Chapter 3

Sanguinalia

It was late afternoon by the time Atkynd left the White-Gold City and made his way to the stables where Emero was being held. The horse was grazing in the middle of the pasture when it saw Atkynd approaching, and the horse greeted him by raising its head and giving him a disdainful snort. Atkynd grinned at his mount as one of the slaves bridled him and walked him over to his owner.

"Yes, be indignant about the fact that I abandoned you," Atkynd said easily, patting the palfrey's golden flank. "Like you weren't enjoying being able to rest after having to travel for weeks without end. Or are you complaining that we have to head out again? Don't worry, this should be the last stop of the night."

Emero gave him an unimpressed look as Atkynd climbed onto his back and took hold of the reins. As he did, one of the slaves – a middle-aged Nedic woman with black hair – stopped him with a quiet, "My lord?"

Atkynd looked down in time to see the lady holding out his plaid cloak. His eyes widened as he realized he'd nearly forgotten it, and he smiled warmly as he took the garment from the slave's hands. He was pleased to see that the wool had dried since he had entered the White-Gold City. "Did you dry this for me?" he asked gently.

"I did not, my lord, no. It dried on its own," the slave replied. "It will be cool this evening, so I would recommend that you wear it."

"Thank you," Atkynd replied, clasping the cloak around his neck. "Tell me, is there any way that I can reward you? I… don't have any of the local currency, I'm afraid."

"There is no need to reward me, as my master would simply take it anyways," the woman replied. Atkynd noted that she didn't sound bitter – she was simply stating a fact. "Your praise is enough for me. Do take care."

Atkynd gave her a bemused look as she turned around and walked away without another word. He leaned down and began rifling through his saddlebags for something he could at least give to the woman to show his appreciation, but then Emero gave an impatient snort beneath him. When he looked back up, the woman had already disappeared into the low wooden building beside the pasture. Frowning to himself, he reluctantly straightened up, grasped Emero's reins, and guided the horse through the wooden gate and onto the road.

The highway leading out of the Whtie-Gold City was crowded with Ayleid nobles leaving the city and strolling down the road towards the palatial city-state of Fanacasecul. Atkynd fell in line behind a group of giggling Ayleid girls whose horses were being led by their silent slaves. The clouds had cleared by late afternoon, though mercifully it hadn't become any hotter, much to Atkynd's relief. The descending sun turned the water of Lake Rumare a lighter shade of silver-blue, with specks of sunlight dancing off the choppy waves. Atkynd guided Emero a bit closer to the edge of the bridge, and he peered over the side. Below them, a red-sailed galley lazily glided under the arch-shaped supports, its oars manned by dozens of chained Nedic and Nordic slaves, who propelled the vessel smoothly through the calm waters of the lake. Atkynd watched it until it disappeared under him, whereupon he nudged Emero back towards the center of the highway, ignoring the curious looks of the Ayleid girls he was following.

The throng of elves followed the path turning south towards Fanacaseul. As they traveled, the sky slowly changed colors, from bright blue to deep gold, and the air gradually became cooler, just as the slave tending to the horses had said it would. Atkynd smiled to himself as he tugged his cloak a bit tighter around his shoulders before sitting forward a bit and patting Emero's side. "See? Now I bet you're glad we're moving again, so you're not so cold," he teased his horse. Emero ignored him, except for a slight flick of his ear, which made Atkynd grin. Still, he mused, his cloak was probably unnecessary. Though it was getting a bit colder, the air was still warmer than it was most of the year in Malabal.

Though the sun had been fairly high in the sky when he had departed the White-Gold City, it was starting to kiss the horizon when he finally arrived at the front gates of Fanacasecul. As he approached, he could hear the soft notes of a lyre mixed with a woodwind instrument floating through the air, beckoning the crowd into its walls. Once again, a warm breeze carried the sweet, floral scent of the city's gardens across Atkynd's nose, though when he recognized the undertones of fresh fruit, his stomach gave a low growl. He suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and even that had only been a few pieces of dried fruit and some hard travel bread softened with water. As he drew even closer, he noticed that the scents wafting out of the city included roasted meats and fresh bread. He quickly swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Atkynd approached a pair of Ayleid guards standing near the gates, which he had become accustomed to seeing. To his mild surprise, they eschewed the typical bronze armor of some of the other city-states, instead opting for flexible leather armor, over which they wore ornate fabrics. The Ayleids didn't pay him any mind until he was within a few feet of them, and though they didn't lower their spears at him, there was a subtle, cautious shift in their stance.

"We regret to inform you that this is a private affair, and not open to helots," one of the guards announced imperiously.

"I understand," Atkynd replied calmly. "However, I have been endorsed by King Gordhaur of Ninendava." The Ayleids traded wary glances, until Atkynd added, "If you need to verify it with him, I understand. Has he arrived yet?"

"He has, though he did not mention that he was bringing a guest," one of the guards admitted.

"Very well! If you wish to speak with him to confirm it, I can wait," Atkynd said, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position on his horse.

The guards traded looks again, and Atkynd could see on their faces that they didn't particularly want to bother combing through the festival for one man. Worse, there was a crowd of Ayleids queuing up behind Atkynd that was looking increasingly annoyed at the delay.

