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Much was the same as when he first entered his house months ago. The foyer was still full of warming light and the exotics still decorated the walls. But with the return of their master there was a proper greeting in store. Several servants came to their master’s aid. Some of them carried papers he could only assume were reports. Abu and Naradine slipped off their shoes. After which another servant picked them up and placed them in a cabinet by the door.
Reaching out Abu pulled one of the aids over. He grabbed him by the shoulder and gently pulled him down to ear level. The general whispered something in his ear and then patted him. The servant rose and approached DeLoren. “Abu wants you to follow me.” he said. This man was a puzzling alien-to-the-desert person. His accent was different, much different, as was his complexion.
He was a light caramel tan, like he this man was once white. His hair was curly; almost noodle like and a dark high-contrast brown. He almost looked like a northerner, but he still had many features that were Kahardian, such as his nose. His method of speaking was also different, but something DeLoren couldn’t quiet put a word to.
The man turned and began walking away. The Asgarnian hurried his step. As the two distanced themselves from the room DeLoren’s guide spoke. “So you’re the one that failed to get away.” he said in casual conversation, “Or, what happened?”

04-Feb-2011 02:23:21

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“I....” DeLoren said but hesitated as he organized his words, “I failed to talk reason in him.”
“’Him’ as in the person who was trying to escape and failed to help you?”
DeLoren was silent. The man laughed, “I saw him run. He and some other Ánthroopos. The way the horse was loaded up I thought he may have ever made it passed the pool. Or one of them would have fallen off.”
“Pool?”
“A small pond fed by the mountains. Most of the villagers get their day’s water from it. There’s a path way leading down to it by the racing tracks. You’ll probably be sent down to it one of these days to get water.”
“Oh. And, you don’t seem to be from around here? Where you from?”
“Al Carium” the man said turning to him, “Of course it’s been renamed in the past years. Al-Karid now. The Kharidian’s very own gate-way to the desert.”
“I was there” DeLoren said, “I helped to liberate it. It was my first battle in these deserts.”
The man stopped sharply and spun around on his heels. He glared at him. He seemed to have a certain fire in his eyes. “Carium isn’t much of a desert town.” He snapped, “Before the Sultan Amsanuf took it we were very unlike the desert. A separate nation!”
DeLoren could only retreat from his angry fire. Hoping not to be burned by his hard fury. But the man calmed and sighed, “I am Corronus Aletous. I was one of the Pronoia that provided the city’s last ill-fated defense. Once the walls fell I was sentenced to slavery and served the Emir that was appointed the region’s governor. I served him a few years. Then his son was kid-napped and he fell into solitude. My ownership then went to Hassan. Then he sold me. Several more men traded me. I got picked up and stuck with Abu-Bakr.”
“How long ago was that?” DeLoren asked, “You being sentenced to slavery?”

04-Feb-2011 02:23:33

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“About ten years now. Perhaps twenty… The name of the city was changed shortly after its fall. I got to see the first year of it being Al-Kharid. I was only sixteen…” Corronus paused in silence as he mulled over those years gone by, “But enough of that, Abu may be one of the softer masters I’ve had but he still doesn’t like it if we delay.”
The two continued. After rounding a corner they came to plain wooden door. “Beyond here are the servant’s quarters.” he said fumbling out a key from his belt and unlocking the door, “At the end of the hall is the slave’s room.”
The door creaked open. The room on the other side wasn’t nearly as well lit as the rest of the house. A few odd lanterns hung from the ceiling. The floor was quiet unspectacular, merely old bowing wood. Large single beds ran along the walls with the few and various possessions of those who slept there kept. The two walked down the center of the room to another door which Corronus opened. They found themselves in another small room.
This one contained a few more small bunks. The only light-source was a single oil lantern which hung down from the ceiling casting the room in a soft orange glow. To the right there was a second door.
“We’ve got a couple open cots. If you’ll let me write down your name and I can give you one.”
“Sure.”
“Good.” Corronus remarked taking a piece of charcoal from a shelf next to the door. He walked over to an empty cot at the end. “So, what is it?”
“Louis DeLoren” the knight responded and he scrawled it onto the wall. As DeLoren moved to see what it was he was writing he found it was hardly in the northern writing. Upon inspection many of the cots were labeled in the same way.

