Dukar's steps echo on the cobblestone streets of Qixi-Lo, each stride reflecting his unease amidst the city's vibrancy. The air is filled with the mingling scents of spiced meats and fresh pastries from nearby vendors. His eyes, however, linger not on the delights but on the faces around him, searching for something familiar in the sea of strangers.
The city unfolds in layers, each corner telling stories of convergence between nomadic traditions and settled sophistication. Children dart between stalls, laughter punctuating the air, while artisans display their crafts with pride, intricate designs woven into fabric and carved into wood.
As Dukar ventures deeper, the ambiance shifts. The marketplace's cheerful cacophony gives way to tense shouts. He quickens his pace, drawn to the center of the commotion.
There, amidst a circle of onlookers, Ta and a group of boys of the same age, are locked in a brawl. Ta stands out, his stance disciplined, yet each punch he throws carries a ferocity that speaks to a personal vendetta.
The crowd's reactions vary—some cheer, others cast disapproving glances, but all are captivated by the spectacle.
As he observes, Dukar's own turmoil mirrors the conflict before him. The city, with its bustling markets and vibrant life, also houses his compatriots in chains. His newfound position at Puripal's side offers a glimmer of home, yet he remains an outsider.
Amidst the tumult, a sudden shift in the brawl captures Dukar's attention. One of Ta's adversaries, in a desperate bid for escape, darts towards him, panic etched across his face. Ta's eyes lock onto the fleeing figure, then flicker to Dukar, smiling. "Brother! Stop him!"
Dukar's response is swift, almost instinctive. He extends his leg. The boy, caught off-guard, stumbles over Dukar's leg and crashes to the cobblestones, his escape thwarted. Before the boy can recover, Ta is upon him, like a cat closing in on its prey.
The crowd's reaction is immediate, a collective intake of breath as Ta dominates the fallen opponent. With a precision that speaks of fury, Ta slams the boy's head against the ground, once, twice, a grim rhythm that ends in a chilling finality. Blood mars the cobblestones.
Dukar crouches to Ta's level, his gaze piercing. "What's going on?"
Ta, still flushed with the adrenaline of victory, meets Dukar's gaze. His smile, bright yet edged with the intensity of the moment, fades as he registers Dukar's genuine perplexity. The surrounding onlookers, their earlier enthusiasm dampened by the turn of events, watch in silent anticipation, the vibrant energy of the marketplace replaced by a tense uncertainty.
With an agility that belies the ferocity of his recent actions, Ta stands, his movement fluid and swift. In a gesture that blurs the line between camaraderie and chaos, he leaps into Dukar's arms. The surprise on Dukar's face is evident, a stark contrast to Ta's laughter, which seems out of place in the gravity of the moment.
Ta, undeterred by the weight of the situation, turns towards the remaining combatants. His voice, laced with amusement and a hint of triumph, cuts through the tension. "My brother is here, so I'll take my leave!"
The youths, momentarily paused in their brawl, turn with a mixture of surprise and realization dawning on their faces.
With the swiftness of a conspirator, Ta brings his mouth close to Dukar's ear. "Let's go! Run!" The urgency, wrapped in exhilaration, prompts Dukar into action. He adjusts his hold, carrying Ta with a protective ease.
They dart away, a sudden burst of movement that catches the crowd off guard. Ta's laughter, unfettered and contagious, echoes in the narrow streets. Dukar, propelled by Ta's infectious joy and the urgency of the moment, navigates through the crowd with a newfound purpose.
Behind them, the last of Ta's opponents, fueled by a mix of frustration and defiance, attempt to pursue. However, the crowd, once passive spectators, morphs into an obstacle. Their collective presence, a barrier woven from curiosity and concern, hampers the aggressors' advance.
As Dukar and Ta make their escape, the marketplace resumes its rhythm, the incident folding into the tapestry of stories that color the streets of Qixi-Lo.
Dukar and Ta, their escape now a race against both fatigue and the fading laughter that marks their path, find sanctuary at the heart of the Napa oasis. The outskirts of Qixi-Lo, with its clamor and chaos, give way to the tranquil respite of water and whispering palms. Here, the world seems to hold its breath.