"That… will be unnecessary," one of the guards sighed finally. "You may enter. However, if we discover that you were not invited, you shall come to understand why we consider torture an art form in Fanacasecul."

Atkynd's smile faltered slightly at the Ayleid's cold tone, though he managed to recover quickly and incline his head. "I assure you, that will be entirely unnecessary. Thank you for your hospitality," he replied. His politeness seemed to mollify the guards, and he hurried through the gates.

Upon entering Fanacasecul, Atkynd had to stop to look around, amazed by what he saw. He wondered if the entire city had originally been designed to serve as an art gallery. Ornate, painted sculptures of winged elves lined the streets at regular intervals, and frescos depicting natural scenes and Ayleid heroes fighting monsters were painted onto the very houses themselves. Ripe fruit trees and colorful flowers lined the city streets, painting the city in brilliant, vibrant splashes of color that toed the line of garishness.

Atkynd only had a few moments to admire the city before the throng of Ayleids behind him half-pushed him out of the way. Before he could be swallowed by the crowd, he quickly dismounted Emero and handed his horse off to a waiting slave, then allowed himself to be guided by the flow of traffic towards the central plaza. As he walked, the sweet melodies he had heard outside the city became clearer, and when he stepped into the plaza, he spotted a band of at least a dozen Ayleid musicians merrily playing a variety of stringed and woodwind instruments – flutes, lyres, wooden pipes, and harps, among other instruments. The gentle music echoed clearly even above the chattering crowd of Ayleid nobles gathered in the center of the city.

There was a lull in the press of bodies behind him, and Atkynd finally managed to step out the crowd for a moment to get his bearings. In front of him, he could see the docks of Fanacasecul stretching out into the waters of Lake Rumare, with eight galleys bobbing in the water next to the marble platforms. To his right loomed a large building with beautifully sculpted fluted columns flanked by golden statues, which he assumed was the palace of the King of Fanacasecul, while to his left were more colorfully painted buildings that he assumed were the residences of the noble Ayleid population of Fanacasecul.

The plaza itself was lavishly decorated, with tall pillars capped with softly glowing white crystals illuminating the gradually dimming area. Nedic slaves – who Atkynd noticed, to his chagrin, were barely clad in white cloth, if at all – wandered through the crowd, offering refreshments to the Ayleid guests. He also spotted a roaring fire off to one side of the plaza, and through the gaps in the crowd surrounding it, he could see some sort of beast being slowly roasted over the open flames.

Atkynd couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and lost, and he began wondering what to do. Before he could worry for too long, however, the music abruptly died down, and the crowd lowered their voices. Every head turned towards the palace, and Atkynd followed suit in time to see an obese male Ayleid clad in a flowing pink robe trimmed with gold stride out of the palace. The crowd greeted him with polite applause, and the man smiled and held his hand up graciously.

"Welcome, friends and guests, to our annual Sanguinalia festival," the mer announced in a loud, clear voice that echoed across the plaza. "As night begins to fall, let us give thanks to our patron Sanguine, for without his bounty and his lust for life… and other pleasures," – the Ayleid paused as laughter rippled through the crowd – "our lives would be drab and dull. Thus, in his name, I hereby declare the Sanguinalia festival open… though I see that some of you have already begun indulging in the pleasures we have to offer, aye?" He grinned cheekily at the crowd, and more laughter rang through the air. "No matter! We applaud your devotion to Sanguine, and heartily encourage you to continue! Eat, drink, and indulge your desires! And if you won't… there's no place for you here!"

The Ayleids let out a roar of approval, and the music started up again as the king took a seat on a massive throne with pink cushions, accepting a golden goblet from one of his attendants. The crowd began flowing to his left, and Atkynd realized that they were making their way towards long rows of tables laden with food. With a shrug, he decided to follow suit.

The meal that followed was one of the most elaborate and decadent that Atkynd had ever enjoyed. The first course consisted of an array of marinated olives, accompanied by warm white bread smeared with a soft cheese spread flavored with herbs. For the second course, the guests were given a crisp salad of cabbage, carrots, onions, cucumbers, and radishes soaked in white vinegar. Seared slaughterfish, fresh from Lake Rumare was the third course, accompanied by grilled leeks and artichokes. The main dish of the evening was roasted wild boar – twelve of them had been caught and butchered the day before, he overheard one of the slaves explain to a curious Ayleid – which was soaked in a rich, dry red wine and paired with fresh peas and lentils. Dessert was quite varied, as the guests had the option of a number of fresh fruits – apples and pears, peaches and citrons, grapes and plums, and a wide array of berries – but the star of the course was a soft white cake baked with currants, walnuts, and raisins, and glazed with honey. Scores of cakes had been baked, so that every guest was provided with at least one slice. Every course was washed down with undiluted red and white wines, and as the evening wore on, the atmosphere became markedly more relaxed as the strong drinks loosened tongues and lowered inhibitions.

Eventually, Atkynd found himself sitting on the edge of one of the walls of Fanacasecul, overlooking the vast jungle to the west. The sun had set quite some time ago, but the full moon above and the soft light of the lamps provided ample illumination, at least out to the treeline. He was lazily munching on a plum, though he had thought two courses ago that he couldn't eat another bite. Idly, he wondered if the strong wine he'd been imbibing had something to do with it. Then that thought slipped out of his mind like an eel. It was difficult to focus on anything with the pleasant buzzing in the back of his mind.

