[quote=@Odin]
After the fight, Ketill was brought to a new room, though from the adrenaline and the blood seeping from his body, it felt more like a blur, everyone and everything moving past him in vague streaks of color. As the guards dragged him past people left and right, who seemed more concerned with looking at him than moving out of the way, one of them handed him a rag and ordered him to put it against his wound. Ketill followed suit – not because he understood the man, but because there was nowhere else to put the rag. <[i]‘’Ya Sawarim, for a beast that can’t be hurt he bleeds a lot,’’[/i]> one of the guards said to the other, earning a laugh while they rushed him further.

The healer had been expecting someone it seemed, though from the surprise on the man’s face it seemed like he had expected Ketill to leave in a casket, and for Sa’aqr to need some patching up. But despite that, he got to work quickly, ordering Ketill onto a bed and pushing him onto his side. Within a few seconds of arriving the guards had disappeared, leaving the healer to sew up Ketill’s wound. <[i]‘’You’re coming here far too often,’’[/i]> the old man said while he worked, <[i]‘’to your credit, most slaves don’t live long enough to come here twice.’’[/i]> With a needle made of bone he pricked Ketill’s skin through, but Ketill didn’t flinch or whince from the pain, focusing himself on the wall in front of him. Soon enough the man had fixed him up, and rather than let him rest, the healer called the guards back and told them to escort him out. 

<[i]‘’Why we keep healing this Monarchist dog, I don’t know…’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’If his Monarch was so caring, wouldn’t he heal the wound for him?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’That’d mean his God was real.’’[/i]>

The two guards continued to squabble as they escorted Ketill back to his chamber. Once again people crowded around them, only making room for them to move past when the guards almost forced them to move. While most people would be deeply saddened by the loss of Sa’aqr, if not for emotional reasons then for political ones, the people seemed to care very little for that at the moment, looking at Ketill as if he was some prized horse, nothing more than a chained beast that did the bidding of his master. It was the truth, no? 

[center][youtube] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xxH94adsho&ytbChannel=TheHobbitOfBagEnd17 [/youtube]

[b]No. It was not.[/b][/center]

When one particular noblewoman stepped too close and attempted to halt the guards, Ketill lashed out, stepping closer to her and yelling at her, not in Broacienien or Sawarimic, but in the Northern mother tongue, which sounded like incoherent rambling to anyone not familiar with it, and like a strange accent with strange words for anyone versed in Broacienien. The woman stepped back, the fear visible in her eyes even when the guards reached out and held Ketill back, pushing him forwards towards the hallways again. [i]‘’HORFÐU Á MIG!’’[/i] Ketill then yelled at the woman again, once again being pushed forwards, down the hallway.

He was not a chained beast – not any longer. Najla had not realized it but she had set him free, she had taken the shackles from his neck and from his wrists, from his ankles too, and allowed him to move freely. He was now completely part of her demise – he was the centrepiece that the Gods would shove around in her fate that would ultimately kill her – or worse, kill her family and leave her sitting in the bloodbath, wondering what she had done to deserve it all. As he walked, Ketill’s mind began filling itself with the buzzing sounds of the music of the Gods, the whizzing sounds of the bones on ropes swinging around that could be heard for miles, the beats of the drum, yes, even the sound of Audrun’s many daughters, singing their songs together with their brothers. It was all there. It all made sense to him now, and even with the pain of his wound stinging him, he laughed. 

The guards looked at him as if he had gone insane, shaking their heads as they dragged him along then, with Ketill stumbling a bit. They finally got to his chambers, and opened the door. Without much care they tossed him inside, before slamming the door shut. <[i]‘’Did you hear him laugh?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Don’t talk about it. I prefer not to think about him. It seems that the Sultana has broken him after all,’’[/i]> the other guard answered. <[i]‘’I thought he’d always remain an beast. Now he’s just an animal.’’[/i]>

As Ketill came to rest in his room, the drums, the whizzing noises, the singing in his head, it all disappeared again and made way for the empty silence of the desert through his window. Slowly he stepped closer to the window, putting his hand on the windowsill first, then his other hand on the edge of the window, more upwards. He stepped into the windowsill, pulling himself up and looking over the vast desert ahead of him. For one moment he felt like a king – all this was his now, this worthless sand was of no value, but it was his. No, that could not be true. If it was true, he could leave, but it was not his time yet, not yet. [i]‘’Then what is it that they are waiting for?’’[/i] he softly mumbled to himself, before looking up at the sky. [i]‘’What are you waiting for still? [b]Answer me![/b]’’[/i] There came no answer, and Ketill’s eyes dropped to the ground below. Was that the answer? He leaned forwards, getting a closer look at the ground below. It was a steep drop, some fifteen meters to a small cliff, and then another ten or so meters into the sand itself. 

He leaned back then and closed his eyes, the music of the Gods filling his head once more. It seemed to be the answer, but if it was this what they wanted, why had they given him the signs before? Was it all a trick? The cool breeze coming in through the window felt good on his face, and he breathed it in deeply. Yes, it was well. All was well. He lifted his foot and moved it forwards, floating effortlessly in the air outside the castle then, outside his window. He let it hang there for a moment, and was about to take the final step when he heard the door open behind him. 

