The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

There were numerous reasons for Juniper to despise noblemen. For one, they were rarely very noble. Lord Cornwall, Duke of Westbridge, was a pitiful man. He was short, bald, and very ill-proportionate. He claimed to be a very pious and modest man, but wore lavish clothes with silk and intricate embroidery—he even boasted about how he had bought it from a slaver in Illyria. Yes, he was very pitiful, indeed. His entourage, even more so.

After being spoiled by large, muscular Kas for two entire months, Juniper felt no awe in seeing the otherwise famous soldiers of Westbridge with their Drawbridge banner. They lacked the elegance and the stature of the Grey Ones, and donned instead self-assured smiles and turned up noses—just like Lord Cornwall himself, and his son.

Lord Christopher was handsome enough, with long, golden hair and elegant blue eyes, but his otherwise agreeable face was turned into a much disagreeable scowl that didn’t seem to change. Perhaps, Juniper thought, it was simply his appearance.

The guests arrived shortly after midday. They enjoyed luncheon, after which the two Dukes retreated to Juniper’s father’s study to discuss the alliance, and Juniper was left with Lord Christopher and his guards.

She tried to be as agreeable as she possibly could, but she could not deny her strong wishes to rather be with the Vasaath, leaned against his cushions, and listening to his soothing voice.

“The smell is revolting,” said the lord suddenly.

Juniper smiled. “I assure you, one gets used to it. It’s the smell of the sea.” It must smell worse in Westbridge, she thought bitterly, being so close to the marshes.

The lord wrinkled his nose. “Smells like somebody ate a dead rat, took a shit, ate the shit, and then shat it back out again.”

Juniper was appalled by what he had just said—such foul language! In an attempt to take his mind off the smell of the sea, she said, “My lord, would you like to tour Fairgarden with me?”

But he just laughed. “Fairgarden? There’s nothing fair about this place. I suppose your face is fair enough, but I’ll have to wait until I see your tits and cunt before I make up my mind on that subject.” He snickered cruelly, together with his guards, and they all threw dirty glares down their noses at her. “I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to find out once we’re wed. I’m sure my father will agree to Arlington’s terms, no matter what I want.” He eyed her slowly, disapprovingly. “I have no choice but to settle for a northerner.”

She felt her cheeks redden violently from the obscene comment. She wanted to yell at them, to scold them until they cried like little children, but she said nothing.

“No,” sighed Lord Christopher, “forget this blasted place. I want to see the beast-men. They’re here, aren’t they? By the docks?”

Child-like excitement shone in the lord’s eyes, and Juniper was tempted to oblige the young man and lead him down to the fort. Perhaps she could present him to the Vasaath himself and let the general bestow some of his harsh lessons upon him?

But she refrained and said, “I am terribly sorry, my lord, but you should probably not visit the docks if you want to return to Westbridge alive.”

Lord Christopher’s blue eyes suddenly hardened. “Is that a threat upon your lips?”

Juniper took a step back. “No, indeed not! It was nothing but a well-intended warning.”

“I don’t care about your warnings, wench,” he spat. “I wish to speak with the demons myself. If we are to fight these creatures, we ought to know who we are truly fighting. Now, take me down to the docks, or I’ll have you flogged for disobedience.”

Juniper took a deep, exhausted breath. “Very well. If you wish it, my lord.” She curtsied, more out of spite than respect, and asked a servant to call for a carriage. She knew her father would be furious at her, and if anything happened to Christopher while down by the harbour, the alliance would most certainly be destroyed before it had even been formed.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived. The large warriors guiding the entrance of the fort nodded respectfully when Juniper exited the carriage, but their golden eyes were wary when her company followed.

“We wish to speak with your Vasaath,” she said and smiled. “If he is not occupied elsewhere, of course.”

One of the warriors looked at her and then at the young lord and his guards, and then back at her. “We will allow you inside, my lady, but the other ohkas must stay behind.”

“I wish to speak to your leader!” Christopher strode up to the much taller warrior. “Tell him that I am the son of Lord Cornwall, Duke of Westbridge, and that I have come to meet with the infamous leader of the Grey Ones.”

The warrior only glared at him before looking back at Juniper. “We will allow only you inside, my lady.” He glared back at the young lord before lowering his voice. “Are you in distress, my lady?”

She smiled, and her heart fluttered—these stoic people did care, after all. “No, indeed not. You need not worry, but I appreciate the senti—”

“This is outrageous!” Christopher exclaimed and laughed. “Are you frightened, perhaps? Is that why you won’t let me meet your leader? Perhaps he is a very small man? Minuscule, even? Perhaps you’re afraid I’ll squash him under my dirty boot?”

The warrior tensed, and from his gut came a low and rumbling growl and he said something in his own tongue. Juniper saw the warrior grip his spear so tightly, his knuckles whitened, but just as he might have been preparing to attack, the gates opened and Kasethen arrived. Juniper exhaled in relief.