His eyes drifted over the gardens swaying gently in the early evening breeze. In the early evening darkness, the bright blue petals almost seemed like they were glowing. As he watched, half-hypnotized by their movements, he wondered aloud, "How can a single city afford such luxuries?"

"When one spends their entire income upon such luxuries to draw more clients, it's not difficult," a voice replied behind him, making him jump. "Fanacasecul's entire economy is based upon pleasure; thus, they spend their coin on more pleasure to make yet more coin. Brilliant, no?"

Atkynd turned around quickly to see a relatively young Ayleid man with short black hair and wrapped in a golden chiton approaching him with a warm smile on his face. He chuckled at Atkynd's startled reaction, and he added, "Forgive me, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Not at all!" Atkynd replied quickly, taking a deep breath to slow his hammering heart. "Well met. My name is Atkynd. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, my lord?"

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," the Ayleid replied smoothly. "I am Haromir, King of Sancre Tor." When Atkynd began to bow, he held up a hand and added, "There's no need for that, I assure you. You were the one who presented yourself before the Council of Elders earlier today, did you not?"

"That I did," Atkynd replied, smiling warmly as he tossed the plum pit over the edge of the wall and turned to face Haromir, giving the Ayleid his full attention. "I'm humbled that you remember me, Your Majesty."

"Well, you made quite the impression, whether you're aware of it or not," Haromir chuckled, taking a seat on the edge of the wall beside Atkynd. "We don't often receive visitors from other lands, and certainly not those with human blood. It's rather a shame, as we would benefit greatly from trade with other realms."

"Truly?" Atkynd asked, quickly shaking his head to try and suppress the effects of the wine. "You sound as though you're intrigued by my previous offer, Your Majesty."

"How perceptive," Haromir commented, a note of approval in his voice. "Yes, I would very much like to consider a trade proposal with you, Atkynd of the Bjoulsae."

Atkynd blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haziness clouding his mind while silently cursing himself for not exercising more restraint – he had come to Cyrod to do business, not to indulge in its pleasures, he snarled at himself. "My king shall be quite pleased to hear that," Atkynd said in what he hoped was a smooth tone. "Would you like me to repeat the goods that we are interested in trading?"

"No need," Haromir assured him. "You mentioned that you are dealing in tin, yes? That has rather piqued my interest. I don't suppose that you are aware of my appellation?"

"I… am afraid not, Your Majesty, no," Atkynd admitted, grimacing.

"There is no shame in that," Haromir laughed easily. "I am called 'Haromir of Copper and Tea' by some. Those are the goods with which I have made my fortune, and I still deal in both. As such, I am quite interested in the high-quality tin that you have to offer, as I have long been searching for tin that I can alloy with my own excellent variety of copper to make peerless bronze."

"Indeed? Then would you like to see the example of tin that we have?" Atkynd asked, reaching for his belt pouch.

"No, I examined it closely when we were in the Temple of the Ancestors," Haromir assured him. "It is, as you say, very durable, and I believe it would pair excellently with my copper. Therefore, would you be willing to sign a contract with me?"

"Perhaps," Atkynd replied warily. "I am certain, however, that my king would wish to know what other goods you might be willing to trade in return. While we would certainly like to exchange some of our tin for high-quality copper, my king is more interested in exotic goods, as I said before."

"Very well. You mentioned that he seeks foreign plants, yes?" Haromir said, his tone turning shrewd. "Tell me, has he ever sampled southern tea?"

"I… cannot be certain," Atkynd said slowly. "However, we do have tea in the north…."

"Let me assure you, the tea you are accustomed to is little better than blackberry leaves, compared to what I have to offer," Haromir said in a self-assured tone. "Tea grown in southern soil has a far richer and deeper flavor than the malnourished weeds of the north."

"That is quite a bold claim," Atkynd said slowly, pretending to bristle. "We take pride in what we grow-"

"I meant no insult," Haromir assured him, though he was grinning. Atkynd suspected that the mer knew he was putting on a performance. "I'm merely speaking the truth – the tea I grow is superior to anything you've ever tasted."

"Would you be willing to provide a sample?" Atkynd asked slowly. "After all, you've seen the quality of what I have to offer."

Haromir's grin broadened, and he leaned over the edge of the wall. "Slave!" he called down to one of the Nedic girls carrying a platter laden with goblets. "Fetch me some hot water, quickly."

The girl bowed and hurried off while Haromir gazed over the edge of the wall, staring at a collection of blue flowers that were glowing softly in the dimming light. The girl returned a few moments later and bowed as she presented Haromir with a clay cup. Haromir nodded absently as he reached into a belt pouch and withdrew a couple of dried leaves, which he dropped into the bubbling water. He swirled them around for several long moments, before presenting Atkynd with the cup.

Atkynd gazed into the cup for a long moment, until Haromir commented in a light tone, "It's not poisoned if that's what you're concerned about. I'll drink it myself, if you're unsure."

