Around the table in the chieftain’s tent, there was a loud roar as one of the nomads told a story of conquest and bravery, dramatically reciting the tale with Giordi’s flair yet utterly incomprehensible to the five guests. However, there was no mistaking his big climax and Judd, Suvau, Verne and Giordi all cheered and clapped at the end and banged on the table loudly.

  Verne leaned towards Judd as the clamour continued. “Have you any idea what he just said?”

  “No!” Judd wiped tears out of his eyes. “But I had to give him points for his recitation! My word he can tell a tale that no one understands.”

  Verne lost it laughing, half doubled over and Judd slapped his leg, trying to catch his breath.

  “Oh no, not more food!”

  Another roast boar appeared and in a dangerous flurry of blades, it was each man to himself as the feasters cut into its hide. The best part of the boar was saved for the chief whose name was so difficult to pronounce that Judd had taken to calling him Bear, as that was what he reminded him of in his black fur with his dark eyes. He was served by young boys as was their tradition. It was like a squire would be to a knight, in service to a warrior to learn the trade. There were no women in the feasting tent of the chief. From what Judd understood, they were all in the chieftain’s wife’s tent.

  Given how rowdy the men could become, Judd was relieved Aalis was not present to hear their chaos and coarseness. There was much belching, breaking of wind and drinking going on yet the atmosphere was relaxed, even with the imminent threat of violence.

  A small fight broke out between two men who were after the same piece of the boar. There was a swift and probably profane exchange of words before they banged heads together, blood pouring out of one man’s nose while the other staggered back, dazed. Judd couldn’t work out the exact details of the challenge but it seemed bloodied nose was the winner and dazed returned to his seat, the incident over. Chief Bear hadn’t even blinked at the exchange, drinking from his stein.

  “I think I’m seeing double.” Verne shook his head, cringing. “Any more of that ale and I’ll not be able to tell which side is up.”

  “Lightweight.” Suvau chuckled, downing the remains of his stein and banging it on the table.

  “It’s alright for you…you’re twice the size of me!” Verne muttered.

  “How are you going, Giordi?” Judd very nearly had to shout over the clamour and frivolity.

  “I’m still here,” Giordi blinked, shaking his head, “I think I am…anyway…huh?”

  Judd laughed again. “Thank goodness for Aalis’ remedies for hangovers or we’d wake up in three days’ time and find the nomads had moved on!”

  “Thank goodness for Aalis being able to save Bear’s son’s life!” Verne retorted. “If not for her, I think they would have gutted us for trespassing on their territory!”

  “Hey, who pulled that poor kid from the crevice?” Judd argued. “I helped!”

  “And who heard his cry for help? We’d never have found him if not for me!” Verne gestured wildly. “Suvau held your legs so you didn’t fall in and then pulled you out…Giordi was useless, probably writing a song about it…”

  “I was supervising!”

  Judd banged his stein down. “Seems to be like you’re challenging my authority Verne!”

  “Seems to what? To be? What are you? Drunk?”

  “Shut up.” Judd swallowed and blinked. “I challenge you.”

  “For what, you pretentious son of a fisherman?”

  “Aalis!”

  Verne grabbed his tunic and glared close into Judd’s eyes. “You’re making a mistake, Judd LaMogre…”

  “We’ll see! Whoever wins, gets Aalis!”

  “Fine!” Verne attempted to stand up, slipped sideways and crashed against another nomad who pushed him off with a roar. Judd pointed at him, laughing his head off before he nearly toppled over himself. Suvau had to pull him down, Verne waving a hand weakly at him.

  “I win! I win!”

  “Would you please conduct yourselves with a little more refinement!” Caste snarled, his elbows in, his head down, his meal barely touched. “It’s like I’m dining with barbarians. You’re supposed to be on your way to becoming a knight!”

  “I think I’d prefer the life of a barbarian.” Judd leaned on the table, the rush of adrenalin leaving him and he could feel his energy flagging. “Although…I don’t think I’ve got the stamina for it.”

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  “Little cleric,” Suvau said softly, “take a look at the tapestry behind Chief Bear’s throne.”

  “That means I have to look in his direction.” Caste muttered.

  “So?” Giordi shrugged.

  “Don’t alphas interpret that as a sign of challenge of authority?” Caste jumped out of his skin as Suvau, Judd, Giordi and even the inebriated and struggling to rise Verne roared with laughter. “What?!”

  “With all due respect, little cleric,” Suvau’s tone caused the very ground to rumble, “no one could mistake your gaze as a challenge.”

  Caste grumbled something about he could if he wanted then leaned to the side. “I can see it’s a tapestry…a big tapestry…dark red to orange dye, black detail…spikes or leaves…maybe a bull? I can’t really tell from here.”

  “Well, from my height,” Suvau craned his neck, “I can see the head of a bull with the horns and even a gold ring through its nose but it’s on the body of a man…”

  Judd sat up. “A minotaur?” They all looked at Chief Bear. “You think he’s killed a minotaur?”

