The Brinn lingered in the town of Flazea restlessly the next day.
Kvelir most of all. He looked over his shoulder like he thought Maethe herself was going to smite them for their idleness.
In truth though, they were hardly idle. The thralls were learning how to raise up sail and row and the hunters were ‘resting.’ A rest day, as far as a Brinn hunter was concerned, apparently involved intense training.
Beneath the nervous fleeting glances of the Flazeans, Yethyr’s fifteen remaining hunters ran through their stances and their drills when they weren’t sparring with each other.
Yethyr sat apart, watching them with an envy that he did not bother burying. So great was his desire to finally join them that I could hear him contemplating whether wielding me could allow him to participate. I tried to push him into thinking it was a good idea, but he recognized my influence and rejected it.
For now.
He acknowledged using me now would be unsafe, but he had hope. If he could dominate me fully, he felt that it would be possible to train with me safely.
He yearned for that day, while I yearned to use that longing to ensure that day never came.
For now, we could only watch and I was happy to watch.
To my delight, I had finally found a Brinn pastime I could appreciate. It was fun to analyze their moves and guess who would win their various bouts. Conveniently, my interest was distracting Yethyr.
He was trying to teach Wes how to read the scroll of Brinn notation he had him borrow. In his mind, the sooner he got Wes to learn, the sooner he could have the smith make him weapons and help tame me. That was a task that I had every incentive to delay.
And so the Prince found himself trailing off, one eye always fixed on the hunters.
We watched Dethur beat his sister, Hegrir beat Tular, and Jaetheiri crush Kettir. As everyone around me was training, I used the time to train myself and stretch my senses. I found that if I concentrated, I could hear much farther than Yethyr’s own senses allowed.
“You have impeccable form,” Jaetheiri told Kettir as she helped from the ground she knocked him into. “You just need to hesitate less.”
I agreed. It was clear to me he had moved much slower than he was capable of. Perhaps fighting the legendary ‘Venerated Victor of the Oredreirium,’ whatever that meant, had made him freeze.
He certainly was tongue-tied by her compliment. “You are too kind.”
“I really am not. You are good; it is fact.”
“Am I good enough to recommend myself to the Prince?”
“Recommend yourself for what?
“For the open guard position.”
That was right. With Grethyr beaten to death in the Flazean street, Yethyr was down to four bodyguards, which appeared to put unnecessary strain on the guards’ nightwatch rotations. As Jaetheiri and Yethyr slept the night before, I overheard Yethyr’s other guards discussing it just beyond his tent.
They had strong differing opinions. Grokar, still grieving Grethyr’s death, felt it was disrespectful to replace him immediately and Umbar, already tired and disgruntled at being dragged on this mission anyway, wished the replacement had already been found. They had been mediated by Vezemar, who appeared to be Yethyr’s oldest guard. He cheerfully pointed out that it wasn’t their call to make, so there was no point in arguing about it.
I had not heard any of them bring up the subject with Jaetheiri, but she surely knew.
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“You want the position?”
“Only if you think I’m worthy?”
Jaetheiri hummed. “Keep it up and I’ll consider it.”
I wondered if Yethyr minded Jaetheiri making his guard arrangement for him, but of course, Yethyr didn’t know. His senses were not sharp enough to pick on the various personal conversations surrounding him. The Brinn paired up to go hunting in the pine forest for that night’s feast and Yethyr couldn’t hear how Kvelir mocked the gray in Vezemar’s beard, and yet was more than happy to hunt with him or how Hegrir went off with Grokar, eagerly asking him what it was like to be the Prince’s guard.
Tular asked Dathari to hunt with him, which she declined with a playful smile.
Her brother seemed to find his attention objectionable, but I didn’t really understand. As far as I could tell, all Tular said was shy pleasantries, and yet, Dathari was as pleased as her brother was displeased.
I must have missed some hidden Brinn context, I was certain.
In the middle of the night, I listened to even more conversations. There was only so much entertainment to be had from Jaetheiri’s nonsensical dreams about a menacing door. The people on watch were much more interesting.
Yethyr had leaned me up against a tent pole by his bed. I could not see, but I could hear.
“May I sit beside you?” Tular said in the quiet of the sleeping encampment. I could hear the crackle of firesong beside him. He was near the campfire.
“Of course,” Dathari said cheerfully. “Warm yourself.”
I heard him sit and all was quiet again.
“You don’t strike me as pious,” Dathari said. “Why are you on this hunt?”
“It’s a small group. I wanted to be away from people.”
“Oh. Do you want me to go away?”
“Not you,” he said quickly, too quickly.
Dathari laughed.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I may never get another opportunity to hunt with Lady Jaetheiri.”
“A hero of yours?”
“I saw her become the Victor of the Oredreirium only a year before I submitted myself to the Hunt Trials with my brother.” Her voice was as warm as the campfire. “I would have never had the courage to attempt it if not for her.”
“Well, I’m glad you did, Dathari.”
“Call me Dath,” she said. “One day, everyone will.”
“That’s forward,” Tular said. “I doubt your brother would appreciate me doing that.”
“It’s none of Deth’s business what you call me.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
The next day, Tular suggested moving supplies to the ships and Yethyr approved. He helped Dath carry boxes and her brother could not stop him. I did not really understand why Dethur wanted to stop him, but it was clear something was going on that I didn’t understand.
The day passed much the same way it did the day before. With hunters training, thralls ‘sailing’, and Wes with his nose in a Brinn music scroll.
Not that he had a nose.
That night, the whole hunting party practiced sleeping on the docked ships. There was much discussion and several duels over who got which cabin. Yethyr got the captain’s quarters of The Finrider and Jaetheiri took the room beside it, but beyond that, it was fair game.
All the spars of the day were over space arguments and I was sorely disappointed no one died over it.
I would have loved for one of their spirits to be sent off to that Brinn heaven and be forced to explain to Maethe why they died.
Just thinking of it made me laugh.
My good cheer did not translate to anyone. The Brinn did not like it one bit. It was cramped and water moved the ground in a most alarming way. Half the camp had half a mind to walk to the Numa Mountains.
But diligently, they practiced.
On the third evening, as everyone was doing drills on the boat and the sun was setting, there was a host of men on the horizon.
Brinn men.
Their black armor could be seen even in the dim light. It was a large force, perhaps even two full parties and Yethyr was ecstatic, all the hunters were.
“It was a test,” Vezemar breathed. “To see if we were brave enough to go alone.”
“I suppose that is very like my father,” Yethyr whispered hopefully, painfully hopefully. He saw the sixty or so hunters gleaming in the failing sun, imagined them facing the Datreans with him, and felt a painful relief. So did I. The more the better when it came to fighting the Council.
For once, the sight of Brinn pleased me.
For once, our spirits, Yethyr’s and mine, soared as one.
Then the approaching Brinn opened fire on our ships.
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The Best Brinn pastime is...
