The Epic of Garthel- Parts I-III, page 2
part #1 of The Epic of Garthel Series
“And what did you say about Lord Clifton?” The judge wondered.
Arovehar shrugged innocently, “Nothing that any friend wouldn’t jive to another about.”
The judge frowned and ran his hand through his balding hair. “Under ancient oath in this place of judgment, explain exactly what happened,” he ordered.
Arovehar held up his hands in defeat. Very well. He asked for it.
“While I was walking past our noble lord’s house, as I often do on my way home, he asked me why I was frowning at him, and not wanting to be rude, I told him why, replying that it was because our world is truly becoming a backwards place when our royalty dresses like desperate Sanarian whores looking to comfort a sailor for two coppers and a beating! Then, when he called me an impudent wrench and threatened to have me hung, I told him that he should at least wash his mouth after kissing up to the eastern kings every half-assed whim… from there the conversation got no more pleasant, with him threatening and myself pointing out his unbecoming nature—but I will swear this: No swords were drawn, and I didn’t physically assault anyone. We jested, and perhaps an argument could be made that our beloved lord is somewhat lacking in both humor as well as spine, but unfortunately I do not believe that is why this trial was called. As for the matter of assault, as all the good gods may be my witness, I have done nothing wrong.”
Arovehar glanced over at Lord Clifton’s surprisingly calm face and gave a smug wink. “Not that I’m calling the good lord a liar, mind you. I’m sure that there is some explanation that would clear up this whole misunderstanding. In fact, if I may submit to you, our lord’s white skin is soft from lack of rough work and pale as freshly fallen snow, and as it was a hot day for such a man, perhaps the sun got to his head and he blacked out, assuming upon awakening that I’d dealt a justly deserved punch for him having threatened my life.” Arovehar raised his shoulders in puzzlement, “But who knows what really happened to make our dear lord feel violated? Certainly it had nothing to do with me, and heavens forbid it was an inner reflection of one of his own wrongdoings? Maybe the gentle nobles from the east were not meant to tolerate such cruelty from the afternoon sun? Such fairness of color could not possibly stand a chance to the barbaric whereabouts in the shade of a large mansion on a mild spring afternoon, why, it may be a miracle of the gods that he can even appear before us today with the sun nearly as bright as it was.”
The crowd gasped in astonishment several times throughout his speech, but Arovehar held up his hands sadly and shook his head at them. “While I am most saddened by his false accusation, I urge you all not to think any less of the good lord on this account. He must not be blamed for his thin blood and soft head, especially not when there are plenty of other actions to judge him by.” An uneasy stillness followed and Arovehar presented a grave look to the magistrate. “I can but speculate. He offers one story and I offer another one, provided there are no witnesses to clear-up the matter, by our laws you can take no action on this accusation, lest the outcome wager your own head on the line.”
It was an uneasy gray area of the law, and dangerous ground to tread. While insulting a noble was not technically illegal, that never stopped the occasional hot-headed public speaker from mysteriously disappearing.
Arovehar’s head swam. What have I done? Insulting a lord like some type of spiteful jester… I may have just ended any chance of survival I have on a childlike whim… He nervously shuffled his feet and bit his tongue in anger. Curse me and my quick wit! It’ll be the death of me before any good comes of it! His eyes shifted from the judge to the crowd.
There’s no going back now.
He turned to the judge and searched for any sign of humanity behind his callous brown eyes. All he saw was crude bewilderment.
Finally he could take the silence no longer. “So what are you going to do? Chop my head off for not having royal manners?” Arovehar demanded of the judge. “Weren’s red ass of redemption, tell me we’re not as primitive as that!”
Some of the onlookers were puzzled now. Most still wanted a bloody show to distract them from their boring lives, but others were beginning to question the validity of Lord Clifton’s accusation. He certainly didn’t look like a man that had been assaulted, and as much as they loved a good execution, a few of them knew Arovehar personally and knew that he wasn’t a particularly aggressive man. Was he lecherous and cocky? Perhaps, but he wasn’t dangerous.
