Klase had only so many moments before he was engaged by the King who had been leading the Primferan soldiers. The King of Primfera conducted himself with dignity, though he seemed to be suppressing some distaste. It was no shock to Klase that any king should prefer to have one of their own subjects attain honors rather than the subject of another Kingdom. Klase showed proper respect in both body language and tone but said nothing of real substance beyond thanking the monarch for the acknowledgment and also for the offer of patronage, however unlikely his acceptance would be. There was little enough time for such things and the King of Primfera seemed to share that thought, departing as swiftly as he had begun the exchange. There was no time to brood over the meeting. There was little enough time to save those who could be saved and he could ill afford the distraction.
The wounded who yet breathed and those whose minds had suffered the greater blow were being escorted to their homes or to nearby shelter where they could be treated. It was a swift and valiant effort. The common people of the city rushed to the aid of the fallen, yet for all the good will and determination of those who responded the cost had already been far too high.
The beast lay dead, oblivious and caring nothing about the level of harm it had wrought. This was no victory, not really. Victories were for warriors who bested each other in combat, battles of flesh and will where honorable conduct reflected well on the defeated as well as on the victor. This was merely the extermination of a pest that had run free too long. And Klase had counted the cost.
More than two dozen lay dead from Exodus alone, another half-dozen from Earthica had joined them along with a few who were difficult for him to identify by garb or appearance. In all, more than thirty people lay dead and more than a dozen were wounded but still breathing. If what Klase had learned about the populations of the Kingdoms was accurate then more than one percent of all humanity had perished already, and all because one mutated bear had learned to pass the wall. Such ‘victories’ could easily make humans extinct.
Klase felt little but bitterness, though he hid it behind a mask of stoic endurance as he worked to organize the chaos of the scene. Some would no doubt cheer over this victory. After all, a commoner without fame or title had managed to achieve such a kill, and in the sight of a foreign king as well! Surely this would bolster the pride of his fellow Earthicans and he had no doubt that it is what would be expected of him as well. The princess who would be waiting for him on the morrow would likely be expecting a head held high and a warrior prepared to receive a reward for such a ‘great feat’. Perhaps she would expect a show of loss or sympathy, perhaps a little false humility and self-depreciation. The thought of putting on such a show was enough to raise his bile and sour his spit. All he had really done was put a stop to an already devastating defeat before it became even more catastrophic.
His mood was as dark as the blood-stained mud that half-covered him.
The night’s grisly tasks distracted him from his thoughts as he applied himself with greater fervor but they did nothing to relieve the sick and hollow feeling in his gut. It was difficult to say who would survive from those who had been wounded. Even with careful tending, the odds of infection were high. Yet, they still had a chance to survive. Klase would not disgrace that fact by counting them among the dead. As grim as the night had been, the fight for survival was far from over. As bitter and bloodied as this trip had become since he came to this city, the dawn did eventually come.
A new day was creeping nearer, and it brought with it that awareness of the future that gives no peace. He had come to this place with tasks to accomplish. No matter this tragedy, those tasks still needed doing. No, they were even more important to accomplish because of this horror. And, with his newly earned notoriety, some of them would be far easier while one in particular could be nearly impossible. At least, it would be nearly impossible if he were alone.
“Da, I need your help.” Klase said quietly as the first rays of true dawn began to brighten the sky and warm the morning. The two men had been sent back to their quarters as more and more women and local citizens arrived to aid in the tending of the wounded.
The other four from their party had divided themselves up into two groups. One was busy skinning and dissecting the bear so that warriors from all kingdoms could study the twin skeletons that had made it so difficult to kill and train themselves accordingly. The other group was focused on getting the stall set up and preparing to be proxies for their companions who would be too busy making up for lost time to attend the full extent of the funeral ceremonies. Commoners rarely had the luxury of spending a full day in mourning the fallen. Survival and the needs of the many came first. And so, the two were alone in their room, seeking to cleanse themselves of the blood, mud, and filth of the night before.
No one was idle enough to suggest a fancy floral perfume or complicated bathing ritual when there were wounded and dying men downstairs. The two men made due with an ample amount of cold water and suitable soaps. Telt sat on the edge of a bed, his hair still damp from his latest turn at the tub. He had far less filth to clean off than Klase who had been unfortunate enough to be splashed with ample quantities of bloody mud, to say nothing of the other… leavings of the battlefield that he had handled during the clean-up.
“What is it, boy?” Telt showed his concern on his face but the look in his eyes spoke volumes of what he suspected.
“I don’t think that I’ll be able to go to the King. Not now that so many eyes will be on me. It would be… too dangerous. Can you deliver the… gifts that I brought for him in my stead?” Klase asked as he continued washing himself. The mud and scent of blood were proving a challenge to remove.
“I can do it for you, son.” Telt said without hesitation but he continued with the tone of a mild reprimand. “Just remember what we came here for, all of it.”
