War of the Words/Chapter 13

Jano opened his eyes blearily. The daylight streaming through his window was harsh and the glare caused him to blink. He ached terribly to the very core of his being and he found himself extraordinarily confused. Where was he? How had he come to be here? What had happened to him?

Jano angled his head and caught the attention of a man in robes he took to be a physician.

"Sir?" the man called out into the hall. "He is moving."

Jano was struck by the fact that the language used was that of the temples. Further he could place his elemental inflection as that of the Lord of Light.

'A priest,' Jano reassured himself.

"Where am I?" Jano asked, but the figure did not respond.

Jano was alarmed by the figure that entered his room. A tall fellow, even for a Drakel, which, Jano recognized dimly, he was.

"You have awoken," the Drakel said. Jano was startled by the fact that the language was not that of Vandar but of Deren.

"Pardon?" he replied in the same tongue. This response caused no reaction that Jano could discern.

"Do you know where you are?" the Drakel asked; his language had shifted to that of the temple, Jano noted with surprise. He spoke it as fluently and fluidly as the priest had before him, but surely the man was no priest. Was he a devotee? An aligned servant, perhaps?

'No,' Jano decided: his language bore no specific inflection but instead consisted of the unaccented syllables used by the monks and clerics that served no specific lord but rather the temple alone. Still, the man was no cleric. His robes were entirely wrong, a caster's robes. Clearly the man was a Drakel Caster, yet he spoke the temple tongue, and what could he possibly be doing in a patient's room?

Jano feigned confusion briefly, an effort aided by his genuine bafflement over his circumstances.

"Delbek X'tchai," Jano said. It was a Drakel greeting that roughly translated meant "my life is in your hands". Jano had always found it to be a peculiar greeting, a strange way to express admiration for one's host. At the moment, however, the irony of its aptness appealed to him.

The Drakel showed surprise, which, given his absolute stoicism a moment earlier, was somewhat frightening. Jano had seen similar looks on the Drakel Warriors he had had the misfortune to encounter in the wilderness.

"X'tal rebek X'kali?" the Drakel demanded and Jano tried to piece it together; his friend Darin had taught him some of the Drakel tongue. Jano had never thought to wonder where Darin would have learned it or what purpose it would serve; he merely went along with his friend. Still, Jano's grasp was rudimentary at best, conversational phrases to help one in everyday situations with the Drakel, not that Jano could conceive of an everyday situation involving them.

"I am sorry," Jano said in the language of Deren, "I don't understand."

"I asked if you were a servant of the Water Lord," the Drakel stated, his expression guarded.

"What?" Jano asked, surprised. "No, of course not, I am just a spice trader from Delkirk."

The Drakel considered this. "We do not see many from Vandar's capitol in the capitol of Deren."

"Aye, but I have several trade contracts standing. What, am I in the capitol then?"

"Yes," the Drakel responded. Jano was relieved to find that his voice had once again adopted a neutral tone. "Indeed, you are in the castle of King Draynor to be precise."

"What? Why?" Jano asked and became even more confused. Why would they take a sick man or an injured man to the castle?

"Perhaps because you are a Vandarian and were found near dead at the School of Thought."

"I still do not understand. Why should my kingdom affect this? Are Vandarians denied trade in Deren? I have not had any troubles since Draynor signed the Accord of Linter with Neld three years ago."

The Drakels eyes widened very slightly, suggesting surprise. "Sir, the accord to which you refer was signed not 3 years ago but 7."

"What?" Jano searched for an explanation of this but could find none. How had he gotten here? What was going on? Jano looked at the Drakel with renewed confusion. "Since when do Drakel serve Draynor?"

"Do you not know who I am?" the Drakel returned, a question of his own?

"No? Should I?" Jano responded hesitantly.

"I am Tralin, Prince of Deren," the Drakel said emotionlessly.

"What? Draynor made a Drakel his prince?"

"Yes," was the Drakel's response, and then he left.