The judge furrowed his brow and at last spoke. “Are there any witnesses to the event?”
Arovehar held his breath. It had been a private encounter, that (and the liquor) was the only reason he had been willing to risk speaking so rashly. But that didn’t mean that Lord Clifton hadn’t bribed someone in the meantime to act as witness.
“Did anyone witness the event, Lord Clifton?” The judged hesitantly asked again.
As his life hung on this little detail, Arovehar found himself becoming more of a religious man than he normally was. Roraldo, he prayed, the highest god of alcohol and whores, I’ve always enjoyed your bounty. Liyr, god of speech and cunning, I’ve always had your favor. Weren, the god of redemption, I’ve never asked for your help. But now I ask for your favor. By all the powers that made this world be, grant me this one request: Let that pompous royal fucker forget his coin-purse and bribes for just one day. Grant me that and I swear on my unborn son’s soul I’ll do great things in your name.
Arovehar watched as Lord Clifton spoke in private with another man. He knew it wasn’t a good sign. He saw the two exchange several words and then the lord’s confidant shrugged indifferently with an amused look on his face… Arovehar couldn’t guess how to interpret it.
Lord Clifton looked irritated and took a step forward, “I have no witnesses at the moment,” he proclaimed with a mild air of annoyance.
Arovehar let out a sigh of relief.
The judge frowned. He seemed unsure of what to do next. He certainly wasn’t expecting Lord Clifton to be ill-prepared. Perhaps someone screwed-up the scheduling and our good lord didn’t have time for bribes. I may be in luck.
“And do you, Arovehar, have any witnesses to defend your truth?” The judge asked reluctantly.
Arovehar smiled and answered quickly. “It was an entirely private encounter milord,” he began, energized with hope that he would yet keep his head. “There were no witnesses. You only have our words, and we both disagree with the other’s story. That’s all you have to go on, and even with him being noble, by our laws this matter must be dismissed.” Arovehar stated confidently, looking the judge in the eye.
He wasn’t as sure of himself as he appeared. The laws of late were changing and growing day to day, so it was entirely possible that his knowledge was outdated. Equal rights regardless of social or economic status was one of Terthland’s founding beliefs, but that was the old way, and the eastern way of thinking was slowly entrenching itself into the west. In fact, Arovehar wasn’t sure if anyone knew just how many laws the small village had acquired in the past few years. It was getting to the point where the rules were written by the lords of the republic in such a vague way that anyone could technically be guilty of anything…
But, if he could get the judge to make a temporary ruling before Clifton had time to gather up false witnesses or pull some strings with the local republican, then he would consider the day won.
The judge looked over at Lord Clifton uncertainly. “Do you agree that there were no witnesses?”
An uneasy silence followed.
“I’ll be a witness for you milord!” A commoner in the crowd suddenly shouted, waving his hands eagerly, “I saw the whole damn thing! It was awful it was, just awful. Arovehar snuck up behind him and smacked him in the back of the head! Barbaric it was! Cowardly and uncivilized! Why, it’s a testament to our lord’s health that he managed—”
“Shut your mouth, fool.” Lord Clifton commanded. The newcomer looked unbelieving and immediately fell silent. “There are no witnesses.” He at last agreed, but the statement only made Arovehar more suspicious. He’s making this too easy; he must have something else up his sleeve.
“Then the matter is dismissed.” The judge decided, and waved his hands accordingly. The crowd mumbled in confusion and slowly dispatched. It was an unexpected outcome. Even in the more reasonable parts of the world it was rare for a noble to accuse someone of a crime and it not end in bloodshed.
Arovehar weaseled his way out of the guard’s grip and followed the judge as he walked over to Lord Clifton. He stopped a few feet behind him and listened to their conversation.
