The Taleweaver

Arthur groaned tiredly as they were led away. He didn't need to understand the words to grasp their meaning. Whatever was going to happen to them wasn't going to happen here, and he desperately wanted more than a few hours of rest before being tied to a horse again. The cold bit harder now.

Lack of food, he thought. Less energy available for warming my body. Less left for thinking clearly as well.

Arthur glanced at Chaijrild at his side. She had to feel the same way; miserable, cold, hungry and afraid. At least he had his curiosity to divert his thoughts, and he was curious. More so than afraid, or maybe he was just too tired to be afraid. Whatever the reason was for their capture he didn't seem to be the one they wanted. Gring was at the center of their interest. Something she had done, or her family had done. If Khraga had families the way humans did.

Arthur understood he'd grown dependent on her without getting to know her very well. A fallibility of his. Too many question asked about her place in his world, and far too few about his in her.

A very good way to never learn what really matters to another being, he muttered sourly in his own mind. I'm too damn used to the world circling around me.

They walked along the streets, back to the prison pen, but as he suspected horses were already waiting for them. There would be no rest. The distant screech of a bird reached him, if it was a bird. Well, it had wings, something he wished he had as well. Soaring high into the air, flying all the way back to the caravan. Now that would be a surprise for Harbend to chew on. Arthur smiled grimly. Wishful thinking. He didn't even know in which direction the caravan lay, and a look at Gring and Chaijrild made him feel a bit guilty. He wouldn't abandon them. Not now, even though he doubted his ability to be of any real help in the situation they were in. Arthur shrugged away his misgivings. Giving up on their options wouldn't help neither.

He arrived at the horse chosen for him. Sedate, just like the mare he'd ridden a few days earlier. It was smaller though, but so were all the horses their captors rode. A rugged rope was laid around his arms and he was soon tied. He sighed and resigned himself for what was ahead.

The maddening ride started again. At first the cold wind shocked him, but long before the camp disappeared from view Arthur was too numb to feel it any longer. His world turned into a bouncing horseback and an infinite whiteness all around him, and there was no time and no destination, only the white now that stretched out forever.

A day and a night passed with the only difference being that the white hell became black after the sun set. They must have changed horses, but Arthur couldn't remember when, or even how many times. It was morning again when he was untied, so weak that when they allowed him to dismount he fell to the ground. He was too tired to notice what happened to Gring or Chaijrild, too tired to recognize the Khraga standing in front of him.

Arthur could feel himself being lifted to the back of another Khraga, and then, by some wonder he couldn't understand, he was indoors. He knew that, because the wind was gone, as were the bleak rays of the morning sun. He was too weak to care about anything other than a single sensation. It was, he realized after an eternity, warm here.

He barely noticed being stripped; cloak, coat and boots still stiff with cold. There were voices around him. Hard voices speaking in a language he didn't understand, but Arthur didn't allow that to disturb him as his body grabbed for the blissful warmth in the air.

He was carried away, but he never knew where. The cradling motions of being carried combined with being warm again for the first time in ages relaxed him, and he fell asleep.

It was still dark when he woke. For a moment Arthur wondered if he'd slept an entire day, but then he could see white spots on a wall where window slits let daylight in. He remembered he was indoors, more than remembered. The stinging cold that had become an unpleasant companion was no longer present, nor was the cutting wind. Arthur rose on aching legs and started to examine his surroundings while dressing in his damp clothes.

"Awake at last," Gring commented from somewhere.

He searched and found her sitting with her back to a wall, black fur less tidy than he remembered from their days with the caravan. It was still fur, probably warmer than his clothes.

Or Chaijrild's, the little demon of responsibility in his head added accusingly. How do you think she feels?

"The child is still sleeping. She'll be fine," Gring continued as if reading his thoughts.

Arthur relaxed a little, but guilt still clung to him. They were together then, but where? "How?"

"They jumped us here."

Arthur blinked away the last of his sleepiness. "Who did what?"

"Human mages. Of the same kind as mage Escha. We met them late yesterday. The halfmen riders didn't follow of course."

"Why are we here?" Arthur asked, too dizzy to understand what mages from Khanati were doing here, wherever here was. Aw, hell, human mages mean monkey mages.

"I stand accused of betraying my own," Gring answered never showing if she'd guessed his last thought.

Arthur stared at her. "In what way?"

"I don't know. Kharg accused me before we were led away. There is a questioning ahead. I'll know then."

"But that's ridiculous!"

"To know?"

"No, to go to these lengths for capturing one person, unless you're more important to them than you've told me."