[i]‘’Ketill, do you nee- Ketill!? What are you doing?’’[/i]

Slowly he turned around, for Yasamin to see his tired face. Slowly he pulled his foot back, before turning around and stepping down from the windowsill. While the answer might have been obvious, his answer was far from. [i]‘’Meeting the Gods,’’[/i] he slowly spoke, a faint grin on his lips as he looked at the woman. 

[i]‘’Gods? There is only one God, what are you even talking about?’’[/i] Yasamin replied, her face distraught over what she had just witnessed. She inched closer, taking a look at where he’d been wounded. [i]‘’They didn’t even take the armour off,’’[/i] she mumbled. She began untying the leather straps, and then took the armor off, leaving only the tunic underneath, which was seeped with his blood. [i]‘’Ya Sawarim, look at this…’’[/i] 

Ketill didn’t let her look for too long, waving away her hands and moving to the bed, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. [i]‘’Go, leave. Get me food and wine.’’[/i] Normally he wouldn’t request wine, but just ale, but he needed to drink for his own sanity. 

[hr]

For several days he’d rest, the wound closing up leaving a grotesque scab while it healed. The armour was retrieved by some guards later, as it seemed rather unfitting for the slave to own a set of ceremonial armour. However, soon enough he’d be dragged back out and made to wear something else again – for once not on the order of the sultana, but rather the sultan himself. The ultimate goal of it was rather confusing, and Ketill’s initial thoughts went to a punishment for killing Sa’aqr, even though that had been the purpose of the fight. But it didn’t seem to bother the Sawarims when they were hypocritical and as far as they were concerned, a Monarchist dog wasn’t someone to treat with decency anyway. Understandably so – they faced the same treatment in Broacien. 

He was retrieved early in the morning and once again sent to the bathhouse, this time without Yasamin. A set of two slaves washed him despite his protest, and made sure to clean the wound and bandage it after he was done in the baths. They took extra care to bandage it extra thick, so that even if blood would come out, it’d not stain his tunic. Though the purpose of this was unknown and seemed to indicate something other than his punishment or execution, it was wishful thinking according to Ketill. The Sawarim obsession with cleanliness meant that even if they were going to execute him, they might just be cleaning him for that. Nobody would want to touch a filthy animal like him, after all…

After they dressed in, putting new pants on him as well as a blue tunic with golden trims on the sleeves and the low v-shaped cut on the neck. The final touch was a dark leather belt that they tightened around his waist. They were about to put him down next to a small stone water basin when he spoke up, expecting the slaves to speak Broacienien. [i]‘’Is today the day?’’[/i]

The slaves kept working, not answering him until he asked again. [i]‘’Are they doing it?’’[/i]

[i]‘’We’re not allowed to speak to you,’’[/i] one of them answered, a frail man with the build of a scholar. He was not olive-skinned, so the assumption that he’d been from Broacien seemed correct and his accent only confirmed it.

[i]‘’Today they kill me then,’’[/i] Ketill answered, being forced over the stone basin of water. He gripped the edges of it and peered down into the water, staring at his own reflection.

[i]‘’No,’’[/i] the man answered, extending his hand to the other slave, a woman with darker skin than him. She handed him a pair of shears and the man immediately pushed it up against Ketill’s head, beginning to trim his hair down a bit. [i]‘’Now shut up. Don’t move or I’ll cut your head instead, and they’ll kill us both for that.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Why are you cutting my hair?’’[/i]

[i]‘’I said shut up. This isn’t the Sultana that ordered you here – she couldn’t care less if you looked presentable as long as you can kill. You’re here for the Sultan himself. Don’t talk, unless you are spoken to. Now, shut up.’’[/i]

The snipping of the shears was mildly annoying, but as Ketill stared at the reflection in the water it seemed to matter little. While he had maintained his hair himself and occasion had let Yasamin cut it, it had grown out a bit recently. After a while the man grabbed his head and forced him to turn slightly, allowing him to trim off the edges of the beard which had grown rather wildly. Now his beard was tamed back into a more respectable shape, which was perhaps somewhat unfitting for a slave, because for once Ketill looked like a regular man, and not the animal he was portrayed as.

[i]‘’You’re done. Go see the guards outside,’’[/i] the slave told him while taking the stone basin out of it’s holder, that was now filled with water and hair, and moved to empty it somewhere. Ketill got up and moved his hand through his hair and beard, shaking loose some hairs that didn’t fall out yet before turning to the doors out of the bath and left. Outside, the guards were waiting. Now that he realized who he was intended to serve today, he also realized why the guards looked so unfamiliar. 

[i]‘’I’m ready,’’[/i] Ketill told them, clapping and rubbing his hands together to get rid of the little hairs on them. The guards merely raised their heads, grabbed him and pushed him forwards. They seemed entirely unwilling to make small talk with Ketill nor explain what was going on – in fact, now that Ketill thought about it, Najla hadn’t mentioned this either. Perhaps she was unaware of it happening. Even if she was, this was the Sultan’s orders, so it wasn’t like she could get mad over it. Knowing her, she’d probably be happy that Ketill wasn’t around to be a bother on her mind for once. 