04-Feb-2011 02:23:52

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Looking at him he smiled, “At least then no one will take it.”
“How many are there?”
“In this house alone, as many beds you see: twenty all together. As for paid servants and the like about thirty. Many of which to try and make Abu’s coffee. The house isn’t big enough to support a full palace staff so many of Abu’s Hashan are employed for the brewing job.
“Now I’m sure Abu will be waiting for us. Come, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Corronus walked briskly passed DeLoren. The knight made sure to keep pace. “Do you know where he’ll be?” he asked with careful inquisition
“Likely in the dinning room, having dinner by now.* Corronus responded, “The cooks were already preparing his meal when he left for the races late this afternoon.”
The two walked the halls, re-tracing their old steps through the home of Abu-Bakr. Their pace was brisk and relentless. Corronus obviously bent on not being late.
Turning a corner they passed the main foyer. Glancing in DeLoren saw that a lone servant was busily cleaning the floor, the shoes having been arranged neatly. But he had little time to stop. Passed the foyer they rounded a corner, and came to a door. Something was familiar about the door. DeLoren had seen it before and he experienced a powerful feeling of Déjà-vu. He almost expected to look to his side and see Millard standing there, frazzled but still full of spite.

04-Feb-2011 02:24:03

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As they neared the doors the smells came. Subtle at first. But when Coronus threw open the doors and the smell of many fine foods spilled out from the inside. A tidal wave of sweet aromic wind. Carrying on it the scent of lamb, glazed with honey. The sharp and rich smell of freshly brewed coffee. But that was only the top. For underneath was the soft subtle scent of apples, pomegranates, grapes, and other fresh fruits. All in the instant of the opening of those doors.
He then remembered he was very, very hungry.
He was nearly tempted to approach the table. Although a modest meal, it smelled rich. His belly growled and his mouth drooled. But alas, there were no seats. He could also make no attempt at approaching the table where Abu and his retinue of friends, family, and upper officials sat and ate their dinner. Corronus reached out with a quick and firm hand to hold him back. “Last time a new slave did this,” he whispered, placing cautious wisdom in his ear, “Imal nearly cut off his nose with his dinner knife.”
The reality of this warning sunk in when he did eye the malevolent lieutenant sitting at the table. He had obviously seen him, for his cold eyes were affixed to his body. He could tell he was still angry at the slave. Not because he was a northerner, but that he had attempted escape. He would have him killed if he could, if only to make him feel better about Millard.
The two stood in a distant corner, waiting to be summoned to the table. It was a dreary, torturous thing. The sweat aromatic sirens of the meal calling to his nose and his hunger. But he had to stay. Or he may come to an ill-fate like the one Corronus described. It was painful, his stomach turned and rolled. It acted like it wanted to burst out and feed itself. Every time he moved Corronus caught him. He gestured to him silently to cease.

04-Feb-2011 02:24:15

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Meanwhile the men at the table clinked silver-ware and talked. It was all alien to him. All in the desert tongue. Khardian. The one language he set himself to learn months before but never went through. Odd words would slip through and he could understand them. But it granted no context or meaning. Words like “na’am”, “la”, or “Shallah” offered brief moments of clarity. But it was like looking through heavily frosted glass. Familiar shapes would dart into view then disappear.
Eventually a man raised his hand. He held two fingers up. Corronus leaned over to DeLoren and whispered, “That means two, and we’re the closest.”
He began walking towards the guest, throwing a look back to tell DeLoren to follow. Fearing for punishment he went forward with him. Leaning over his shoulder Corronus gathered up his plate and utensils and left for the kitchen. As he passed, Corronus whispered to him to get the cups. As he reached down to grab the cup he happened to look down. There he saw Irabah. Starring blankly at his frozen hand. He coughed lightly and DeLoren had realized he had come to freeze. Quickly, he snapped back to movement and darted out.
As DeLoren pursued Corronus he heard someone speak, and the table came to laughter. The knight was caught in a moment of embarrassment and fear as he left the room. Outside Corronus spoke to him: “Do not falter!” he snapped, “That was you he was talking about. Do not hesitate in your actions. You’re expected to know everything you are doing now.*
Following after, DeLoren could only feel crushed, “What was he said?”
Corronus paused, “He said: This slave must be as empty as that glass!’ Pray it was only that, and only from him. Now come on, we got to get these to the kitchen.”
They hurried on down to the next door in the hall. Ahead of him DeLoren could see the composition of one of the walls change. The air here seemed much cooler. But he was rushed through into the kitchen before he could determine what it was.