Gring studied him. A dangerous glint in her eyes told him she was getting angry. "You dare call me honor less like an oath breaker?"

"What's honor got to do with anything? They attacked the caravan with God knows how many men. Either they're insane or you're indeed that valuable to them."

She stared at him. "I don't know why they'd want to capture me. The attack on the caravan was probably payment to the halfmen riders. They are still nomadic and live off their own relatives who have settled down. Little more than brigands."

Arthur sat down in the straw covering part of the floor. He'd never fully understand the ways of the people living here.

"No, I don't accuse you of lying to me, but I still wonder why they'd use so much resources to capture you. It makes me suspicious and I hope you can understand that," he added in way of consolation.

"Your suspicion is an attempt to stain my honor."

"That was never my intention." Arthur sighed with dejection. Gring had her priorities wrong. He steeled himself for a verbal trashing. "You don't understand. Honor can't be important enough to rule out everything else."

"Now it's you who don't understand. What is life without honor?"

"Honor can't be everything. Yes, it's important, but so is decency and caring. Without them, how could we help those in need, and why should we? I've seen honor become arrogance and self-importance too many times to trust it fully. It's a notion far too easy to abuse."

Gring grunted but at least she didn't argue. Arthur turned away sullenly. He was still cold, and the damp air didn't help.

He wondered when they'd be fed. At least they'd been given water, but quenching his thirst only reminded him how hungry he was. How long since their last meal? A week? No it must be less than that, but he was feeling dull enough to know it had been too long. The headache tormenting him at first was gone as well. Another bad sign. Pain was a sensation forcing him to think. How long would it be before he was too weak to care? Surely they didn't mean to starve them to death. That made no sense, unless of course the real reason was to weaken Gring so whatever plight they were to endure would be more than she could handle. Incoherent thoughts wandered through his mind until he heard Chaijrild groan. She must have been disturbed by the angry conversation earlier. She looked worn.

Arthur waited until she was fully awake, and dressed, before trying to catch her attention. "How are you?"

"Where are we?" Her voice was weak from fatigue.

She looked dirtier than he remembered, but then he probably wasn't looking his best either. A mirror would be good to have. He thought of it again and suddenly the idea didn't seem as alluring any longer. Better not to know what he looked like when he wanted to at least pretend to be strong.

"We are with my people," Gring answered instead of him. "We were jumped here."

"Where is here?" Chaijrild's voice was still weak, but this time a hint of fear was mixed into it as well.

"Further east from where we were. Not much. We could have made the distance in three or four eightdays, including the boat trip of course," Gring answered flatly.

"Boat trip?" Arthur asked, paying no heed to his protesting stomach.

"Yes, the sea cuts in all the way to Braka."

"You mean like the Narrow Sea?" Chaijrild asked.

Gring grinned and licked her tusks. "Yes, I suppose."

The two women continued to discuss geography Arthur already was vaguely familiar with from satellite maps. Of course those maps didn't come with any of the names or borders the people here took for granted. At the moment he didn't care. The smalltalk was a distraction from their situation. After a while the conversation turned to differences in names, and then it became too abstract for him with uncertain guesswork from both Gring and Chaijrild as they tried to explain the reasons for different names.

Arthur sighed, silently so Chaijrild wouldn't hear. They were caught by people more distant to them than a mere measure of relative distance would ever explain, and Chaijrild was more a frightened child than a woman. It wasn't enough that Gring always seemed solid like a mountain. Chaijrild would expect nothing else from someone looking like one. Hell, he wouldn't expect anything else. Privately he wondered though. There had to be weaknesses Gring didn't show. She was human after all, even if her concept of human differed very much from Chaijrild's. Did it differ less from his own? He hoped so.

Arthur leaned back in the dirty straw. Maybe he could shoot their way out of here. He fumbled after his holster. Empty. Of course. They wouldn't have been allowed to keep their weapons. If they only had some food! He needed something to eat to think more clearly. Hell, they all did. Nothing much he could do about their situation now. They were locked in and would probably be called for whenever their captors wanted. If Gring didn't seem more worried than she was there was no reason for him to add to their misgivings. At least he could pretend to be calm. Again random thoughts came and went on their own volition, and tiredness called on Arthur.

At least I'm not afraid of the night any longer. Guess living the nightmare sets your priorities right.

He curled up in a ball to keep warm. If he could do nothing else then at least he could try to make himself as comfortable as their surroundings allowed. He listened absently to the chatter between Chaijrild and Gring. It was nothing important, but it kept them occupied, and he was glad for Chaijrild's sake. She needed the diversion. At least he wasn't afraid of sleeping any longer. He drifted into an uneasy sleep but was never truly sleeping, and from time to time he could hear the voices of the two women. They had changed topics which made it clear to him he had dozed off after all, and the last time he looked at the window slits before he fell asleep for real they offered nothing but the night.

