The Grey Ones

THE VASAATH

He carefully placed his leather armour across the table and grabbed himself the vessel of leather treatment. Tending to his neatly crafted things was soothing, and it cleared his mind. Clearing of mind was exactly what he needed.

He had spent nearly the entire summer, about sixty days, speaking with the Duke’s daughter, trying to figure out whether or not the people of this wretched city were ready to receive the Kasenon. But it was an infuriating task, and he had felt a rising frustration for weeks. He hadn’t heard a single thing of use, and on top of it all, that girl’s silver eyes haunted both his dreams and his every waking hour. Her voice echoed in his ears like a distant whisper, and he cursed himself for wishing her to stay just a little longer each day.

He hadn’t felt it at first, the wanting. He had certainly felt an allure the first time he had laid his eyes on her—her delicate beauty had not been lost on him—but he had felt no stir of emotions, no creeping shivers along his body when meeting her silver eyes or hearing her soft voice.

The interest had awoken slowly. Her voice had invaded his mind, word by word; the flicker of candlelight in her brilliant eyes had seared into his memory, nightfall by nightfall. The sweet smell of her had lingered longer and longer in his tent. For two moons, he had been able to bear it, to repress it, but his patience was wearing thin.

It was unworthy of him to feel the way he did, to covet an ohkas, and it threw him off balance. It made him foolish and reckless, and it made him act like a simple kasaath again. It was these awful, unsophisticated lands that made him turn savage.

His work was meticulous as he spread the oil over his leather armour inch by inch. He heard Kasethen enter the tent, but he did not let it stop his work.

“I see you’ve chosen the thick ointment,” said Kasethen. “It’s going to take you some time to cover your entire armour.”

The Vasaath took a deep breath. “There’s no need to tread carefully, Kasethen,” said he. “Ask me, if you must. I have yet to decide whether or not to answer.”

Kasethen moved carefully towards the table. He watched the general work for a few moments before he asked, “What is weighing you, my lord?”

The Vasaath had reached a particularly intricate part and carefully wedged the oil into every crevasse of the leather. He let his mind clear for another moment before he said, “The girl, Kasethen. The girl is bothering me.”

“Oh?” There was some surprise in his voice. “I was under the impression that you rather enjoyed Lady Juniper’s company?”

“She is pleasant enough to converse with,” said the Vasaath. “Beautiful, elegant—but she says nothing of consequence. It’s a waste of my time.”

Kasethen pondered for a moment before saying, “But she is teaching you a great many things about the mainland culture, my lord. That must be of value, no?”

“Yes, she tells me of their idiotic politics, their ridiculous faith, and their tenuous arguments for societal rules,” snarled the Vasaath. “She knows nothing of their military strategy or their inter-political relationships—she is of no value to me.”

“But, my lord,” Kasethen said, “she might be withholding certain information, knowing it’s sensitive. Furthermore, she seems very recipient to the Kasenon, and need I remind you of her ability to inspire the people? You should continue your endeavour of making her convert.”

The Vasaath kept his gaze steady. He decidedly forced away the thought of the girl submitting to him, and focused on his leather.

Kasethen sighed. “We could ask for another ambassador, of course, one that would—”

“No.” His answer was darker than he had anticipated—he never meant for it to be so resolute. He then said, “I would not wish to waste my time with another. It is a test of my patience, indeed, but I suppose it is good we have the Duke’s daughter in our hands. If it comes to it, we have leverage.”

Kasethen, with his soft heart, sighed. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

The Vasaath sighed in frustration and turned to his friend. “Tell me, Kasethen, how do you see this evolve, then? I’m sure Lady Juniper might be able to sway some of her faithful subjects, but there will still be forceful conversion. There will be many who deny us, and there will be blood. That is what you wish to avoid, is it not?”

Kasethen blinked. “Isn’t that what you wish to avoid, too, my lord?”

The Vasaath snorted. “I couldn’t care less about these spiteful people. One way or another, they will learn that order will only come through submission. They will submit, or they will die.”

Kasethen said nothing, but the Vasaath could sense his disapproval nonetheless. He knew Kasethen stood against violent conquering, and the general knew why, of course. Forceful conversion raised the risks of complaints and riots, something the Kas could do well without.

A person forced into their philosophy would not understand it, would not revere it. It was not to be wished for. Indeed, a peaceful and natural conversion was the best option, but that took time—and the Vasaath knew not how much longer he could stand speaking with the Duke’s daughter knowing she was beyond his reach.

The general sighed. “We will give them a bit more time, Kasethen. How much, I cannot tell, but when the time comes, I will attack.”

Kasethen nodded. “Very well.”

The two stood in silence for another moment before one of the officers entered the tent. “Vasaath,” said the warrior and bowed, “we have more of them at our gate.”

The Vasaath and Kasethen exchanged looks before the general said, “Let them in. Kasethen will greet them.”

The advisor bowed and followed the kasaath out of the tent. The Vasaath returned to his armour. The new ohkasenon would be greeted and fed properly before he would meet with them anyway, giving him plenty of time to clear his mind of silver eyes and soft voices.

Translation:

Kasaath – warrior; “strength of the people”

Ohkas – stranger; “not of Kas”; “not of the people”

Ohkasenon – foreign follower of the Kasenon; “follower of the faith of the people but not of the people”