his down well. Her head was resting on her knees as she sat hunched up on the floor. A long hank of hair, darkened with a berry dye to fool the strangers, fell from her shoulders and she absently flicked it back over her shoulder. Its' silky softness and golden quality had always amazed Gruvod. She had inherited the colour from her mother, Missella, but hers was infinitely lighter.
Felisa thought of what her father said and in her mind commented on how he thought he would get the better of them. She was not so sure. They will have made their plans, she thought, and as soon as possible they will have him killed once his part is over. I could not keep our armies together if that happened. I chose long ago not to join my warrior sisters or those that Joined out of father's wishes. My destiny lies along a different path. It was foretold by the Sorceress Zygara at my conception and to her words I must adhere, whatever the consequences.
... --- ...
The two Warshaa Lords had managed to slip away without being seen by any of the servers or guards. With Caein just risen, it was still almost as dark as the inky depths of the open ocean, but they both had an uncanny sense of direction and after leaving the vacinity of the stone building, they set a straight course for the beach.
The brothers made their way out onto the fishing jetty where a small sailing boat was tied up. On reaching the boat safely, they climbed aboard and Rishlan pressed the sail hoist. A light breeze was blowing offshore and the sail quickly filled, carrying their small craft our beyond the harbour. As the boat made for the headland, they smiled at each other.
"You know brother," crowed Rishlan, "I think our plan is going to work very well, especially after I make the final arrangements when we get back to the Cautresh. Did I not tell you that this would prove useful journey?" He was grinning as he settled down comfortably with his hand on the guider.
Getting the better of Gruvod had been an exhilarating experience for Rishlan. He remembered the rough treatment he received at the hands of the guards before being brought before the warring Lord. His every word or action had been adhered to with reverence back at the Cautresh, whatever scheme he came up with, but when he was first captured, he had a taste of his own medicine. Then Gruvod had found out and put a stop to their sport, only to introduce one or two of his own. He was grateful though for his plausibility. It had earned him respite and now he had taken a little revenge. Gruvod was upset, off balance, put out and that put Rishlan in an advantageous position.
Herrsal, his younger brother, grinned maliciously, nodding his approval. He was now in his element. He had not the composure of his brother, nor the leadership potential but Rishlan treated him with care as Herrsal exceeded in deviousness.
"Just make sure when the bargain is set that we finish him before he can get at us. And I want my stone back," whined Herrsal, petulant now that his chances with the girl had disappeared.
"Why would you want that?" Rishlan chided his brother.
"It was mine and I want it back!"
"I thought you had better taste," said his brother. "It was flawed anyway."
Hersal's mouth dropped open and stayed that way for several moments whilst his brother's announcement sank in. Then slowly his brows lowered and an evil grin crept over his face as the implications fell into place.
In the darkness of the night their craft - one of ancient design not normally used on any part of this coast - slipped around the headland, making for a small dot on the horizon. With the light wind filling the almost invisible dark blue sail, they fast reached a small island some distance from the coast.
After mooring the little craft to the rocks, they made haste and furled the sail. Removing their fine clothing and packing it into waterproof quaffa bags, the two Princes silently slipped into the cool, dark, life-preserving water, diving deep down to the oceans' bed. Calling their sluffas, they mounted and headed back to Primmel and the Cautresh in the silence and darkness of the liquid depths. To be seen now, even by their own people, would ruin everything.
... --- ...
In the dark of the night a single figure slipped through to the back of Gruvod's temporary dwelling. Stopping by the back exit, the figure picked up a limp bundle wrapped in a black cloak. In the near darkness, a hand felt for the hook on the door and removed a garment and the pouch that hung beneath it. The man, for man it was, moved the bundle to a more comfortable position across his shoulders, opened the door and disappeared into the shadows outside. What a pity he thought, that the other two had not drunk from the last serving. No matter! There would be other ways, and he merged into the blackness of the night.
Imprint
With the hope of a future visit such as had happened tonight, Gruvod purposely kept his accommodation and dress to a less than lavish style for just such an event. Had the Princes not visited him, then there were other Tribal Shaks to impress in a modest way. If he looked as if his Chest were already liberally lined, as indeed it was - each battle he won always brought a handsome tribute, it was Gruvod's way - then the bargain would bring less than he so desperately wanted. He had even made his daughter borrow an old well-soiled gown from one of the servers so that she would appear as one of them, poor and dishevelled, instead of the pretty, intelligent, youngest daughter that she was.
Felisa knew his ways of old and being a dutiful daughter, complied with her father's wishes, after all, someone had to look after him now that Missella had gone.
She missed her mother even though it had been two cycles since she died of a mysterious fever that had raged through the land killing almost one tenth of the population and which she and her father had caught in a milder form and so luckily survived.
What Gruvod lacked in manpower and materials, he made up for with cunning and initiative. If that wasn't enough, then sorcery supplied the remainder.. Gruvod was an old hand at winning many battles either by the brute strength of his forces or by stealth. His one-time mistress Zygara the Sorceress, had helped the outcome of many a war that had become too lengthy and costly. That information was known to few, himself and a very small elite core of Tribal warrior Princes long time allies of the Semondar.