He was brought to the Sultan’s great hall – or rather one of the many – where he regularly received foreign dignitaries from tribes, villages or other cities, as well as Broacienien diplomats who tried to mediate, usually without results. Although this was very secretive, there had also been foreign dignitaries from a newly discovered people, who lived far to the south, much further than the Sawarimic sultanate had ever expanded its borders. The two cultures had been separated by a desert that stretched so wide, it took weeks if not months to cross it conventionally, but explorers from this new people had found the Sawarim sultanate. Rather than immediately invading, it seemed they were more interested in trade and peace – but how long would that last. 

The original meeting had been postponed for a while, as the crossing of the vast desert was an undertaking on its own – but the discovery of a route with plenty of oases meant that this meeting could occur sooner than many people had believed – many had even believed it’d never occur at all. But now, the dignitaries had arrived, and entered the city without much splendour at all. Perhaps a political move, but the existence of these people was a secret to most except the highest of the highest within the sultanate. And, now, Ketill was included in that, though not for any good reason.

When he was brought in, he was made to stand next to the sultan’s throne – if you could call it that, since it represented something more resembling of a lounge in one of the many gardens in the palace, though obviously much more luxurious. It seemed like everything today had been put in order to specifically impress the dignitaries, from the arrangements of the guard’s positions, to the locations of the cushions in the lounges for the harem girls, to Ketill’s chain placements.

The guards put him in place and were quick to put a set of chains around his wrists, connected to the wall behind him. While the chains were long, at three meters, it seemed that this had been specifically made to allow him to move around without reaching the sultans throne, which was just half a meter further. Even in the worst case, Ketill could not reach him, unless he freed himself from the heavy chains. 

He was made to stand there then, waiting for others to appear. It wasn’t long until a good batch of harem girls entered the hall, seemingly the finest of the finest among them, and took their seats in the lounge arrangements. They simply chatted among themselves, some shooting some glances at Ketill while he stood there, waiting for whatever else was going to come in.

More and more guards poured into the room, trickling slowly but certainly, filling the corners of the room, standing between the entranceways and at either side of the stairs that would lead up to the throne. Rather than the common guard outfits, they were seemingly outfitted in the most extravagant armours, wielding only the most beautiful of weapons – ceremonial, so their effectiveness was likely something that left a lot to wish for. To Ketill, it seemed like whoever was entering the hall today was surely a bit more special than the average guest. 

He could not be more right, it seemed. Once the Sultan had arrived, it only took a few minutes before the guests to appear. At the front of the group were a set of guards, armed with long daggers that they cradled in their arm while their other hand would hold spears, the size of which was impressive, surely used to combat cavalry. They were dressed extravagantly in multiple layers of cloth, with the cloth wrapped around their heads and with a hood of chainmail over it, seemingly made of gold. Although it was the least effective material out of all to make armour of, it certainly looked nice – though to Ketill, who was a warrior at heart, it resembled nothing more than stupidity. But, these men weren’t here to fight. 

Following the warriors were a group of four slaves, carrying on their shoulders a large wooden plate between the four of them. The slaves, similarly, were adorned with gold, with golden neckbands around their neck, and armbands on their wrists and even their ankles. They wore pure, white cloths around their waist, exposing their upper body. It reminded Ketill of how he looked when he was sent to do battle and killing in Najla’s name, minus the golden accessories. Atop the wooden plate they carried was a large collection of gifts – two ivory tusks with inlaid gold and jewels, shields and swords for the Sultan’s children, artwork made of pure gold. It seemed their riches were without limits – normally this would have intrigued Ketill, to pillage and plunder it to honour the Gods’. All it did now was instil a sense of hate in his heart, for the riches that the sultan would receive, knowing that he already had all he had need of. 

Then came a row of two more soldiers, followed swiftly by a man that looked different. Normally, Ketill could have distinguished the country of origin from skin colour – the Sawarim were olive, the Broacieniens were beige like tree bark, and the Northerers were white as snow. The darkest were the slavers and some of the tribes that lived in the Sultanate, especially those close to the small rivers that flowed here and there to provide a stream of lush greenery in an otherwise void desert. 

But these men all topped even that – they were dark as coal, their skin shining and glistening almost. But that was not what set the man that followed the guards apart – it was his extravagant clothes. Atop his head was a dark red cloth, with white trimmings and detailing, draped to shield him from the desert heat and sun, over which he put his golden crown. For a culture that fitted their slaves with gold, it seemed only natural that the crown was equally as impressive as the rest. The shapes on it were intricate enough to catch the harem girls’ eyes, though perhaps it was merely the exotic nature of these men that had done that trick. 

His robes were equally as impressive, with more golden stitching on it than Ketill imagined you could even fit onto a set of robes. Then, over his shoulder, was the head of a lion, mounted there like a cape with the rest draped over his shoulder. It seemed to match his beard almost perfectly, the collection of his outfit reinforcing his status. Evidently, this man was the king of whatever nation had been found. And from how he looked – there was a lot of gold to be gained there. And also a lot of gold that he could use to buy an army. It was evident now why the Sultanate had decided to be more courteous than not.