"Oh! No, that's unnecessary," Atkynd said quickly, looking up. "I was simply enjoying the aroma. You're correct, I've never seen tea like this… though I confess, I'm uncertain as to whether my king has." Haromir nodded at his response as he lifted the cup to his lips and took a slow sip. As he swallowed, a deep, earthen flavor spread across his tongue and down his throat, accompanied by a pleasant, rich scent that lingered at the back of his nose, clearing his sinuses almost immediately. He exhaled slowly and looked up at Haromir, who was watching him expectantly.

"It's… excellent," Atkynd admitted, and Haromir's grin spread. "I believe King Aluciel would indeed pay handsomely for regular shipments of this."

"I'm pleased to hear that," Haromir smiled. "As I said, I'm eager to trade with distant markets, and fortunately for your king, the overland route to my city is one of the easiest possible for Malabal."

"In what regard?" Atkynd asked, taking another slow sip of the tea.

"As I said, I am the king of Sancre Tor," Haromir explained lazily. "Sancre Tor could be considered a crossroads of northern Cyrod. It is situated near the border of the great desert of the northwest and the kingdom of Skyrim to the northeast. I have long dreamt of making it a trading hub."

"With human kingdoms?" Atkynd asked skeptically. "I was unaware that you had good relations with the Nords. It was my understanding that they have notoriously poor relations with merethic races, especially the Ayleids."

"Well… yes," Haromir admitted. "But even enemies can engage in trade. I personally have no feud with the Nords, and I feel that forging a more friendly relationship with them is not outside the realm of possibility."

"…May I speak freely?" Atkynd asked slowly.

"Certainly," Haromir said, though he raised one eyebrow cautiously.

"That is an unusually – and refreshingly – open attitude, compared to what I've encountered so far in Cyrod," Atkynd said. "Many Ayleids – many mer, even – seem to consider humans… secondary in status to them. I've become rather accustomed to… cool receptions from your fellow Ayleid kings over the last few days, and I at least have elven blood."

"Well, I am not a typical Ayleid king," Haromir explained, chuckling. "In fact, I was not born royalty. I was originally a commoner, born in Wendelbek. About fifty years ago, Wendelbek was sacked and ravaged due to a religious dispute between Daedraphile and Barsaebic Ayleids, as I believe you've heard. I was displaced and forced to wander. After struggling to find work for a few years, I joined a merchant caravan and began traveling Tamriel. I discovered that I had a talent for trading, and in time, I was elected captain of the caravan. Over the years, I gradually accumulated wealth, and I was eventually able to purchase copper mines and tea plantations in northwestern Cyrod. My crowning achievement, however, was when my miners discovered gold in the foothills of the northwestern mountains of Cyrod. I used my wealth to establish a mining city that I called Sancre Tor – 'Golden Hill' – whereupon I crowned myself king of the new settlement. It was doubly fortunate for me that Sancre Tor's mines are so close to the borders of other lands, which is why I want to turn it into a foreign trading hub that will dwarf even the White-Gold City."

"A fascinating story," Atkynd said when the mer finished. "Nevertheless, it sounds to me as though you wish not to promote trade with the north, but to control it. If all the northern roads lead through Sancre Tor, what's to stop you from dictating prices?"

"If you have an alternative, you're free to pursue it," Haromir shrugged.

"Indeed? Perhaps I should speak with King Gordhaur of Ninendava, then," Atkynd replied, a sly look on his face. "Ninendava is near Sancre Tor, is it not? And King Gordhaur certainly seemed interested in establishing a trade route with the Bjoulsae Kingdom as well."

Atkynd suppressed a smirk as Haromir whipped around to face him. "King Gordhaur is more concerned with tinkering with spells than promoting trade," Haromir said in a dangerously smooth voice. "He would not be as valuable a trading partner as I, largely because he lacks the interest. You are, of course, free to establish a trade route through Ninendava as well, but I assure you that it will not be as profitable."

"I see," Atkynd said slowly. He tapped his fingers against his cup of tea, then asked, "What is your interest in our other goods? Namely the precious stones that we're offering?"

"They… may be a good source of additional income," Haromir said warily. "Bronze has more uses, however."

"No, what I'm considering is a trade agreement of gemstones for gold from Sancre Tor," Atkynd explained. "After all, I'm certain you have artisans that can shape the gold into jewelry?"

"Of course," Haromir said. "But you understand if I'm reluctant to export my most valuable resource."

"Whatever for?" Atkynd asked evenly. "I feel it'd be mutually beneficial, especially since I doubt Malabal's artisans craft jewelry in the same style as those in Cyrod. Having access to gold would benefit both of our smiths, while gemstones would make your existing work even more ornate. And if trade did indeed flow through Sancre Tor, you'd also have the first chance to purchase unique Bjoulsae jewelry, allowing you the chance to resell it throughout Cyrod yourself."

"Hm. A fair point," Haromir admitted. "Nevertheless, I would rather see an example of Malabal's goldsmithing techniques before I agreed. After all, if the art style is similar to ours, your jewelry wouldn't be as valuable."

"Well… I can't provide an example of our goldsmithing, but…." Atkynd hesitated, then reached into his tunic. He pulled out an amulet that he had been wearing under his clothes throughout his journey. The amulet was fashioned out of pure silver, with intricate vine-like designs studded with delicate leaves winding their way around a central emerald stone. Haromir's eyes widened with interest as he leaned in and carefully examined the amulet.