Her advice kept him in control not only of the Semondar of recent years, but also the Centendur and the Helmader. Each of these three main Tribes controlled six other minor tribal groups each with their own minor Tribal leader or Shak.
There had been unsuccessful plots to overthrow his leadership, that was the way of things in the Uplands. A man had to be strong in every way, as Gruvod was, to hold on to the tentative peace and his ascendance to the throne of Beneraba.
Gruvod was much older than most of the allied Princes and Shaks. Oh, he had advisors that were his equal in that field, but none of the younger men thought as he did. Most would have preferred an easier peace. His was the old way and as they were no longer enemies, they had to do his will. There were many domains in the Wasteland to the north west where several Tribes still dwelt. Word had been passed for many cycles though none had ventured into the zone. He could fight and overcome them, add them to his mighty empire. For such battles he would need hordes of gold to purchase fighters, guides, extra men and weapons. With a larger army he could bring them to their knees, and for that he needed the riches of the Warshaa Kingdom.
Felisa sat at her father's feet and watched him breathing heavily as he slept. I don't trust those two she thought, I am sure they drugged his liquer, he has never been this drunk before and I watered his down well. Her head was resting on her knees as she sat hunched up on the floor. A long hank of hair, darkened with a berry dye to fool the strangers, fell from her shoulders and she absently flicked it back over her shoulder. Its' silky softness and golden quality had always amazed Gruvod. She had inherited the colour from her mother, Missella, but hers was infinitely lighter.
Felisa thought of what her father said and in her mind commented on how he thought he would get the better of them. She was not so sure. They will have made their plans, she thought, and as soon as possible they will have him killed once his part is over. I could not keep our armies together if that happened. I chose long ago not to join my warrior sisters or those that Joined out of father's wishes. My destiny lies along a different path. It was foretold by the Sorceress Zygara at my conception and to her words I must adhere, whatever the consequences.
... --- ...
The two Warshaa Lords had managed to slip away without being seen by any of the servers or guards. With Caein just risen, it was still almost as dark as the inky depths of the open ocean, but they both had an uncanny sense of direction and after leaving the vacinity of the stone building, they set a straight course for the beach.
The brothers made their way out onto the fishing jetty where a small sailing boat was tied up. On reaching the boat safely, they climbed aboard and Rishlan pressed the sail hoist. A light breeze was blowing offshore and the sail quickly filled, carrying their small craft our beyond the harbour. As the boat made for the headland, they smiled at each other.
"You know brother," crowed Rishlan, "I think our plan is going to work very well, especially after I make the final arrangements when we get back to the Cautresh. Did I not tell you that this would prove useful journey?" He was grinning as he settled down comfortably with his hand on the guider.
Getting the better of Gruvod had been an exhilarating experience for Rishlan. He remembered the rough treatment he received at the hands of the guards before being brought before the warring Lord. His every word or action had been adhered to with reverence back at the Cautresh, whatever scheme he came up with, but when he was first captured, he had a taste of his own medicine. Then Gruvod had found out and put a stop to their sport, only to introduce one or two of his own. He was grateful though for his plausibility. It had earned him respite and now he had taken a little revenge. Gruvod was upset, off balance, put out and that put Rishlan in an advantageous position.
Herrsal, his younger brother, grinned maliciously, nodding his approval. He was now in his element. He had not the composure of his brother, nor the leadership potential but Rishlan treated him with care as Herrsal exceeded in deviousness.
"Just make sure when the bargain is set that we finish him before he can get at us. And I want my stone back," whined Herrsal, petulant now that his chances with the girl had disappeared.
"Why would you want that?" Rishlan chided his brother.
"It was mine and I want it back!"
"I thought you had better taste," said his brother. "It was flawed anyway."
Hersal's mouth dropped open and stayed that way for several moments whilst his brother's announcement sank in. Then slowly his brows lowered and an evil grin crept over his face as the implications fell into place.
In the darkness of the night their craft - one of ancient design not normally used on any part of this coast - slipped around the headland, making for a small dot on the horizon. With the light wind filling the almost invisible dark blue sail, they fast reached a small island some distance from the coast.
After mooring the little craft to the rocks, they made haste and furled the sail. Removing their fine clothing and packing it into waterproof quaffa bags, the two Princes silently slipped into the cool, dark, life-preserving water, diving deep down to the oceans' bed. Calling their sluffas, they mounted and headed back to Primmel and the Cautresh in the silence and darkness of the liquid depths. To be seen now, even by their own people, would ruin everything.
... --- ...
In the dark of the night a single figure slipped through to the back of Gruvod's temporary dwelling. Stopping by the back exit, the figure picked up a limp bundle wrapped in a black cloak. In the near darkness, a hand felt for the hook on the door and removed a garment and the pouch that hung beneath it. The man, for man it was, moved the bundle to a more comfortable position across his shoulders, opened the door and disappeared into the shadows outside. What a pity he thought, that the other two had not drunk from the last serving. No matter! There would be other ways, and he merged into the blackness of the night.
Imprint
Text: A yioung boy,a future king amongst women. h e has to suceed in his Quest
Publication Date: 01-17-2011
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