[center][img] https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c0/Tekle_Haymanot_of_Gojjam.png/429px-Tekle_Haymanot_of_Gojjam.png[/img]
[b]Negusi Solomon[/b][/center]

The Sultan himself looked equally as good today, though perhaps he lacked the exoticness that enticed everyone to glare at the newcomers. Never the less, the Sultan moved up out of his seat when the slaves that carried the gifts set the large wooden plate down in front of the stairs. He moved down halfway rather eloquently, carrying himself with grace. Naturally, this was his home. <[i]‘’Greetings, friends,’’[/i]> the Sultan greeted while lightly bowing his head to the foreign king. <[i]‘’Negusi Solomon,’’[/i]> he then added, greeting the king himself specifically.

<[i]‘’Likewise,’’[/i]> the king returned, similarly bowing his head. The king spoke with a heavy foreign accent, but the languages matched closely. Perhaps, years ago, long before either of the two kingdoms existed, they had been part of one greater culture – with a similar language. Although it was evident that the two languages were different, they were so close that they might as well have been dialects of one another. <[i]‘’Sultan Kamil al-ibn-Wahad,’’[/i]> the king added, before he raised his face to meet the gaze of the Sultan. He looked around the room, his eyes falling on the guards, the harem girls, and then Ketill, staring at him a bit longer than the others. <[i]‘’A chained man?’’[/i]>

The sultan merely folded his hands behind his back, glancing over his shoulder at Ketill, before he calmly looked forwards again and stepped down the stairs more to stand on equal ground with the king. <[i]‘’No,’’[/i]> he answered simply, smiling at the man. <[i]‘’A beast.’’[/i]> 

A small stifled laugh came from king Solomon, who seemed amused at the idea of a man-beast. <[i]‘’His chains are steel, not gold?’’[/i]> he then further inquired. 

The sultan replied in kind, the question doing nothing to make him flinch. It seemed that, while Ketill was versed in the art of a duel with swords and axes, these men were jousting with words, and though it seemed less lethal, the stakes were much higher. But, at the same time, it seemed that the two were friends – despite the fact that this was their first meeting, ever. <[i]‘’Gold holds your slaves, because they are willing and much like man – gold would not hold him, this foreign beast. It is said only blood does. We have tried everything – tame the Daab al-Broacien with gold, women, food, alcohol. Only blood sates him.’’[/i]> 

The nickname that he gave Ketill piqued negusi Solomon’s interest, though he did not ask for more information straight away, merely nodding at the answer. He then turned and made a wide gesture at the gifts that were presented before him. <[i]‘’For you and your family,’’[/i]> he said, <[i]‘’the finest goods Ye’inyani Merēti has to offer.’’[/i]>

Once again the Sultan slightly bowed his head in thanks, offering his thanks for the goods. <[i]‘’My family thanks yours for the gifts,’’[/i]> he added, and king Solomon returned the light bow. <[i]‘’Please, negusi, let us sit, that we may discuss and eat together,’’[/i]> the sultan then said, gesturing up the stairs to his throne, where a small table had been prepared as well as seating for king Solomon. The king merely nodded, and walked up the stairs, his eyes resting on Ketill as he moved until he reached his seating, after which he sat down and looked forwards, where the Sultan was just sitting down as well.

The sultan didn’t even have to say anything, and the slaves were already bringing in plates with food, setting it up on the table, though Ketill had the idea that there would be very little eating going on. It seemed that curiosity got the better of the king, when he opened his mouth and asked the question he had refused to ask earlier. <[i]‘’You call this man the Bear of Broacien – perhaps it is the difference in our language, but I do not know this word ‘Broacien?’ Perhaps you would care to explain it’s meaning to me?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’It is not a word, negusi, it’s a place. Further North is the country of Broacien – a godless people, who worship their king. They are little and puny, not smart enough to even begin to challenge the Sultanate – but they make for fine decorations for our rooms.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’I see – so you marked his forehead with three dots, to mark him out as someone from Broacien? Surely, they are inferior, so they cannot mingle with the populace?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’No,’’[/i]> the sultan answered, reaching for a cup of wine, raising it to his mouth and taking a sip before placing it down calmly. Every movement he made seemed to be calculated and calm, reflective of his posture. <[i]‘’They are beasts that harm themselves – he did that to himself. He is, what they call, a ‘Servant’ of his king. They are perhaps the best their army has to offer.’’[/i]> The sultan smiled when king Solomon looked Ketill up and down, his eyes searching for more marks of self mutilation. <[i]‘’But again, they are not strong enough to challenge the Sultanate. For all their devotion, they are easily defeated.’’[/i]> For the ease of information, the Sultan quietly did not relinquish the fact that these very same little and puny Servants had done extremely well for themselves in capturing castle Coedwin, and had for years stopped any Sawarim incursions into the Broacienien lands. 

