With that, Anita withdrew a short, plain, yet ceremonial looking dagger from a sheath nestled in one of the many tight folds of her sleeves. Before Onion could take record of what was transpiring in front of her, the silent woman snatched Onion's wrist and with a quick flick of the Nü's arm, forced her palm open.
In empathy, Gregor reached out to the surprised woman, almost as if to touch and comfort Onion, though his hand never made it to its destination. "Relax," he uttered trying to put her at ease, "it will hurt a little. " Gregor's voice faded away into mere background noise in the whirl of violence Anita wrought on Onion. With a swift slice, the raven haired, blindfolded woman lacerated Onion's palm with the dagger before collecting the quickly pooling blood sprouting from the cut. For her efforts, the silent woman won a small vial, beaming with a ruby red sheen.
Finished, Anita turned to Cedric and produced another vial, drawn from the pale man. Belatedly, Cedric yelped in surprise, but the deed had already been done by the time he truly felt the sting.
From his cloth utility belt, Davin revealed two more vials, already swirling with a dark red life force. He tossed one of them to his partner and she exchanged one of her vials with the blindfolded man. Each took into their left hand a vial of blood from Cedric or Onion, and into their right hand they collected a vial from the unknown source. Tightly holding each vial in each hand, the two approached the hearth and held their hands close to the flame.
Each began to utter a string of fluid words that sounded nothing like Eirdren, and twice as foreign.
Suddenly, the two plunged their hands into the heart of the flames and with only the sheer strength of their palms, crushed the vials. The shards of glass tore open their bare skin and blood seeped through their fingers and sizzled as it fell upon the glowing coals; a mixing of three bloods, forever erased by the searing heat.
The mingled blood boiled before it ever hit the flame, and Onion became increasingly aware of her own blood, pumping life through her being, as it too began to boil under her skin in her toes. A few feet away, Cedric panicked and his hands pawed at his body. Soon, he was grabbing at his face, frantically trying to feel the bubbles surface on his skin. Mercifully, he quickly collapsed, but Gregor, who had strategically placed himself between Onion and the Archne chef, rushed to support his companion and gently bring him to the floor.
Simultaneously, Davin too lost consciousness and collapsed into the arms of Vaughn, who had been waiting behind the blindfolded pair. He dragged the raven haired man away from the fire and set him on the ground as well.
As her boiling blood steamed from her toes, shooting up to her stomach through the veins in her legs, Onion could feel her consciousness fading in and out. For an instant, she lost sense of herself. Instead of the rag clad Nü standing by what remained of the tunnel, she was suddenly by the fire, blindfolded but not blind. Her eyes, dried out and cracked, scars long since healed but not lost around her cheekbone bore a silent tribute to the sacrifice that made her who she was today. The lifetime of suffering compressed into a half dozen years made as much an impact on the body as it must have the soul.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part VIII
Particularly strange were the blue-tinted black blindfolds each wore, extending from the tips of their noses and covering the tops of their skulls. The simple yet finely woven cloth was tied at the back of each of their heads where Anita let her hair hang loosely down her back, and Davin bound his in a simple ponytail.
The two stood sharply erect, wearing the same blue-black hue of the blindfolds in garments that covered their forms from neck to toe. The high necked, form fitting uniform offered a great deal of flexibility, Onion noted, and with no precarious belt ends or ties, they could avoid the chance of of a snag or the noise of a clink. At their waists hung a cloth utility belt that could easily be mistaken for a short skirt. These people were invisible. She wondered how they managed to keep the clothing on.
Turning back to the blonde, no longer ridiculous looking, fair man she observed matter-of-factly, "You are not a priest then?" With a slight mental slap of her own wrist she scolded herself openly, "I was fooled."
"I wasn't exactly lying. Keeper Rel, I am not looking to incur the wrath of his demons in this lifetime.", he defended his sacrilege with unease. Offering his left hand for Onion to view, he pulled the hand guard back, revealing the part of the tattoo that encircled his wrist, still as blue and vibrant as ever. "I was once a disciple of Rel; a missionary to the Northern Federation of Outer Crestan Tribes. I grew up in Lithen, but my education was here in Eirdred. I could not help but be drawn to serve Rel by teaching of him in your lands. That is how I acquired your marvelous language!"
Onion made a face at the thought of the Northern Outer Crest as her homeland. She was of the Southern Confederacy and to her the Nü in the north there might as well have been from Eirdred themselves, or maybe even Benge. She was soon interrupted from her queer confusion.
"Gregor," came a stern voice cloaked in the tongues of the continent. Nonetheless, Onion could surmise the words of the man who sat across the room, on the other side of the roaring fireplace. Dancing flames gleamed off of his breast plate as he pointed a disgruntled finger to the man Gregor. "Enough gossip for now. The mission is not yet complete." he stressed in a low grumble. The stout, imposing man stood from the wooden chair he had been sitting on, tucked in the corner of the room. Similar to Gregor, he bore the appearance of a soldier with a single solid breast plate and leather jerkins.
"Anita, Davin, please proceed as instructed." he ordered.
"Beithal Vaughn, my Keeper of the Compromised, I will remind you that this operation cost us the better half of a year in efforts by us in securing this location and of the Gegleth for the tunnel. It is my sincere desire that this is worth our efforts.", the woman breathed her words in the silken voice of a consort.
"He is. Do it now.", the forceful man Vaughn aimed the order to the two blindfolded spies with taciturn precision.
The two stood sharply erect, wearing the same blue-black hue of the blindfolds in garments that covered their forms from neck to toe. The high necked, form fitting uniform offered a great deal of flexibility, Onion noted, and with no precarious belt ends or ties, they could avoid the chance of of a snag or the noise of a clink. At their waists hung a cloth utility belt that could easily be mistaken for a short skirt. These people were invisible. She wondered how they managed to keep the clothing on.
Turning back to the blonde, no longer ridiculous looking, fair man she observed matter-of-factly, "You are not a priest then?" With a slight mental slap of her own wrist she scolded herself openly, "I was fooled."
"I wasn't exactly lying. Keeper Rel, I am not looking to incur the wrath of his demons in this lifetime.", he defended his sacrilege with unease. Offering his left hand for Onion to view, he pulled the hand guard back, revealing the part of the tattoo that encircled his wrist, still as blue and vibrant as ever. "I was once a disciple of Rel; a missionary to the Northern Federation of Outer Crestan Tribes. I grew up in Lithen, but my education was here in Eirdred. I could not help but be drawn to serve Rel by teaching of him in your lands. That is how I acquired your marvelous language!"