Arthur stared at the over sized furniture around him. It was a place for Khraga not humans. The round hall was huge as well, almost like an ancient stone church. This was, however, not a religious building. It looked more like a fortification of some kind. A citadel perhaps. Symbolic decorations lined the walls, but Arthur saw no pictures. It reminded him somewhat of an orthodoxly decorated Islamic building, but the symbols here were hard and angular rather than the smooth forms he remembered.

He turned his attention to their captors when a harsh voice called Gring forward. She obeyed, and when she finally stood close to the three other Khraga present in the hall he saw how small and fragile she looked in comparison to them. She didn't wear any of the heavy armor they sported, only a leather jerkin not much thicker than his own. In their dark armor their captors stood as tall as a soldier in a body walker, and they looked almost as invincible, but for once Arthur knew it was only an illusion. A body walker would tear through them in an instant. He'd like to have one now. Wistful thinking. He'd wanted adventure, and now when he was in one he longed for an easy solution out of it.

Too soft, we've grown too soft. Always knowing that you can call for help doesn't do much for initiative, does it?

He drew a deep breath and sighed again. As if he could take any initiative now.

Then there was something in the air intruding on his mind, and when he saw Chaijrild cringe and throw herself to the floor he could feel the panic spreading through his body. The fear causing scent had to be deliberate. This time he was better prepared than he had been in the Roadhouse, and centuries of genetic engineering on Earth had made previously impossible feats possible. Arthur drew a deep breath, willed his body to obedience and with a controlled amount of adrenaline pumping through his body he took a defensive stance and glared at the armored Khraga with what he hoped was a defiant stare. Of the tiredness and hunger there was nothing left. He wasn't surprised when he was awarded a look almost amounting to shock and disbelief. He wanted them to see resistance, and it mattered little if it was wise or not. Arthur wondered what he would need to do to look even remotely as menacingly as the Khraga in their black leather. Grow another meter, to begin with, and then?

Facing the warriors he saw they didn't look like three copies of each other. None of them had the jet black fur covering Gring. Dark brown with different shades of gray were shared between two of them, and the third had a reddish tinge to his black making his fur look perpetually dirty. Kharg, he wasn't as black as Arthur first had thought.

He met an angry growl with one of his own. He wouldn't back down now, not when his adrenaline filled body was strong enough for him to punch through armor and ribcage if need be. Slowly, very slowly, Arthur calmed down and studied the three warriors in front of him. He assumed they were males, but what if Gring just happened to be a dwarf among Khraga? The thought of a hairy, giant dwarf made him laugh despite his fear, and his amusement drew a growl from another one of the three.

I am literally laughing in the face of my enemy. Damn, it feels good! To hell with precaution! Elation brought even more mirth to him, and he could hear his laughter carrying a tone of confidence having little in common with the desperation he ought to feel.

Well done, little one. You carry yourself with great honor. I'm proud of you.

He could hear the voice inside his head. It had to be Gring. So, mindwalkers had more tricks up their sleeves than just making translations unnecessary.

Arthur continued laughing until the seriousness of their situation came back to him. He might feel better now, but things hadn't improved for anyone but him. Maybe a little. Chaijrild wasn't curled up on the floor any longer. That made him feel good as well. He wasn't totally useless then.

Gring spoke to Kharg. To Arthur's surprise it wasn't all gibberish. He tried listening in to the conversation, but he didn't understand more than a few words. Whatever they spoke about a conclusion was soon reached, and as a result the prisoners were led in the direction of a doorway. Arthur had very little time to notice any details in the rooms and corridors they passed through, but as temperature dropped and he could feel a weak draft he realized they were probably heading outdoors. He was proved right and they went down a flight of stairs, a wide, ugly crack visible through the snow running from top to bottom, and once again he stood upon white snow.

The daylight blinded him for a while, hurt his eyes, but he adjusted and searched his surroundings. They were standing in an open place with smaller buildings surrounding them. The houses were alien to his eyes. Over sized and windowless they were arranged in circles with the doorways facing the fortress he'd just left.

Arthur saw a few children, or at least what he assumed were children, playing roughly with each other, growling rather than laughing. Predators, they were predators by nature. There was no questioning some of them were badly hurt from time to time the way they were playing. It must be a hard society, but even the children looked hardy. He didn't see any old Khraga. Hell, he didn't know what an old Khraga would look like if he saw one. Maybe it was only his own presumptions telling him he shouldn't expect anyone to reach advanced age here.