Dukar, his patience waning under the weight of Ta's relentless mirth, reaches a breaking point. With a mix of exasperation and a desperate need for silence, he hoists Ta and sends him spiraling into the oasis. The water greets Ta with a splash, swallowing his laughter and leaving a momentary peace in its wake.
Ta surfaces with a comic gasp, the shock of the cold water a sudden punctuation to their frenetic escape. “You stink. When's the last time you took a bath?!” Dukar’s words, half-mockery, half-genuine curiosity, float across the water.
The fall has stripped Ta of his wool head cover, unveiling the hidden facets of his identity: black hair, slicked back by the water, and a vast birthmark that paints his face. As he rubs his head, the water turns into a mirror, reflecting not just his image but the complexities of his existence.
"I don't have a bath, and it costs too much money to go to the public bath." His smile, undimmed by his confession, carries a lightness that belies the gravity of his situation.
Dukar's reaction is immediate, his face twitching in a mix of surprise and realization. "Aren't you one of the Khan's sons?"
Ta's laughter rings out again, clear and unfettered. "I'm a bastard, did you forget? I don't have my siblings' privileges." His words, though spoken in jest, carry the weight of an unvarnished truth. In them, there's an acknowledgment of a life lived in the shadows of titles and legitimacy, a life where the luxury of a bath is a splendor too far to reach.
As the realization of his own naivety dawns upon him, Dukar feels a twinge of embarrassment for his ignorance regarding Ta's status. The concept of bastards, while known to him, is an unfamiliar terrain in the culture of Tepr. He moves to sit by the water's edge, the calm of the oasis contrasting sharply with the turmoil of his thoughts. "I didn't notice we were out of the city," he muses aloud, his voice a mix of wonder and a subtle attempt to shift away from his earlier blunder.
Ta's laughter, light and unburdened, fills the space between them. "It's better this way, it will take them longer to find me! You'll have to be careful too, they know your face now!"
Dukar, seizing the moment for clarity, asks, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Ta, his demeanor shifting subtly, takes a moment before responding. "Those guys are part of a gang. I was one of them before I left to enroll in the Khan's army."
Dukar, absorbing the weight of Ta's words, reflects silently before asking, "Why did you enroll? I can't think of anything worth experiencing on the front."
Ta, in response, rises to his feet. He pats his clothes dry and adjusts his head cover. "I have a few ideas... by the way, did you know you just threw me into the Napa oasis?"
Dukar, unsure where Ta is leading, shrugs. "Yes, and?"
Ta's laughter bursts forth, rich and full of life. "And it's sacred water that we drink!" The revelation, delivered with a mix of mirth and mischief, catches Dukar off guard.
Dukar, struck by a sudden realization of his misdeed, rises from his place by the sacred oasis with a deliberate slowness. He meticulously adjusts his boots, a mundane act serving as a brief prelude to his next move. With a flourish of solemnity, he declares, "Well, it was nice to meet you." Without waiting for a response, he pivots on his heel, embarking on a swift retreat back to the bustling heart of Qixi-Lo, intent on dissolving into its anonymity.
Behind him, Ta's reaction is immediate and dramatic. With a sharp intake of breath, he propels himself out of the oasis, his landing on the sand punctuated by a theatrical roll. He bounds to his feet, urgency and determination fueling his chase. "Brother! Brother! Wait for me!!"
The pair reenters the city, their sudden appearance amidst the throng of its inhabitants drawing curious and amused glances. Ta, undeterred by the spectacle they've become, continues his vocal pursuit, the term "brother" echoing amidst the clamor of the marketplace.
Dukar, caught between embarrassment and the absurdity of their situation, attempts to deflect the growing attention. Addressing the gathered onlookers with a hint of desperation, he proclaims, "I'm not his brother, and actually, I don't know who he is at all!" His denial, far from dismissing the crowd, only serves to heighten their interest.
Amidst the unfolding comedy, a merchant, quick to seize the opportunity, calls out from behind his stand. "Young man! Your little brother is all stinky and running behind you! Take care of him by buying one of my soaps!"