Onion made a face at the thought of the Northern Outer Crest as her homeland. She was of the Southern Confederacy and to her the Nü in the north there might as well have been from Eirdred themselves, or maybe even Benge. She was soon interrupted from her queer confusion.
"Gregor," came a stern voice cloaked in the tongues of the continent. Nonetheless, Onion could surmise the words of the man who sat across the room, on the other side of the roaring fireplace. Dancing flames gleamed off of his breast plate as he pointed a disgruntled finger to the man Gregor. "Enough gossip for now. The mission is not yet complete." he stressed in a low grumble. The stout, imposing man stood from the wooden chair he had been sitting on, tucked in the corner of the room. Similar to Gregor, he bore the appearance of a soldier with a single solid breast plate and leather jerkins.
"Anita, Davin, please proceed as instructed." he ordered.
"Beithal Vaughn, my Keeper of the Compromised, I will remind you that this operation cost us the better half of a year in efforts by us in securing this location and of the Gegleth for the tunnel. It is my sincere desire that this is worth our efforts.", the woman breathed her words in the silken voice of a consort.
"He is. Do it now.", the forceful man Vaughn aimed the order to the two blindfolded spies with taciturn precision.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part VII
After what had seemed an eternity, the party came to the end of their journey at a wooden facade. The more slender set of arms of the two midnight assailants raised her hand to deliver a knock. Three times she repeated herself and with each knock, Onion felt her ears straining more than with the previous as a muted echo reverberated through the tunnel.
In response, Onion could distinguish four return knocks which also diminished with each manifestation. Understanding for the first time that the two assailants were not simply dumb, Onion noted the silky female voice responded, "Seven times."
This was apparently the correct answer, as the wooden boards were slid aside with great effort. Both Onion and Cedric were forced to turn their gaze away as blinding light flooded the tunnel, but the owners of the feminine voice and the muscular hands remained unfazed. The two had been wearing blindfolds and it was unclear if they even had use of their eyes. Unsympathetic to the raw burn of their eyes, the two silent kidnappers herded the dazed former prisoners through the hole in the wall and into a small inn room.
"Cedric!", exclaimed the man who had helped move aside the wooden facade. He grinned from ear to ear, beaming with excitement. "You made it! I told you that you would do just fine." the man bantered in the Eirdren tongue while smothering the diminutive Archne chef in a warm embrace. Cedric, for his part, wore a look of surprise on his face, but in the glow of the nearby fire, looked significantly less pale than he had been recently.
"And you, my dear" the shaggy blond warrior switched into the Nürish, "I'm glad to see Anita and Davin did not have to bring you back unconscious. I suspect they would have had a difficult time taking you out anyway."
Onion stared before recognizing the man for who he was. The Rel priest was dressed a little less ridiculously now than during his dungeon incarnations but the trimmed beard sideburns that extended to his jawline, his large strong hands and mop of golden hair were unmistakable. Now, he wore a leather jerkin and a solid brestplate fastened on with leather straps. At his waist he maintained an impressive longsword with intricate but unfamiliar designs printed on the hilt. His left forearm was a hardened leather brace with a metal plate fastened to the outer half around his arm. A hard leather guard rested on the topside of his hand and at his feet were standard issue leather boots.
Onion noticed that his fingers bore the highly faded blue tattoo of Rel. In a few days, the ink would be gone in its entirety.
She also beheld her captors in their entirety for the first time. Anita and Davin were creatures unlike any she had ever seen. They appeared to be kin, both with long, straight hair, darker and blacker than that of any Nü Onion had ever met. In contrast to their raven hair, their taut, sinewy skin that stretched over lean, muscular frames, was as pale as Cedrics. Their uniforms, however, revealed very little of the skin.
In response, Onion could distinguish four return knocks which also diminished with each manifestation. Understanding for the first time that the two assailants were not simply dumb, Onion noted the silky female voice responded, "Seven times."
This was apparently the correct answer, as the wooden boards were slid aside with great effort. Both Onion and Cedric were forced to turn their gaze away as blinding light flooded the tunnel, but the owners of the feminine voice and the muscular hands remained unfazed. The two had been wearing blindfolds and it was unclear if they even had use of their eyes. Unsympathetic to the raw burn of their eyes, the two silent kidnappers herded the dazed former prisoners through the hole in the wall and into a small inn room.
"Cedric!", exclaimed the man who had helped move aside the wooden facade. He grinned from ear to ear, beaming with excitement. "You made it! I told you that you would do just fine." the man bantered in the Eirdren tongue while smothering the diminutive Archne chef in a warm embrace. Cedric, for his part, wore a look of surprise on his face, but in the glow of the nearby fire, looked significantly less pale than he had been recently.
"And you, my dear" the shaggy blond warrior switched into the Nürish, "I'm glad to see Anita and Davin did not have to bring you back unconscious. I suspect they would have had a difficult time taking you out anyway."
Onion stared before recognizing the man for who he was. The Rel priest was dressed a little less ridiculously now than during his dungeon incarnations but the trimmed beard sideburns that extended to his jawline, his large strong hands and mop of golden hair were unmistakable. Now, he wore a leather jerkin and a solid brestplate fastened on with leather straps. At his waist he maintained an impressive longsword with intricate but unfamiliar designs printed on the hilt. His left forearm was a hardened leather brace with a metal plate fastened to the outer half around his arm. A hard leather guard rested on the topside of his hand and at his feet were standard issue leather boots.
Onion noticed that his fingers bore the highly faded blue tattoo of Rel. In a few days, the ink would be gone in its entirety.
She also beheld her captors in their entirety for the first time. Anita and Davin were creatures unlike any she had ever seen. They appeared to be kin, both with long, straight hair, darker and blacker than that of any Nü Onion had ever met. In contrast to their raven hair, their taut, sinewy skin that stretched over lean, muscular frames, was as pale as Cedrics. Their uniforms, however, revealed very little of the skin.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part VI
Her bare feet tiptoed rapidly across the hard floor as she was moved along the hall, towards the lone exit. They had traveled through the maze of cells long enough, but never once did a ray of light grace her pupils. As the four crossed the threshold of the cell block, however, Onion's other senses were given a veritable feast. Sounds from above the dungeon touched her inner ears. The air lost its stale flavor and the odor of decay was replaced with the stink of sweat and blood. As she was pushed further along, her toes squished through a sticky, congealed substance; blood.
