Chapter 1 - Part IV

Onion's curiosity was piqued. There was little to lose by attempting to communicate with the man. If life was already lost to her, perhaps, she mused, it would be worthwhile to learn what she could.

"Lin jak!", Onion yelled and drew the man's attention to herself through the bars of her cell. His sobs ceased entirely, clearly surprised that she would breech the walls of his own prison of personal misery. The pale man raised his index finger to the center of his forehead and pressed the side of the finger over the bridge of his nose, a sign of respect and reverence to Rel.

Pointing to the man she raised her voice in question "Nürish?" Maybe the Spider would be kind to her this day and reward patience with luck. It was not unheard of for mainlanders to interact with the Nü and other peoples of the northern and southern Outer Crest. Perhaps this man might understand something in her homeland's tongue.

"Little word," he responded. The words may have been hampered and jarring to a native speaker, it nonetheless carried the sweet scent of the familiar. In spite of herself she allowed herself this small victory. "Fish-merchant of Nü. Made purchase of Fish-merchant of Nü.

"What is to become of us?" she enunciated very slowly, pointing to herself and the pale man.

"Bad fish. Bad fish dead soon." Trudging through his thick accent and extremely limited vocabulary, Onion was able to learn of her impending fate. That she was to die was of no shock or distress. What was more difficult to ascertain were the questions when and how.

The high courts of Eirdred, Sandor and Lithen all waltzed their own way, but the elaborate show of aesthetic prowess was displayed at an entirely different level in Eirdred. More a dance of preordained steps, murder, betrayal and espionage were all fair plays, so long as the rules were followed. Lady Archne had shown her hand, made her move and was successful. Now her displays of mourning and vengeance for the fallen would wash her hands of their blood. The Lady would pour out manifestations of her loyalty to her dead husband and the theatre of bloodshed would be devoured by an eager audience willing to see someone, anyone, pay. The death of Onion and her pale friend would be the culmination of days of feasting, wailing and shows of bravado and force as hundreds of minor Eirdren lords and ladies from across the province gathered to its capital city.

There is a saying in Eirdred, Rejnev once told Onion. "When there is death, the orchestra begins." This was an event the Eirdren nobility looked forward to. It was during these days that many alliances and plans of betrayal were carefully crafted as power vacuums were sealed.

The man cut off his explanations when the guard came over and roughly blathered some Eirdred gibberish to the pale man. The Archne chef quickly fell to his knees and again pressed his finger to his forehead. The guard left but returned shortly.

Another soul on this web?