<[i]‘’It seems that the strength of the Sultanate was not exaggerated when my scouts reported to me then,’’[/i]> king Solomon answered, his eyes finally leaving Ketill’s body. <[i]‘’It is good, then, that the sultanate and Ye’inyani Merēti can work together as friends, not foes.’’[/i]> 

The comment seemed expected as the sultan grabbed his cup of wine again and held it up, toasting to the words that were spoken. King Solomonon followed the same movements, also raising his cup, before the both of them drank their wine, though rather than look up, both men stared deep into the others’ eyes even as they raised their cup, telling books about the stakes of the conversation.  

<[i]‘’A test of strength between our people would only lead to needless bloodshed – over what, a piece of sand?’’[/i]> the sultan then said when he placed his cup down again. Once more the king let out a stifled laugh, seemingly agreeing with the appraisal of the land they’d be fighting over – yes, a piece of sand. That was all there was. 

<[i]‘’It seems that way, though I have travelled through your lands for some time to reach this city. There is more than just sand here – your lands are good, as are the people.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’The entire sultanate thanks you for your kind words, negusi,’’[/i]> the sultan replied in kind, simply exchanging pleasantries at this point. <[i]‘’It would please me greatly if one day I could visit your lands, too.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Perhaps one day – but we did not come here to exchange compliments all day, did we, Sultan?’’[/i]> The kings reply was sudden – and culturally, it was likely very strange for the sultan to hear straight forward that they should move on. <[i]‘’After all, my journey is long, and it would be unfitting for a negusi to disappear for a month at a time.’’[/i]>

The sultan contained his surprise very well, however, and merely nodded, picking off some grapes from the plate in front of him and putting them in his mouth. <[i]‘’You are right, let us speak about our countries, one ruler to another.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Our traders have expressed interest in trading with your people – primarily with the city, here, but also the villages. I assume this would pose no problem, as trade is mutually beneficial. You receive goods, gold, and we receive other goods, gold and other fine items.’’[/i]> It seemed the king was very obsessed with gold, though from the amount he had on him, it seemed like it was plentiful in his lands, so perhaps he was merely using it as a persuasive tool. 

<[i]‘’Ah – our perfumes. They are very desired, even here in the sultanate. Of course, as the sultan, I can simply order them manufactured for your traders. I will arrange for the royal caravanserai to simply make arrangements for that, so it will be done,’’[/i]> the sultan replied, a smile on his face when he spoke of the perfumes. It was true that some of them were highly desired, and it could definitely be considered the pride of the sultanate when it came to trading goods. The king nodded in agreement, seemingly satisfied with the offer – whatever the sultanate had to offer he was willing to take. 

<[i]‘’Very well. It should be mentioned that the many tribes of Ye’inyani Merēti are always willing to fight for the right amount – in our lands, they are renowned for their skill in combat, and are feared by enemy and ally alike. Though we do not typically allow foreigners to hire them – an exception can be made, for the right amount of money. As a show of good will – I have prepared a gift and a small presentation for you, that you may see the power of our tribesmen.’’[/i]>

The sultan seemed relatively surprised by this, though whether that was feigned or not, Ketill could not tell – the entire conversation was a blur to him, and he understood little of what was going on. Their body language gave little away, as did their words – the Sawarim language was still too much for him. 

<[i]‘’Ah? I see. Very well, let us visit the courtyard, then,’’[/i]> the sultan said, nearly raising to his feet, before being interrupted by the king. 

<[i]‘’Ah, sultan… perhaps it would be an idea to bring your ‘’Daab al-Broacien’’ along for the presentation.’’[/i]>

To this the sultan nodded, and gestured at his guards nearby to unchain Ketill. They followed the command quickly, unchaining him and holding their hands on his shoulder to avoid him charging off at the two rulers. However, Ketill had no mind to do such a thing, merely rubbing his wrists as the clamps were removed.

[hr]

The group moved to the courtyard, where just a few days, perhaps a week earlier, Ketill had killed Sa’aqr. A troublesome affair for the sultan, but not entirely important at this point. As the negusi and sultan perched themselves atop the platform, the area now devoid of any life besides the two of them and their entourage, a warrior under service of the negusi entered the ring in front of them, stepping to the center and bowing before them, remaining bowed down until the negusi raised his hand and spoke to him. <[i]‘’Raise, now,’’[/i]> he said, with his words echoing through the courtyard. The sultan merely looked on, waiting to see what would happen.

<[i]‘’Sultan, I would dare my life on it that my warrior can defeat your ‘’Servant’’ with ease, if he is truly so tiny and puny like you say,’’[/i]> king Solomon then said, his eyes glancing at Ketill before moving on to the sultan, awaiting an answer.