“I apologize if you find my ruling unsatisfactory, but you know how these things are, if I pass a judgment and later it’s proven false his family will have my head… I must at the very least have a reasonable witness to take the blame before I can condemn the man.”
Lord Clifton made a dismissive gesture with his gloved hand, “It’s a small detail.”
The balding judge nodded and looked at his feet uncomfortably. “You may bring the accused back to stand trial at a later date, if you wish my lord,” he offered.
Clifton frowned and patted the judge’s back, “I don’t think that will be necessary… I always have other means of dealing with insolent peasants.”
The judge nodded knowingly and shuffled off.
Arovehar glared at them both and marched off the stage. I have to get the hell out of this town, he realized. It may be the death of me if I don’t.
“Arovehar!” Lord Clifton’s voice called out from behind. Arovehar’s heart stopped for a moment and he debated ignoring him, but he realized that turning his back on the lord in a public setting wasn’t wise. It’s not as if he can outright murder me while everyone is watching.
He turned and met Lord Clifton’s eyes defiantly. “What do you want?” He asked with as much respect as the lord deserved—which is to say none.
Lord Clifton smiled, slowly walked over to him and grabbed Arovehar by the collar of his shirt. “I want you to know that if I ever see you again, if I even hear your voice, I’ll kill you.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment and Arovehar found himself wondering if the lord could actually kill him personally. Perhaps he could… in spite of his privileged upbringing he’s probably had some good training. In fact, he might actually kick my ass in a fair duel. Lord Clifton abruptly released him and walked off the stage.
In a surge of anger, Arovehar clutched the knife on his belt. I could stick this in your back now, noble lord, he thought to himself. But as satisfying as it would be, he decided that living was more important… for the moment, at least. The balance between survival and degradation wasn’t yet tipped enough to forfeit life.
“I really have to get the hell out of this town,” Arovehar muttered to himself, and then he walked to the local tavern to have a much needed drink. Perhaps I won’t immediately do the great things I promised to the gods, but they can forgive me if I’m in no hurry to pay back my debt, he reasoned…
II
______________________________________
The Dawn of a New Beginning
It was a cloudy uncertain day in the midst of spring when he finally decided to put his plan into action. He’d been plotting and assessing his life for days and it still added up to the same thing—it was time to leave.
He’d been actively avoiding Lord Clifton since the trial, but it was a small town and only a matter of time before they met again or a killer of some sort was sent his way.
I’ve always been looking for the chance to break off on my own anyway… now I have the perfect opportunity. Since the day he was born he had a desire to travel subtly pushing him away from his hometown. Perhaps that was why he’d self-sabotaged so many of his opportunities.
I have had quite a few… In his younger years he had chopped wood with his father and sold it as firewood, but that had fast lost his interest. Then when he was eighteen he learned how to play the mandolin, and he would occasionally play songs at the local taverns for money. He had actually enjoyed certain aspects of that job, but still it lacked a sense of… wonder. At nineteen and twenty he worked for the local farmer, Karen. He had sweat on the endless fields toiling away at the earth in the heat of the sun… And yesterday he had worked his last day selling vegetables in the market.
But his plan wasn’t solely inspired out of boredom or thirst for the unknown, not anymore, anyway. There were the other factors too…. an angry noble searching for a way to end him, a clingy woman that didn’t respond well to rejection, jobs that were more tedious than watching grass grow and a few other minor details that Arovehar convinced himself didn’t matter…
He sat atop a boulder on the outskirts of the small village of Aren and pondered on his life uneasily.
He was young, with light brown hair that didn’t like to sit in any one place and blue eyes that often looked thoughtful. His face was pleasant and inquisitive and he wore a blue cloth tunic, black boots and dark gray pants. His brow was furrowed in the slightest of ways and his mouth was enjoying the taste of tobacco through a short wooden pipe. At first glance it would appear as though he was simply taking pleasure in the brilliance of the day, but if his face was to be studied deeply, it would become apparent that he was a troubled man.
