Bren of Ar

Even in ruins Candoba was magnificent. Broad cobbled avenues led from the city’s gates, like spokes of a wheel to the main plaza. Here the Temple of Ja stood in silent grandeur. This gigantic edifice once the seat of all power on Aloja now belonged to the city’s destitute. Its high vaulted chambers were the haunts of prostitutes, beggars, and thieves. All the rich tapestries and ornaments of gold and silver were long gone; carried off years before by the city’s citizens or the conquering hordes that sacked her. Stark stone stood in their place.

Taverns and inns lined the broad boulevards. There was a carnival atmosphere about the streets, for in its decline Candoba had reached a degree of decadence rivaled only by the pleasure city of Marashee. Those with a full purse could buy anything. Money was now Candoba’s god. Those with it were a privileged class, and those without were their vassals. After the fall of The Way the city had plunged into crass vulgarity quickly. Yet, if one looked beyond the gaudy trappings...the vulgar signs, the parades of cut-purses, painted harlots, and beggars...one could still see the stately grace of the common buildings, the statues and the grand design of line and purpose on which the relatively new vulgarity was superimposed.

The marketplace shared the center of the city with the Temple. It was the source of the city’s wealth and her new power. Goods from the far corners of Aloja arrived here daily by barge and wagon to be bought and sold.

Cullul related what he saw to Gamma. She nodded gravely. "Time has changed much, Throad. I suppose it was inevitable the people turned to pleasure after the end of The Way. The Way gave them purpose. It offered them hope and eternal happiness if they lived their lives according to its Law. When that Law proved false they felt they had no purpose. They had no future. Now they only think of pleasure. They live for today, and because of it we have war, hatred, and greed. The Way offered hope. Now there is no hope. There is only the present."

"Is that bad?” he asked. “The Way was a deception. Is the truth not better?"

"I do not know," said the old woman. "Perhaps a deception is better if it relieves suffering."

"Is there more suffering now than there was under The Way?" asked the boy. "The people appear happy enough."

"Perhaps, but they have no hope. The Way promoted order and decency. It gave the people a purpose. Now there is no purpose and the people have become petty selfish creatures. The tribes fight amongst themselves. Their people kill each other in useless wars and make each other slaves. Robbers like Tameal the Terrible live outside the laws of decency. Their followers kill, rape, and loot at will. This turmoil did not exist during The Way."

"Then, The Way was good?"

The old woman thought for a moment. "In many ways yes; and in many ways no," she said. "The Way robbed the people of their imagination. It set restrictions on them that nearly proved fatal when they had to face the aliens. But this debate is pointless. It has been bandied around by wise men since The Way’s fall. History must go now without The Way. People must seek their own truth."

Cullul found an inn near the city’s North Gate. The rooms were small, but clean. The proprietor, a plump jovial man with a long stringy mustache, was attentive to their needs. He saw to Gamma’s comfort personally. The inn’s food was particularly good. On their first night they were treated to roast eur in hukberry sauce, fried grattle, tuberous vegetables and fine wine from the vineyards west of the city.

Gamma retired to her sleeping furs shortly after they ate. Cullul was too restless to sleep, so he mooched around the inn’s common room with Bren. They talked to the proprietor and his daughter, a slender attractive girl around Cullul’s age. She suggested they play ornates.

The game had its beginning deep in Aloja’s past. Each player controlled thirty-two pieces on a board of ninety-six squares. The object was for the players to move their pieces to entrap the other’s ornate without losing as many of their own pieces as possible. Each piece had a specific numerical value. At the end of the game the value of the surviving pieces was computed. Whoever had the most points, regardless of who’s ornate was captured, won the game.

Cullul’s father was a master at ornates and taught him the game when he was young. He played it exceptionally well. He soon found the innkeeper’s daughter, Chinglla, to be as masterful. It was not long before their contest came to the attention of several of the inn’s guest. Soon a crowd gathered around them to watch their play.

They tied the first game. Chinglla won the second game by a single point. Cullul won the third game by two points.