The sultan milled it over in his head – although the warrior looked impressive, Ketill was known to defeat anyone that crossed him. Still, he had been injured recently, so perhaps the warrior would win – the only one that would have reason to be upset was Najla, though she would not speak up to the Sultan. Even so… for the sultan to let Ketill fight would mean the risk of having the foreign warrior die – an embarrassment to the king and sure to cause a disruption in the discussion. <[i]‘’You have seen the man – he is not tiny, nor puny. He is a beast, negusi Solomon,’’[/i]> he answered, solemnly looking forwards, facing the warrior. <[i]‘’Although I trust my own warriors, too, I would not bet my life on their victory against him.’’[/i]> 

Rather than feel insulted, the negusi flashed a wide grin, showing his white teeth. <[i]‘’So the Servants are not so weak, after all, then.’’[/i]> The sultan remained silent to this comment, looking at the warrior still, his eyes resting in one place as he entered his thoughts. <[i]‘’Perhaps we should give the Servant a disadvantage then, to even the battlefield?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Negusi Solomon…’’[/i]> the sultan began, raising his hand at the two guards that were holding Ketill, beckoning them to come forwards. Soon enough Ketill was standing in front of the raised platform. <[i]‘’See, here,’’[/i]> the sultan said as he gestured for them to turn him around. <[i]‘’Raise his tunic.’’[/i]>

The guards did as told and raised Ketill’s tunic, revealing the horrendous scars that the whipping Osman had given him had left behind. The negusi seemed visibly shocked at the scars, though he did not gasp or reveal it anywhere else other than his eyes and mouth. The grin disappeared as he looked at Ketill’s back, the scarred tissue seemingly enough to make him question his choice – no man with that amount of scars was to be taken lightly.

<[i]‘’A man that does not speak or scream when receiving those is not a man at all. If you ask me to let your man fight him again, I will not deny you, for I wish not to insult you so by denying your request. I simply ask that you rethink your request. For a man to fight a man is…’’[/i]> The sultan looked to his side then, looking at negusi Solomon, before finishing his sentence. <[i]‘’… fair. For a man to fight a beast… the chances are slim.’’[/i]> 

<[i]‘’Very well, Sultan. Perhaps we could let him fight one of your guards – he came here expecting a challenge. I’m sure it will match his expectations.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’As you wish – whomever draws first blood?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Agreed.’’[/i]>

Ketill’s tunic was let down again and he was moved aside quickly, out of sight of the sultan and negusi – they did not need to stare at a slave any longer than absolutely required. Instead of him, a guard was brought in – nobody in specific, just some random guard that happened to be nearby. He entered the ring and prepared to fight.

The negusi’s warrior was armed to the teeth, having a set of six long curved daggers in the cloth sash around his waist, as well as a sword and a shield made of reeds bound together. However, besides his sash and the cloth around his waist, he wore very little, revealing his upper torso. The muscles were clearly visible, and it was evident this was a man that had trained his entire life to be a warrior. The sultans’ guardsman however seemed better armoured, and it’d be a lot harder to draw blood for the negusi’s warrior. 

However, as soon as the battle began, the warrior rushed forwards, seemingly with the same ferocity Ketill possessed. Rather than wait for the other to deal the first blow, he simply rushed in slashing his sword while holding up his shield, and once his sword had passed once, he slashed it back. 

However the guard would defend, his fate was sealed – the warriors’ sword fell down into the sand while the shield hid any movements from the guards vision, and before he knew it he was on the floor. The warrior dropped the shield too and pulled out two of his daggers while diving on top of the poor guard, who could do very little to defend himself at that point. Without much force the warrior pushed the daggers beneath the mans helm. It seemed the battle was over before it had even really started. 

<[i]‘’No blood – but I think it is done,’’[/i]> the negusi said, getting up from his seating and clapping for his own warrior. The sultan merely nodded, looking at the warrior with a sense of interest. 

<[i]‘’It is. This man is one of those that would be for hire, then, I take it…’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Better – he’s my second gift to you. He’s a eunuch, so he can serve your women without problems.’’[/i]>

Although it was true, it would be truly stupid to let a foreigner guard the women, especially the sultan’s wives. The sultan merely nodded and smiled, getting up then and also applauding the warrior. <[i]‘’My greatest thanks, negusi,’’[/i]> the sultan then silently said, before turning and walking off of the platform to return inside. 

[hr]

<[i]‘’Let us break the discussion for the day – I have arranged for a guide to show you around the palace. I trust you will enjoy the company of my niece,’’[/i]> the sultan had said after a few more hours of discussion. The negusi had agreed, seemingly out of his own boredom with the negotiations. Ketill could only be relieved that he was released from his duties for now. He was escorted back to his chambers, and then left to his own devices. It did not take long for Yasamin to find out and, hurriedly, to come find him.

Once again she barged into the room, just as Ketill was preparing to lay down on bed to sleep. [i]‘’What happened?’’[/i] she immediately asked, slamming the door shut behind her with a loud bang. It seemed that the curiosity that harem girls possessed had never left her, though he had expected her to already know what had happened. 

[i]‘’The sultan needed me.’’[/i]

[i]‘’You mean the sultana?’’[/i] she corrected him, under the impression that he had misspoke and meant Najla, rather than her uncle.