He was dangerously bored of life as most people knew it.
And how do most people go about life; doing the same thing day after day with the same people in the same town day upon day and week upon week to year upon year until witless old age and death, doomed to talk about wars happening in other lands, the weather and unfair taxes?
That mundane existence did not appeal to Arovehar, yet it was what he had found himself doing for the past twenty-four years of his life.
Screw it all… he suddenly thought, with a flash of anger. I’ve got a noble who wants me dead, several women in line behind him, and nothing to keep me from departing. It’s time to leave. There’s a whole wide world out there waiting for me to plunder it.
He leapt off of rock with ease and made his way through the city market.
The market of Aren was a circular pattern of stalls and shops that surrounded several large black oak trees called “water oaks” because the well that lay at their trunks had never run dry. The market was large and lively and that was primarily due to the Great Delish Road that went between the mighty city of Aradon and Seaport ran through the little town.
He ran passed the town following the Delish road to the west until he reached his family house on the sparse outer reaches.
In the distance, a large solitary plateau could be seen towering up into the sky. On that plateau, it was rumored a giant house of wonder and adventure sat. From what Arovehar had seen during clear days, the house resembled a castle more than a house and it was believed to belong to a strange group of people. These people, however, did not belong to anyone. They did not answer to a higher authority, and they did not enforce their authority onto others. They did not belong to a nation or a kingdom. They liked to think that they belonged to themselves. They were free people from an old family line, much like many others that dwelled in the somewhat barbaric province of Terthland.
Arovehar’s family did not live in that house. They lived in a different house that was equally as large, doubly as old and triply as strange. His home was located on the outskirts of town atop a hill surrounded by a pleasant meadow. It was a great house, and despite his excitement he couldn’t help but sigh upon realizing that he would only see it once more.
He walked up the stone steps that led into his home and took a seat. He considered his family for a while. They were all wonderful people, but all the same, he was hesitant to tell them he was leaving.
He hated saying goodbye.
My father and older brothers are probably gone in the forest cutting wood anyway, Arovehar thought, trying to think of an excuse to leave without any warning.
But he had never really planned on saying a formal farewell. His mother would protest, his little brothers would want to come along, his father would suggest he thought through his decision first, his grandmother would complain about something and everything would get so complicated. Arovehar didn’t want that. He just wanted to leave in peace.
He sat on two of the three steps that led up to his house and pulled out a parchment of paper and a pen and began to write:
Dear family,
I am leaving out of wanderlust for the unknown and fear of our local lord’s wrath. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone or where I’ll go.
I love you all and wish you the best,
Arovehar B. Silo
His hand faltered. He knew that he should write more. Probably say something about how he’ll always remember them and how he isn’t leaving out of spite and not to worry. But he didn’t have it in him. Maybe it’s best to keep it simple, he thought. He folded up the letter and pushed it under the doorway, and then he took a deep breath.
The Delish road lay ahead of him. He walked to it and looked forward; the sun was high in the sky and out of his face, the road was wide and open with only the occasional wagon or horse-conjoined traveler moving down it. There were green fields of tall grass off on either side that bowed back and forth in the wind. Birds flew in the sky squawking at each other. Large solitary clouds traveled across the sky making fascinating shapes.
The splendor of it all besieged Arovehar. He instantly decided he loved the road—it made him feel free. Down the road he strolled, not even looking back as his home gradually faded in the distance.
To the west he went, fully equipped for all the wonders the world could behold. He had a sword at his side that was handed down to him by his father. It was good solid sharp steel, a long sword, and he knew how to use it—although not masterfully—from many mock-fights with his older brothers. In his side bag there were food rations, some hard bread, dried meat, water and a spare change of clothes. On his back was an instrument, his beloved mandolin. It had served him well when he was younger, and if he fell short of coin he intended to play songs in taverns as a traveling troubadour.
