Hey, where'd everyone go? Did Chapter 5 just absolutely suck? Oh, well, maybe ya'll will like this one better.
Disclaimer: Narnia's not mine.
Chapter 6.
No sooner had Aoife stepped through the doors of the banquet hall than Suruv had announced the engagement of his daughter, Aoife, to the illustrious Shameth Tarkaan. She waded through all the flatters and suck ups that surged forth to congratulate her, and made her way up to the table where her father and Shameth sat grinning smugly. Afterwards, she faced Suruv in his office, and though she knew it would do her no good, she argued her case, trying her hardest to get him to change his mind. As expected, he refused, and felt even more smug as she stormed out of the room.
Meanwhile, Pericles was pouring over all the accounts and maps he could find, trying to come up with the best route for Aoife to take. Ideally, he would have liked it if she could have gone by boat, but with the strict international trade laws that had recently been passed, obtaining travel papers for one so highly known as she would prove difficult. He relayed all the information he found back to her, during the late hours of each evening, when everyone else was preparing themselves for a night's rest. They spent their time planning routes, efforts to obtain supplies, then an hour of so would be spent teaching Aoife to use a sword and a bow. While she was not much better than the average soldier, Pericles was proud of the efforts she had made, and could now confidently send her out into the unknown dangers of the world.
Things were still slightly awkward between them, the memory of her kiss engraved in both their minds. They found refuge in the awkward moments in developing their plans, but otherwise they seemed to have forgotten how to speak to one another. Luckily, they had enough to deal with to keep them busy, but neither one forgot it, and both knew the other was thinking about it as well.
In the meantime, Galian had won the last three tournaments, a feat unheard of. Suruv basked in the wealth his prospect brought him, and soon became the richest man in Calormen. He had everything he had ever desired: money, fame, and respect among his colleagues. Ordinary peasants cowered when they saw his convoy approach, knowing full well he had enough power to boil them alive if they so much as looked at him in a manner he did not like, and men he had once groveled to were now heaping high amounts of praise on him. They came to call nearly ever day, either for a dinner party, or for some sport, or just to chat, all events that usually ended in Suruv loaning them money with high interest rates.
One week before the match in Ilkeen was to begin, he received an announcement from his secretary that such a man had arrived today, and had hopes of joining Suruv for lunch. Suruv smirked, and as he sent the secretary away to make preparations, he wondered idly which Tarkaan this might be, how rich and powerful he was, and how should he impress this Tarkaan? Lunchtime came slowly, and finally, Suruv left his office to change into appropriate and gaudy attire before entering the room he had set aside for the special occasion. The Tarkaan he was to expect was already there, but it was not the sort of man he had expected to join him for lunch, if you take my meaning.
This man was called Ardeeb Tarkaan, and he was no ordinary Tarkaan. He was Lord Chancellor to the Tisroc himself, and considered to be the most powerful man in Calormen, as he was the man the Tisroc trusted the most to help him make decisions. He was normally a very quiet man, but when he talked, he was very charismatic. In fact, it was said he could talk even the wisest man into believing the sky was green instead of blue. He was thin, unusual for a man of his social stature, and heavily bearded, with a perfumed crimson turban and richly jeweled clothes. At the overwhelming sight of him, Suruv began to unwittingly tremble.
"Lord Chancellor!"he squeaked when he could find voice to talk, "what an unexpected but wonderful surprise!"he added, all the while planning his secretary's execution.
"I apologize for arriving on such short notice,"the other replied, in a voice that indicated he was not sorry at all, "I had hoped we could have some lunch together, perhaps discuss any benevolent gestures you might be willing to show the Tisroc (may he live forever)?"
"Nothing would delight me more,"Suruv said, though he doubted he'd eat anything. The first part of the meal was in silence, then slowly, Ardeeb breached the topic of the tournaments.
"That slave of yours, he's fighting quite brilliantly."
Pride swelled in Suruv like a balloon, "The praise of my Lord is better than any reward I could receive."
"Yes,"Ardeeb said dryly, pulling apart his chicken in a destructive manner, "We at the palace are curious, sir, as to how he appeared in your service, instead of the Tisroc's army, where superb fighters such as himself are needed?"
Cold sweat poured down Suruv's body like a waterfall, and for a moment he wasn't sure how to respond.
"Well...my Lord...when he came to me...he wasn't a fighter at all, just a worthless slave."
"I see. And you trained him to be the fighter he is now?"
"Yes, my Lord,"Suruv said quickly, knowing now it was foolish to be proud.
"That is interesting. Very, very interesting,"Ardeeb, mumbled, finishing off his food. Taking a deep breath, he continued calmly, "You know of the peasant rebellions in the west?"
"I have heard of them"Suruv promptly answered.
"And of the insubordinates on the frontier in the south?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"And the Thieves' Guild that has now reportedly set it's headquarters in the Oasis in the Great Desert, uncomfortably close to Tashbaan?"
"I have heard accounts, my Lord."
"Not to mention those idle, stubborn countries in the North that remain free?"
"They are hated to me, my Lord."
"I see. Well, I must say, I find it appalling that you know of all these events and still have not offered to contribute to solving these little problems."
"I have paid the appropriate amount of tribute to the military,"Suruv challenged, but a second later knew he should have kept his mouth shut, for Ardeeb began to grow dangerous.
"Do you dare contradict me?"he growled.
"No-no sir! I merely said that to make sure you knew my tribute was paid, and that those confounded collectors hadn't stolen it. Which brings to mind, there has been an incredibly amount of hoarding amongst the collectors..."
"That is irrelevant to why I'm here. You have trained fighters like this Galian to be killing machines, the very thing the Tisroc (may he live forever) needs in his military. He has sent me here with a proposition."
"A proposition, sir?"
"Yes. He would like you to train his troops to be the killing machines you boast so about, and he would like it if he could obtain any current fighters you might have now."
"You want me to train the military?"
"We do. We will let you finish this season, but after the fighting season is over, and not a second later, we expect to see you in Tashbaan to go over the training curriculum."
Half an hour later, Ardeeb had left, and Suruv was sitting in his office, reviewing what he had just heard. What he was worried about most was money. He was not foolish enough to know that training recruits would pay nearly as much as investing in fighters, and also he would more or less become a puppet of Ardeeb's and the Tisroc's (may he live forever). Then again, there would be much less risk involved, and more assurance that the money would still come in. As a trainer, his earnings depended on how well his slaves fought, which was usually an uncertain future. Not to mention, though Galian had brought him an immense amount of wealth, how much longer could he do so? He had already lived through three tournaments, more than any slave he had ever heard of. With each match, the odds for Galian's survival grew thin, and eventually, his luck would run out. When it did, Suruv would find himself owing many people who were smart enough to realize as much a lot of money.
Suruv had made up his mind. When it came to the question of money or dignity, Suruv always, always, picked money.