Hey. I have had writer's block for an agonizingly long time, and now I had inspiration for the third chapter of Matchmaker 1. I worked really hard to make this chapter work, so I don't want to find any flames in my in-box.
Enjoy to your heart's content...
Chapter Three: The Pharaoh's Summon
"Hurry up, Varey," laughed Rayah as he headed into his master's tent. "And be careful; Master shall become angry if you drop his medicinal herbs once again!"
"I am coming!" grunted Varey, trying desperately to keep the baskets balanced.
Only five suns had passed since Rayah had rescued the foreign boy back at the Nile. Krizt, his master, had agreed to keep Varey under his roof as long as the boy promised to do his fair share of work. It was soon apparent that the light-skinned boy was unaccustomed to any form of labor. He learned fast enough, but he was surprisingly very clumsy.
Their job was to separate the herbs, crush them, and put them in their respective baskets. Once they finished, they were to carry the baskets into the tent to be put into bottles. Currently, Rayah was easily carrying five baskets: two in each hand, and one balanced on his head. Varey, on the other hand, was having trouble with two.
He took a step, and almost lost his balance, but caught himself. He sighed in relief, but Rayah, finding this highly amusing, chuckled at his new friend's expense. He recieved an annoyed, halfhearted glare, which only caused the dark-haired teen to laugh even harder. Varey momentarily forgot his annoyance when he saw the older teen's silver-blue eyes sparkle happily and he could feel himself drown in the other's gaze.
The moment was lost when Rayah looked away, into the horizon. A frown found its way onto the tanned face, and Varey turned towards the horizon also. A cloud of sand and dust was rising into the sky; something was moving rapidly towards them.
"Come," Rayah said, all joking aside as he held the drapery at the tent's entrance open; he had caught sight of an emblem he had thought he would never have to see again, his eyesight being as good as it was, and he felt rage boil within his veins. "Master needs his herbs sorted..." Varey, trusting the other's instinct, hurriedly made his way into the tent as he did his best to keep the baskets balanced.
Once he was inside, Rayah followed, letting the drapery fall violently back into place behind him.
If Krizt noticed his irritation, he showed no sign of it. Instead, the master Healer trained his attention even more intently on a particularly nasty wound on his patient's back.
Krizt was a particularly handsome man, unlike most Healers. He was very well built, and his skin was just the right shade--not too dark as to be ugly, and not too light as to be strange. He had kind, focused brown eyes, and deep-black hair. Sometimes, when the sun hit the dark locks, one could see silver accenting his hair, making him even more attractive. Many of the girls in the village lined up, faking illnesses just to have him treat them.
Varey happily set the baskets down on a table, and wiped sweat from his forehead; he was still unused to the desert's searing heat. Rayah couldn't help a small smile of amusement as he set his own burdens down. Varey flushed lightly when he saw it.
Krizt glanced up, feeling that his apprentice had something to say to him.
"...Master..."
"Yes, Rayah?" asked the Healer, turning back to his patient.
"People are approaching..." Krizt glanced up once again at the aprehension in his student's tone.
"Who?"
"...Them..." replied Rayah, unfeeling yet his tone held a kind of steely hatred, as he set to weighing the crushed herbs, ignoring the confused glance Varey sent him as the latter put the amount of herbs he received into bottles and marking them properly. "...His servants..."
At this, the peaceful air about the Healer tensed, so much that even his patient, who was just an average man, noticed the change.
Pretty soon, the occupants of the tent could hear soft rumbling (horses), and shouted commands. The rumbling stopped, and loud thumps replaced them, accompanied by loud whinnying and neighing. Not a second later, about seven armed men entered the tent. Their heads were all shaved, and their eyes were darkly outlined with coal. Upon their sheaths, was an emblem that made Rayah, who had calmed down only slightly, to fume with rage.
Krizt straightened, and regarded the men coolly, his face betraying nothing that was going on in his mind, though anger lurked beneath the apathy within his eyes. The Healer's unconcern seemed to annoy the men greatly, for they made a big show of showing off their swords and spears.
"How can I be of service to you?" asked the dark-haired man, setting down the bandages he was using to wrap his patient's wound.
"We are guards from the Mighty Pharaoh's army," said one man, who seemed to be the leader. Rayah tensed, and Varey glanced worriedly at him. "We have come upon the Pharaoh's behalf to summon the great Healer, Rayah, for a conference."
It took all that Rayah had not to whip around, his silver-blue eyes wide with surprise and unsupressed anger. Krizt, on the other hand, couldn't stop his eyes from widening, as he glanced worriedly over at his apprentice. None of the guards noticed, however.