The way out was a winding set of stairs past the guard station and bunks. Up the stairs, where throngs of nobles would soon await their sacrifice, lie the courtyard and gallows entertainment center; the same one Onion and Cedric were herded through upon arrival to this hated place, the Archne Estate. Onion knew these locations would be heavily guarded. She wondered if their kidnappers were simply a couple of fools sending them all to a speedy death. After all, no amount of stealth and trickery could blot out the moon and all of his stars.
The rough arm commanding Onion's movement relaxed and let go half a second before the much slighter hand of his partner clasped her wrist. Within moments Onion heard a small click and both she and Cedric found themselves pulled to the floor, under a bunk. Through a trap door, Onion finally found herself on her hands and knees, released from the restraint of her captors.
She took a moment to revel at the moist smell of the dirt; its flavor of life in the organic debris and hints of earthy metals. The soil now stuck to her feet, caking the layer of blood she had acquired while walking from the dungeon. Her fingers, however, marveled, pawing at the fine grains. With soil, there is freedom and life. The tiny seed of hope had cracked open, as if to sprout.
The Nü's celebration was cut short as the larger hand behind her shoved her bottom, indicating his desire that she move forward.
Frisky is it?
Onward, on hands and knees, the four of them traveled through the tunnel. The slender set of hands led the group, and Cedric kept pace in front of Onion. To the captives, it seemed they had travelled through the tunnel for days, although an hour was probably closer to the mark. It was just long enough that Onion began to experience claustrophobia setting in and taste the acrid flavor of metallic fear in her mouth. Her joy in the sensations of the soil was rapidly squelched as pebbles and roots dug into her palms and bare knees. For Cedric and herself, the burlap sack turned prison attire did nothing to ease their journey.
Their progress was further delayed as every hundred feet or so the man behind Onion would remove support beams and set a small, muted, explosive, causing that recently vacated portion of the tunnel to collapse. Onion could feel the fear radiating from Cedric, but their kidnappers shepherded the two of them along without mercy.
The way out was a winding set of stairs past the guard station and bunks. Up the stairs, where throngs of nobles would soon await their sacrifice, lie the courtyard and gallows entertainment center; the same one Onion and Cedric were herded through upon arrival to this hated place, the Archne Estate. Onion knew these locations would be heavily guarded. She wondered if their kidnappers were simply a couple of fools sending them all to a speedy death. After all, no amount of stealth and trickery could blot out the moon and all of his stars.
The rough arm commanding Onion's movement relaxed and let go half a second before the much slighter hand of his partner clasped her wrist. Within moments Onion heard a small click and both she and Cedric found themselves pulled to the floor, under a bunk. Through a trap door, Onion finally found herself on her hands and knees, released from the restraint of her captors.
She took a moment to revel at the moist smell of the dirt; its flavor of life in the organic debris and hints of earthy metals. The soil now stuck to her feet, caking the layer of blood she had acquired while walking from the dungeon. Her fingers, however, marveled, pawing at the fine grains. With soil, there is freedom and life. The tiny seed of hope had cracked open, as if to sprout.
The Nü's celebration was cut short as the larger hand behind her shoved her bottom, indicating his desire that she move forward.
Frisky is it?
Onward, on hands and knees, the four of them traveled through the tunnel. The slender set of hands led the group, and Cedric kept pace in front of Onion. To the captives, it seemed they had travelled through the tunnel for days, although an hour was probably closer to the mark. It was just long enough that Onion began to experience claustrophobia setting in and taste the acrid flavor of metallic fear in her mouth. Her joy in the sensations of the soil was rapidly squelched as pebbles and roots dug into her palms and bare knees. For Cedric and herself, the burlap sack turned prison attire did nothing to ease their journey.
Their progress was further delayed as every hundred feet or so the man behind Onion would remove support beams and set a small, muted, explosive, causing that recently vacated portion of the tunnel to collapse. Onion could feel the fear radiating from Cedric, but their kidnappers shepherded the two of them along without mercy.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part V
The two sat on the stone ground and talked into the night - not that the ambiance of the cell was affected by the movement of the sun. The questions the man lobbed at Onion were strange, beyond the realm of curiosity. He asked about the details of their final mission, how they came to learn of it, and where their prior mercenary work had been. He grilled her about why they had come to Eirdred after years in the south, fighting for coin on all sides of the Three Pronged War between Sandor, the Independent Duchy of Vem and the Federation of of Tribes of the Northern Outer Crest.
For reasons unknown to Onion, as the man reached deeper into his inquiry, his demeanor lost its aura of friendliness and his tone took on a sense of urgency. She didn't have most of the answers he was searching for - she was a minion in the Clan of the Fir, a follower to her commanding brother. This was something she readily acknowledged without shame to nosy man. When he finally left, she was glad to see him go. His final announcement, made just as he left the cell, that the execution was to take place later in the week, elicited no response from the emotionally numb Nü. Nor did the words "Rel protect you, for I cannot." whispered softly under the breath of the well-built priest ever reach her ears. Onion was exhausted and easily passed out within seconds of his departure
------
True silence is a disturbing thing. Too easily one forgets that they hear the ever present breath of a stranger, or the crackle of a torch. But the heart does not forget. It beats to the rhythm of energy and life as the mind ignores this harmony. And in the absence of the harmony of life, the heart is tossed into the Void.
To Onion, the wave of silence hit like a slap to her soul. Instantly, she sat up, awake in her windowless cell, but there was nothing but blackness. She could not even tell if her eyes were truly open or if it was just a trick of the senses.
Movement.
In an instant, Onion's cell door silently flung open, a fact known to her only by the gust of air fanning from the exit. Not even a creak was made by the solid oak board and the hallway remained as black as ever.
She felt two strong hands lay on her arm and Onion nearly groaned in pain as the hand clamped down on a bruise not yet healed from the skirmish with Lord Archne. Her gut told her that it would be wise to remain silent, so she permitted herself only a grimace in her agony.
While not readily apparent, Onion understood that it was not just her own person that was being manhandled. Sure enough, as she was shoved into the dungeon hall, she felt the soft, smooth skin of what had to be Cedric's hand. To her amazement and grudging respect for the twitchy man, he also compelled his tongue to remain silent.
