It’s a huge commotion when the blue banner with the gold and green hooved dragon is seen in Žanutian’ur. The streets fill with curious onlookers as cavalrymen in battle armour enter the city. General Kharanlar is considered a living legend, and who knows who will ever see him? The General has never visited Žanutian’ur at that, making this sighting truly rare.
So how would anyone fault them for their disappointment when the leading officer on the black and grey steed is a man of marriageable age rather than the man who ought to be in his late fifties? Although dressed in battle armour as well, the young man is riding along men in their thirties and forties, clearly a young master who has been escorted, not a high ranked officer.
But this doesn’t dissuade the women with marriageable children, and there are several veiled young women throwing handfuls of water as a blessing from Denaštür, hoping to catch the young man’s attention. A few old soldiers recognise the insignia on the young man’s armour, but most have never seen such a thing and cannot believe the words of these old men and divine who have fought in battle in a distant past.
By the time the young master reaches the governor of Žanutian’ur only children follow along, wanting to see more of these foreigners. But children would not understand the significance of this young man’s arrival there, and most had lost interest in finding out more.
Laž’ar smiles as he listens to what the patron tells him. It’s already been a few days since the arrival of the second division of the Ažamür Cavalry and most have lost interest. It’s only officials like this man who bring those like him news of this event now, and most at the Silver Swan wouldn’t bother to remember what they’ve been told, either not understanding the significance or simply uninterested in it.
Laž’ar pours the man another cup of wine, scooting closer. The smile he gives the man behind his veil is seductive enough it shines through with ease.
“M’lord may tell me more. Say, is it common for those of marriageable age to be of high rank?”
“Oh, not at all! Most don’t ever reach seventh or eight rank no matter how long they stay with the military. But I hear this young master is the apprentice of the General Kharanlar himself.” The man sighs. “To be young and strong like him, and on top of that nearly the son of General Kharanlar.”
“M’lord is still handsome and has both wife and children. A young man on the battlefield may perish, but an old official holds more merits to his name, no?”
Instead of taking the cup, the official puts his arm around Laž’ar’s waist, pulling him closer.
“You know how to flatter a man, Little Butterfly.”
“M’lord!” Laž’ar lets out a scandalised gasp. He very lightly swats at the hand, and is only pulled closer.
“Perhaps I should take a look what’s beneath that veil?”
“Is m’lord so curious? How about you look at more than just my face, hmm?”
The man laughs, the hand moving down… down… down…
Laž’ar raises his hand to swat at the hand once more.
“Madame requests your presence.”
Laž’ar places his hand on the official’s wrist, gripping it tightly as he removes it from his hip. The smile doesn’t change, and he leans close to speak quietly into the man’s ear. “Maybe m’lord will have the fortune at another time. I shall await your contribution to our small establishment.”
“Go on,” the man says. He watches the Little Butterfly stand up to leave.
Laž’ar pauses at the entrance of the room, smiling back at the man, then leaves.
The moment he’s out of the sight for patrons, the smile is wiped away and he takes the moist handkerchief he’s offered by one of the young children following the one who called for him.
He wipes his hands and around his waist before tossing the fabric back to the child. “Does the madame truly want to see me, or was it simply an excuse to get me out of that man’s clutches?”
“An important guest will arrive.”
“Guess I’ll thank the deities — take me from one man’s embrace and throw me into another’s.”
“Don’t say that. The Madame relies on you.”
Laž’ar huffs and adjusts the veils on his face. He looks at a few patrons from the shadows, and pauses.
A group of young men are seated around a low table, talking and joking with one another. They don’t seem to be locals based on what he catches of their accent.
“Who are they?”
The other divine stops and looks over. “Some garrison troop members or so. Why?”
“Nothing. Just curious.”
“You’re the only one here who bothers keeping up with the affairs outside.”
“It may find me a good man with money. I don’t want to live like this.”
“Nor do I. Little sibling, find something more worthwhile than chasing men. It’ll end in no good ways.” They nod at the soldiers. “How would they pay your worth? You’re the madame’s best dancer. She’d loathe to part with you.”
Laž’ar retracts his gaze and follows the other one.
The group of soldiers sitting around a few tables are all simply dressed, but they have a certain way of bearing themselves, combined with a carefree manner. Both patrons and entertainers are curious, the occasional brave one approaching to ask questions.
What they have collectively gathered this evening is that they ranged in ages from barely out of training to late thirties. Ranging from where the sun rises, to where it sets, they were from all over the land. They were quite casual with one another, suggesting they were of low rank. Some were married, some were not. Why they were in Žanutian’ur they didn’t say, but they had come to the Silver Swan to ‘play’. Apparently, they had gone to both decent and less decent establishments around the pleasure district in the past few days.
Suddenly there’s a ruckus, and two people pull a handsome, well-dressed man along.
“I brought Eldest Young Master!” one of them announces and the soldiers seated all raised their cups to greet the young master.
The people around them loses their interest. So they simply are in Žanutian’ur with the young master.
Said young master frowns as he’s brought to a table with a seat open. “You’re very loud.”
A young man passing by snorts at this remark, and takes an appreciative look at this young master.
Çetžak Züčan is a very handsome man in his twenties, and no matter where these people had brought him along, he had got looks from both patrons and those serving them. He, however, was less appreciative of this attention.
“Eldest Young Master needs to be more appreciative of beauty,” Nür tells him as he seats him with a heavy press down on his shoulders.
Çetžak sighs and pours himself some wine. “I can appreciate it in silence, so why can’t you?” He looks around the group. “Look at you, making a ruckus. You’d think I’m the beauty to be appreciated.”
This is met with smiles from them all, and he returns it.
“Shut up and look at people you want to pay for. You’re not paid to look at me.”
“Yes, Young Master!”
Laž’ar stands on the side. He’s seen the commotion through layers of fabric, too far away to hear the man or to see him properly, but it doesn’t go him unnoticed that the group of soldiers listened to this young man.
He may not know much, but he’s able to make an educated guess as to who this young man is.
He also knows better than to try his luck with the Ažamür Cavalry. He turns around, unwilling to look anymore. He has a debt to pay off, and for that he has to earn the money.
Author’s Note
This is a story I wrote four years ago, after I finished Haunted. It has 5 chapters and a bonus scene and features the same pairing as in Haunted — Çetžak and Laž’ar. In this case the setting is the same, but this time it’s canon divergent ahead of when the story actually starts, but probably set some time after the story would have begun.
Çetžak and Laž’ar can be found in my story Blood of Destinies Rewritten.