Farek and Norrey didn’t always only chat in the pub. They were friends, not just a bartender and a regular. One afternoon close to the middle of the Moon, they went down to see the tournament at Tarlow Ground. The chase was a four mile camping and trading area built on the coast of Raider’s Bay, and during the ides of each moon a number of the city’s lords put on gladiatorial fights. Each bout only lasted until a predetermined score of hits had been landed, or until one warrior yielded—this was not Radregar, where sport involved death. In Var Nordos, civilization was kept by its rules and guidelines.
Today, a small strategic battle had been assembled, with two groups of six. One team wore green helmets, while the other wore white. Norrey and he sat in the third row, behind the lords and their families, and watched the sport with a few bets between them. Farek could outbid his friend a hundred times over, but kept his gambles friendly.
“See? I told you the tall one would be quick enough! I’ve seen him fight before. Algar or Algo or something like that,” Norrey recounted.
Farek begrudgingly handed over two golden coins imprinted with his family crest.
Lord Paral Mavagar, son of the bedridden Lord Mavagar Senior, applauded the next turn of the skirmish loudly and declared, “I’ll place a bet of a hundred royals on the white team!”
A few others took the bet. Farek sighed; he’d rather spend his coins to host a lavish party than watch people beating each other in the mud. He had trained with sword, spear, and bow of course, every young man did. Farek was proficient and could probably take on most of the fighters in the field at one-on-one combat, but he didn’t see any reason to bring his inherited fortune into it. Paral was too much like the other young lords of Soros—lords which gave Farek a reputation he accepted in good humour.
One man who did not bet was the quiet Lord Thrane, the sole name bearer of one of the Old Empire’s remaining lineages. He sported a silver beard and short hair folded behind his ears, and watched the sports in the muddy field with narrowed eyes and a cynical frown. He whispered something to the manservant or friend seated next to him, got a not, and then waited until the next warrior was toppled, sent skidding through uprooted grass. All of the grass grew faded if it grew at all near the pink water of Raider’s Bay. When Farek looked back at Lord Thrane, the slim man smiled to his companion—a ‘I told you so’ smirk.
Farek leaned over to Norrey. “Lord Thrane. Hear anything about him recently, at the Pub?”
“Nothing too recent. Half a year ago, there was a lot of rumours,” Norrey told him. “A man from Port Deylus went missing, after spreading some rumours about Thrane’s parentage. It’s supposedly not the first time that Thrane has made people disappear after their attempts to ruin his House and name.” His friend lifted a golden chalice and sipped his wine. A loud bang drew Farek’s eyes back to the field, where another member of the white team was knocked from his feet after losing clutch of his shield. Only two remained, making Lord Paral’s bet look thin. More lords and a few ladies bet against him, but that tall warrior that Norrey had pointed out was one of the remaining two.
“So, people want to kill Thrane? Assassination?” Farek asked, poking his friend’s knowledge.
Norrey shook his head and scoffed. “Please, Thrane? He’ll be dead in five years, with his habits. They want to slander him, not kill him. They want him to not be the last vestige of an ancient House.”
Farek laughed. House Gallendris was as old as Thrane’s, and they had faced many trials at the hands of slanderers; he had only thought of assassination because of the words of the ever-dramatic Gravagan.
In a swift move, the tall warrior on the white team flounced two of the green team, and the crowd burst out in anger. Lord Paral Mavagar only stood up, bowed, and began collecting all his winnings. Farek watched the controversial Lord Thrane disappear from the stands in the wake of all the commotion, paying no heed or coin to any of his peers. A light rain began to fall, and Farek and Norrey quickly followed suit back into the city of sorrows.