For reasons unknown to Onion, as the man reached deeper into his inquiry, his demeanor lost its aura of friendliness and his tone took on a sense of urgency. She didn't have most of the answers he was searching for - she was a minion in the Clan of the Fir, a follower to her commanding brother. This was something she readily acknowledged without shame to nosy man. When he finally left, she was glad to see him go. His final announcement, made just as he left the cell, that the execution was to take place later in the week, elicited no response from the emotionally numb Nü. Nor did the words "Rel protect you, for I cannot." whispered softly under the breath of the well-built priest ever reach her ears. Onion was exhausted and easily passed out within seconds of his departure
------
True silence is a disturbing thing. Too easily one forgets that they hear the ever present breath of a stranger, or the crackle of a torch. But the heart does not forget. It beats to the rhythm of energy and life as the mind ignores this harmony. And in the absence of the harmony of life, the heart is tossed into the Void.
To Onion, the wave of silence hit like a slap to her soul. Instantly, she sat up, awake in her windowless cell, but there was nothing but blackness. She could not even tell if her eyes were truly open or if it was just a trick of the senses.
Movement.
In an instant, Onion's cell door silently flung open, a fact known to her only by the gust of air fanning from the exit. Not even a creak was made by the solid oak board and the hallway remained as black as ever.
She felt two strong hands lay on her arm and Onion nearly groaned in pain as the hand clamped down on a bruise not yet healed from the skirmish with Lord Archne. Her gut told her that it would be wise to remain silent, so she permitted herself only a grimace in her agony.
While not readily apparent, Onion understood that it was not just her own person that was being manhandled. Sure enough, as she was shoved into the dungeon hall, she felt the soft, smooth skin of what had to be Cedric's hand. To her amazement and grudging respect for the twitchy man, he also compelled his tongue to remain silent.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part IV
With his unmarked index finger he tapped her forehead, his face contorted between expressions of amusement and confusion.
Again, she did not respond, not even when a second poke nearly caused her to bang her head against the stone.
"I'm sorry!", the man exclaimed preemptively as Onion jolted back into consciousness and caught herself in time. She took a moment to stabilize herself before getting up to address the familiar stranger.
"No, it's fine." she sighed. "I was a crass fool the other day," she said finally. "What did you want to know?"
Not entirely expecting renewed interaction with the Nü to be as easily obtained as it was, the priest faltered with his words, "Wow, that was not how I was expecting this to go. Well, I guess I am just nosy. Not many of your people make it to the mainland, and the only time I have ever seen a Nü woman was during my time in the Outer Crest. One can't help but be a little bit curious."
"Why do you care? It..." she interrupted herself, recalling her vow to remain calm, "Never mind. I will tell you whatever you wish to know but I need something from you first."
"Go on."
"Ensure that I am dead before the end of the week. If your Eidren noble folk have no plans of doing their business soon then destroy me yourself. This existence is... taxing. I am losing my web." she sighed with equal parts relief and regret.
"Now that is a dour thing to say."
"Well we are in a dungeon," she chided, "This is where optimism comes to die."
Solemnly he nodded, "I understand you actually. I do. But while I cannot promise you death at my hand, I can promise you that one way or another, I will do my best to see that this nightmare ends soon for you."
"Oh?" she focused her eyes on the shaggy-haired priest who suddenly appeared to have a particular interest in his shoes.
"Anyway," he spoke quickly, seizing the direction of the conversation, "What are you doing in Eirdred? What brought you here to begin with?"
Not really seeing the point of his inquiry, she responded to his questions with short, factual and unelaborated responses. She told of her life in Sandor for the past 3 years, as a mercenary with her 31 brothers in the Clan of the Fir.
"Thirty-one brothers? Am I really to believe that? Hah. Sure. Right, your mother must have been a sore woman."
"Not 31 biological brothers. With five I shared the same seed of life. Among the others, well, we all considered ourselves brothers in arms, and they were my kin, cousins and nephews mostly. Not that it is unheard of. We are not like you on the continent. It is more than acceptable for a man and several women to make a home together. My own immediate family was not so, but there are many families in Deezhul who bind multiple spouses together.
"And the only reason why now, I do not weep for the women and children in Deezhul who have lost their men is that I know there are other husbands and wives there to help the family move on." Onion spat out defensively, surprising even herself. She had never cared for the practice.
"The band was made up of entirely your own kin?", the priest asked incredulously.
"My elder brother, Rejnev, was a very...," she searched for the right word, "charismatic man. My family adored him and was inspired by his successes on the continent. Many of them joined him when he decided it was time to start leading missions, rather than earning scraps. Even I followed..."
"Right, that isn't normal in your culture." the priest affirmed, acknowledging the rarity of seeing a female Nü outside of the realm of domesticity. He, being born and raised on the continent in Lithen, had never felt it a natural thing to use genitalia as method determining of career placement. Life was hard in the colder reaches of the mountains and at sea. If anyone couldn't take care of themselves in any realm, domestic or otherwise, they doomed themselves, and possibly their family. It was an odd concept to imagine women not walking the streets, or picking up the sword.
Again, she did not respond, not even when a second poke nearly caused her to bang her head against the stone.
"I'm sorry!", the man exclaimed preemptively as Onion jolted back into consciousness and caught herself in time. She took a moment to stabilize herself before getting up to address the familiar stranger.
"No, it's fine." she sighed. "I was a crass fool the other day," she said finally. "What did you want to know?"
Not entirely expecting renewed interaction with the Nü to be as easily obtained as it was, the priest faltered with his words, "Wow, that was not how I was expecting this to go. Well, I guess I am just nosy. Not many of your people make it to the mainland, and the only time I have ever seen a Nü woman was during my time in the Outer Crest. One can't help but be a little bit curious."
"Why do you care? It..." she interrupted herself, recalling her vow to remain calm, "Never mind. I will tell you whatever you wish to know but I need something from you first."
"Go on."
"Ensure that I am dead before the end of the week. If your Eidren noble folk have no plans of doing their business soon then destroy me yourself. This existence is... taxing. I am losing my web." she sighed with equal parts relief and regret.
"Now that is a dour thing to say."
"Well we are in a dungeon," she chided, "This is where optimism comes to die."
Solemnly he nodded, "I understand you actually. I do. But while I cannot promise you death at my hand, I can promise you that one way or another, I will do my best to see that this nightmare ends soon for you."
"Oh?" she focused her eyes on the shaggy-haired priest who suddenly appeared to have a particular interest in his shoes.
"Anyway," he spoke quickly, seizing the direction of the conversation, "What are you doing in Eirdred? What brought you here to begin with?"
Not really seeing the point of his inquiry, she responded to his questions with short, factual and unelaborated responses. She told of her life in Sandor for the past 3 years, as a mercenary with her 31 brothers in the Clan of the Fir.
