It was a long, surreal walk back to Skaltun in the pre-dawn, though only staying up long enough to scrape the damned priest's runes off him. His chambers were comfortable, if perhaps a bit overly rich with the wealth he'd not known as a young man – baubles for the barbarian, the haughty Daran Pureblood aristocracy would quip behind their hands with a smirk, but he could take it or leave it. Even so, he had servants and the like to see to his needs, and one of those woke him with the summons; one of the others called the Guardians to their hall to meet for the first time.

Guardianship's burdens were already showing – he no longer walked through the city on his own, but with a small group of Daran youths serving as lictors; guards, couriers, body servants to a Guardian, for they were not unattended in public. They would call out the approach of the Guardian to an establishment or home and knock upon the doors with their staves to demand entry. It was all ceremonial, but Kanros didn't think these young scions of Pureblood families were likely to be worth much as bodyguards...and so he didn't get into the mindset of thinking of them as such. They were terribly serious, wearing the short tunics, bright green in hue, of their station, left bare legged so they could run and fetch or carry whatever was commanded of them, and in that sense they were a useful service to have. They were also terribly scared – some of their own died when the last Guardians were massacred. These clearly knew that – the pallor of their faces said much for their own apprehension.

His attire, however, was out of tradition – he wore a breastplate of lamellar, with its engraved ravens, for luck, upon the shoulder pauldrons and carried Vindurfang, as worn and old as the blade was, in a sheath that was newer than the blade, and decorated with gold and gems. Riffraff tended to carry much wealth on them, and the barbarian had always been disreputable enough to carry on doing so. He wore his hair, pride, joy and namesake that it was in staying jet black through the years, though his eyes had wrinkles around them now, unbound to his shoulders, held back only by a braided leather headband that he'd brought with him from all those years ago -- adorn himself he might (and some might whisper out of his hearing, like a slattern) he never did see the need to change that. He did wear the emerald green of a guardian, though as the scarf around his neck, to prevent chafing by his breastplate. Green was fertility, food and prosperity. It was the ancient color symbolic of the Guardians, a reminder of their duty of stewardship.

There was still a pall on the street that Kanros could discern, less people out and about even in the daylight. Crossing the Guardian's Circle, the center of town, toward the Hall of Guardians, an edifice that stood directly opposite the temple of Udrau on its hill, he saw little commerce. In most days, there'd be a throng here conducting business agreements in the sight of Udrau and the Guardians, along with the hired witnesses to make ratification of contracts legal, but today the place was silent and the commerce hushed. 

Trade was the lifeblood of Dara, the source of its revival. If people were too scared to make money, they had a crisis indeed...

The hall itself was simple to enter; two stout doors thrown open to signify that the Guardians were indeed actually in session in their Hall, petition-able by those that got past the lictors at the door. It was a bad security arrangement, for determined enough assassins could come through and kill the Guardians by overpowering the lictors, youths like the ones surrounding him, easily. Tradition forbade private guards, to keep the Guardians from becoming insulated by too much security as they conducted the business of the City – the warning was apparent; to occupy power in this place, you had to conduct your business behind one set of doors, guarded by youths who were not likely to fight off a determined mob very well, though they could sound an alarm and call for help. But if one was unpopular, who would come? That kept the system healthy, in a sense. A Guardian ruled for life, but law forbade them from being able to surround themselves with guards of their choosing, like a king, in the places where the Guardians made their decisions and carried out their duties. It left the public servant at the mercy of his public.

It was a system that prevailed for centuries, if not millennia. It was why many nobles declined the honor of being a Guardian. Something came through and killed the last bunch of Guardians, but it was a mystery – no one took credit and stood for election, as tyrant-killers had in the past, and no one was sure who did it. The rumors were fell, of some beast of shadow and flame, and there were scorch marks to prove it around the frame of the doors.

Kanros strode through as his lictors announced to the hall his presence. Inside, more scorches along the wall, though there were servants scrubbing it. The place was pleasantly shaded in the dark, built of stout marble with cracks here and there. It was a simple chamber, round in shape with a dome overhead, pierced with only a little light and lit by torch. It was simple and elegant, with simple chairs for the Guardians, rather than thrones of any sort. There were rows of benches for advisers and others that they would speak to, if they cared to summon such an audience or allow one, but it was, at the essence, a system very like a village's council of elders, but with more money at stake and certainly more danger. 

Anu was there again, along with the others, his one-time comrades. A few of them were still friends, others were like strangers to him. It was Anu who kept the laws, who saw to the rituals, minor in nature, of opening and closing a session. But he did not offer opinions on how to govern. He merely recorded the proceedings. When he saw Kanros, he thought he detected a cocked eyebrow for a moment -- apparently word of what old Sig had done to Kanros, what passed for a blessing among his people's gods, was on the tongues of others in the city. But the moment was gone, and Kanros was glad enough of that and the fact that he'd taken time when returning to his home to thoroughly scrub off the runes with soap and pumice. Kanros didn't like word getting around that he'd been taken unawares like that; it might give others an idea.

[b]“Guardians,"[/b] the old priest intoned, with a rapping of his staff upon the floor of the chamber, [b]"the session opens now. May Udrau watch and favor. May you rule well.”[/b] Darans; they were suckers for ceremonial observations. Spending so much day dancing and gesturing for the Gods seemed like a luxury to Kanros, who grew up in a simpler place with simpler traditions. And, remembering the arm of Sig around his neck, rather more painful ones. 

Kanros, once the short prayer was over, settled on the chair he picked for himself, mindful of his sword belt, and perched forward a bit; the lictors had arrayed their chairs in a circle so they could speak to each other and there were no summons or petitions for the day, not for a first and not with the city so scared to set foot inside the Hall of the Guardians – a glance at the Lictors, Pureblood youth for the most part, showed that they too were fearful. Alas, they were stuck until the Guardians were done and there was much to discuss. Kanros stood first, daring to be so bold as to speak first and break the awkward silence. 

[b]“First order of business,”[/b] Kanros articulated carefully, wary of the people here now, [b]“Who killed our predecessors and why? If we do not learn more, we are simply not doing our appointed duty. Also, if they killed the last Guardians, it's safe to say they might decide to remove us as well, and I don't intend to go down in a pile of green robes.”[/b] He smiled with that crooked, inappropriate smile he oft-times cracked, to the dismay of more staid sorts, as he pointed to the blood that wasn't quite washed out of the stones in places, where their predecessors had been slain, [b]“And undoubtedly, there are some outside of Dara, not to mention within, who will take advantage of that. This is when they will start striking the Great Spice Road.”[/b]

The vision flashed through his mind, but he avoided speaking of it. Kanros was a brave man, but that was something else. It was easier, in a sense, to go through the more mortal concerns, things tangible and easily addressed. Perhaps his hesitancy showed for a moment, but then his discipline reasserted itself and the posture and expression of a swaggering bravo took hold once more.