04-Feb-2011 02:24:37

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The kitchen was a hot room, even with the flames in the oven doused. The staff that manned it was busily scrubbing the room clean. The tables were topped with heavy slabs of wood which were foamy with soup. A lingering smell of sweet wood-smoke hung in the air from the now crackling wood-fueled stoves. There was a large bin on the other side of the room, filled with water. Corronus slipped the dinner ware he was carrying into the watery bins, as did DeLoren.
As they were leaving they passed more slaves passing into the kitchen, each with used dishes in his arms. “They’ll be finishing soon.” Corronus told him, “But Abu will be last. And they’ll dismiss themselves when he’s done.”
Before they could return DeLoren stopped Corronus. “Over there,” he asked looking down the hall with curious purpose, “What is that? A garden.”
“Yes.” Corronus said impatiently, “Now come on, let’s go.”
The two hurried back to the dinning room. There Abu and his company still sat at the table. Servants and slaves alike were weaving in and out. The master of the house still sat, a few bites of food left on his plate. But they were ignored; the man was deep in conversation with a comrade at the table.
Time passed and he finally finished. As he stood up a pair of servants took away his plate, silver ware, and glass. The party lingered for a moment before being led out. Their chatter dyeing as they walked down the hall. Soon, the room was silent. The slaves were all that were left. “Now, we may eat.” Corronus said as he went to the table. A few scraps still left out on it.

04-Feb-2011 02:24:56

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The staff closed in on the table. Looking to have what their masters had left. A few cuts of chicken, some fruits and pitchers with a few drops of various drinks sat on the table. They picked from the pieces left. “DeLoren.” Corronus said midway through a slice of chicken, “Go to the cupboard over there and fetch some glasses for us.”
DeLoren nodded and wet to the cupboard. He strode across the room, chewing on a small bite of meat.
The cupboard’s collection was sparse from the meal. But there was enough. He pulled out a handful of the small ceramic glasses, not much larger than a shot glass. He returned them to the table and laid them out for the others to grab.
“Tea?” asked a slave present at the table. Looking to the generous voice DeLoren found this man surprising. He was taken back, due mostly to his familiar apperance. Much like he – or like he was – this man was of pale skin. A nest of thinning blonde hair sat atop his head. His nose was short and round and he appeared that at one time he may have boasted a heavy build. But now his new service had thinned him. He still held a preserving aura of strength and boulder-strong endurance. But the physical signs had left. But emotionally and mentally he put forward a very confident and strong force.
“Thank you.” DeLoren said taking the jug he held out. He poured a small serving into his glass before passing it down the table.
“You think me a stranger.” the man said with a polite smile, “But I and you may be from the same place?”
“Aye?” DeLoren said, putting the small glass to his lips. The contents were sharp. With a powerfully cold presence of mint.
“I hail from Lumbrige,” the man continued, “or did before I joined the Crusades.”
“Falador,” DeLoren said, “It was ordained that I and my knight brothers come and serve the righteous cause in the deserts.”
“So you are a White Knight?”

04-Feb-2011 02:25:13

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“Was.”
“Aye, we are trapped here now. I feel I won’t see the golden waves of barley again. The clear blue skies and the cold autumn wind. I – like you – may only feel the burning sun.”
“How long you’ve been here?”
“Nearly a year. In the desert, since a month after the liberation of Al-Kharid.”
“I was there.” DeLoren said, staring down at his plate as the fierce fires of the city burned. Those frightening and exciting moments when they over-ran the city and ousted the ruling government at the edge of the sword. Then appointing of Robert Ridford, The Red Duke as the new governor.
“Combat from the start. I would’ve been sewing my next crop when the news came. It was at that moment that I felt this holiest of missions could come to succeed, so I picked up what gold I had in my possession, purchased what armor I could, and took me and my axe to war. I was captured fleeing an ambush two months later.”
“As was I.” DeLoren said, “Me and four others had fled the field when the Khardians attacked. But my escape was much of the choice of my horse, a cheap replacement of my old one. We were found some days later, two of my group slain and my self and another captured.”
“Where is the other?”
“Escaped on horse-back into the desert.”
“Then he is a dead man.”
“I fear that is so.”
“So what do you think of your new lord?” the Lumbrige man asked after a few moments of silence.
“There’s something about him,” DeLoren said in a slow and low tone, thinking of how it was to continue his answer, “he seems to be of a different league of lord than the men I followed here. He doesn’t think it, but even when I’m around him I can feel great…” he paused, “honor. I can only think I would’ve been flatly killed for running. But, he’s different.”
His partner in conversation nodded, “I am indifferent,” he said, “surely by now the Crusader lords would see us all traitors now. It’s probably best we stay with him.”

04-Feb-2011 02:25:27

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