As they navigate the crowded streets of Qixi-Lo, Dukar and Ta encounter the remnants of the earlier conflict. Among them, is a boy with a face so marred by swelling, it barely retains its human shape. The air, charged with tension, thickens as one of the boys, recognizing the pair, sneers with disdain. "Look, who's back. The stinky bastard and his strange brother! Aren't y'all an ugly couple!"
Dukar, unfamiliar with the faces that now confront them and driven by a desire to put distance between himself and the complications Ta brings, quickens his pace, bypassing them with a single-minded focus. The boys, incensed by this blatant disregard, perceive it as an affront to their pride.
In a sudden surge of outrage, they spring into action, targeting Ta, who lags behind, his stamina dwindling. The confrontation escalates quickly, with Ta caught in the throes of their vengeance, his previous vigor sapped by the day's exertions.
Meanwhile, Dukar, oblivious to the unfolding drama behind him, finds solace in the silence that replaces Ta's persistent calls. The absence of "brother! brother!" signals to him a long-sought reprieve from the chaos that has ensnared him since their paths crossed. With a self-satisfied smirk, he revels in his newfound freedom, convinced he has successfully extricated himself from the web of complications that Ta represents.
Curiosity, a nagging whisper in the back of his mind, prompts Dukar to glance back over his shoulder. The sight that greets him ignites a swift change in his demeanor.
With agility born of necessity, Dukar reenters the fray. He grabs the leg of one assailant, leveraging the element of surprise to hurl him away from Ta. Another receives a sharp kick, sent sprawling to the side, while the boy with the swollen face finds himself once again acquainted with the unforgiving ground, courtesy of Dukar's forceful intervention.
Breathing heavily, Dukar extends a hand towards Ta, pulling him to his feet. Ta, battered and visibly drained, shows no outward signs of serious injury.
The last of the attackers, his bravado wilting under Dukar's resolute gaze, spits to the ground in a final act of defiance. "This fucking whore! How much did he pay you?!" His words, a venomous attempt to salvage some shred of dignity, hang unanswered in the air.
Dukar's response is not verbal but conveyed through a gaze so piercing, so laden with unspoken warnings, that it seals the boy's silence. With the conflict resolved, if not the underlying tensions, Dukar turns his attention to Ta, offering support as they navigate away from the scene.
Unbeknownst to Dukar, their aimless wandering has led them close to the grandeur of the palace. It's a realization that dawns on him too late, the imposing structure now a stark reminder of the worlds that separate him from Ta.
As they approach, a figure materializes from the shadows of the gate, an anticipation in its stance reminiscent of a spouse awaiting their husband’s return. Recognition flares as Puripal emerges. With a swift stride that carries the weight of authority, he closes the distance between them.
Suddenly, Puripal's hand clasps Dukar's, an action swift and possessive, as he unceremoniously shoves Ta aside. "What were you doing with him?" The question hangs in the air, ambiguous in its direction.
Dukar, taken aback, fumbles for an explanation, his discomfort evident. "He's all beaten up... Maybe a shaman should look at his wounds?"
Puripal's response is immediate, a click of the tongue and a sidelong glance that speaks volumes. "I wasn't talking to you," he dismisses Dukar, turning his full attention to Ta, who has yet to recover from the initial push. With another forceful gesture, Puripal increases the distance between them, his focus sharp on Ta. "What are you planning? Pff, you stink! Any shaman's abilities would be hindered by such a smell. Go take a bath, now!" His command points Ta towards the palace.
Ta, still reeling from the events, looks up, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are you sure I won't be kicked out, Brother?"
Puripal's assurance is quick. "Not if they don't smell you from afar! Go, now! Say Puripal ordered you!"
"Thank you, Brother." Gratitude colors Ta's response as he prepares to heed the instruction.
Yet, before he can take a step, Puripal's attention shifts back to Dukar, his hand resting on Dukar's shoulder in a gesture of possession and warning. "And don't forget: He's mine."