"Thirty-one brothers? Am I really to believe that? Hah. Sure. Right, your mother must have been a sore woman."
"Not 31 biological brothers. With five I shared the same seed of life. Among the others, well, we all considered ourselves brothers in arms, and they were my kin, cousins and nephews mostly. Not that it is unheard of. We are not like you on the continent. It is more than acceptable for a man and several women to make a home together. My own immediate family was not so, but there are many families in Deezhul who bind multiple spouses together.
"And the only reason why now, I do not weep for the women and children in Deezhul who have lost their men is that I know there are other husbands and wives there to help the family move on." Onion spat out defensively, surprising even herself. She had never cared for the practice.
"The band was made up of entirely your own kin?", the priest asked incredulously.
"My elder brother, Rejnev, was a very...," she searched for the right word, "charismatic man. My family adored him and was inspired by his successes on the continent. Many of them joined him when he decided it was time to start leading missions, rather than earning scraps. Even I followed..."
"Right, that isn't normal in your culture." the priest affirmed, acknowledging the rarity of seeing a female Nü outside of the realm of domesticity. He, being born and raised on the continent in Lithen, had never felt it a natural thing to use genitalia as method determining of career placement. Life was hard in the colder reaches of the mountains and at sea. If anyone couldn't take care of themselves in any realm, domestic or otherwise, they doomed themselves, and possibly their family. It was an odd concept to imagine women not walking the streets, or picking up the sword.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part III
"In the meantime, are you prepared to meet your fate?" the priest asked of the pale chef.
"Well, I suppose as much as I ever will be." Cedric gulped, "What did I ever do to deserve this? Oh Rel protect us."
"Yes, Rel protect us." echoed the robed man solemnly, but with distraction. He rose up from where he had been sitting with Cedric and called for the guard to let him out of the cell. On the opposite side of the metal cage, the robed man cleared his voice and recited:
"Prepare yourself for what lies ahead, my son. We shall not meet here again, but it is the hope of all the brethren in Rel, that the burdens of your journeys have been lifted. Our hope is that through me, your faith in Rel, the Keeper of Justice, has strengthened you for what lies ahead. I go, but Rel will always be with you."
Cedric touched his forehead in reverence and the priest nodded in response before taking his leave.
"Guard, I would speak with the other prisoner again, if I may." he informed the guard who was locking up Cedric's cell.
In a gruff voice the guard berated, "A fool's errand. Priest, your job here is to calm prisoners and make them less trouble for us before we off them. Let them find a little solace in Rel before the Void takes them, I can understand that. But that primitive creature can't even comprehend your sacred master, much less find solace in him. Don't waste your time."
"Master Guardsman," the priest reasoned, "Now that she faces the oblivion of the Void, it is her last chance to learn and pay respect to the Keepers of the World. It is our sacred duty to enlighten her people. It is why we abandon our homes, families and lives to travel to the Outer Crest. If she is not saved now, she never will be. It is up to me to see that she is prepared to travel the Void. I must try."
"Do what you must priest. Be quick. My mistress would not be terribly pleased to know the filthy thing that murdered her husband was to find any comfort whatsoever." As the robed man stepped in the cell he heard the guard close and lock the door behind him. The priest breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now," he switched to Nüish, "Can we try this again? I'd like to talk to you about where you came from."
No response.
"I know what they tell us about you is a lie, but more important is the truth. Care to enlighten me?" he proposed delicately.
Silence.
The man edged a little closer, "I promise I won't bite."
Still no reply.
"Are you ignoring me?"
Nothing.
He approached the dark skinned Nü with caution and brought out from the folds of his robe his intricately tattooed hand. This sign of a member of the priest class is specific to the Keeper the acolyte follows and it affords the man or woman instant identification to the often illiterate peasantry of the countryside. At each segment of the man's middle finger was a band of blue ink connected by a streak of blue that extended from the fingernail to a half moon imprinted just past his knuckle. Another blue band encircled his hand, around his palm. At the top of his wrist were two outwardly opposing arcs that connected to each other at the underside of his wrist.
"Well, I suppose as much as I ever will be." Cedric gulped, "What did I ever do to deserve this? Oh Rel protect us."
"Yes, Rel protect us." echoed the robed man solemnly, but with distraction. He rose up from where he had been sitting with Cedric and called for the guard to let him out of the cell. On the opposite side of the metal cage, the robed man cleared his voice and recited:
"Prepare yourself for what lies ahead, my son. We shall not meet here again, but it is the hope of all the brethren in Rel, that the burdens of your journeys have been lifted. Our hope is that through me, your faith in Rel, the Keeper of Justice, has strengthened you for what lies ahead. I go, but Rel will always be with you."
Cedric touched his forehead in reverence and the priest nodded in response before taking his leave.
"Guard, I would speak with the other prisoner again, if I may." he informed the guard who was locking up Cedric's cell.
In a gruff voice the guard berated, "A fool's errand. Priest, your job here is to calm prisoners and make them less trouble for us before we off them. Let them find a little solace in Rel before the Void takes them, I can understand that. But that primitive creature can't even comprehend your sacred master, much less find solace in him. Don't waste your time."
"Master Guardsman," the priest reasoned, "Now that she faces the oblivion of the Void, it is her last chance to learn and pay respect to the Keepers of the World. It is our sacred duty to enlighten her people. It is why we abandon our homes, families and lives to travel to the Outer Crest. If she is not saved now, she never will be. It is up to me to see that she is prepared to travel the Void. I must try."
"Do what you must priest. Be quick. My mistress would not be terribly pleased to know the filthy thing that murdered her husband was to find any comfort whatsoever." As the robed man stepped in the cell he heard the guard close and lock the door behind him. The priest breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now," he switched to Nüish, "Can we try this again? I'd like to talk to you about where you came from."
No response.
"I know what they tell us about you is a lie, but more important is the truth. Care to enlighten me?" he proposed delicately.
Silence.
The man edged a little closer, "I promise I won't bite."
Still no reply.
"Are you ignoring me?"
Nothing.
He approached the dark skinned Nü with caution and brought out from the folds of his robe his intricately tattooed hand. This sign of a member of the priest class is specific to the Keeper the acolyte follows and it affords the man or woman instant identification to the often illiterate peasantry of the countryside. At each segment of the man's middle finger was a band of blue ink connected by a streak of blue that extended from the fingernail to a half moon imprinted just past his knuckle. Another blue band encircled his hand, around his palm. At the top of his wrist were two outwardly opposing arcs that connected to each other at the underside of his wrist.
