Jalia walked over to observe. Festor preferred to hold her back, as it wasn't yet clear what the owner of the place looked like. Although, judging from the misery around, he couldn't be very dangerous. The young Stoltzin reacted like a child whose toy had been taken away and began to sulk.
The appearance of the shaman frightened her, she snuggled against her companion. The soldier reassured her with a few soothing words, but she didn't leave his protective arms so long as the Bawck remained in front of them. The wizard stared at them for a moment, then lifted a flap of the tent, and motioned for them to follow him inside.
Deirane had no idea what the inside of a Bawck tent looked like; she certainly didn't expect what she saw. The people looked rough, she thought they were uncivilized, yet everything was neatly arranged. She noticed what she hadn't seen from the outside. The skins were sewn together to form an indivisible whole. Against the walls, pockets held all the Bawck's belongings. None of them were breakable or bulky, there were no pots or pans. On the other hand, small tools, knives, billhooks, machetes, axes and others that she couldn't recognize were abundant. The liquids were contained in watertight bags.
Come to think of it, the place was suitable for a nomadic life. The floor was made of leather, the sill was raised, and the taped seams made it an effective protection against the deadly rains of fire. As for transporting it, it was enough to remove the frame and the tent would become a gigantic bag. She doubted that the tents of other Bawcks were as well organized. However, a shaman, because of his profession, had a lot of things to carry and didn't have any slaves or concubines to help him in this task. He couldn't afford, unlike the leader of the horde, to own much property.
There were no cushions to provide any comfort. Just a mat, rolled up for the moment, to sleep on.
The Bawck sat cross-legged, facing the opening, and invited them to imitate him. Festor was the first to do so, followed shortly by Deirane. Jalia, cautious, hesitantly sat down between the Stoltzen and the human, reassured by their presence by her side. Jensen took longer to make up his mind, finally sitting down next to his daughter.
For a moment, they stared at each other in silence, no one saying a word. It was the Bawck who started the conversation.
"Kefupae xe ukeiden," he began.
The voice was guttural, the pronunciation strange, but the words were perfectly recognizable. He had just greeted them in Helariamen.
"Ekfupae le ukeiden, sivsen bawck," Festor replied.
The Bawck hesitated for a long moment before continuing.
"Skayt isn't a priest, Skayt is a shaman."
This time he had spoken in the Yrian language, which he seemed to know better than Helariamen.
"The crew standing before Skayt is very strange," he continued, "what circumstances unite a great Helaria master and a Yrian peasant?"
"The chances of encounters," Festor answered.
"Who is the leader?"
"We don't have a leader," Jensen intervened, "our group is only circumstantial."
"How can Skayt address his guests if he doesn't know who is speaking for the group?"
Festor glared at Jensen, before answering.
"I'm the leader of this troop for the duration of this trip."
"That's a good choice. The master is the best fighter. He will lead his troop to victory. What's his name?"
"I'm Festor, son of Jetro."
The shaman seemed to ponder the name.
"Is Master Festor of Jetro related to the apprentice Calen of Jetro?"
YOU ARE READING
The curse of the jewels, book 1 - The Peasant Queen
FantasyThe tyrants had been defeated eighty years ago, leaving the world in ruins with deadly rains. Over the past few years, Deirane, the beautiful peasant girl who became a queen, has been the talk of the town. However, nobody has heard anything about he...