“Vahanan, okhas-enaan,” he said and bowed to Juniper. “I see that you bring company.”

Juniper sighed and nodded. “Yes, Kasethen. This is Lord Christopher Cornwall, son of the Duke of Westbridge. He wishes to speak with the Vasaath.”

“Well then,” said Kasethen and turned to Lord Christopher. “My lord, the Vasaath will receive you.” Kasethen bowed, and it seemed to please the young man as he strode past the still tense warrior and into the fort, his two guards close behind him.

Juniper followed together with Kasethen. Lowly, she said, “Please, do forgive me for this rudeness. I tried to stop him from coming here.”

But Kasethen only smiled. “You have no fault in this, okhas-enaan. The Vasaath heard him shouting outside the gates, and he was intrigued.”

Juniper did not like the sound of that, at all, but said nothing more. They were led by two other warriors past the tent and up towards the battlement looking out over the harbour. There, with his face towards the sea, stood the Vasaath. He was fully clad in his black leather armour and despite having seen him the day before, Juniper was taken aback by his magnificence. Indeed, he was quite breathtaking.

“Grey One!” Christopher bellowed, but he was immediately silenced by one of the warriors who harshly replied, “Honour the Vasaath or die!”

The general turned slowly. His face was calm but difficult to read. He eyed the small party and placed his hands behind his back. Nodding towards Juniper, he said, his voice stained with strange intimacy, “Lady Juniper.”

She curtsied deeply and respectfully and replied to his addresses with, “Vasaath.”

He then turned his golden eyes to the young lord and with slight amusement, he said, “And to whom do I owe this pleasure?”

Christopher’s confidence seemed to waver—surely, he had never expected to meet such an impressive and formidable man such as the Vasaath. “I am Lord Christopher Cornwall, son of the Duke of Westbridge.”

A light seemed to flicker in the giant’s eyes. “Westbridge? Well, I welcome you. What brings you here?”

“I only wished to see what simple invaders look like,” the lord sneered. “And now that I have—” He chuckled scornfully. “—I’m not worried at all.”

Juniper felt her pulse rise. This was worse than she could have ever imagined.

The Vasaath reached out his hands in an inclusive gesture. “This does not impress you?”

Christopher scoffed. “You have but what? A hundred soldiers? We have over five thousand of the best Illyrian soldiers sovereigns can buy.”

Juniper quickly turned to the blonde boy. “My lord, I think it’s best if we refrain from—”

“You keep your mouth shut, wench, or I’ll slap you,” Christopher growled while raising his hand, and it Juniper to shrunk and took a step back.

Before anyone had the chance to understand what was happening, a large, heavy hand swept through the air and hit the young lord’s face with crushing impact. The youngling twirled and fell to the ground, his hand carefully cupping his face as blood trickled down his fingers and onto the sand washed stone.

The Vasaath had his hand still positioned as though he could strike again, and his golden eyes burnt with anger as he glared at the young lord. “Do not utter such disrespect in front of me.” His voice was more threatening than Juniper had ever heard it before. “That woman is ohkasethen, carrier of great wisdom of your people, and under my protection.”

Lord Christopher still cupped his face and remained on the ground. He looked bewildered, terrified, and highly embarrassed. He prompted his guards to do something, his voice cracking in terror, but the two guards knew better than to draw weapons surrounded by agitated Grey Ones twice their size.

“Leave this place,” the Vasaath growled. “You have brought dishonour upon your people and deserve no respect.” He stared at the lord but when no one moved, the Vasaath roared, “Leave!”

Christopher scurried to his feet with a whimper and left the encampment without as much as a single glance over his shoulder, closely followed by Kasethen.

Juniper remained, as if shackled to the ground, and gawked. She knew, deep inside, that she should have left with the lord—she would certainly not want to anger the Vasaath further—but she could not move. She tried to wrap her head around what had just transpired, but as soon as her mind fashioned the tale that the Vasaath had defended her, she renounced it, rendering it quite ridiculous.

Fresh blood was spilt on the stone floor and she was surprised to see how generous the amount was. Had Lord Christopher been seriously injured? Was she supposed to be upset about it, or pleased? She was torn from her frozen state as the general towered over her, and she looked at him with a gasp.

His eyes were still furious, and he forced her to shrink under his gaze. “How dare you bring someone so disrespectful to my doorstep?”

She tried to answer, but nothing would come out. She felt her legs buckle and her chest implode. Faintness started to come upon her, and before she knew it, she lost her balance. The Vasaath’s strong arms caught her in a painful grip, and she winced. “Please,” she let out. “Forgive me!”

The Vasaath scowled and lifted her slightly. “Steel yourself, woman.” He set her down on her feet, assuring himself that she would stand on her own before taking a step back. He looked rather displeased but the flashing anger was gone, at least. He glared at her. “You should hurry back to your company. I would not expect the Duke of Westbridge to turn a blind eye on me striking his son. You should not be here when that judgment comes.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. She searched for words to say—should she thank him for defending her honour? Should she grant him a favour for his deed? What was the Kas custom for gratitude?