"How beautiful," Haromir said softly. Atkynd let him close his long fingers around the jewelry, though he didn't remove it from around his neck. "This is indeed unlike anything that we have in Cyrod. Yes, the nobility would pay handsomely for such artwork." He looked up at Atkynd and added, "Could I possibly convince you to part with this amulet?"

"I'm afraid not," Atkynd said with a slight smile as he gently pulled the necklace out of Haromir's fingers and tucked it back into his tunic. "This was a gift to me from my mother, before I departed from Malabal. She wanted to give me something that would give me good luck, so it's quite dear to me. I couldn't put a price on this."

"A pity," Haromir said with a soft sigh. "The quality of that necklace is excellent. Ayleid enchanters especially would pay quite the price for such fine silver, as purer metal holds and channels enchantments better. Still! Yes, I believe we can come to an agreement about exchanging gemstones for gold. You have my blessing to include that in a trade proposal when you return to Malabal."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Atkynd said with a slight smile. Haromir nodded, then tilted his head slightly.

"This has been a surprisingly fun discussion, boy," he said after a long pause. "I've enjoyed sparring with you. It's rare that I find someone else who relies upon their wits. Truly, it's a pity that more of my contemporaries don't value cleverness."

"King Gordhaur did mention that the other Ayleid kings seem to covet power over anything else," Atkynd said slowly.

"He's correct," Haromir agreed, his tone turning bitter. "I've found it rather difficult to establish favorable relations with the other kings. They don't see me as a peer – rather, they consider me an upstart commoner who bought his way into power. It… infuriates me, frankly," he growled, lowering his gaze to glare down at the Ayleids milling about beneath them. "I built Sancre Tor with my own blood and sweat, yet I'm looked down upon by those that call themselves my peers… my betters, they'd say. Yet many of them simply inherited the cities that their forefathers gifted to them. Who's to say that their thrones are superior to mine?"

"Have they challenged you?" Atkynd asked, keeping his tone light. "It seems to me that the wealth and position of Sancre Tor would make it quite the prize for an ambitious warlord."

"They dare not," Haromir said with a smirk. "They know that for all their power, they cannot muster the arms necessary to claim it. My wealth has enabled me to purchase the finest weapons and armor, so my forces are quite well-equipped. However… that damned humiliation I suffered several weeks ago…."

Atkynd chewed on the inside of his cheek, before asking softly, and as tactfully as possible, "Are you referring to the rumors about the slaves escaping?"

Haromir glared at Atkynd out of the corner of his eye, but when he saw that Atkynd meant no offense, he let out a sigh and set down his wine goblet. "Yes, though the rumors have been grossly exaggerated. However, it's true that a few of my slaves escaped. They were working in one of my tea plantations just outside of Sancre Tor when a group of them managed to slip their bonds and overwhelm my guards. They were armed only with farming tools, but they fought like they were possessed, driven by a fervor that my guards could only call religious. Some of them were shouting about how their prophetess – the Paravant, they called her – had spoken to the gods, and that the gods wanted them to be free." Haromir snorted and took a long drink of wine, before adding in a low voice, "Perhaps this is what I get for refusing to partake in the religious strife plaguing our land. Not only do the Daedric Lords shun me, but it would also seem that the divines wish to see me suffer as well."

"Do you know what became of the escaped slaves?" Atkynd asked, still keeping his tone light and curious.

Haromir shook his head. "They disappeared into the jungle before my men could recapture them. They haven't been seen in the area since, nor has there been any word from the other cities. If they're wise, they've escaped Cyrod entirely and are in Skyrim somewhere. Not that it matters to me where they've fled to, so long as they're returned to me," he added coldly. "If they're not working in my fields and mines, they're of no use to me." He sighed again and once more picked up his goblet. "What matters more to me is the damage the incident has done to my reputation."

"Well, hopefully establishing new trade routes will be the start of a better future. Surely the goods that you'll receive from Malabal will put the other Ayleid kings to shame," Atkynd said, trying to keep his voice cheerful.

Haromir let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're kind to say so, and I appreciate your optimism," he said. "Wealth doesn't matter to my peers, though. The only thing that matters is… that."

Haromir flung his hand towards the center of the plaza, and Atkynd's eyes tracked where he was pointing. With the feast concluded, the plaza had become the center of a variety of entertainments. Some of the Ayleids were playing a ball game where one in the center was trying to throw a ball past eight other Ayleids arrayed in a circle. Others were chatting while enjoying the music that was still echoing softly through the plaza. Still others emerged from underground, wrapped in linen cloths and carrying goblets of wine, their skin still wet and steaming from the public baths.

Haromir, however, was pointing to a crowd of gathered around a pair of male Ayleids. Atkynd was able to see through a gap in the crowd that both were topless, and that one towered over the other. The larger elf held his hands out, daring his opponent to close the distance, and after a moment's hesitation, his smaller opponent dove at his legs. The larger elf caught him and slid back a half step before hooking his arms under the smaller elf. He lifted the shorter male off the ground, to the delight of the crowd, before turning him around and locking his hands behind the smaller elf's head. The smaller elf let out a cry and begged for mercy, whereupon the larger elf laughed and let him go, while the crowd roared its approval.

