to speak
- there were many people to be fed, and the hour grew late
- when Mahnum spoke.
'It is you,' he said in a flat voice. His face had gone grey.
The old man nodded, his countenance in turn drained of all colour.
With a snarl of rage, Mahnum leapt over the food-laden table and tackled the old man, driving him to the ground. There he began to beat the man where he lay, fists pumping, arms flailing, shouting incoherently all the while. Shocked members of the Company came to the old man's aid, dragging their maddened friend from on top of him. The stranger had not raised a hand in his defence. One eye was already swollen shut, and as he stood, aided by Hal, it was clear his right arm had been damaged in the unprovoked onslaught.
'Mahnum! Mahnum! What are you doing? What has this man done that you would attack him so?' Indrett held on to
her husband; along with Kurr, she was barely able to restrain him from renewing his assault on the old man.
Mahnum shook an arm free and pointed at the stranger. 'That man - that man,' he said, breathing heavily, 'that man is my father.'
'Is it true?' Indrett said, unsure which man to ask. 'How can it be true?'
The old man nodded. 'It is true. I am Modahl. Mahnum is my son.'
'But you are dead! You were executed for your part in the war between Sna Vaztha and Haurn!'
The Sna Vazthan spoke through swollen lips, his voice heavy with irony. 'This is manifestly not the case, though some here might wish it.'
'They tied him to a chair, weighted him down and put him out on the thin spring ice of the Preuse River to wait for the afternoon sun,' Mahnum said bitterly. 'Apparently even that was not enough to finish the old demon off.'
'That story effectively ended the life of Modahl the Trader of Firanes.' The old man accepted the offer of a chair. Others of the Company made their way over to the scene of the altercation, leaving Geinor and Graig, the Escaignian woman, Perdu and the former captain of the Instruian Guard to serve the lines of people. 'It allowed me to begin a new life, which by a fateful irony has brought me here to face my old life, and the fully justified wrath of my son.'
'Excuse me,' said Kurr roughly, 'but are you saying that you are Modahl of Firanes?'
The old man nodded wearily.
'I remember Modahl clearly,' the old farmer said. 'I remember bidding him farewell, one Watcher to another, as
he set out for Haurn to take their part in a hopeless defence of their little country against the might of Sna Vaztha. I remember his anger at what had already been done to that land. I remember hearing about the day the mighty Modahl, the finest Trader ever to have lived, was taken captive on the very summit of Tor Hailan in a battle so fierce the midwinter snow would not settle, such was the heat of combat. I wept to hear it. I heard he was borne in chains to Inmennost and executed on the day of the spring equinox, his death the finale of the events celebrating the Sna Vazthan victory. I feel sure I would recognise such a man if he still lived.
Come, stranger, and step into the light.'
But the light came to the stranger. Leith walked quietly over to where the two old men stood, and the jugorn Ark bathed them both in its flickering light, giving their visages the look of legendary heroes.
'It is you!' the old farmer cried. 'By the Most High, it is!' 'Yes it is, friend Kurr. Do you want to attack me too?' Kurr's reply was lost as the two men embraced, slapping each other on the back. Eventually they separated, and the Company could see tears sparkling on their cheeks.
The Sna Vazthan turned to Mahnum, 'You and 1 need to talk, my son.' Mahnum spat and turned away. 'You wear a great sword,' the old man continued, undeterred. 'I have seen that hilt before. It belonged to my old friend Jethart of Treika. You attacked me with your fists when you could have cut me down with his blade. Does that not say anything to you? It says to me that you know we have unfinished
- there were many people to be fed, and the hour grew late
- when Mahnum spoke.
'It is you,' he said in a flat voice. His face had gone grey.
The old man nodded, his countenance in turn drained of all colour.
With a snarl of rage, Mahnum leapt over the food-laden table and tackled the old man, driving him to the ground. There he began to beat the man where he lay, fists pumping, arms flailing, shouting incoherently all the while. Shocked members of the Company came to the old man's aid, dragging their maddened friend from on top of him. The stranger had not raised a hand in his defence. One eye was already swollen shut, and as he stood, aided by Hal, it was clear his right arm had been damaged in the unprovoked onslaught.
'Mahnum! Mahnum! What are you doing? What has this man done that you would attack him so?' Indrett held on to
her husband; along with Kurr, she was barely able to restrain him from renewing his assault on the old man.
Mahnum shook an arm free and pointed at the stranger. 'That man - that man,' he said, breathing heavily, 'that man is my father.'
'Is it true?' Indrett said, unsure which man to ask. 'How can it be true?'
The old man nodded. 'It is true. I am Modahl. Mahnum is my son.'
'But you are dead! You were executed for your part in the war between Sna Vaztha and Haurn!'
The Sna Vazthan spoke through swollen lips, his voice heavy with irony. 'This is manifestly not the case, though some here might wish it.'
'They tied him to a chair, weighted him down and put him out on the thin spring ice of the Preuse River to wait for the afternoon sun,' Mahnum said bitterly. 'Apparently even that was not enough to finish the old demon off.'
'That story effectively ended the life of Modahl the Trader of Firanes.' The old man accepted the offer of a chair. Others of the Company made their way over to the scene of the altercation, leaving Geinor and Graig, the Escaignian woman, Perdu and the former captain of the Instruian Guard to serve the lines of people. 'It allowed me to begin a new life, which by a fateful irony has brought me here to face my old life, and the fully justified wrath of my son.'
'Excuse me,' said Kurr roughly, 'but are you saying that you are Modahl of Firanes?'
The old man nodded wearily.
'I remember Modahl clearly,' the old farmer said. 'I remember bidding him farewell, one Watcher to another, as
he set out for Haurn to take their part in a hopeless defence of their little country against the might of Sna Vaztha. I remember his anger at what had already been done to that land. I remember hearing about the day the mighty Modahl, the finest Trader ever to have lived, was taken captive on the very summit of Tor Hailan in a battle so fierce the midwinter snow would not settle, such was the heat of combat. I wept to hear it. I heard he was borne in chains to Inmennost and executed on the day of the spring equinox, his death the finale of the events celebrating the Sna Vazthan victory. I feel sure I would recognise such a man if he still lived.
Come, stranger, and step into the light.'
But the light came to the stranger. Leith walked quietly over to where the two old men stood, and the jugorn Ark bathed them both in its flickering light, giving their visages the look of legendary heroes.
'It is you!' the old farmer cried. 'By the Most High, it is!' 'Yes it is, friend Kurr. Do you want to attack me too?' Kurr's reply was lost as the two men embraced, slapping each other on the back. Eventually they separated, and the Company could see tears sparkling on their cheeks.
The Sna Vazthan turned to Mahnum, 'You and 1 need to talk, my son.' Mahnum spat and turned away. 'You wear a great sword,' the old man continued, undeterred. 'I have seen that hilt before. It belonged to my old friend Jethart of Treika. You attacked me with your fists when you could have cut me down with his blade. Does that not say anything to you? It says to me that you know we have unfinished
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