Chapter 2 - Part II
Rejnev had been a strange man, even within his own culture. He was the only one of his siblings with any memory of normal life outside of Deezhul. His younger brother Vrtok was only an infant when the Simar called the first Tribal Council beckoning the nomadic clans to face the impending imperialism of Heilth through solidarity. His parents, like many in the Nüish clans, responded by moving and settling in the City that Sprung Up. They tossed their lot into a conglomeration of permanent structures barely months old that would soon become Deezhul, and most never looked back.
For the boy Rejnev, his travels and family transition from nomadic hunter to city denizen were addictive. When he realized that there was no such thing as one life, one choice, one path that a spirit would have to follow, he yearned to learn more about all of the other possibilities in the world. He dreamed of adventures in foreign lands and he was full of busy ambition more often seen in the people of the continent than of any of the Nü or other Outer Crestans. He often wore his hair in the fashion of the pale mainlanders, long and half bound.
Strangers often gossiped that he was a wandering spider, but his kin were fiercely loyal to the bright and charismatic man they knew as brother and cousin. He knew what other clans said of him in the dusty streets of the infant metropolis, and he never let it bother him. To a child Onion brimming with new knowledge of the tales of the Spider, he once quipped that he was not a wandering spider, but that his web was the world and all the people he knew and loved were in that web.
"What about me? Am I there?", asked the six year old.
"You, beautiful, are in the center"
The next day, or the day after that, Onion could hardly perceive the position of the sun from where she sat, and the days all melted together anyway, the robed man returned to speak with the pale man. The man he had referred to has Cedric had clearly become more at ease over the time that had passed; he had regained some color in his face and it now resembled the complexion of soft cheese. However he still had the air of a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf.
Onion, however, had been sitting flat against the wall, focused solely on her breath. She was rebuilding her web and was oblivious to the babble of the visitor and his priestly charge.
"She has been sitting there like that for 30 hours straight!", cried Cedric to his tired looking friend. Practically imploring the priest for a similarly incredulous remark he continued, "In fact, she's been that way since you were here last. What exactly did you say to put her in such a trance?"
"I'm not sure myself. I tried to explain how she got into the situation she is in, poor girl. You know most of the Outer Crest is still tribal. They don't do things the way we do here."
"So you think she is innocent? Just a primitive pawn caught up in something bigger than she expected? I don't know, Fal'du Rel.", he paused, invoking the formal name of a priest The Ally of Rel, "But you are the expert."
"Right. I obviously said something she didn't want to hear. Lets hope that doesn't doom me in her eyes forever. I will try again today to talk to her." he looked over at the cell across the hall before refocusing on Cedric again. "I will try to speak with her again soon. She deserves at least that."
For the boy Rejnev, his travels and family transition from nomadic hunter to city denizen were addictive. When he realized that there was no such thing as one life, one choice, one path that a spirit would have to follow, he yearned to learn more about all of the other possibilities in the world. He dreamed of adventures in foreign lands and he was full of busy ambition more often seen in the people of the continent than of any of the Nü or other Outer Crestans. He often wore his hair in the fashion of the pale mainlanders, long and half bound.
Strangers often gossiped that he was a wandering spider, but his kin were fiercely loyal to the bright and charismatic man they knew as brother and cousin. He knew what other clans said of him in the dusty streets of the infant metropolis, and he never let it bother him. To a child Onion brimming with new knowledge of the tales of the Spider, he once quipped that he was not a wandering spider, but that his web was the world and all the people he knew and loved were in that web.
"What about me? Am I there?", asked the six year old.
"You, beautiful, are in the center"
The next day, or the day after that, Onion could hardly perceive the position of the sun from where she sat, and the days all melted together anyway, the robed man returned to speak with the pale man. The man he had referred to has Cedric had clearly become more at ease over the time that had passed; he had regained some color in his face and it now resembled the complexion of soft cheese. However he still had the air of a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf.
Onion, however, had been sitting flat against the wall, focused solely on her breath. She was rebuilding her web and was oblivious to the babble of the visitor and his priestly charge.
"She has been sitting there like that for 30 hours straight!", cried Cedric to his tired looking friend. Practically imploring the priest for a similarly incredulous remark he continued, "In fact, she's been that way since you were here last. What exactly did you say to put her in such a trance?"
"I'm not sure myself. I tried to explain how she got into the situation she is in, poor girl. You know most of the Outer Crest is still tribal. They don't do things the way we do here."
"So you think she is innocent? Just a primitive pawn caught up in something bigger than she expected? I don't know, Fal'du Rel.", he paused, invoking the formal name of a priest The Ally of Rel, "But you are the expert."
"Right. I obviously said something she didn't want to hear. Lets hope that doesn't doom me in her eyes forever. I will try again today to talk to her." he looked over at the cell across the hall before refocusing on Cedric again. "I will try to speak with her again soon. She deserves at least that."
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Chapter 2 - Part I
In the days before the Nü walked the earth, before men were men, they were flies; keepers of corpses and filth. They crawled on the earth or flew around, ever restless, scavenging for food and and searching for shelter against the elements. They moved in great numbers but without direction and without purpose. For the race of men, the price of existence was very dear indeed. They were a people whose destiny it was to feed the bellies of others; the clever, the wise and the strong of the jungle.
Yet because they always moved in great numbers, in great swarms, the race of man persisted.
One day, when the world was still raw, a young fly, unique in the world, beheld his race and despaired. He understood the fate of the fly. One day, be it tomorrow or in several moons, it was his lot, and that of his people, to meet his end in the gullet of the bird or the lizard. He knew that from the air or from the ground, his fate would be soon if he followed the ways of his people in their busy, mindless search of food. But he also understood that his people did not have to live this way.
He set out to learn the ways of the elder brothers and sisters of the jungle, that he might be spared this fate. He traveled long, from the carrion of a seagull on the sands of the Great Void sea shores, through the savanna plains of the lowlands, to deep in the heart of the jungle at the base of Mount Gulthark. He did not stop until he reached his goal, the king of the jungle; the mighty jaguar. Surely, thought the fly, the age and maturity of the race of the jaguar could provide the humble fly with the answers he sought.
The jaguar laughed at the little creature's request for knowledge, but indulged the fly nonetheless.
"You wish to avoid a violent death? You wish to avoid being livestock of other creatures? You would prefer to be master of your own destiny?" he challenged. "That is easy! Behold my mighty jaw! Look upon my claws and sinuous muscle. I fear not death from the monkey or parakeet not - it is they who fear me!