"Prestige," Haromir explained in a low voice. "In the eyes of my peers, all the wealth in the world cannot buy prestige and glory, as wealth itself is merely a means to that end, not the end itself. Thus, until I earn their respect through some heroic feat, they'll always see me as a grasping merchant who merely owns a few walls and wears a gilded crown."

Atkynd took a slow drink of the tea, draining the cup, before turning and smiling warmly at Haromir. "Well… I assure you, you'll be treated with respect by my father's peers in Malabal. We place quite a bit of value on wealth, as we feel it represents potential one doesn't need to tap into. Once this trade route is established, perhaps the other Ayleid kings will feel the same."

Despite his sour expression, Haromir chuckled and raised his glass. "Let us hope so. I pray this will prove to be a fruitful relationship for both of us."

"As do I," Atkynd agreed. He glanced back towards the wrestlers, and a slight frown tugged at the corner of his lips. "If… you would excuse me, though, Your Majesty? There's something I feel I should attend to."

"As you wish. It's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Atkynd. Should you find yourself in the northwest, do stop by Sancre Tor. You'll find yourself treated as a very welcome guest."

"Thank you for your invitation," Atkynd said politely, bowing deeply. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Haromir gave him an absent wave as Atkynd set the clay cup down on the edge of the wall and descended the stairs. He slowly made his way across the plaza, weaving his way through a group of Ayleids. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of them wiping down a wickedly curved bronze dagger.

"…-ly are a master of your art," one of the women gushed. "I'd expect no less from Vindasel. Your flesh-craft is without peer. I've never seen such a quick flaying."

"And did you hear how the Nede screamed?" another elf laughed. "I didn't know a man could make those sounds."

"It's easy if one knows where the nerves are," the Ayleid holding the knife said with a shrug. "You can play them like an instrument if you're skilled enough."

Atkynd felt his stomach turn as he hurried through the crowd, making his way towards the central circle, where the wrestling match was still being held. Atkynd slipped his way to near the front of the crowd, until he finally managed to find a gap in a pair of shoulders where he could see the ongoing match. The large elf in the center was facing down a lithe young elven woman with her hair tied in a high ponytail and a cloth bound tightly over her waist and chest.

"Show her no quarter, Umaril!" one of the women in the crowd shouted.

"Of course not!" the huge elf in the circle yelled back with a grin. "Anyone brave enough to face me deserves respect! But that doesn't mean they deserve mercy!"

The woman snarled and darted forward, throwing a quick jab at the taller elf's face, but Umaril easily swayed backwards, taunting her with a grin. The woman, however, seemed to anticipate this, as she suddenly dropped down and swung her leg around in a low, sweeping kick. Umaril tensed his leg and lifted it up, blocking the attack, and then he stepped in with a retaliatory hammerfist from above. The smaller woman rolled under the attack and tried to circle around behind him, but Umaril discouraged that with a quick, snapping back-kick that she narrowly avoided.

The two combatants swung around to face each other once again, and for a few moments circled each other, silently probing each other for openings while the crowd watched, entranced. The female elf made the first move, darting to her left, and then to her right, intending to use the sudden movement as a feint. Umaril appeared to be caught off-guard by the maneuver, and the woman grabbed his arm and kicked at the back of his knee. She then leaned backwards, trying to pull Umaril off-balance. To her surprise, and then horror, the massive elf didn't move – he simply grinned down at her as she realized her mistake.

Umaril responded by reaching down and closing his large fingers into her hair, and then yanking. Atkynd winced as the woman screamed in pain, her hands instinctively releasing his arm and clutching at his fingers as Umaril lifted the woman into the air by her scalp. Then, in a single swift movement, he brutally slammed her backwards into the stones. The woman let out a choked gasp of pain as the air left her lungs, and her eyes turned glassy. Umaril lifted her up once more and slammed her into the cobblestones one more time as the crowd collectively groaned sympathetically. The enormous elf paused as he appraised the woman's slack-jawed expression, and then he let her go. She laid motionless on the stones for a few moments as the crowd cheered Umaril's victory. Then, abruptly, she let out a sharp gasp and snapped back into consciousness, sitting up and gazing around warily, raising her arms in a guard position. A moment later, however, she realized what had happened, and reluctantly lowered her arms. Umaril grinned down at her and held his hand out to help her to her feet. Begrudgingly, she took his hand and let herself be pulled up.

"Well fought," she muttered. "The stories are true – you don't hold back."

"Of course not," Umaril replied with a laugh as he wiped the sweat off his brow. "I'm the champion of the White-Gold City. I must answer any challenges, and I must always win. Any methods to achieve victory are acceptable. You knew this when you challenged me." His expression then softened, and he added, "But you fought well, Daliel. Please, rest and drink. You've earned it.

The crowd roared, until Umaril swung around and added, "Is there no one else?" The din died down almost immediately, and when no one else answered his challenge, he let out a chuckle. "Then that's all the entertainment I'll provide this evening."

Atkynd noticed that he sounded almost disappointed, and the crowd began breaking up. He noticed a slave walking by with goblets of watered wine, and Atkynd quickly walked over. "May I?" he asked the servant. The slave hesitated, but bowed and presented the platter. Atkynd took one goblet, then hurried over to Umaril, who was toweling his face off with a white linen cloth.