Once they are alone, Puripal's gaze, intense and scrutinizing, sweeps over Dukar, as if trying to decipher a story. "What did he do? Did he tell you anything?" His inquiry, laced with suspicion and curiosity, seeks to uncover the truth.
Dukar, feeling the weight of Puripal's stare, maintains his composure. "Nothing. I just met him on the streets, and I helped him walk after he got beaten up by some ruffian."
Puripal narrows his eyes. "Hmm... But now you stink like him too! You'd better wash thoroughly tonight!"
Dukar exhales. "By the way, Puripin, I told you already, but I can't stay here in Qixi-Lo forever. I have obligations to my family, and my fellow Tepr men. They need to go home."
Puripal, momentarily caught off guard by the nickname, quickly masks his reaction with a veneer of composure. The mention of Dukar's impending departure and the obligations awaiting him stirs a mixture of emotions, though none find explicit expression on his face. "You... I was actually having a discussion with my father on that topic. But first, come!"
Dukar, trailing behind Puripal, finds himself stepping into the familiar yet now foreign territory of a clothier shop, nestled among the streets they've retraced. The shop, a canvas of colors and textures, becomes the stage for Puripal's peculiar errand. One by one, Dukar is coaxed into an array of outfits, each distinct in its inspiration and design.
The first set boasts the vibrant colors and intricate patterns characteristic of Yohazatz attire, garments that dance with the elegance of court life and the fierceness of their warriors. Flowing robes adorned with bold, geometric designs, and tunics tightened at the waist with ornate belts, speak of a people proud and resplendent in their cultural identity.
In contrast, the Moukopl-inspired outfits whisper tales of a different world. These pieces, more subdued in color but rich in texture, feature practical yet elegant designs that honor the mountainous terrain of Moukopl lands. Heavy cloaks designed to fend off the chill of the high altitudes, paired with sturdy boots and layered tunics, reflect a pragmatic approach to dress, where form and function find a harmonious balance.
Dukar, amidst this whirlwind of fabric and fashion, voices his confusion. "Why are we doing this? Can you tell me what you and the Khan agreed on?"
Puripal, wielding his princely privilege with an air of nonchalance, secures the purchase of the selected garments for Dukar. As they leave the confines of the shop, he unveils the terms of a daunting agreement. "Right now, your Tepr tribesmen are our war prisoners, and they'll keep being such until you make an act of Yohazatz heroism that buys their freedom. That's what my father and I agreed on."
Dukar's reaction is immediate, a mix of shock and indignation. "What?! I'm not a Yohazatz! This is crazy! And I already saved you! Isn't that an act of heroism that is worthy enough?!"
Puripal's patience wears thin, his annoyance surfacing with a sharp retort. "Can't you say you saved me because you like me?! Anyway, the Khan knows you freed the Moukopl Prince so it doesn't count. Right now, saving me is the reason why you are not condemned to death."
Dukar stands, his mind a tumult of disbelief and apprehension, grappling with the gravity of Puripal's proposition. "So what should I do? Fight at the front again?"
Puripal shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips, betraying a confidence Dukar finds both infuriating and oddly comforting. "No, that doesn't suit you. You're smart and your physique is useful. You look like a Moukopl. Did you notice when I made you that general's braid? It still suits you perfectly."
"Yes, I did notice." Dukar admits.
"So you're going to play that general’s role. A spy deep into Moukopl territory. Do you think you can do it?" Puripal's challenge, laid bare with the precision of a strategist, outlines a path fraught with danger and deceit.
Dukar recoils, the reality of the task before him crashing down like a wave. "There is no way I can do it!"
Puripal's response is a wink. "Don't worry, I'll come with you! That's what I've been arguing with my father for!"
In that moment, Dukar stands on the precipice of decision, torn between the laughable absurdity of the situation and the somber reality of its implications. With Puripal by his side, a prince poised to venture into the unknown, Dukar contemplates the duality of his position—caught between the allegiance to his people and the uncharted path of espionage that lays before him. The laughter that threatens to escape him is tinged with despair, a poignant reminder of the fragile line between duty and destiny.