  “The tapestry is old…”

  “Yes but even if it was his father or someone else in the clan, he might know where to find another!”

  Then the inevitable happened. With all the attention on the tapestry behind the chief’s head, the chieftain thought they were looking at him. He grunted roughly and they all froze.

  “Not a challenge,” Caste threw his eyes down to his toes and held firm, “not a challenge.” He whispered urgently.

  The chief spoke bluntly in his rough burr. Judd frowned, trying to concentrate as if that would do him any good. He turned to Caste who refused to look up.

  “Help me out here, Caste.”

  “He wants to know why you’re looking at him…probably.” Caste growled.

  “Oh…the tapestry,” Judd pointed, trying to indicate around the chieftain’s head to the wall hanging, “the minotaur.” Chief Bear glowered at him. Judd got desperate and made the shape of horns on his head. “Bull,” he grunted then drew a ring through his nose, putting his hand back to his head, “grrrr…bull…”

  “Bull?”

  “Yes,” Judd nodded, “but bull,” he drew a line across his shoulders and indicated upwards, “man,” he pointed at Suvau then gestured downwards, “minotaur.”

  “Asterion.”

  Judd froze. “Asterion?” He turned to Caste. “Asterion?”

  “I’m thinking.” Caste scrunched his face tight. “From the original ancient Terra account…yes, Asterion!”

  “Asterion!” Judd nodded wildly at Chief Bear. “Minotaur. Asterion.”

  “Asterion.” Chief Bear nodded.

  “Where?” Judd pretended to look around. “Where asterion?”

  “Thither asterion?” Caste translated.

  “Nay, nay.” Chief Bear shook his head. “Asterion aerion ni anige.”

  “Aerion ni anige…” Caste looked at Judd. “Loosely translated…there are none.” Chief Bear gestured to the tapestry and grumbled a short story, Caste squinting as if it would be any aid in understanding. “There were minotaur…lots of minotaur…but none since his father’s…great grandfather…Gese?”

  “Gese.”

  “So none for about two hundred years.” Judd sighed. “Great…”

  The stilted conversation changed in tone with the chief seeming to stop his story and asked a question instead. Judd blinked, unsure and uncertain. He whispered his cleric’s name.

  “You know I’m translating most of this based on the vaguest understanding of the pronunciation of ancient Terra.” Caste grumbled.

  The chief spoke again and they sensed an increase in urgency.

  “Translate faster.” Judd hissed. Caste was mouthing words to himself, attempting to work it out.

  “I think he wants you to entertain him.”

  “Entertain?” Judd frowned.

  “It’s either that or a duel…”

  “Oh good grief…”

  The chief spoke again and Caste turned to Judd. “Entertain. Something about…a story.”

  Judd twisted and looked at the minstrel. “Giordi!”

  “Oh joy…drunken singing.” Caste moaned as Giordi stood up.

  “My minstrel will entertain.” Judd spoke loudly and slowly.

  “What’s the point of speaking like that? I’m the one he understands.” Caste snapped and attempted to communicate with the chief.

  Chief Bear nodded, his black beard almost part of the black fur around his shoulders. He waved his hand at Giordi who had, fortuitously, brought his lute. Giordi quickly tuned it, tapping his teeth.

  “Hurry up…sing something, anything!” Judd urged, feeling Bear’s gaze like an anvil on his shoulders.

  “I’m trying to think of something appropriate.”

  “What does it matter? They won’t understand it anyway.”

  “Huh…then we need a rowdy drinking song.” Giordi snapped his fingers. “I know a good one.”

  He began strumming on his lute, the consistent melody gathering attention until all eyes were on him. Judd marvelled at his ability not to flinch under so much pressure for the gaze of the nomads seemed heavier than the eyes of ‘civilised’ Terras, probably owing to their answer to any problem being violence.

  “Fill my flagon full of mead,

  Don’t you shilly shally

  I’ve a long ride on my aged stead,

  Who was once a filly fally.

  Up to the rim of my chipped stein,

  Don’t you dissy dassy

  My wife’s awaiting, I must be on time

  She was once a handsome lassie.

  Fill my goblet to the brim,

  Don’t let the ale be leakin’

  Love to stay but the light’s getting’ dim

  And dawn will soon be breakin’.

  Let my chalice be overflowing!

  Don’t ask me to see me coin

  I swear my ship is coming soon,

  Look for it past the groyne!”

  There were ample more verses but the nomads had joined in with such vigour and stein pounding and clapping out of tune, Giordi could hardly be heard by the fourth verse. Still it looked as though Chief Bear was appeased and Giordi sat down, refreshing his throat with another gulp of ale.

  “It had to be a drinking song, didn’t it?” Caste remarked irritably.

  “Somehow I don’t think the emphatic aria of the waterlily would be so well received.” Giordi chuckled.

  “You did well.” Judd yawned. “I wonder if the girls know what they’re missing?”

  “They’ve seen what state we’re in when Suvau drags us back each night,” Verne had managed to right himself and was leaning on the table, “I suspect they know.”