Arthur examined the horses while he absentmindedly counted his coins. No copper or silver shields this time. He was still sweaty and happy after the impromptu celebration he'd taken part in earlier. A large quantity of weak beer had cooled him down somewhat, but he still felt a bit giddy. Years since he danced the last time and he was pleasantly surprised he hadn't forgotten the motions.
Arthur opened his right hand to Harbend who accepted more money. They had bought over eighty horses and a few ponies, or mules. Arthur wasn't certain about the latter.
Sixteen wagons already on their way to the eastern gates, driven there by the men they hired. All in all a massive undertaking. Several hundreds of the gold marks had changed owners, enough money to buy a number of large farms with livestock and all, and the expensive part was yet to come. The men had to be paid two weeks, or rather eightdays as they counted time here, in advance. Hundreds, if not thousands more of the coins would flow before they reached their final destination, and then they needed to come back the same way.
Arthur continued studying the horses closest to him. Mares and geldings he guessed. Brown or gray all of them. Sedate, but to his untrained eye they looked healthy enough. He searched again.
That one, the brown with kind eyes. "Harbend, I'll ride the brown one, to the right."
"Ride? Should you not be on a wagon instead?"
"To begin with, yes. We don't want anyone recognizing me on our way out of Verd, but after that I'll ride."
Harbend glared angrily. "This is a real journey. I do not have the time to break in an untrained rider."
"No need. I spent a lot of my youth on horseback." Arthur didn't lie. He fondly remembered long treks in the Canadian wilderness. Harbend didn't seem convinced though.
"A lot? I thought you outworlders did not use anything as mundane as horses."
"At home that would be exotic, not mundane, but you're right." Arthur laughed. "My grandfather bred horses for rich people to use in their spare time. We call it tourism. I've spent weeks riding cross country, but I admit it was a long time ago."
Harbend's stare grew milder. "And you have not forgotten how?"
"How could I?" Arthur decided to take a chance. "I'm a trained initiate. Even have a healed broken rib as a reminder of where to stand around a horse," he said grinning.
Harbend grunted, but Arthur could see he was satisfied nonetheless. Arthur sighed in silent relief. He hadn't forgotten the shaky ride from the terminal building to the train station the day he arrived. The wagons they had bought now didn't have the metal shock absorbers all carriages and coaches used in the city boasted.
"Well, I think we are done for today. Let us go back to your hotel," Harbend said.
Arthur yawned. It wasn't late in the afternoon, but they had started early and he was tired already. "Agreed," he said, and they marched away spreading dust with every step. Vildir caught up with them and together they made their way back to the city.
The day had begun with clear skies and a blazing sun, but the afternoon was overcast. The sweltering heat continued however, with humidity as an added torture. Arthur pressed his temples to ease a slowly spreading headache.
They walked in silence. The next day would see their formal parting with Harbend's relatives, of whom Arthur had only met Vildir, and Arthur could see that Harbend was uneasy. He hadn't spoken much of them, only that the man he sometimes called uncle and sometimes Ramdar was the leader of their family. From what little Harbend had told Arthur got the impression that Khi was a clan based, feudal society.
Vildir, the stern follower who preferred listening to talking, was obviously a military commander of some kind. High ranking, if Arthur's guessed correctly. Vildir had showed some sense of humor earlier, but it was the first time Arthur saw an expression of joy in the silent soldier.
During earlier conversations it became clear that Arthur was in reality paying Harbend to save his family from some trouble. Arthur wasn't sure Harbend had meant him to know though.
Striding past a weaponry Harbend asked them to wait and went inside. Arthur could hear him talking with someone inside, and then Harbend returned with a package in his hands.
"Wait until you reach your rooms," he said when Arthur gave the package a quizzical look. Arthur shrugged and they continued.
The streets were busier now. Everyone seemed to prepare for the eightday of festivities ahead and long strings were already stretched between buildings, adorned with small flags. In one corner a man and a woman, both in bleached linen, laid the finishing touches to a stage they'd been busy erecting over the last few days. In another tables and benches occupied most of the sidewalk where a tavern had moved outdoors.
They had to push their way through the crowd when they weren't pushed aside themselves. All very chaotic, but a friendly chaos tinged with humor and anticipation. Not without a certain pang of regret Arthur realized he was going to leave all this behind, but Harbend had told him that during the coming eightday the roads would be clear and travel easy. After that people returned home clogging the roads for a full two eightdays, and Harbend wanted to reach some point along the road before autumn turned to winter.
They approached another temporary tavern, one of many springing up everywhere, occupying a large portion of the street for the eightday to come.
Now this is perfect. Cameras, three on the street, two in fliers and one hidden behind a hole drilled in the wall. Arthur grinned. Now just add myself on that bench and I'll have the audience scrambling to their feet. They'll die to be here with me. The scene was so perfect Arthur decided he no longer was in a hurry and sat down on the bench he'd marked mentally.
"Friends, the day is far from closing, and my thirst is great." He winked at his companions and nudged a woman at his side to make place for another thirsty reveler. She smiled shyly at him and moved away as far as the crowded bench allowed.
"Mere thirst?" Harbend teased after he translated Arthur's words to Vildir.
Arthur made a show of growling at Harbend. The woman moved away further than Arthur first thought possible. An angry voice from the end told him that he'd been correct and he had to think rapidly to keep the fun from turning ugly.
He rose, looking Harbend in the eyes and shouted, "Today is my lucky day. I'll buy each of you one mug or cup of whatever you fancy here. Only one, mind you, you greedy ones."