Dukar's steps echo on the cobblestone streets of Qixi-Lo, each stride reflecting his unease amidst the city's vibrancy. The air is filled with the mingling scents of spiced meats and fresh pastries from nearby vendors. His eyes, however, linger not on the delights but on the faces around him, searching for something familiar in the sea of strangers.
The city unfolds in layers, each corner telling stories of convergence between nomadic traditions and settled sophistication. Children dart between stalls, laughter punctuating the air, while artisans display their crafts with pride, intricate designs woven into fabric and carved into wood.
As Dukar ventures deeper, the ambiance shifts. The marketplace's cheerful cacophony gives way to tense shouts. He quickens his pace, drawn to the center of the commotion.
There, amidst a circle of onlookers, Ta and a group of boys of the same age, are locked in a brawl. Ta stands out, his stance disciplined, yet each punch he throws carries a ferocity that speaks to a personal vendetta.
The crowd's reactions vary—some cheer, others cast disapproving glances, but all are captivated by the spectacle.
As he observes, Dukar's own turmoil mirrors the conflict before him. The city, with its bustling markets and vibrant life, also houses his compatriots in chains. His newfound position at Puripal's side offers a glimmer of home, yet he remains an outsider.
Amidst the tumult, a sudden shift in the brawl captures Dukar's attention. One of Ta's adversaries, in a desperate bid for escape, darts towards him, panic etched across his face. Ta's eyes lock onto the fleeing figure, then flicker to Dukar, smiling. "Brother! Stop him!"
Dukar's response is swift, almost instinctive. He extends his leg. The boy, caught off-guard, stumbles over Dukar's leg and crashes to the cobblestones, his escape thwarted. Before the boy can recover, Ta is upon him, like a cat closing in on its prey.
The crowd's reaction is immediate, a collective intake of breath as Ta dominates the fallen opponent. With a precision that speaks of fury, Ta slams the boy's head against the ground, once, twice, a grim rhythm that ends in a chilling finality. Blood mars the cobblestones.
Dukar crouches to Ta's level, his gaze piercing. "What's going on?"
Ta, still flushed with the adrenaline of victory, meets Dukar's gaze. His smile, bright yet edged with the intensity of the moment, fades as he registers Dukar's genuine perplexity. The surrounding onlookers, their earlier enthusiasm dampened by the turn of events, watch in silent anticipation, the vibrant energy of the marketplace replaced by a tense uncertainty.
With an agility that belies the ferocity of his recent actions, Ta stands, his movement fluid and swift. In a gesture that blurs the line between camaraderie and chaos, he leaps into Dukar's arms. The surprise on Dukar's face is evident, a stark contrast to Ta's laughter, which seems out of place in the gravity of the moment.
Ta, undeterred by the weight of the situation, turns towards the remaining combatants. His voice, laced with amusement and a hint of triumph, cuts through the tension. "My brother is here, so I'll take my leave!"
The youths, momentarily paused in their brawl, turn with a mixture of surprise and realization dawning on their faces.
With the swiftness of a conspirator, Ta brings his mouth close to Dukar's ear. "Let's go! Run!" The urgency, wrapped in exhilaration, prompts Dukar into action. He adjusts his hold, carrying Ta with a protective ease.
They dart away, a sudden burst of movement that catches the crowd off guard. Ta's laughter, unfettered and contagious, echoes in the narrow streets. Dukar, propelled by Ta's infectious joy and the urgency of the moment, navigates through the crowd with a newfound purpose.
Behind them, the last of Ta's opponents, fueled by a mix of frustration and defiance, attempt to pursue. However, the crowd, once passive spectators, morphs into an obstacle. Their collective presence, a barrier woven from curiosity and concern, hampers the aggressors' advance.
As Dukar and Ta make their escape, the marketplace resumes its rhythm, the incident folding into the tapestry of stories that color the streets of Qixi-Lo.
Dukar and Ta, their escape now a race against both fatigue and the fading laughter that marks their path, find sanctuary at the heart of the Napa oasis. The outskirts of Qixi-Lo, with its clamor and chaos, give way to the tranquil respite of water and whispering palms. Here, the world seems to hold its breath.
