"Du Quam Umdochar never made mention of this...," Nubejul said as he inspected the contents of the scroll once more, making sure to go over the exact details of the abandoned mission.
The Sijarkes snickered, rubbing her hands together in devious anticipation. "I think we found ourselves something to do this weekend..."
But in the pit of her stomach, she knew what was coming next.
"...Domma Sijarkes, if I may?" the pesky scribe interrupted her glee once again.
"—oh, what is it, now?!"
"I honestly believe that the Tirkju'a must not have acted on this mission for a justifiable reason. He would have already be well aware that Gansa was—and is still—in a considerably fragile state." The Principal Scribe seemed to think he knew the Tirkju'a more than she did.
"So?"
"Reconsider this." For once, the scribe sounded rather desperate. "Domma Sijarkes, our visit could result in turmoil for the Gansans whether your verdict will be for their own good or for our own."
And it seemed that this objection did not sit right with the regent Du Quam as well, who looked at him anew, a flood of disbelief concealing the goodness in his eyes. "What do you...?"
Nubejul quickly recomposed from his state of shock. His eyes flashed.
"Lord Rozkamoro, there's no need to worry. That is for the Sijarkes to resolve. That is why we must see to this mission and conclude once and for all what Gansa's fate will be," Nubejul said calmly, eager to have his friend come to his side of understanding.
"With all due respect, that is not ours to decide, Du Quam Tavhaii." Toruaz would not give in, as expected. The Sijarkes felt her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she laid against her palm. Nubejul must not be used to being lectured that way, in front of his master too. Was that a twitch in his eye?
Still, he was as cool and poised as ever. "You speak as if you had not been graced by the Order's mercy in your time of need."
Toruaz mouth moved, but he remained silent.
"How long do you think the Gansans have waited for their time to come?" Nubejul asked. "They've been rejected twice before by the Tirkju'a. Ki Heptre 3439. Ki Heptre 3687. We are in Ki Heptre 3734, Lord Rozkamoro."
Nubejul began his turn about the room, gliding easily across the floor, going around the mountains of scrolls.
"And this mission was issued by Katill Broiis. My, it's really been a decade and not a word was spoken regarding this. I, for one, think that we should not let this mission come to its expiration. We must depart at once."
He looked only at the Sijarkes, her being his only audience in this matter as it was she who had the power of decision.
"And I stand by my belief of leaving them alone for now, Du Quam Tavhaii. They don't need us making it worse for them," Toruaz said his piece. The Gansans' out-of-place warrior, an exile of Urbedaur, land of the pale men.
"But they sure do sound like they're in need of help!" The Sijarkes' pierce laughter cut through their dispute. Nubejul fell to his knees, bowing his head low.
"Forgive us for this needless disputation, Domma Sijarkes...!"
Her skin crawled. She turned her ire on Toruaz.
"I always thought you'd be that kind of person to get teary-eyed over a sub-par, developing nation, my Lord," the Sijarkes mocked with mirth. "So obviously a dog who takes after his father."
She could almost sense their fear rising.
"Now listen, dog. You work for me now, so you do as I say," she shouted, pointing at Toruaz before sticking a thumb against her chest.
"I'm the Tirkju'a now!"
She turned away from them, strutting over to her seat above an elevated platform of marble. "And what I want is something disputatious."
She could feel the air going still. The Lord Scribe has lost his breath; the regent, almost bursting from anticipation.
"Something that will catch everyone's attention," she said, throwing them a side glance, brow raised. "Only then can the others see how I am not afraid to exercise my power on matters that needed to be addressed."
She smiled, a little too ominously than intended.
"Get my palanquin ready for the trip. Inform only my most important court officials, Du Quam Tavhaii."
"At your command, Domma Sijarkes." Nubejul's response came swift and short as he lightly bowed. "Would tomorrow evening be enough time?
"We leave for Gansa tomorrow evening, and that is official." The Sijarkes wanted to challenge him.
"I shall get to it right away." Nubejul would recognize such a challenge anywhere. He bowed again before gracefully turning to walk out with the scroll at hand and as he was told. Toruaz watched him leave, a little exasperated at the urgency of it all.
"You know I admire that passion of yours. Don't let me down, regent Du Quam," the Sijarkes called out happily. Her gaze fell unto Toruaz next, who stared back at her dumbfoundedly. She squeezed her cheeks with both hands, imitating the look of a wailing donkey. "You are dismissed too, Lord Scribe."
Lord Scribe seemed to fit him. It's not easy to forget the name Rozkamoro. She'd seen Umdochar's letters on the family clan before when the Tirkju'a was still around. That was his strange obsession, and she still hadn't found a cause for it yet, though she really couldn't care less. Instead of running for office in Urbedaur, Toruaz Rozkamoro chose to be her willing vassal.
Judge Rozkamoro's discipline has very little intersections with her own. She can be gracious. She will let his behavior slide for now.
"Please do get to working on those scrolls as soon as you can." The Sijarkes tossed her hair back. "You could even bring a few with you along to Gansa so you won't get bored." This could be the nicest thing she's done since...a long, long time.
Toruaz bowed. Finally.
"Would not disappoint you, Domma Sijarkes."
When he left, the Sijarkes took a moment to stand in silence, letting the air still. As Toruaz footsteps echoed farther away, the Sijarkes allowed herself to sloppily crash unto her seat. A mouthful of grapes won't be enough to lift her mood.
Just what was she getting herself into with these two?
She had a feeling they already knew each other before today. Helnah'm had mentioned quite a bit on that, that the regent Nubejul had chosen the Principal Scribe himself. But really, in this day and age?
Du Quams do not have friends.
They should not.
----------
Exiting the Tirkju'a's chambers, Toruaz searched for Nubejul, who only walked far ahead on his way back to the main temple. The Tirkju'a's chambers was not directly connected. Quams had to go outside and pass through the gardens in order to visit the Tirkju'a.
Toruaz sped after Nubejul, calling out, "Du Quam Tavhaii!"
Nubejul did not need to be called a second time. He stopped to see what the matter was. Judging by his expression alone, he was not pleased.
"You'll do fine, Lord Rozkamoro. Refrain from questioning the Sijarkes from now on, alright? She knows what she's doing." Was all Nubejul would say to him before he turned on his heel and left with the golden scroll in hand. That strange item shone temptingly on his retreating figure—Gansa's possible doom on the dotted line.
As much as this was a blessing, it was also an alarming fact: Nubejul was now in a position of power, like the ones who came before him, who'd been so wicked to drop a crippling verdict on generations of his bloodline, for reasons only they knew. But he realized it now that maybe those people had no choice; just like Nubejul, there was nothing they could do.
He always had faith. Not for himself—he can't find much to spare—but for others. Nubejul had always been a dear friend.
The Sijarkes just needed someone to lean on.
Nubejul was her servant.
There were things that mattered more to one person than the other.