Harbend translated loudly and the anger turned to happy cheers. Arthur had to accept a rain of hard slaps on his back and shoulders. He threw a glance at the man who had been pushed out from the bench. He was grinning happily from where he was leaning against the wall. A free drink seemed to have been compensation enough for losing his seat.
Arthur studied the people surrounding him. There was a mix of clothes he didn't recognize from just a few days earlier. Not only the bright colors of the rich and the gray, black and white of the majority who made their living in the city, but also brown and muted green. Farmers, timber men and others who lived outside the city, their faces more tanned and weather-beaten than the city dwellers, hands large and calloused from long days of labor. All come together in celebration, and it dawned on him that there was far more to Verd than the city itself.
Suddenly there was a flurry of running legs and swinging skirts around them when servants came out with the beverages he'd ordered. Tankards, cups and glasses of all sizes hit the tables. It was going to be a lot more expensive than he first planned, but to hell with that. Tomorrow was adventure, today celebration.
He smiled at the woman beside him and was rewarded with a grateful grin as she raised her glass, saluting him briefly before returning to her conversation with a friend sitting across the table.
A commotion behind him had him turn to get a better view. A jester climbed the table and shouted to get the attention of those present. It was slow going, but by sheer persistence he eventually managed to attain his goal. He could have been thirty or so, Arthur guessed. Short, red hair, blue eyes and a face that would never tan, but rather turn painfully red if it was ever exposed to too much sun. He wore the linen and leather of a farmer and a wide brimmed hat hung from a string around his neck.
"... friends gathered... generosity." He pointed at Arthur and loud voices of agreement rose together with mugs and tankards. "... true value of generosity... valued in gold..." Arthur only understood broken parts of what was said, but when he looked around himself for a translation Harbend only shook his head. The man continued for a long time, meeting laughing interjections with retorts bringing more laughter before he continued.
Arthur knew he was watching a show, and the man on the table displayed a reasonable talent for the art. He could have performed professionally on a small club anywhere on Earth. Arthur leaned back and enjoyed the performance even though he was unable to grasp what it was all about. When the man finally came to an end a roar of appreciation greeted him. Several in the audience called servants to attention, and the man received more than his share of beverages soon enough.
"What was that all about?" Arthur asked Harbend when the noise had subsided to a more reasonable level of cacophony.
"A story well told," Harbend answered, still grinning.
Even Vildir looked as if he had enjoyed the show, and from what Arthur knew Vildir's grasp of De Vhatic was virtually nonexistent.
"Lucky coincidence then that everyone seemed to enjoy it."
Harbend gave Arthur a confused glance. "Eh?"
"I mean, what if they had preferred to drink and talk undisturbed instead?"
Harbend just shot Arthur another blank look. This was definitely an interesting turn of events. Another grain of knowledge.
"Why should everyone, everywhere just accept a joker like that, funny as he may be?"
"Sometimes you outworlders never cease to amaze me. The man you call a joker is a storyteller. A decently good one as well. The art is... how do you call it... ah, yes, sacrosanct in all the lands I have heard of."
Arthur started to understand. "Like our glorified view of the medieval bard?"
"No, not a bard. Songs and music may be welcome from time to time, but storytelling is, well, storytelling," Harbend said with something looking like agitation.
"Explain more to an idiot truly unfamiliar with this world."
Harbend looked confused again. For a short while he stayed silent as if grasping for words.
"Storytelling, my friend, is the lowest form of the art, but holy, or inviolable, or whatever a man may prefer to call it nonetheless. The higher form is called tale telling, and on that level the art brings memories of our past to us. It keeps us connected to our history, to our world in a way no written words can do."
"I think that I..."
"You shall not interrupt me. You asked for an explanation. The highest form of the art is the Weave, but taleweavers are rare. Only a few live at any given time. They have the gift to bring our history here so we can live it through their words. In a sense they are our history."
Arthur was baffled. Otherworld was truly different. He understood the experience of taking part of a good story, be it told in a good book, a musical masterpiece or a holo show brought to perfection. He couldn't have imagined a place where people believed such an experience could be limited to one art form only.
"Then I apologize for my ignorance," he said to avoid dampening the mood. He was still having a good time and didn't want them to break up just yet.
Harbend smiled back. "No need. What you do not know, well, you do not know."
"Have you seen any of these taleweavers?" Arthur asked politely.
"Only once," Harbend answered, and there was a sense of awe to his voice. "One Ken Leiter de Ghera is supposed to be the finest there is, but I have yet to earn that honor."
"And he's working at the theater?"
"No, no." Harbend laughed. "They always work alone. As I said, they are very few. As legend has it he journeyed overseas, with the westerners, in search of more of his own kind over a generation ago."
Harbend raised his glass and Arthur did the same. The wine wasn't too bad considering the price, and he called to get the attention of a servant.
"I trade one standard unit of this item," Arthur said in De Vhatic.
Harbend laughed loudly and clarified the order.
"You are catching up, my friend, but not everything is measured in standard units." He proceeded to explain the differences between jugs, glasses, mugs and tankards, and Arthur greedily absorbed the words and their meaning.
The air cooled slightly while they emptied a jug, and then one more, of wine, and late afternoon turned to evening. Streetlights came on as darkness fell but people showed no interest in returning to their homes as they usually did at this hour, and they drank and sang together late into the evening.
Harbend occasionally translated the words accompanying the tunes, but mostly Arthur was satisfied singing along not knowing the meaning of what he drunkenly bawled.