Dukar, his patience waning under the weight of Ta's relentless mirth, reaches a breaking point. With a mix of exasperation and a desperate need for silence, he hoists Ta and sends him spiraling into the oasis. The water greets Ta with a splash, swallowing his laughter and leaving a momentary peace in its wake.
Ta surfaces with a comic gasp, the shock of the cold water a sudden punctuation to their frenetic escape. “You stink. When's the last time you took a bath?!” Dukar’s words, half-mockery, half-genuine curiosity, float across the water.
The fall has stripped Ta of his wool head cover, unveiling the hidden facets of his identity: black hair, slicked back by the water, and a vast birthmark that paints his face. As he rubs his head, the water turns into a mirror, reflecting not just his image but the complexities of his existence.
"I don't have a bath, and it costs too much money to go to the public bath." His smile, undimmed by his confession, carries a lightness that belies the gravity of his situation.
Dukar's reaction is immediate, his face twitching in a mix of surprise and realization. "Aren't you one of the Khan's sons?"
Ta's laughter rings out again, clear and unfettered. "I'm a bastard, did you forget? I don't have my siblings' privileges." His words, though spoken in jest, carry the weight of an unvarnished truth. In them, there's an acknowledgment of a life lived in the shadows of titles and legitimacy, a life where the luxury of a bath is a splendor too far to reach.
As the realization of his own naivety dawns upon him, Dukar feels a twinge of embarrassment for his ignorance regarding Ta's status. The concept of bastards, while known to him, is an unfamiliar terrain in the culture of Tepr. He moves to sit by the water's edge, the calm of the oasis contrasting sharply with the turmoil of his thoughts. "I didn't notice we were out of the city," he muses aloud, his voice a mix of wonder and a subtle attempt to shift away from his earlier blunder.
Ta's laughter, light and unburdened, fills the space between them. "It's better this way, it will take them longer to find me! You'll have to be careful too, they know your face now!"
Dukar, seizing the moment for clarity, asks, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Ta, his demeanor shifting subtly, takes a moment before responding. "Those guys are part of a gang. I was one of them before I left to enroll in the Khan's army."
Dukar, absorbing the weight of Ta's words, reflects silently before asking, "Why did you enroll? I can't think of anything worth experiencing on the front."
Ta, in response, rises to his feet. He pats his clothes dry and adjusts his head cover. "I have a few ideas... by the way, did you know you just threw me into the Napa oasis?"
Dukar, unsure where Ta is leading, shrugs. "Yes, and?"
Ta's laughter bursts forth, rich and full of life. "And it's sacred water that we drink!" The revelation, delivered with a mix of mirth and mischief, catches Dukar off guard.
Dukar, struck by a sudden realization of his misdeed, rises from his place by the sacred oasis with a deliberate slowness. He meticulously adjusts his boots, a mundane act serving as a brief prelude to his next move. With a flourish of solemnity, he declares, "Well, it was nice to meet you." Without waiting for a response, he pivots on his heel, embarking on a swift retreat back to the bustling heart of Qixi-Lo, intent on dissolving into its anonymity.
Behind him, Ta's reaction is immediate and dramatic. With a sharp intake of breath, he propels himself out of the oasis, his landing on the sand punctuated by a theatrical roll. He bounds to his feet, urgency and determination fueling his chase. "Brother! Brother! Wait for me!!"
The pair reenters the city, their sudden appearance amidst the throng of its inhabitants drawing curious and amused glances. Ta, undeterred by the spectacle they've become, continues his vocal pursuit, the term "brother" echoing amidst the clamor of the marketplace.
Dukar, caught between embarrassment and the absurdity of their situation, attempts to deflect the growing attention. Addressing the gathered onlookers with a hint of desperation, he proclaims, "I'm not his brother, and actually, I don't know who he is at all!" His denial, far from dismissing the crowd, only serves to heighten their interest.
Amidst the unfolding comedy, a merchant, quick to seize the opportunity, calls out from behind his stand. "Young man! Your little brother is all stinky and running behind you! Take care of him by buying one of my soaps!"