"I’ve never seen matches like these!" declared a wealthy merchant from Tu, who wore a long green robe and floppy yellow felt hat. "I think your fair Chinglla has finally met her match, Galfo."

The corpulent innkeeper snorted. "I’ll grant you the lad’s a good player, but Chinglla is better."

"Ha," barked the merchant. "I say she’s met her match."

"Would you like to put some copkis on it?" asked the innkeeper.

"How much?" countered the merchant.

"Ten copkis says she wins the next match."

"Done!"

"Give me five," said a man wearing a leather jerkin and hat.

"Ho, river man," said another. "I’ll take your bet."

Others chimed in and soon the betting reached into hundreds of copkis. Most of it was bet against Cullul, for Chinglla’s skill was well known. One of those who bet on Cullul was Bren. He smiled at Cullul, who looked, and felt, uncomfortable. "What’s the matter, lad?" he asked.

"I’ve never played where money was involved," answered Cullul truthfully.

The green-eyed warrior chuckled. "It’s not your money. You have nothing to lose. Play with all your skill, and no one can think the worse of you."

The game took nearly twice as long as the previous three. Several times Chinglla took the advantage, and tried to capture Cullul’s ornate. Each time he managed to win free, and cause her serious damage. Then he pounced. His attack was savage, but not reckless. He took apart Chinglla’s defenses systematically, then trapped her ornate and ended the game.

Those who bet on Chinglla groaned as they saw the end approach, for they all saw Cullul had the winning combination of pieces.

When the game finished, the gamblers paid their debts cheerfully, and complimented both players on their skill.

Chinglla proved to be a gracious loser. She treated Cullul to a plate of steaming sweet cakes, smiling demurely as she presented them to him, and said, "For the victor."

"Oh," he said, somewhat embarrassed. "You didn’t have to do that."

"Perhaps you will give me another chance to beat you?" she said.

"If you want," he answered quickly.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said, "if you’re not too busy?"

"Yes, we should be here tomorrow."

"Good," she said. Just then her father bawled for her to help him serve his guest. "I have to go. I’ll see you later."

He was so intent on watching her, as she walked away from his table, that he didn’t see Bren approach. The handsome warrior slid into a chair opposite him. His eyes twinkled merrily. "It seems you made two conquests here tonight, lad," he said.

Cullul was puzzled. "I don’t understand? What do you mean?"

Bren shrugged. "Well, you’ve proved yourself the master of ornates; and you’ve conquered the heart of your former enemy."

Cullul’s brows knitted together. "You mean, Chinglla," he said.

Bren nodded. "I think she has designs on you. I’d watch my step around the fair Chinglla."

Cullul shook his head. "She was just being kind. A girl like that wouldn’t look twice at me."

"What makes you think that?"

The boy sighed, and lowered his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low, nearly a whisper. "You jest me, sir. I know I’m ugly."

"Bah!" scoffed Bren. "You’ve got a lot to learn about women, lad. They’re strange creatures; besides, what makes you think you’re ugly?"

Cullul shrugged. "I am. I know I am."

"I don’t think so, and I don’t think she thinks so; but, have it your own way, lad."

The boy shook his head. "My name is Cullul, but everybody—my friends and family—call me by my nickname, Throad."

"Throad? That’s a terrible nickname. You call me Bren, and I’ll call you Cullul. It is a name that suits you. It was the name of a philosopher and statesman, and you have the look of wisdom about you."

Cullul smiled at the compliment. "I was named for the philosopher Cullul. He was a friend of my great grandfather’s."

Bren cocked his head. "Well, I’ll be...And who was your great grandfather?"

"These days they refer to him as, the Mutant."

"My stars!" he laughed. "Maybe your great grandmother is right, my young friend. I’m beginning to feel we were fated to meet. As your great grandmother said on the road, my grandfather was King Valtar of Ar. He was a close friend of your great grandfather. They fought together during the alien invasion and later in the War of the Kings." 

Next Chapter: Chapter 6