[i]‘’No,’’[/i] he said, opening one eye and glancing at the woman, letting out an annoyed sigh at her remark. [i]‘’The sultan.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Ya Sawarim, oh Monarch,’’[/i] she hushed, raising a hand to her forehead, covering it with the back of her hand as if she was unwell. [i]‘’Who did you insult?’’[/i]

[i]‘’None.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Then you were sentenced for killing Sa’aqr?’’[/i]

[i]‘’No, I was brought in as a tablepiece.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Surely you’re joking? For what reason?’’[/i]

[i]‘’For some foreign dignitary – a man with skin black as coal, his teeth white as the snow.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Snow?’’[/i]

[i]‘’It’s- never mind. White as the whitest horse of the sultan’s herd.’’[/i] He forgot that, even if Yasamin was a Broacienien, she was born in Coedwin and had never left that place until she entered the Sultanate – snow was about as foreign to these people as a flying cow. 

[i]‘’So it was true?’’[/i]

[i]‘’What?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Oh, nothing. It’s just that I heard of foreigners entering the city – I thought it was just someone mistaking a tribal delegation for foreigners. But it seems they were right. So what was said?’’[/i]

Again, Ketill opened one eye and stared at the woman until she realized her mistake, and corrected herself. [i]‘’Right, sorry, I forgot you still don’t speak Sawarimic.’’[/i]

[i]‘’The foreigner gave the sultan gifts – gold, weapons, shields, and some sort of bone with gold and jewels on it – two of those bones, actually. They were very large, unlike any creature I’ve seen.’’[/i]

[i]‘’And the sultan? What did he give the man?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Nothing – but the foreigner is still in the palace. I suppose he’s staying a while – knowing the Sawarim they will-’’[/i]

[i]‘’Pamper him with gifts, yes, yes I know. Perfume, horses, lord, they’ll give him a Sultana if they’re in the right mood. I wonder who they’d pick, ah, maybe Aliyah, she’s just become of the right age. Marrying a foreigner must be a good prospect for her. Tell me, what did he wear? Was he just a diplomat?’’[/i]

Ketill shrugged then and closed his eyes, putting his hands behind his head while he told her what he remembered. [i]‘’Hm, robes with a lot of golden embroidery. He also had a crown, and a deep red cloth underneath it with trimmings. Looked like a king, I guess.’’[/i]

[i]‘’A king? Surely, that would be a good prospect for a marriage. His age?’’[/i]

[i]‘’When did I become your servant, and not the other way around?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Ketill, please, [b]please[/b] tell me. I’m dying to know, I’ll do anything for it.’’[/i]

[i]‘’If I tell you, you will leave right away and find someone else to bother. He looked about forty, perhaps older. His beard had grey already, though he looked like he could still go to war and partake himself.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Not bad, not good, right in the middle. I suppose it’d have to do for Aliya – what about his people?’’[/i]

[i]‘’You need to leave.’’[/i] 

[hr]

The next day the process was repeated with slightly less commotion. The negusi seemingly enjoyed his time in the palace, and the negotiations were bound to continue swimmingly. Ketill was brought in again, once again shackled to the wall. The discussion seemed a bit more casual now, with only a few guards from either side present there, besides the harem girls and Ketill. 

<[i]‘’… two daughters and five sons. And that is merely from my brother – my sister has had five daughters so far, and two sons – and she is pregnant again right now,’’[/i]> the deep voice of the nigusi echoed through the hall, as the sultan and negusi spoke of their families. It seemed that the topic of marriage had come up sooner or later, which was a prevalent method of unification perhaps for the Sawarim and the foreigners both. For the Broacienien family, things would be much different – the families were nowhere near as large, and marriage was a serious ordeal – there were only so many princes and princesses. For the Sawarim, for every potential spouse there were at least ten others that could fill the same spot equally as good. Setting up a marriage seemed to be the same as shaking hands at times. 

<[i]‘’It seems easy then. The only issue is who to pick – I’m sure there are many good potential spouses on either side, however.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’The niece I met yesterday was very kind, so if she is a benchmark for the others, I am sure it won’t be hard to find a suitable husband.’’[/i]>

The sultan smiled at his reply, seemingly thankful for the compliment about his family, while returning it in kind. <[i]‘’And if your good nature and traits are a benchmark for your family, then I am sure they will feel no regrets for marrying into it.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Did you have someone in mind then,’’[/i]> negusi Solomon inquired, his brows raised slightly in a questioning matter. <[i]‘’Tell me of them now, so that I can return next year with a selection of princes.’’[/i]>