"Well fought, my lord," Atkynd said, approaching with the goblet. Umaril paused and glanced down at him with a look of surprise, and then his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Ah! You're the young foreigner who addressed the Council of Elders earlier today, are you not?" Umaril asked. He inclined his head gratefully as Atkynd presented him with the goblet, taking a long swig.

"That I am," Atkynd confirmed. "My name is Atkynd. And if I'm not mistaken… Umaril Many-Feathers, correct?"

"Indeed," Umaril nodded. "Well met. I trust you're enjoying your stay in Cyrod?"

"It's been… interesting," Atkynd said slowly. Umaril almost frowned at Atkynd's frank response, but then he let out a reluctant chuckle into his cup.

"Ah… I imagine it has been, if your reception in the Temple of the Ancestors was any indication," Umaril commented. "But surely your entire experience hasn't been negative?"

"No," Atkynd agreed quickly. "The cities and landscape of Cyrod are beautiful, and some of the people have been quite accommodating. Including yourself," he added, inclining his head. "That's part of why I wanted to speak with you. I'd like to thank you for your support in the Council of the Elders."

"You're quite welcome, though there's no need to thank me," Umaril said magnanimously. "I would not permit disrespect in the most hallowed building of the White-Gold City, particularly in front of a foreign guest. Were you to return to your homeland, your account may be the only one your people would have for quite some time, and that would reflect poorly on Cyrod as a whole."

"I would like to think that my judgment wouldn't be so colored by one experience," Atkynd assured him. "Nevertheless, you have my gratitude." He paused for a moment, then added, "It was mentioned in the council chambers that you're also half-elven?"

"Quite," Umaril nodded, lowering his goblet and sweeping his arm, inviting Atkynd to walk with him. "My mother was an Ayleid, while my father was the God of the World-River, a deity from a long-forgotten age." He then smirked as he noticed the bewildered look on Atkynd's face, adding, "If you believe such things."

"I… am not at liberty, nor qualified enough, to determine if such things are believable or not. Thus, I must take you at your word," Atkynd said evasively. Umaril let out a booming laugh at his response.

"A clever reply, if a slippery one," Umaril remarked.

"My apologies! I don't disbelieve you," Atkynd clarified, folding his hands behind his back. "After all, deities interact with mortals all the time. The Daedra, for instance, often manifest themselves on Nirn. Who's to say that one couldn't sire a child with a mortal? I've simply never heard of such a thing. That doesn't mean it couldn't, or hasn't, happened."

"Well said," Umaril remarked, sounding impressed. After a moment's thought, he added, "In truth, I have about as much proof of my father's existence as you do. I never knew him. I was raised by my mother, and while she insisted upon my father's divinity – and I do seem to have hallmarks of the divine myself, such as my size – I cannot say for certain if he is or not."

"I'm… sorry to hear that," Atkynd said awkwardly, looking down. He wasn't sure what else he could say.

"There's no need to be," Umaril chuckled. "It's difficult for me to miss what I never had, in truth. Besides, I have another deity that I can give my love and devotion to – on that has a more tangible presence in this world."

Atkynd considered what he said for a moment, then asked slowly, "One of the Daedric Lords?"

"Perceptive! Yes," Umaril replied with a nod. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Daedra are the only gods I know of that directly interact with mortals. You wouldn't speak of her so fondly if she was absent," Atkynd pointed out.

"Clever. But yes. I am devoted to Meridia, the Lady of Light and Life," Umaril said, folding his hands behind his back. "Unlike some of the Daedric Lords, she loves her followers, and is beloved by them in return." He cast an eye around at the festival, exhaling. "It's a pity she's not universally beloved, though. Cyrod is divided, and though the Ayleid kings are powerful, none holds sway over the entire land. Nor shall any one mortal ever control it. Who better, then, than a benevolent goddess to reign over us? I feel that if Cyrod was united under her light, many of our problems would vanish."

"If I may say so? I'm sure the other kings would feel the same about their Daedra," Atkynd pointed out gently.

Umaril whipped his head around towards him, his eyes burning, and Atkynd flinched. A moment later, however, Umaril's face relaxed, and even broke into a slight smile. "You're likely correct. They would," Umaril said softly. "However, there is no Daedric Prince who could unite the Ayleids like Meridia. We worship light above all other elements, and she is the personification of life itself. Who better to serve as a beacon of unity than her? Surely you're not suggesting one of the other Daedric Lords would be a better choice."

"I… don't know enough about the other Daedra to make an informed decision. Theology is not my expertise," Atkynd admitted.

"A fair response," Umaril said evenly. Before he could say more, however, a horn resounded through the city. Nearly every head turned towards the western wall, where King Hadhuul of Ceya-Tar was lowering the horn from his lips.

"My fellow Ayleids, allow me to give my thanks to our gracious host for this evening," Hadhuul announced, his voice booming from the walls. "As a token of my appreciation, and in honor of Sanguine, I would like to treat you all to a bit of traditional Ceya-Tar celebration."

The Ayleids began muttering to each other, some seeming excited, others apprehensive. Atkynd glanced around, confused, until he felt Umaril's heavy hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at the Ayleid looming over him, a smile crossing his powerful features.

"Perhaps you should instead consider what Cyrod would be like under the influence of a ruler other than Meridia. Come. You should see this," Umaril said. Before Atkynd could protest, or even react, the Ayleid's strong hand was guiding him inexorably towards the stairs leading to the western wall.