Klase paused for a moment as water dripped from his hair defined arms into the basin. His face was mostly concealed by his hair but it twisted into an expression of barely repressed rage and desperation as he remembered that he would have to ‘work and woo’ as soon as the mourning day was over and the festival resumed. His head turned and the two men’s gazes met and locked as firmly as blades. The tension in the room rose dramatically, but only for a moment. Klase closed his eyes and took a ragged breath, resuming his cleaning as he calmed himself.
“Duty remains… Aye, Da. I remember.” He said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Telt looked at his foundling son with sympathy, but his voice was firm and unwavering.
“I know you can do this, son. Remember that it doesn’t matter if the one you woo is rich or poor. Don’t close any doors that you don’t have to. Every lass and lady of age is a chance, well… unless they be married already.” Telt grinned a little, teasingly, at this little quip. “Not that you’d be looking for that kind of trouble, of course.”
Klase said nothing. He knew that his father was trying to improve his mood. But, he could not bring himself to do more than finish washing and begin his final preparations without a word. He had been informed that he was to present himself to the princess in her study after the formal mourning ceremonies were concluded. So, he needed to dress in mourning black. Yet, he hadn’t packed any black clothes. The necessary dye was fairly difficult to acquire back home and they hadn’t made any sales yet so he had no coin to use to purchase it. In lieu of black, he donned his most understated garb. It was still hunting leathers and tunic but it was of high quality craftsmanship in a dark brown with no embellishment and the tunic was a dark enough gray as to make his respectful intent clear. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, his beard was well combed and his blades were well maintained and rested upon his hips with a simple leather band serving to bind the weapons into their scabbards. He carried them in case of another incident but had bound them so that they could not be drawn quickly as a sign of his caution and honesty. He looked thoroughly respectable and respectful. And with a limited budget, there was only so much finery that could be expected of a nameless commoner from Earthica.
Yet, as he made a fringe appearance at the mourning ceremony near its conclusion, his appearance was the only thing that might have drawn reproach. His conduct was perfect. In fact, it was too perfect. No commoner should know such polished etiquette. Yet, it seemed effortless. His presence was subtle and unremarkable, making no stir to disrupt the proceedings, but his glacial eyes were piercing and intense. None of those few who noticed him could hold that gaze for long. He saw the Princess making her rounds, fulfilling her duty. She seemed… brave. She was shouldering an unpleasant duty with admirable dedication and honor. Klase was impressed.
He also noticed that he had been spotted by one of the guards, shortly after the princess had gone into the palace to continue her duties. That guard and he exchanged a brief but meaningful look that culminated in an exchange of subtle nods. Then the guard went inside, passing a whisper from one guard to another until one whispered in the Princess’ ear. She began working her way out of her social obligations and proceeding inside. Klase waited for a few minutes before he followed her into the palace. Once he entered, one of the guards gave him directions to the study where the princess would be waiting.
As he walked through the halls, following directions toward the study, all he could think about was the balance. The balance upon which survival depended. Not his survival, not even his country or kin, but the human species as a whole. His work thus far had brought back valuable goods from the brink of oblivion but he was bound to keep secrecy until his King decided to make it public. His sword had ended one small threat to human survival but not before it had exacted a terrible cost. It twisted his innards and the weight of his knowledge felt as though it would snap his very bones. But, a deep breath restored his composure, pushing the weariness and frustration deep into the brilliant depths of his gaze and it was with grace and poise beyond his station in life that he approached the study door. He was surprised that there was only one guard outside, a token of honor and care in a dark and distracted day. The guard opened the door and motioned for him to enter but did not announce his arrival with anything more than a discrete knock on the door’s frame. It seemed that this was to be an informal meeting after all.
His first sight of the princess had been in public and her demeanor had been perfectly maintained. Here too, in private, her composure held strong. Yet, it was too perfect to be anything but a mask. Klase could not blame her. He too was wearing such a mask. He greeted her with a perfect bow, precisely and genuinely executed. His voice too was respectfully soft, lacking any trace of the boisterous spirit and wild warrior pride that his countrymen had displayed prior to his arrival in the city. Yet, he was no mere bumpkin from the backwoods and his eyes seemed to be by turns, piercing and gently reserved. He knew she was a young woman who had secrets to keep, and respected them and her, even as he kept his own mysteries closely guarded.
“Princess, I am Klase Gale. I was told that you wished to see me.”
He was not blind to her beauty, but it did not confuse him. He knew of her wealth, but it did not entice him. He understood that his position would allow him to demand almost anything, but there was no sign of greed or desire in his demeanor. If anything of his inner state was perceptible through his mask, it was that he was weary and determined. That determination was the focused will of a man who looked at the pitiful tool in his hand and then set to work carving a mountain into gravel without complaint. Here was a commoner who carried the world on his shoulders and didn’t want it to show.
Though, he did find himself distracted briefly by the memory of his father’s words. In particular, he recalled that he was not to reject any woman as a prospect for his ‘wooing’. It was an embarrassing and frustrating thought.
Red Gypsy