"Where is he?" one asked gruffly, watching with disdain as Rayah and Varey worked on the herbs. "The Great Pharaoh wishes for his prescence immediately." Rayah's grip on the weighing scales tightened so that his knuckles turned white, his eyes narrowed darkly. How dare he ask for me...after what his father did...he, in turn, will surely follow...
The guards were quickly becoming impatient, and one unsheathed his blade, placing it dangerously close to the Krizt's neck.
"Where. Is. He?" he ground out, putting pressure onto the Healer's neck so that a thin line of red appeared. Still, Krizt remained silent, watching the guards with cool impassiveness. On the other hand, the patient watched the exchange fearfully, and Rayah glanced over his shoulder, and glared at the offending guard in outrage. Said guard did not notice, but another did. He smiled cruely, and pulled Rayah away from the table by his hair, forcing a pained cry from the teen.
"You there! So you think you are great, do you?" the guard asked gruffly, tightening his grip and recieving a pained hiss. Varey watched fearfully, too scared to do a thing. "High enough to stare at a Royal Guard with contempt and go unpunished! Who do you think you are!" Rayah held his tongue in check as he glared vehemently at his captor. The guard growled angrily, and punched Rayah in his gut.
Varey and Krizt cried out in protest, and the guards smiled.
"Are you ready to talk?" asked the guard with his sword at Krizt's throat. The Healer glared in response, ignoring the pain in his throat as the sword was pushed further. "Where is Rayah?" Again, they recieved no response, and again, Rayah recieved a blow in his stomach. Crimson blood dripped onto his chin.
The teen coughed violently, and Varey rushed to his side, only to be stopped by a sword aimed at his heart. Seeing this, Rayah darkened his glare as he gripped his stomach painfully. Damn him, he thought. If he truly represents the gods...then the gods themselves must be cruel in themselves indeed... He grunted in pain, but smiled reassuringly at his friend.
The guard got ready to kick the dark-haired teen once again, only to be stopped by Krizt.
"Halt," the Healer called softly, forcefully. All the guards' attention was on him.
"Finally ready to talk, eh?" asked a guard, a smug smile on his face. Krizt chose to ignore the question.
"What does the Pharaoh want with Rayah...?" The guards looked at each other; apparently, they weren't told the reason why.
"Where IS HE!" growled a guard in frustration, swinging his spear dangerously. The patient curled up into a ball, not wanting to be hit. From the ground, Rayah chuckled darkly, drawing the guards' attention onto himself. The guard that attacked him frowned deeply.
"What is so funny, runt?" he grunted, very tempted to kick him once again.
"So you want to know where Rayah is?" asked the youth, wincing slightly in pain, though he kept on chuckling.
"Speak! Where is he?" barked the guard with the spear, pounding his spear's butt against the sandy earth. Rayah looked up at them, his silver-blue eyes cold and hard, despite the wry smile on his handsome face. Despite themselves, the guards shivered slightly under his gaze.
"I am he," he replied softly, his smile widening at the acute fear spreading onto the guards' faces, especially the one that had attacked him; he had taken a few steps back from the teen, shifting uncomfortably. "I am Rayah, and you can tell that bastard of a ruler of yours that you would have to drag me through Hell and back again before I will kneel before him in counsel."
The guard lowered his sword, and awkwardly sheathed his sword.
"Rayah..." Krizt watched his student sadly; if they had stayed quiet long enough, the guards would get bored and frustrated and leave them be. But Rayah couldn't stand to see them threatened any longer, and gave in. He let out a soft sigh.
One guard, the leader, frowned deeply, and said, softly, "If you will not come willingly, then we shall force you." Rayah tensed, ready to fight them off, but then the guard did the unexpected. The leader inclined his head in Varey's direction, and two guards immediately had the boy in between them. Rayah's eyes widened with fear, and Krizt stood rooted to the spot, anger and resentment rising from within him. Varey, frozen with fear, couldn't fight back.
"Release him!" called Krizt, his voice sharp. "He has nothing to do with this." The leader turned his gaze onto the Healer.
"If you had listened to us from the start, he would not be," he replied crisply. "Now, we have no choice." Rayah pulled himself up from the ground, angry tears welling up in his eyes.
"I will go with you," he said, hissing with pain. "Just let him go."
"We cannot. We do not know if you will escape once our guards are down. No, he shall come with us to insure your obedience."
The two guards holding Varey captive left the tent, ignoring the protests coming from the Healer and his apprentice. A third guard bent down, and pulled the injured Rayah up with him, before leading him out of the tent as well, followed by the others. The leader inclined his head to Krizt in farewell, and Krizt returned it with a icy frown, and he left.
Krizt slammed his fist onto his examination table, surprising the already frightened patient to the end of his wits, a rare show of anger from the normally peaceful Healer. Ra, please watch other them...
Well, that's the end of this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.