"I take what I need to survive. Through strength and brute force I live without fear. With my power, I keep myself and my race safe and our bellies full."
The fly heeded the jaguar's words. Strength and aggression were what his people lacked. With this knowledge, he returned to his people, and his people knew aggression. No longer would they need to dine on the scraps that others left behind. No longer would they wait for flesh and fruit to be discarded. They would seek out living blood for their meals.
And thus, mosquitoes were born.
But they still were not safe.
The young fly continued onward in search of wisdom for his people. This time, he abandoned the jungle, and flew to the savanna for surely, thought the fly, the wisdom of the jungle was too bold. He came across an armadillo, busy unearthing tubers and grubs in the grass.
"Elder armadillo, what is the secret to your life? How are you able to live without constant fear of death?"
To the fly the lumbering creature responded, "That is easy, tasty one." he snapped, hoping to secure another meal. The fly persisted, dodging the beast while listening to his advice. "My armor is all I need to survive! No hunter dares attack me. I suffer no harm because any predator knows he will never pierce my hide!"
Defense, that is what my people lack, thought the fly. He returned to his people and they knew defense. He outfitted them in splendid armor that gleamed in the sun.
And thus beetles were born.
But they still were not safe.
Disheartened, the fly wandered aimlessly. Surely no elder in the jungle, no sage of the savanna, no creature throughout the land could help the fly. He rested on the leaves of a jungle tree and lamented his failure.
Hearing the sobs of the young fly on his boughs, the elder tree asked, "Little one, why do you cry?"
"I am of a people who know no rest. We wander without purpose and become fodder for the birds and the lizards. Our hearts are on edge, and our minds are blank, too preoccupied with survival to have any greater understanding of the world.
"I have asked the elders of the jungle and the elders of the savanna, how we might better ourselves. Aggression changed us, but it did not give us comfort. Defense changed us but it did not give us rest. I fear it is our lot to forever live in the shadow of a doomed fate."
"Little fool," bellowed the massive tree, "You look for peace in a world of conflict." He sighed, "such a thing does not exist. Such a thing cannot exist.
"But in my world there is peace, you see. Little fool, stay here in my branches, build for yourself a home. Here, you can make your peace."
"But what will I eat?!" responded the fly, "How will I find food?"
"Silly little fool. Why do you long for that which is all around us? The jungle provides. Build your home and you need not worry."
The fly listened intently and did as the elder tree advised. He tore off his wings and cut them to shreds. With them, he built for himself a web in the branches of the tree. There he lived peacefully, safe in his home and always provided for.
In this way, the Spider was born.
Children, remember this: The fly found tranquility when he looked inside of himself for the answers he sought. He found peace when he built for himself a haven of safety. Aggression helped him not. Defense helped him not. These are things for dealing with the outside world, but they have no reward.
This, children, is why we say "True danger comes from a wandering Spider." That Spider has forgotten the lessons of his ancestors, and he tries to become a fly once again. His misery, as he falls underfoot, and our misery, as we are poisoned, are the result.
Of course, the tale of how the Spider grew into man is a story for another time. But still, we all come from the Spider, and it is only by building our webs in our hearts and minds that we can stop buzzing around mindlessly and find peace.
Yet because they always moved in great numbers, in great swarms, the race of man persisted.
One day, when the world was still raw, a young fly, unique in the world, beheld his race and despaired. He understood the fate of the fly. One day, be it tomorrow or in several moons, it was his lot, and that of his people, to meet his end in the gullet of the bird or the lizard. He knew that from the air or from the ground, his fate would be soon if he followed the ways of his people in their busy, mindless search of food. But he also understood that his people did not have to live this way.
He set out to learn the ways of the elder brothers and sisters of the jungle, that he might be spared this fate. He traveled long, from the carrion of a seagull on the sands of the Great Void sea shores, through the savanna plains of the lowlands, to deep in the heart of the jungle at the base of Mount Gulthark. He did not stop until he reached his goal, the king of the jungle; the mighty jaguar. Surely, thought the fly, the age and maturity of the race of the jaguar could provide the humble fly with the answers he sought.
The jaguar laughed at the little creature's request for knowledge, but indulged the fly nonetheless.
"You wish to avoid a violent death? You wish to avoid being livestock of other creatures? You would prefer to be master of your own destiny?" he challenged. "That is easy! Behold my mighty jaw! Look upon my claws and sinuous muscle. I fear not death from the monkey or parakeet not - it is they who fear me!
"I take what I need to survive. Through strength and brute force I live without fear. With my power, I keep myself and my race safe and our bellies full."
The fly heeded the jaguar's words. Strength and aggression were what his people lacked. With this knowledge, he returned to his people, and his people knew aggression. No longer would they need to dine on the scraps that others left behind. No longer would they wait for flesh and fruit to be discarded. They would seek out living blood for their meals.
And thus, mosquitoes were born.
But they still were not safe.
The young fly continued onward in search of wisdom for his people. This time, he abandoned the jungle, and flew to the savanna for surely, thought the fly, the wisdom of the jungle was too bold. He came across an armadillo, busy unearthing tubers and grubs in the grass.
"Elder armadillo, what is the secret to your life? How are you able to live without constant fear of death?"
To the fly the lumbering creature responded, "That is easy, tasty one." he snapped, hoping to secure another meal. The fly persisted, dodging the beast while listening to his advice. "My armor is all I need to survive! No hunter dares attack me. I suffer no harm because any predator knows he will never pierce my hide!"
Defense, that is what my people lack, thought the fly. He returned to his people and they knew defense. He outfitted them in splendid armor that gleamed in the sun.
And thus beetles were born.
But they still were not safe.
Disheartened, the fly wandered aimlessly. Surely no elder in the jungle, no sage of the savanna, no creature throughout the land could help the fly. He rested on the leaves of a jungle tree and lamented his failure.
Hearing the sobs of the young fly on his boughs, the elder tree asked, "Little one, why do you cry?"
"I am of a people who know no rest. We wander without purpose and become fodder for the birds and the lizards. Our hearts are on edge, and our minds are blank, too preoccupied with survival to have any greater understanding of the world.
"I have asked the elders of the jungle and the elders of the savanna, how we might better ourselves. Aggression changed us, but it did not give us comfort. Defense changed us but it did not give us rest. I fear it is our lot to forever live in the shadow of a doomed fate."
"Little fool," bellowed the massive tree, "You look for peace in a world of conflict." He sighed, "such a thing does not exist. Such a thing cannot exist.