As they navigate the crowded streets of Qixi-Lo, Dukar and Ta encounter the remnants of the earlier conflict. Among them, is a boy with a face so marred by swelling, it barely retains its human shape. The air, charged with tension, thickens as one of the boys, recognizing the pair, sneers with disdain. "Look, who's back. The stinky bastard and his strange brother! Aren't y'all an ugly couple!"
Dukar, unfamiliar with the faces that now confront them and driven by a desire to put distance between himself and the complications Ta brings, quickens his pace, bypassing them with a single-minded focus. The boys, incensed by this blatant disregard, perceive it as an affront to their pride.
In a sudden surge of outrage, they spring into action, targeting Ta, who lags behind, his stamina dwindling. The confrontation escalates quickly, with Ta caught in the throes of their vengeance, his previous vigor sapped by the day's exertions.
Meanwhile, Dukar, oblivious to the unfolding drama behind him, finds solace in the silence that replaces Ta's persistent calls. The absence of "brother! brother!" signals to him a long-sought reprieve from the chaos that has ensnared him since their paths crossed. With a self-satisfied smirk, he revels in his newfound freedom, convinced he has successfully extricated himself from the web of complications that Ta represents.
Curiosity, a nagging whisper in the back of his mind, prompts Dukar to glance back over his shoulder. The sight that greets him ignites a swift change in his demeanor.
With agility born of necessity, Dukar reenters the fray. He grabs the leg of one assailant, leveraging the element of surprise to hurl him away from Ta. Another receives a sharp kick, sent sprawling to the side, while the boy with the swollen face finds himself once again acquainted with the unforgiving ground, courtesy of Dukar's forceful intervention.
Breathing heavily, Dukar extends a hand towards Ta, pulling him to his feet. Ta, battered and visibly drained, shows no outward signs of serious injury.
The last of the attackers, his bravado wilting under Dukar's resolute gaze, spits to the ground in a final act of defiance. "This fucking whore! How much did he pay you?!" His words, a venomous attempt to salvage some shred of dignity, hang unanswered in the air.
Dukar's response is not verbal but conveyed through a gaze so piercing, so laden with unspoken warnings, that it seals the boy's silence. With the conflict resolved, if not the underlying tensions, Dukar turns his attention to Ta, offering support as they navigate away from the scene.
Unbeknownst to Dukar, their aimless wandering has led them close to the grandeur of the palace. It's a realization that dawns on him too late, the imposing structure now a stark reminder of the worlds that separate him from Ta.
As they approach, a figure materializes from the shadows of the gate, an anticipation in its stance reminiscent of a spouse awaiting their husband’s return. Recognition flares as Puripal emerges. With a swift stride that carries the weight of authority, he closes the distance between them.
Suddenly, Puripal's hand clasps Dukar's, an action swift and possessive, as he unceremoniously shoves Ta aside. "What were you doing with him?" The question hangs in the air, ambiguous in its direction.
Dukar, taken aback, fumbles for an explanation, his discomfort evident. "He's all beaten up... Maybe a shaman should look at his wounds?"
Puripal's response is immediate, a click of the tongue and a sidelong glance that speaks volumes. "I wasn't talking to you," he dismisses Dukar, turning his full attention to Ta, who has yet to recover from the initial push. With another forceful gesture, Puripal increases the distance between them, his focus sharp on Ta. "What are you planning? Pff, you stink! Any shaman's abilities would be hindered by such a smell. Go take a bath, now!" His command points Ta towards the palace.
Ta, still reeling from the events, looks up, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are you sure I won't be kicked out, Brother?"
Puripal's assurance is quick. "Not if they don't smell you from afar! Go, now! Say Puripal ordered you!"
"Thank you, Brother." Gratitude colors Ta's response as he prepares to heed the instruction.
Yet, before he can take a step, Puripal's attention shifts back to Dukar, his hand resting on Dukar's shoulder in a gesture of possession and warning. "And don't forget: He's mine."
