Page 82 of Tristan
“Do you mean you no longer wish to fight? My brother said it’s your heart’s desire.”
“It was. I finally realize it’s as Corrik said; I stand no chance against Elves. It’s nothing more than a daily beating.”
“It’s not like you to give up so easily. Come now, what’s the matter?”
“What do you know of me?”
“You’ve lived in my pocket for several months and I’m a Warlord. I’ve watched you.”
I stare at him astonished. Has he been paying that close attention to me? It didn’t seem like it, but I suppose it makes sense; I watch him too. It’s good to know your opponent, his strengths, his weaknesses.
“Nothing’s the matter. I can’t win against an Elf like I’ve already said—it’s humiliating to lose every day. Besides, everyone hates me.”
He considers me for a time and takes a bite of food. “Do you want me to tell them to lay off you?”
“Absolutely not. That you would even ask is an insult. It would make me look all the more a pathetic human. Isn’t that how you think of us? Pathetic?” I tug the blanket tight around me for protection against whatever retort he’ll have and notice he’s put the second plate of food he’s made up in front of me. It’s filled with the good stuff too—sausage, fresh bread, cheese, and fruit.
“I did think you pathetic.” He gestures to the food. “Eat.”
Did? As in past tense?
“What in the Gods’ names is going on with you, Bayaden? Stop this nonsense. You’re not supposed to say things like that. You’re supposed to call me a filthy, flea-ridden human, not feed me gourmet palace fair,” I say pushing the plate of food back to him. “Besides, I’ve already eaten.”
He stands up suddenly. “When could you have eaten?” His voice is dark and angry. I’ve never seen Bayaden quite like this—it’s frightening.
“In the kitchens, it was no big deal.”
“Meren. I ordered her not to feed you. Does no one listen to me?” he says to himself and then slams his large hand down before me. “It is a big deal, Tristan. Can you fathom why?”
“No?”
“What did I say only yesterday in regard to whom would provide for you?”
“You said you would.”
“Was I somehow unclear as to what ‘I will provide for you’ means?”
“No, but you say a lot of things—I didn’t think you were serious, you don’t normally care what I do.”
“Well for future, I do care.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“No—you’re not. You have disobeyed me, come with me.”
“Bayaden—I mean it—I really am sorry.”
“Now.” He will not be swayed so I follow him with greatapprehension as he leads me to a room, two rooms down from his chambers—I’m still wrapped in the blanket; it feels like protection.
With a wave of his hand, the dark room illuminates. It’s filled with all kinds of odd-looking benches, straps, buckles, and chains. Things hang from the ceiling and the walls are lined with large grey stones and blocks of pink salt. The room is just this side of cold, but there’s a warm breeze wafting in through the windows that are way up high so no one can see in or out of the room.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a room that can be used for great pleasure or great pain. Do you see where this is headed?”
Now I’m a bit worried. On second look, some of the equipment looks to be painful. “C’mon Bayaden. It was just a breakfast pie.”
“You were deliberately defying me—testing me—I’ll have no more of it, Tristan Kanes. Don’t you know what I am? Your nature practically calls out to me each day with your behavior as it is, but for you to disregard a direct order I’ve given you? That’s a challenge. Not to mention you running to my brother for discipline is like spitting in my face. He isn’t even dominant. What do you think that does to me?”