"But in my world there is peace, you see. Little fool, stay here in my branches, build for yourself a home. Here, you can make your peace."
"But what will I eat?!" responded the fly, "How will I find food?"
"Silly little fool. Why do you long for that which is all around us? The jungle provides. Build your home and you need not worry."
The fly listened intently and did as the elder tree advised. He tore off his wings and cut them to shreds. With them, he built for himself a web in the branches of the tree. There he lived peacefully, safe in his home and always provided for.
In this way, the Spider was born.
Children, remember this: The fly found tranquility when he looked inside of himself for the answers he sought. He found peace when he built for himself a haven of safety. Aggression helped him not. Defense helped him not. These are things for dealing with the outside world, but they have no reward.
This, children, is why we say "True danger comes from a wandering Spider." That Spider has forgotten the lessons of his ancestors, and he tries to become a fly once again. His misery, as he falls underfoot, and our misery, as we are poisoned, are the result.
Of course, the tale of how the Spider grew into man is a story for another time. But still, we all come from the Spider, and it is only by building our webs in our hearts and minds that we can stop buzzing around mindlessly and find peace.
~Oral Traditions of the Southern Nü Tribes
Monday, May 2, 2011
Chapter 1 - Part VIII
From the other side of the thick, stained wooden door of the cell, the robed man looked through the bars at Onion. She was a mess in her thoughts; her ears beet red, her face glazed over with hopelessness. The stoic strength present in her golden Nürish irises had drained away leaving behind the sheen of an overcast futility. What it was he had said that bothered her so, he could not decipher. Now, Onion refused to even look at the man. Whatever she was suffering with, he could not share in it.
"If there is anything I can do for you...?" he struggled, fishing for the proper words to provide her a modicum of comfort, "That is, if you need someone to talk to. I'll be here for a time before..."
"Away with you hated Eirdren scum! I will have my final days free from this strange, detestable culture." The Spider had been flicked from its web so effortlessly, and now so far from her home, no amount of venom she possessed could protect her.
Onion turned about face and focused her gaze upon on the wall to avoid showing the man her brimming tears. If she had seen him, she might have known his puzzled expression, his extended sympathies, and seen him quickly pack them away as the guard approached from down the hall to escort the priest out. He regained his composure and turned to leave.
"I will be back tomorrow for Cedric. I hope to make this up to you, whatever it was I had said." and the robed man was gone.
With that he left and Onion quickly felt oppressing weight of the stone slab of regret force itself upon her. With her tears dried, she tried to close her eyes and find the clouds, but they would not come. Her web had been destroyed and she would have to rebuild it again.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Chapter 1 - Part VII
"The Imperial Guard? They have a stake in the contests that go on in the Dance of Thorns. Each highway GuardHand might as well be a lord without a title. Their land is the road and their tax is a heavy one. So to keep the roads open, the receive money, bribe money, and a lot of it. They will carry out the dirty work of other players too, if the price is good enough.
"But the Enforcers, they are actually the living embodiment of the Empress's will. It is through them that she keeps a loose control over her subordinates. Every city in Heilth has group of Enforcers at their doorstep.
"They say that they are a relic of Ferl the Conqueror, the first Emperor of Heilth. He united the warring states one by one, and in each he left behind a few of his own personal guard. These were men and women he trusted with his life, people he had vetted and developed strong relationships with. It was the only way he could ensure his rule and law were respected by the nobility.
"Simply put, they can't be bought. Enforcers are rotated throughout the empire and report directly to the Empress herself. They get no bribe money because they have no loyalties to the land, they've got nothing the nobles want.
"They are an honorable bunch, in my opinion. They would know an unconscious Nü poses no threat. Had the Guard killed you at that point, the Enforcers would have treated it as murder.
"Imperial Guards usually try to stay out of the Enforcers' way as much as possible, anyway. The Enforcers are better equipped and better trained so those bastards get their dirty work done before anyone arrives. That is why you live."
His explanation still sinking in, Onion's mood sunk into a hateful mess of reflection. "You have a strange culture, Eirdren. But it does not matter. The result is the same. Why bother with this drawn out process when my death is inevitable? Would that I had died that day with my brothers in the field of battle!" Onion violently waved her hand, dismissing the robed man. She wanted nothing more to do with him this day.
She had little new information save the knowledge that even in his last moments, Rejnev had singled out his little sister and protected her before any other; before himself. Onion knew that his knowledge of this foreign world was extensive enough to understand what would happen. If she had fought, her death would have been certain. Instead, he didn't allow her even the choice.
Onion hated her brother for his self-sacrifice. She hated him because she missed him. His wild, optimistic and strong face, dear brother, never again to be seen by the warm rays of the sun.
"But the Enforcers, they are actually the living embodiment of the Empress's will. It is through them that she keeps a loose control over her subordinates. Every city in Heilth has group of Enforcers at their doorstep.
"They say that they are a relic of Ferl the Conqueror, the first Emperor of Heilth. He united the warring states one by one, and in each he left behind a few of his own personal guard. These were men and women he trusted with his life, people he had vetted and developed strong relationships with. It was the only way he could ensure his rule and law were respected by the nobility.
"Simply put, they can't be bought. Enforcers are rotated throughout the empire and report directly to the Empress herself. They get no bribe money because they have no loyalties to the land, they've got nothing the nobles want.
"They are an honorable bunch, in my opinion. They would know an unconscious Nü poses no threat. Had the Guard killed you at that point, the Enforcers would have treated it as murder.
"Imperial Guards usually try to stay out of the Enforcers' way as much as possible, anyway. The Enforcers are better equipped and better trained so those bastards get their dirty work done before anyone arrives. That is why you live."
His explanation still sinking in, Onion's mood sunk into a hateful mess of reflection. "You have a strange culture, Eirdren. But it does not matter. The result is the same. Why bother with this drawn out process when my death is inevitable? Would that I had died that day with my brothers in the field of battle!" Onion violently waved her hand, dismissing the robed man. She wanted nothing more to do with him this day.
She had little new information save the knowledge that even in his last moments, Rejnev had singled out his little sister and protected her before any other; before himself. Onion knew that his knowledge of this foreign world was extensive enough to understand what would happen. If she had fought, her death would have been certain. Instead, he didn't allow her even the choice.
Onion hated her brother for his self-sacrifice. She hated him because she missed him. His wild, optimistic and strong face, dear brother, never again to be seen by the warm rays of the sun.
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