Once they are alone, Puripal's gaze, intense and scrutinizing, sweeps over Dukar, as if trying to decipher a story. "What did he do? Did he tell you anything?" His inquiry, laced with suspicion and curiosity, seeks to uncover the truth.
Dukar, feeling the weight of Puripal's stare, maintains his composure. "Nothing. I just met him on the streets, and I helped him walk after he got beaten up by some ruffian."
Puripal narrows his eyes. "Hmm... But now you stink like him too! You'd better wash thoroughly tonight!"
Dukar exhales. "By the way, Puripin, I told you already, but I can't stay here in Qixi-Lo forever. I have obligations to my family, and my fellow Tepr men. They need to go home."
Puripal, momentarily caught off guard by the nickname, quickly masks his reaction with a veneer of composure. The mention of Dukar's impending departure and the obligations awaiting him stirs a mixture of emotions, though none find explicit expression on his face. "You... I was actually having a discussion with my father on that topic. But first, come!"
Dukar, trailing behind Puripal, finds himself stepping into the familiar yet now foreign territory of a clothier shop, nestled among the streets they've retraced. The shop, a canvas of colors and textures, becomes the stage for Puripal's peculiar errand. One by one, Dukar is coaxed into an array of outfits, each distinct in its inspiration and design.
The first set boasts the vibrant colors and intricate patterns characteristic of Yohazatz attire, garments that dance with the elegance of court life and the fierceness of their warriors. Flowing robes adorned with bold, geometric designs, and tunics tightened at the waist with ornate belts, speak of a people proud and resplendent in their cultural identity.
In contrast, the Moukopl-inspired outfits whisper tales of a different world. These pieces, more subdued in color but rich in texture, feature practical yet elegant designs that honor the mountainous terrain of Moukopl lands. Heavy cloaks designed to fend off the chill of the high altitudes, paired with sturdy boots and layered tunics, reflect a pragmatic approach to dress, where form and function find a harmonious balance.
Dukar, amidst this whirlwind of fabric and fashion, voices his confusion. "Why are we doing this? Can you tell me what you and the Khan agreed on?"
Puripal, wielding his princely privilege with an air of nonchalance, secures the purchase of the selected garments for Dukar. As they leave the confines of the shop, he unveils the terms of a daunting agreement. "Right now, your Tepr tribesmen are our war prisoners, and they'll keep being such until you make an act of Yohazatz heroism that buys their freedom. That's what my father and I agreed on."
Dukar's reaction is immediate, a mix of shock and indignation. "What?! I'm not a Yohazatz! This is crazy! And I already saved you! Isn't that an act of heroism that is worthy enough?!"
Puripal's patience wears thin, his annoyance surfacing with a sharp retort. "Can't you say you saved me because you like me?! Anyway, the Khan knows you freed the Moukopl Prince so it doesn't count. Right now, saving me is the reason why you are not condemned to death."
Dukar stands, his mind a tumult of disbelief and apprehension, grappling with the gravity of Puripal's proposition. "So what should I do? Fight at the front again?"
Puripal shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips, betraying a confidence Dukar finds both infuriating and oddly comforting. "No, that doesn't suit you. You're smart and your physique is useful. You look like a Moukopl. Did you notice when I made you that general's braid? It still suits you perfectly."
"Yes, I did notice." Dukar admits.
"So you're going to play that general’s role. A spy deep into Moukopl territory. Do you think you can do it?" Puripal's challenge, laid bare with the precision of a strategist, outlines a path fraught with danger and deceit.
Dukar recoils, the reality of the task before him crashing down like a wave. "There is no way I can do it!"
Puripal's response is a wink. "Don't worry, I'll come with you! That's what I've been arguing with my father for!"
In that moment, Dukar stands on the precipice of decision, torn between the laughable absurdity of the situation and the somber reality of its implications. With Puripal by his side, a prince poised to venture into the unknown, Dukar contemplates the duality of his position—caught between the allegiance to his people and the uncharted path of espionage that lays before him. The laughter that threatens to escape him is tinged with despair, a poignant reminder of the fragile line between duty and destiny.