Arthur wondered how much of his knowledge was really knowledge and how much was just assumptions based on prejudice.

We're so fond of organizing. Everything must be in a labeled box. Can't have anything outside the frames of our understanding, can we?

He tugged his cloak closer around him to keep the wind out. The cold just made his hunger more acute. Arthur sniffed. There was something more here as well, a peculiar smell in the air he didn't recognize.

Gring watched him sniffing in the air.

"It doesn't feel like the Sea of Grass," he answered her unvoiced question.

"We're closer to the sea. You smell the water."

So that's what it is?

Arthur didn't have much experience of the sea, not even from home. It was a place he visited from time to time and maybe sailed upon once every second year or so. "What's it like?"

"Wet."

"I mean, more than that."

"Cold."

He smiled. "Everything is cold here, isn't it?"

"Not always. Sometimes during summer it becomes very hot. Too hot, but the sea is always cold."

"You don't seem too fond of open waters," Arthur commented.

"Proper humans are not supposed to be there. Creatures that swim live there."

"You can't swim?"

"Why should I?"

Arthur stared at her. "I just assumed. It's supposed to be handy knowledge where I come from. There are a lot of us who enjoy the sea. Some even live off it."

"Then you halfmen are the same wherever you come from. You travel on boats all the way from Keen, and sometimes those boats never come here, and yet you persist with this stupidity."

"Don't you have any ships of your own?"

"We have, but not the big boats. Only for crossing rivers."

Arthur smiled again. She'd call a barge a boat. Maybe their big, furred bodies didn't take well to water, or maybe they simply couldn't learn to swim very well. A gust of wind forced itself inside his clothes and he shivered. Once again he was reminded of hunger. The fresh air had only fooled him into forgetting how weak he was.

Why the hell are we treated this way? "Gring, why don't they feed us?"

"I don't know."

"Chaijrild can't take much more."

Gring smiled at him, yellow tusks clearly visible. "And you can?"

"Have to, or she'll just give up."

"You are brave. You show honor where we do not. It's a disgrace the way we treat you."

"We?" Gring never ceased to amaze him. "They make you a prisoner, and still you consider them to be your own."

"Of course. We are human. You are not."

Arthur shook his head. "You place too much importance in looks. You've proved to be human, but I consider myself one as well."

"You could never be, halfman, even if you sometimes behave as one."

Arthur gave up. It was more than simply a difference in culture.

He wondered what was going to happen now. There had to be a reason for them leaving the fortress. A trial? He drew a deep breath.

Damn them! Couldn't they at least tell us why? The reason for their capture for example. Maybe they'd been told. Gring no longer used her powers all the time, and there'd been too much talking when he wasn't allowed to understand what they were saying.

Arthur felt, rather than saw, Kharg and his two companions pass to the left and join a crowd that was slowly growing. Then Gring's presence was gone again.

Arthur swore silently. More secret conversations then. He listened absentmindedly to the talking when it started. It grew heated, and a lot of pointing at him proved he apparently was part of the discussion he wasn't allowed to take part in.

Then Arthur felt the familiar tingling signaling that Gring had invited him to understand what was being said. So now it suited her to let him in. Not knowing what was expected from him he looked at her for support.

"Kharg goes too far. He openly accuses you of not being a taleweaver."

Arthur stared at her. "And what of it?"

"You behaved with honor in there. It's no more than right you get to defend yourself."

That didn't exactly answer any questions of his, but she seemed determined he spoke. "If it makes you feel better."

How should he make his case? The answer came to him almost immediately. Then another realization. There was indeed something in this world allowing him to deliver one of his special shows almost at will.

Arthur briefly considered telling them about the short battle ending in capture, but not wanting to show the Khraga the function of the weapon they'd taken from him he decided to tell them something else. Something they could never have experienced.

Home! My everyday home is grand magic to them.

He gathered his thoughts, and for the first time he was acutely aware of his Weaving. There could be no better word for it. Strands of memories mingled with each other until they became a living tapestry he shared with everyone listening to him. He invited them to a ride on a mag train He walked them through a game of football where the audience alone amassed more humans than any of them could possibly have seen together in their entire lives. He brought them on a flight from a launch port so they could see the city spreading out over an area he guessed was larger than their entire nation, if they even used the concept of nations.

