Finding Destiny Read Online Free
Author: Jean Johnson
and peace to you and yours. I am Sir Zeilas, Knight of Arbra. This is Sir Eduor Aragol, from Mandare.”
More than just the dyara frowned at that, though she was the only one to fold her arms over her chest. The other villagers just stared. “A Knight of Arbra, we can trust,” Chanson stated. “Your Goddess regulates your conduct. But a son of the Mandarites, and a warrior at that? We may be isolated, but even we have heard of your madness.”
“Ex-Mandarite,” Eduor stated firmly. “Shade and peace to you, dyara Chanson. I may be noble-born,” he added, knowing there was no point in mentioning his recent bout of slavery, “but I have foresworn my birth land and will not go back. I am here to look for work.”
“If you want to be a warrior, you should follow the others. Though I don’t see a weapon on you,” the dyara added tartly, eyeing his dusty, plain hose and knee-length tunic, with its Natallian-style slits up the sides. It was nothing like the formal layers he had once worn as a nobleman’s son, but then this was a sun-drenched land, rather than the tree-shaded hills of either Mandare or Natallia.
Only the turban wrapping his head was Sundaran. The tights were a little warm, but they did protect his legs from the sun, as did the long sleeves of his tunic. The cut of the clothes worn by these Sundarans was a lot looser and shorter, with many residents boasting bared legs and arms, but then their skin was dark enough to withstand the burning touch of the sun for hours on end. He stood out somewhat in his plain green garments by their color as well as their cut, and knew these people would be judging him all the more for his foreign appearance. Still, he had to try.
“I have no weapons, because I come in peace. And I have no need for them, for I do not care to be a warrior at this point in my life,” Eduor stated calmly. “If those men who have just left did so without first helping the rest of you with the planting and the plowing, then you may have need of someone to labor for you. I offer my services, if you are willing to hire me.”
Her hands shifted to her hips. Before she could speak, the boy returned with a water skin, a shallow dish, and a small bowl. Eduor noticed the youth wore a blue sash around his yellow-and-green-clad waist, indicating he was a dyara in training. Offering her the skin, he held the glazed bowl steady while she poured water into it, invoking the ritual of welcoming.
“May the waters of life bless you and give you rest and refreshment while you abide among us in peace,” Chanson stated, filling the bowl almost to the brim.
Sir Zeilas dismounted with a clank of his armor as the youth held out the bowl. Accepting it with a bow, he gave the ritual reply. “I will abide in peace as I accept your refreshment and take my rest among you.”
Drinking the water in the bowl, he drained it dry. The boy took it back, letting Chanson fill it once more.
“May the waters of life bless you and give you rest and refreshment while you abide among us in peace ,” she stated, emphasizing the last word with a pointed look at Eduor.
He didn’t take offense. Sundarans were known to be as heated in their opinions as the climate of their land. They were a passionate people. Not hard like the Natallians and his fellow Mandarites had become, thanks to their constant warring, but fierce and passionate all the same. “I will abide in peace,” Eduor countered calmly, “as I accept your refreshment and take my rest among you.”
The water was cool and sweet. It soothed his parched throat. Draining the bowl dry, Eduor handed it back to the youth with a bow. “Thank you.”
“So. You think you can help us, and that we would want to hire you?” the dyara challenged Eduor, hands returning to her hips once the boy took back the water skin. He set the broad dish on the ground and filled it, giving the Steed something to drink as well, though without the formal ceremony.
“The high heat of
More than just the dyara frowned at that, though she was the only one to fold her arms over her chest. The other villagers just stared. “A Knight of Arbra, we can trust,” Chanson stated. “Your Goddess regulates your conduct. But a son of the Mandarites, and a warrior at that? We may be isolated, but even we have heard of your madness.”
“Ex-Mandarite,” Eduor stated firmly. “Shade and peace to you, dyara Chanson. I may be noble-born,” he added, knowing there was no point in mentioning his recent bout of slavery, “but I have foresworn my birth land and will not go back. I am here to look for work.”
“If you want to be a warrior, you should follow the others. Though I don’t see a weapon on you,” the dyara added tartly, eyeing his dusty, plain hose and knee-length tunic, with its Natallian-style slits up the sides. It was nothing like the formal layers he had once worn as a nobleman’s son, but then this was a sun-drenched land, rather than the tree-shaded hills of either Mandare or Natallia.
Only the turban wrapping his head was Sundaran. The tights were a little warm, but they did protect his legs from the sun, as did the long sleeves of his tunic. The cut of the clothes worn by these Sundarans was a lot looser and shorter, with many residents boasting bared legs and arms, but then their skin was dark enough to withstand the burning touch of the sun for hours on end. He stood out somewhat in his plain green garments by their color as well as their cut, and knew these people would be judging him all the more for his foreign appearance. Still, he had to try.
“I have no weapons, because I come in peace. And I have no need for them, for I do not care to be a warrior at this point in my life,” Eduor stated calmly. “If those men who have just left did so without first helping the rest of you with the planting and the plowing, then you may have need of someone to labor for you. I offer my services, if you are willing to hire me.”
Her hands shifted to her hips. Before she could speak, the boy returned with a water skin, a shallow dish, and a small bowl. Eduor noticed the youth wore a blue sash around his yellow-and-green-clad waist, indicating he was a dyara in training. Offering her the skin, he held the glazed bowl steady while she poured water into it, invoking the ritual of welcoming.
“May the waters of life bless you and give you rest and refreshment while you abide among us in peace,” Chanson stated, filling the bowl almost to the brim.
Sir Zeilas dismounted with a clank of his armor as the youth held out the bowl. Accepting it with a bow, he gave the ritual reply. “I will abide in peace as I accept your refreshment and take my rest among you.”
Drinking the water in the bowl, he drained it dry. The boy took it back, letting Chanson fill it once more.
“May the waters of life bless you and give you rest and refreshment while you abide among us in peace ,” she stated, emphasizing the last word with a pointed look at Eduor.
He didn’t take offense. Sundarans were known to be as heated in their opinions as the climate of their land. They were a passionate people. Not hard like the Natallians and his fellow Mandarites had become, thanks to their constant warring, but fierce and passionate all the same. “I will abide in peace,” Eduor countered calmly, “as I accept your refreshment and take my rest among you.”
The water was cool and sweet. It soothed his parched throat. Draining the bowl dry, Eduor handed it back to the youth with a bow. “Thank you.”
“So. You think you can help us, and that we would want to hire you?” the dyara challenged Eduor, hands returning to her hips once the boy took back the water skin. He set the broad dish on the ground and filled it, giving the Steed something to drink as well, though without the formal ceremony.
“The high heat of
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