“Have you lost your tongue?” he asked, rather sharply.

She shook her head. “Forgive me, my lord.” She shot down her gaze, curtsied, and hurried out towards the carriage. When she arrived, however, the carriage was gone. Kasethen was speaking with one of the guards and once he noticed Juniper, he quickly strode up to her.

“I tried to stop them, my lady,” said he in earnest. “I told them that you would come, but the lord ordered the coachman to go or he’d have him hanged.”

Juniper cursed that coward but suddenly felt very alone. The road back to Fairgarden was long and passed dangerous districts. On top of it all, dusk was soon upon them. She would have to walk back, unchaperoned, unarmed, and vulnerable in the dark. Perhaps they would send her guards, once they realised that the Duke’s son had returned without her? Perhaps they would think the Vasaath held her hostage? Bitterly, she thought that she would much rather be the Vasaath’s hostage than Lord Christopher’s wife.

“My lady?” Kasethen’s soft voice made her gaze up.

“I’m sorry, Kasethen,” said she. “I… I’m so very sorry.”

He smiled comfortingly, and graciously invited her back into the fort. Juniper tried to keep her head held high, but it was difficult—she felt ashamed, degraded even, to have to return to the general with her tail between her legs.

Tears were gathering in her eyes but she held them back. She was led into the tent but before she Vasaath had seen her, he growled something she could not understand. The violent message that whoever entered that tent was highly unwelcomed was, however, received.

Kasethen cleared his throat and as the Vasaath turned and stared angrily at them, Kasethen bowed shortly. “The young lord and his entourage left without the lady.”

The Vasaath stood for a moment, his eyes fixed on Juniper. Then, he exhaled deeply. “Very well.” That was all. He placed himself by his writing desk and started to angrily scribble down something on a piece of paper.

Juniper looked at Kasethen, who looked back at her with calm and comforting eyes. It made her relax, if only a little bit. At least she was accepted and tolerated.

The hours passed. No one came for her. No word was sent to her. It was as if she had been denounced, or simply forgotten.

The Kas offered her supper and beverages and she might have had one too many glasses of wine by the end of the night.

While the Vasaath had barely spoken a word the entire evening, Kasethen had become quite chatty after a few drinks. He was infinitely curious about the mainland culture—about their strange ways and customs—and Juniper was happy to share. He wasn’t even half as judgmental as the Vasaath, and he made interesting inquiries about her society and her faith.

They laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, but Juniper felt somewhat awkward being in the Vasaath’s tent without directing her attentions to him. He, however, seemed unbothered by the conversation she held with his advisor. He had occupied himself with letters and books and seemed neither happy nor agitated by having her there.

She was not unwilling to admit to herself that she felt—although awkward at times—perfectly at ease. The wine warmed her and loosened her; the pleasant company entertained her and reassured her. But when one of the warriors entered the tent to announce that a carriage had arrived, she felt somewhat relieved. Perhaps not because she wished to return home to Fairgarden, but perhaps because she felt as though she wasn’t being denounced or forgotten. Her father still cared about her and her reputation.

The Kas, however, all tensed up. At least, it was only a carriage and not an army of city guards. Kasethen rose from the table, mumbled some words to the Vasaath, and left to greet whoever had arrived.

Juniper rose too, on unsteady legs, and looked to the general. He hadn’t gazed up from the book he was reading and she slowly walked over to him, nervous and intoxicated.

She knew not what madness had come over her as she gently put a hand on the general’s arm, just above his vambraces. His skin was hot under her fingertips and even though she knew it was highly inappropriate of her, she couldn’t will herself to remove it. Slowly, she let her thumb caress him and she felt his muscles stir beneath his skin.

Softly, she said, “Thank you, my lord, for accepting me when my own did not. I shan’t forget the kindness you’ve shown me.”

The Vasaath slowly turned to look at the hand on his arm, before turning his eyes to her. They were stern, dark, unwelcoming—threatening even.

Juniper quickly removed her hand and took a step back. “Forgive me, I—I did not think clearly.”

He bared his teeth to release a snarl just as the canvas parted and Kasethen reappeared.

“Your father’s advisor has come for you, my lady,” said he, and Juniper quickly curtsied to the general and followed Kasethen out of the encampment.

Hot shame welled up inside of her and tears pressed on the ridges of her eyes. When she was finally seated in the carriage, face to face with Garret, she let her tears fall as the coachman urged the horses on.

“Lady Juniper,” said Garret, his voice filled with regret. “I must tell you that your father is quite cross with you. I’ve tried to calm him, but he feels as though you’ve betrayed him.”

Juniper said nothing and looked out the window.

“If it is any comfort, I don’t doubt your loyalty,” he said, and Juniper answered him with a half-hearted smile. Inside, she might as well be dead.

Translation:

Ohkas-enaan – foreigner of importance; “not of Kas but of great importance”

Ohkasethen – “advisor on foreign matters”