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t is late summer, and the windows of every house in city Moruhan are left open to welcome the few breezes. After a couple weeks of heavy rain, though, the sun is welcomed by some. Having just travelled through Avrezin's monsoon season, Tonar relaxes in one of Moruhan's guesthouses for the afternoon--a guesthouse at the intersection of Drowsy Chrysanthemum Lane and Abalone Street. His sword has been left at the door, as is the local custom; but where he sits, it isn't far out of reach, either. Consider, if you will, a large man seated at a cafe table. Bad enough, he thinks, that the furniture wasn't quite big enough for him. Best to hope he is dismissed as just another adventurer. [Note: "adventurers" as a concept don't exist in the Avrezin-Qenar area...but Tonar's spent a lot of time elsewhere.] The city has an odd, strained atmosphere even when the sun sweeps low over the horizon and the strains of traditional Ezinen ballads mingle with the murmurs of street conversations. For the city guard does not wear the sashes that Tonar has seen everywhere else in Avrezin, a mark of service to a regent or the warlord, but they wear grey uniforms with the patch signalling canton Birechan, and they carry jenachen daggers. Qenaren soldiers, foreigners almost as much as he. The local rice punch is oversweet, but iced...and that's all that most people in the guesthouse seem to care about. Words and whispers waft around him, though no one tries to strike a conversation with the tall foreigner near the door. "...good riddance, I say..." "...hush. You don't know if one of the people here is Miris..." [Miris, Tonar gathers, is the missing commandant-errant, a one-armed man and brilliant general that Qenar sent to govern this protectorate.] "...like that big guy over there? I believe you, really I do..." (*This* one's very sarcastic, by the tone.) "...so I *ran* to the warehouse hoping to buy up the last of that peach-colored silk..." "...bloody Zellen merchants undercutting the textiles trade...where do they *get* those bright colors?..." "...m'friend, surely you'll allow me another throw of the bones..." At his last stop before reaching Moruhan, Tonar was told to stop at a guesthouse at the intersection of Drowsy Chrysanthemum Lane and Abalone Street...and here he is, but there's no sign of a serving girl with her hair in four braids, each with tied by a ribbon with a floral pattern. He's been scanning this crowd for the past couple days, in fact; a pity he wasn't given the name. Then again, news travels slowly, especially during the unpleasantly *damp* monsoon season, and Liessira's friends might have been out-of-date. Ah! Wait a moment. He sees a girl run in, and indeed, there are the braids, though she's otherwise plainly dressed. She seems to have come in through some side entrance, perhaps through the kitchen. He catches a fragment of her greetings to other people at the guesthouse, presumably friends--"...she's fine, they're all fine, and my youngest cousin now has teeth!" A visit to family in the countryside? A lot of Avrezin, after all, is countryside and rice paddies...and muddy roads, as he recalls all too well. One of the patrons is a Qenaren soldier, presumably off-duty; Tonar has by now learned to spot the telltale jenachen daggers and characteristic shortsword. The soldier is a lean man with neatly cropped hair, and he is across the room at a table. He gets up and walks casually over to the girl...just as casually hooks his arm through hers and whispers something in her ear. She flushes, bites her lip, visibly suppresses a sigh, and starts walking with him to the staircase leading to the upper level (which is also across the room). Only hard years of experience keep him from visibly reacting as the soldier waylays the girl. His eyes watch impassively over the rim of his rice punch as the two leave. Damn poor excuse for a drink, he decides. The conversation becomes subdued for a moment, then: "...damn Qenaren...should leave the locals alone..." "...they're practically locals by now...just forget it...glad it isn't *my* daughter..." "...and now I have to buy the peach silks from that fishguts-for-brains Saemer..." "...what do you mean, I hexed the bones?..." Tonar flips appropriate coinage on to the table and rises. Strolling to the door used by the soldier, he is just another newcomer taking in the outside surroundings while pondering his next move.
Back: Tonar's Interlude 1 Celtic knot courtesy of Celtic Faery.
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