It was easier this time, and not as exhausting as the night at the Taleweaver's Inn in the Roadhouse, not even as tiring as when he had Woven at cook fires earlier. It was as if knowing what he was doing made him spend less while adding more detail. They filled in all scents and the distant views themselves, and he had a feeling he was cheating a little. It was, he decided, mostly tricks of the trade. The exactness was not as important at the meaning, and at this occasion he only needed to convince them that he was what Gring had said him to be.

Arthur studied them when he had finished. Most were awestruck, but Kharg still kept his cold stare. That one would be hard to convince, but Arthur was at a loss how to do so. He had Woven, and he knew nothing more to do. He allowed his breathing to calm down. It had been exhaustive after all, and he was still weak from hunger. Cold through as well. They must have stood here for the better part of an hour. Chaijrild stood shivering beside him now when the impossible world of foreign wonders he'd shown lost its grip on her. Coming back must have been doubly hard on her. Maybe it hadn't been so wise to pick a late April's day, but he'd wanted them to experience the greenery of the parks in the city.

"Lies, it's all lies!" Kharg broke the silence.

"There may be some pretense in my world, but I would hardly go as far as to call it lies," Arthur said at last, growling stomach slowly giving way to rising ire.

"What was that?" Chaijrild asked. The sound of her voice told him she was still dreaming herself away from here.

"An ancient city called Paris. It's one of the largest on Earth. Dirty and beautiful at the same time. More people live in that city alone than in all but the largest of your empires here I'd guess."

"I'd like to see it."

"Maybe one day." Arthur smiled.

"He's playing oath breaker tricks with your minds," Kharg accused.

Irritation rose. He'd faced Kharg inside the fort, and the hulking frame seemed less frightening now.

"That's no trick. I admit such huge cities are not that common on Earth, but we have a fair share of them. I have visited that place several times, and on the landmass we call Europe it's rivaled in size by no less than six other cities." Arthur had the feeling Kharg didn't look for proof. Gring had hinted at something else, even though she probably didn't know Arthur had caught any such meaning from her comments.

"Still, I say he lies. I can prove it," Kharg announced to the Khraga assembled there.

"How can you prove a lie where there is none?" Arthur retorted.

"Silence, skinless one!"

"I'm allowed to speak whenever I want!"

Gring tugged at Arthur's clothes, and that, rather than anything Kharg said made him silent.

"I will make you all know the falsehood of the oath breaker," Kharg continued.

"How?" Gring asked.

"Not how, but where," Kharg answered.

"What do you mean by that? Are we not humans who can decide for ourselves what is truth and what is not?" she retorted.

"You are a renegade who travels with an oath breaker for reasons only benefiting yourself."

Gring growled, and other Khraga stepped forward as they heard the accusation.

"Kharg, if it is as you say, then we should question her." One voice from the crowd, but Arthur couldn't see who had spoken.

"No, we must go where the halfman mage cannot play his false tricks on our minds."

"That is not our ways."

"That is what I say," Kharg answered.

"Gring is not sworn to us. You would have our laws imposed on her anyway?" Now there was anger in the voice, and a Khraga marched forward to be seen by them all.

"I will and that is what I order. We will go and find out the real truth behind all this. We will jump with the prisoners," Kharg responded.

"That is not our ways. Your deeds carry little honor."

"You dare oppose me? I am sworn to our laws. I am a sworn leader among us. I decide how to handle a renegade."

"You do, and yet you bend our laws to bring great danger upon us."

"Then oppose me or be silent. I dare you to break the law by opposing me."

There was only a dissatisfied murmur in response and Arthur sighed, a deep, desperate sigh.

"Again?" he asked Gring.

She bowed in affirmation.

"Where?"

"I don't know. We're prisoners. They don't tell prisoners what we don't need to know."

"Why?"

Gring nodded at the Khraga around them. The air was still buzzing with angry words. "They don't know what to do. Kharg is war chief. His word is law. You're a taleweaver. Your safety is law."

"I don't understand."

"No matter what happens they break the law. You are protected by a law from the outside. Kharg is here. They know it brings disaster, but Kharg is the law present, and they will let him take us."

Arthur shook his head in dismay. They bloody needed to know what was happening to them, but of course their captors didn't share his sentiment. They didn't have to. They weren't led around like cattle to slaughter.

"Damn them all to hell!"

"I don't understand."

He laughed. "Sometimes, Gring, you're just too sweet and innocent for your own good. Did you know that?"

"Of course not. Only a halfman would consider me innocent," she replied, confirming his thoughts without understanding she did.

"You are, truly," he answered. She really was, and he marveled at meeting such refreshing sweetness in a hairy monster who could crush every bone in his body without even exerting herself.