The estates in Sundown City were more glamorous than she had imagined. Fountains of horses and birds that held glistening pools while sparkling streams shot into the air. There were hedged trees and gardens, and the smell of nectar and roses that filled the air. Birds sang and bees hummed yet the young girl stood in the courtyard unamused. Her thoughts on the incident of the train.
"Lyolis, My Love," Zoar called to her from behind a hedge.
"Here," she said, from a chair beaneth a wooden structure with a rounded top; there to shield away the sun.
He swooped around the trees dressed in a bright buckhide tunic and trousers, pinned with bear patches and beads that matched those in his braided hair.
He waved as approached, "What are you doing out here? We have a lunch with the Mayor before his event tonight…"
"It's all too much." Lyolis said, watching a red feather bird glide to fountain and drink from the pool. "The butlers. The maids. The Estate. Life in Totem is much simpler."
Zoar kept to his feet, leaning against one of the beams holding up the gazebo. "I feel the same way...Life is too simple for those on top, and too difficult for those at the bottom." He sighed. "I wish to leave as quickly as you my love."
She turned towards two large men standing by the gardens towards the south. Their gaze could kill a man while they stood like trees, unmovable. Their skin was a dark olive and eyes a deep black, wearing thick buckhides that hid hardly any flesh.
"And what's worse, Droom and Brugar have been tasked to watch over me...I feel like a prisoner."
"It's for your protection."
She lowered her head, resting her chin in her palms. "Protection from what? The Yurks were likely raiding the train…" She slid her hand across her buckhide gown; rough and smooth to the touch. "I was told they do often."
"Goods trains, yes...Trains carrying people of high stature, no." Zoar watched her with intrigue. "You are smart enough to know better…they were after somebody or something."
"And you can't believe it was us, can you."
Zoar shrugged, "I do not know anymore. I do not know who to trust...Ever since we've lost our Brusk'Kab I have felt uneasy." He paced in front of her. "And ever since then I've feared for your safety...We are our here in unknown territory while are enemies stand outside our village waiting to strike." He sighed. "My father and brothers are strong but cannot protect Totem on their own; they need your father to lead his people."
"My father's affairs are a wonder, I must say — I believe Mother is the one behind this — father is the strength where mother is the mind."
Zoar walked behind her chair, bring hands down. His hands calloused from the years shooting bows and swinging Tomahawk, but his touch was gentle, massaging the ache from her shoulders.
"Your father plans on entering Droom and Brylax into the tournament." He eyed a glowing green viel wrapped around their necks. "Or so I've heard."
"From whom?"
Zoar smiled warmly, "my father...He wrote me."
Lyolis was dreaded at the thought. "Why would he do such a thing? They could be killed...Those tournaments are ruthless and vial...Our tribe does not participate in such savagery."
"It was suggested by my father," He admitted, squeezing a bit too hard. She winced and touched his hand and he withdrew his grip. "My apologies, Princess...I just find it a mistake to particpate in invaders games."
"As do I she said."
The red feathered bird sunk his beak into the pool, shaking his feathers clean. It sang and Lyolis's body warmed to the tune.
"I do not understand," she spoke calmly. "What does our fathers want to gain from this?"
"It's obvious...They're trying to gain merit with the Mayor — and how else than to play his games — this is all a game to him."
"Do they think," Lyolis placed a hand over her mouth; "that the Mayor is the one providing weapons to the Howl Chief?"
He nodded, "they are certain of it...They're just uncertain of whom is moving the weapons and if they can stop it. All they know is that they're being moved from the south."
"The tournament…" Lyolis gasped, eyes wide. "There are so many people coming in and out of the city that it is the perfect time to move it."
Zoar stopped then began to pace behind her. "You're correct…with everybody here the Mayor can move the weapons on our return — we'd never expect it."
Lyolis asked, "but why help the Howl Chief?"
"Why else?" Zoar said. "To control the Cyoakian territory...Promise the Chief revenge and Totem, and exchange the invaders have another piece of the south." Zoar voice trembled. "What if the Yurks had something taken from them?"
Lyolis peered over her shoulder, "what do you mean?"
Zoar skipped around the chair, kneeling, holding her gently with hands warm as the southern earth. He looked into her brown speckled eyes, nervously.
"Why would the Yurks attack unless provoked?" He asked. "It doesn't make sense...the Mayor must've done something to offer such aggression."
"War?" Lyolis asked. "Could it be war that the Mayor is trying to start?"
"A second War of Nations? I wouldn't be surprised...the Mayors tactics are like a snake in the grass — hidden — waiting to strike."
Lyolis nose wrinkled, "but there were only twenty Yurks...Why send such a small group to attack a well guarded train?" Her hands trembled while her fingers glided down her braids. "Their Kallri is known to be ferocious. He wouldn't be that careless...Unless the tribes men acted on their own."
Zoar flinched at the words, unconvinced. "Very unlikely...Any Yurks who'd defy or abandon the Kallri would be hunted down and killed." He whispered. "This has to be the act of Bonejaq."
From behind the hedge came a short, balding man in a black suit. His face sunk like a frown while stood straight, chin high. The red-feathered bird took flight at his sight.
"You Magesties! Lunch is ready and the guests have arrived," He nodded.
"Guest?" Lyolis asked, curiously.
They walked through the back doors beneath the duel stairwell into the grand foyer. Above them a chandler hung, glowing like animal eyes in the night. They turned left in the dining room where savory and sweet smell tickled their nostrils.
Light from the tall windows brightened the room. and the extended table, draped with golden-white linens that matched the rug and the cushions of the seats.
Lyolis stopped in the doorway examining the people in their chairs; her mother and father wore their bear skull crowns dressed in fine buckhide clothes while besides her father sat the Mayor dressed dapper in a white suit and a black cape. His mustache curled, smiling, and hair was slick back and dark as his eyes.
"My Loves!" He chuckled, blinking like his eyes were left dry. "You've come at last...Come. Come and join us!"
Lyolis followed Zoar to the left side of her mother, sitting then sat upright, looking across the table at four unannounced guests; all sitting divinely suits and gowns; their hair bright as gold and eyes as blue as ice.
"These are the Womberwheels," the Butler said, holding out a hand. "Drajorik Womberwheel—"
"Ehem!" The skinny mustached man coughed into his hand.
The butler rolled his eyes, swearing. "But he goes by Drajorik Gordon—"
"The musician?" Lyolis asked.
"Why yes," his lips rose to the right. "I never knew your...people were aware of my work."
"Hardly…" Lyseria groaned, taking a sip. "My daughter is interested in the peculiar."
"There's nothing peculiar about Drajorik's music," The Mayors said, beaming at the man. "It will fill your ears with mystery, romance, and wonder unlike anything you've heard from the main lands."
Lyolis nodded, "I've heard of you work but never heard of it's sound...I would be inclined to if you may."
"Why certainly, Princess," The man voice was soft and haunting as she imagined his music.
The butlers hand shifted toward the next man, "And his brother Weebert Womberwheel."
"The one who's not ashamed of our surname," he chuckled, sitting slightly thicker than the other; a darker shade of blue in his eyes and less charm in his voice.
"And what is it that you do, Mr. Weebert?"
The man lifted his chin above his shoulders. "I, young Princess create the finests arms the world has ever seen."
Lyolis raised an eyebrow.
"My apologies," he chuckled. "You are not familiar with the term...As you wouldn't, now would you. Guns, Princess — I manufacture powerful guns and canons."
Zoar grabbed her hand beneath the table and squeezed.