For all his kind words, the negusi remained straight forward and honest – this much earned a laugh from the sultan as he leaned back and dropped a grape in his mouth. Thinking about it, he found himself coming up with one name – but it was the one name that he couldn’t promise. <[i]‘’I had intended for my cousin Najla to be presented when I first heard reports of foreigners. But alas, she is betrothed now,’’[/i]> he slowly said, thinking about other candidates too. <[i]‘’It would go against the will of the Sawarim to force a break of that betrothal. Perhaps it would have been good to send her away. She’s headstrong. Might have been a perfect fit for your people.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’She would’ve fit in perfectly, yes,’’[/i]> the negusi replied, sipping from a cup of wine as he leaned back. His eyes traced the harem girls now, no longer interested in the Bear of Broacien as it seemed. <[i]‘’Our women are strong. As strong as the men, even.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’You make it seem like women make up half your army now, Solomon.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’That would scare off many invaders, wouldn’t it? But no, our women manage the household. Whatever they say is law inside the house. Anything outside of that is the man’s authority. But there are not many men who can freely say they are fully in control even outside of the house.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Perhaps it’s different here – but I can’t say for certain. The niece I was talking about, Najla, she has made sure to prove otherwise a few times, and she’s not even married yet.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Perhaps her family raised her to be strong. It’s not a bad trait.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Her father is unlike her now, but her brother Harith is much the same. Basim is different – he’s more controlled. If I were a wiser sultan, I would fear that boy, as he thinks like a man with the wisdom of the world, but alas, I am not such a wise sultan, so I can feel nothing but love for him,’’[/i]> the sultan explained, before his mind wandered to the missing link. <[i]‘’There was also Jalil – may the Sawarim rest his soul – he passed away in Broacien.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Sultan,’’[/i]> With a sudden movement, negusi Solomon placed his hand on the top of the sultan’s hand as a sign of empathy. <[i]‘’My condolences. No amount of words can remove your feelings of loss, but perhaps they can soften it.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’It’s alright, my dear friend. He passed away some time ago, and time has healed the wound. It’s his family that should have had the blow of losing a son and brother softened.’’[/i]>

The negusi nodded at this and patted the sultans’ hand before pulling back and returning to his position of lounging, eyes befalling the harem girls again. <[i]‘’You keep talking about this ‘Broacien,’ and while I believe you when you say they are godless people, I cannot help but be curious about them. They are savages, I take it, but even savages must have culture, a language, purpose and tasks?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Their only task is to defile the holy lands, their language is one that sounds like death itself, and as for culture, it mostly consists of dredging in mud and swamps. Just look at the beast behind us, and you will see what people roam that place.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’May I speak to him then?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’As you wish, negusi, but you will not get a word out of him.’’[/i]>

The negusi rose to his feet, and straightened his robe out with his hands, smoothing them out downwards before he turned to face Ketill, who was still chained to the wall. His entire expression hinted at boredom, but that would change when negusi Solomon approached him. 

<[i]‘’Beast,’’[/i]> he said, confusing Ketill with his language from the start. <[i]‘’Do you speak?’’[/i]> 

Ketill could only stare, waiting for him to speak in Broacienien, or clarify what he wanted. But the negusi would do no such thing, his eyes piercing Ketill’s eyes in a deadlock. After a few seconds, the negusi merely repeated. <[i]‘’Do you speak?’’[/i]> 

When no answer came, the negusi only laughed, looking back at the sultan who also laughed – though, it would not be surprising if the sultan also feared for the negusi’s wellbeing. <[i]‘’What an animal,’’[/i]> the negusi commented, before reaching out to Ketill’s shoulder. Before he could grab it, Ketill pulled himself back, not allowing the negusi to touch him. Again the man laughed. 

Inside of him, Ketill could feel the fire rising. It was one thing when Najla or Osman punished him or spoke ill of him, but for a complete stranger to use him like some animal meant for their entertainment, it was not something that he could take any longer. He spat his insult, the only he knew in Sawarimic, before anyone realized how Ketill would react. <[i]‘’Your father fucked a horse to conceive you, horse-fucker.’’[/i]> Then, the clank of the chains could be heard as Ketill attempted to step forwards and beat the man down, only stopped by the length of the chains around his wrists. 

For a moment it went silent, as the guards looked on in shock, as did the sultan. Nobody was sure how the negusi would react – seemingly not even the guardsmen he had brought. Ketill stared at the man’s face, his own eyes spelling doom and anger, the negusi’s eyes spelling something unknown to him. But then the man burst out in laughter, glancing at the sultan with sparkling eyes. <[i]‘’The fire beats within him at least. Savage or not – they are fearless. Imagine having an army of men like him – big, strong, they don’t feel pain and are not afraid to insult anyone that stands across them. You could conquer the world.’’[/i]>

The sultan nodded slowly before looking at the table ahead of him, seemingly not reassured of the negusi’s words. <[i]‘’Yes, or they would break your back the moment you stopped giving them things to fight. Guards, please restrain him and return him to his chambers. I am bored of him.’’[/i]>

[hr]

Again, Yasamin was eager to visit Ketill immediately after he was returned, as if she could hear from a mile away that his door was opened. She barged in again, though this time she was met with Ketill standing almost right behind the door, forcing her to take a step back. [i]‘’What is it now?’’[/i]

[i]‘’I- I just wanted to ask if you were alright?’’[/i]

[i]‘’I’m fine. If that’s all then I’ll see you later.’’[/i]

[i]‘’No, wait, how was it?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Boring.’’[/i]

[i]‘’That’s not what I meant. What happened?’’[/i]

[i]‘’They talked about things that I could not understand. I believe Najla was mentioned about two or three times.’’[/i]

[i]‘’They mentioned the sultana? And not Aliyah?’’[/i]

[i]‘’No, just Najla. Is that all?’’[/i]

[i]‘’I suppose,’’[/i] she answered, and her eyes told him all he needed to know. She wanted to know more, but she also realized that he wouldn’t tell her anything more useful than that. She simply took what she could and left, leaving Ketill alone while she went to find the sultana and tell her all about what she just found out.

[/quote]