The Ayleids crowded together on the ramparts overlooking the Rumare highway, and beyond it, the vast western jungle. King Hadhuul stood in the center of the crowd, with Atkynd and Umaril about twenty feet away from him. Once most of the crowd was situated, Hadhuul raised his hand and motioned down to something below him. Atkynd tentatively leaned over the edge of the wall to get a better look at what Hadhuul was pointing to.

Beneath them, near the city gates, was the large cage that Hadhuul had left at the city earlier. In front of it were a pair of Nedic children, one male and one female, both with dark hair and both dressed in tattered rags. They were clinging to each other fearfully, shivering in the cool night air, and staring up at Hadhuul with wide, frightened eyes. Hadhuul met their gazes, then raised his hand and once again spoke in his booming voice.

"As we all know, Sanguinalia is a night of hedonism and frivolity," Hadhuul explained. "However, it is also a night of freedom. Thus, as king, it is my right to grant the taste of freedom to those who have never sampled it. Children, you are the lucky ones, selected in honor of Sanguine, to sip the sweetest wine in the world – liberation. By my authority as King of Ceya-Tar, you are hereby freed. Go now – the world awaits you!"

The children stared up at Hadhuul in utter shock, while Atkynd frowned, immediately confused and suspicious. From his brief interaction with the king, Hadhuul didn't seem to be the randomly magnanimous type. In fact, he seemed downright sadistic. What was the point of this gesture, then? Was it really part of the Sanguinalia celebration, to grant slaves their freedom? If he was simply releasing the children into the wild, then that was as good as exiling them, and he doubted the children had any survival skills. Was that perhaps amusing to Hadhuul, the knowledge that the children wouldn't last long in the jungle?

Below him, the children remained rooted in place. Hadhuul, noticing this, narrowed his eyes. "Are you deaf?!" he bellowed. "Begone from my presence! You're free, so go enjoy your freedom! Make haste, before I change my mind!"

The children traded hesitant looks, then slowly broke apart, holding each other's hands. As they slowly began walking away from the city, Atkynd thought he could hear one of them sobbing. He glanced up at Umaril, confused.

"Does this… typically happen?" he asked slowly.

"Not in Fanacasecul, nor in the White-Gold City," Umaril answered him, his gaze locked on the children. "This… practice is unique to Ceya-Tar."

Hadhuul watched the children like a hawk, his arms folded over his chest, until they had just about reached the edge of the dark jungle. "I believe that's enough of an advantage for them," Hadhuul announced suddenly, raising one hand. "Release them."

Atkynd glanced over at Hadhuul, confused by what he meant. He'd just let the children go free, hadn't he? However, movement below him caught his eye, and he looked down in time to see the cloth covering the cage be pulled aside with a dramatic flourish. His eyes widened as he saw the beasts caged inside – two massive, snarling orange cats with black stripes.

"Tigers," Umaril said behind him, sounding impressed. "Probably imported from Elsweyr. King Hadhuul spared no expense for this evening."

The four slaves standing beside the cages hesitated with their hands on the levers of the cages, until King Hadhuul roared from the ramparts, "What are you waiting for?! Loose the beasts!"

With shaking hands, the slaves lifted the gates of the cages, and the tigers tore off after the children, letting out furious, ravenous roars. The shadowy figures of the two children turned at the sound, and when they saw the large cats pursuing them, they began screaming and bolted for the trees. Atkynd shrank into himself as the Ayleids began cheering and roaring with delight, pointing and jeering at the fleeing humans.

"Your Majesty, I fear that it's too dark to see!" a voice shouted over the din. "Perhaps you could… illuminate the prey, make it easier for the tigers?"

"Ah, you're right," Hadhuul chortled, holding his hand out with his palm facing upwards. "For those of you who are unaware, allow me to demonstrate why I'm called the Fire King."

A ball of flame roared to life above his palm, crackling and spitting. Hadhuul raised his arm above his head and stared down at the dark, shadowy figures of the children, who had just made it to the treeline. He sneered sadistically as he brought his hand down, throwing the ball of fire towards the trees.

Atkynd looked away, refusing to watch the rest. But he could still hear the distant sound of the flames exploding in the trees. The vicious roaring of the tigers. The panicked screams of the children. And nearest to him, one of the Ayleids shouting, "Place your wagers! The flames or the tigers? What'll take the children first?!"

Atkynd felt a wave of nausea and dizziness wash over him. He stumbled away from the edge of the wall, and a moment later, a strong hand steadied him. He followed the arm up to see Umaril's face looming over him.

"Perhaps you should take your leave for the evening," Umaril suggested.

"Perhaps," Atkynd agreed, covering his mouth as bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it, then asked bitterly, "Are all Daedra are worthy of worship?"

"Well… not all Daedra are equally worthy," Umaril replied coolly, glancing over his shoulder at the other roaring Ayleids.

"I must agree," Atkynd muttered. He forced himself to straighten up and pull away from Umaril's strong arm. "If you'll excuse me," he added. He hurried down the steps, and once at the bottom, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, but he still couldn't block out the sounds of the festival still ringing in his ears. His only relief was the knowledge that tomorrow he could start the journey back to Malabal… and never return to the savage land of Cyrod again.