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A system to our fantasy madness (for Zaval and Blurugirl)

Around the cave were bronze urns filled with copper and silver coins, a small pile of moderately valuable semi-precious stones and a few carvings made into tusks, teeth and horns of various animals, some identifiable, others not. All in all, the collected treasures in the room would suffice to keep a small troupe of men in drink and debauchery for a few months, perhaps even a year, but nothing beyond that. On a carved shelf on the wall, however, were three battered tomes, closed by plain leather bands, and a white tube looked to be carved out of some exotic tusk or horn, with a golden cap.
 
Morcant dutifully hauled all of the treasures out of the vault and into neat piles. First came the urns of coins - they were a strange mixture of minted coins, ranging from Roman denarii to coins shaped in honor of the Ptolemies - even some going back as far as Alexander. He touched none of them. He'd made a deal, after all. The gems followed, and then the books - but the Pipe of Sarynx, as agreed, he slid into one of his vest pockets.

Finally ensuring he missed nothing from the vault, he emerged. "This is everything," he announced. He pointedly did not look directly at Misia out of respect for what was probably a mortifying experience for her.
 
Except Misia apparently wanted to be looked at. In the interim that Morcant had been in the vault, she had stripped herself entirely of all clothing, even those ceremonial bands she wore over her arms and legs. Her long, dark hair hair waves freely and unbound behind her, framing her smooth, unblemished olive skin There were tan lines visible, to differentiate the skin which had been exposed to the sun of the steppes. Her orange sized breasts, capped with reddish-brown nipples, stood high and proud on her chest. Between her smoothly muscled legs, Misia's womanhood was hid behind a thin line of dark hair that she had chosen, for whatever reason, to trim in such a fashion.

The only adornment Misia wore at the moment was the sword in her right hand, though the way in which she held it showed it was no mere adornment. Not in her grip, anyway.

"These are the rules in which we will now live under," she began, waving off any interruption from Morcant with a wave of her free hand. "What you did to me was...pleasant," she began, a blush coming to her cheeks as she admitted it. "I have never allowed a man to touch me in such a fashion before and it was something worth repeating. However," the sternness on her face returned, "you may not take my maidenhood until you learn to ride. I do not expect you to be able to best me with sword or bow, as some consider the tradition. If I held such expectations of any man, I would no doubt remain a virgin for the rest of my life. However, I could not bear the mortification of bedding a man who can not ride. So when we return to Lady Rythia's, I will find you a suitable instructor to teach you. Until then, your hero must remain unattended in any fashion." The last was said with Misia using her sword to point at Morcant's crotch.

"Next, I am told that in the tribes west of here, it is customary for a man to take only one woman. This seems foolish to me, as a stallion always has several mares," she explained. "If you wish to take only me, I will be tolerant of your decision. However, if you wish to take other mares, your choices must be approved of by me. You will not shame me by choosing by choosing a slatternly mare."

"And I am your mare. Your life is forfeit if you try to share me with another man," she said decisively. "If you wish to share me with another mare in the bedchamber, that is a different tale. But I am not made for the amusement or entertainment of your male friends."

"There are my buttocks," she said, turning around, and giving her firm backside a soft slap. "You may caress them, you may squeeze them, you may even, from time to time, give then a slap with the flat of your hand," she added, giving herself yet another sleep on her right cheek. "But I have heard the Greeks do...things...because they prefer other men to women, and thus want to make men out of their women. I will not tolerate this."

"And I am senior mare. I will not yield this title, save to someone of standing and quality of Lady Rythia," she concluded. "Have I spoken in a clear and simple fashion, bard?"
 
"...you have, Misia, spoken clearly," Morcant said quietly. What else was there for him to say? Harsh as some of the conditions might have sounded, this was a dream any red-blooded man could only hope to attain. Yet here Misia was, a proud warrior woman of the Sarmaritan people, proclaiming him her stallion, and herself his (senior) mare. "Until I have learned to ride the horse to your satisfaction, I cannot claim you." And given the way she was wielding her blade, even as gloriously naked as she was, he was not about to press the matter. Partially because he was far too busy admiring just how fit and taut her body was.

"I accept your terms in full," he said, "and any other woman I claim must meet your approval. And I will not force you into acts that you are not willing to undergo." For what he was promised and would receive...this was more than fair. Wherever they went, he resolved to become, if not a master at horseriding, at least proficient enough that even the steppe people would not scoff at him too much. (He knew there would be scoffing anyhow - those born to the steppes were born in the saddle, so the stories went, and Morcant was willing to believe them)

He approached her, and placed the last of the valuables before her. The books, the urns of coins, the jewels - all of it. "And, as you bade me to assist you with before we came, we have found the treasures of the dragon squirreled away here," he said with a gesture. No grand gestures, though - Misia's declaration took the wind out of him from sheer shock. "I have claimed the Pipe of Sarynx - but all the rest is to you and Lady Rythia as promised."

Really, he was still too busy being shocked and wondering what sort of fate he'd just fallen into...
 
"The book and this case are Lady Rythia's," said Misia, a pleased look on her face. "As to the rest, it is yours to do with as you please, though I would suggest you divide it up among the men who have ridden with us."

"I would say to you one other thing," Misia said, a soft timber coming to her voice. "These are my breasts," she began, cupping them as she identified them. "And this is my rose."she traced her nether lips with a single finger. "They are yours to touch and taste. But you are not allowed to discuss them with your male companions. Is this understood?"
 
Morcant nodded. The coins would be fairly (as much as he could, anyhow) divvied up between the men who had fed him and also trained him in trade speak. Some, of course, he would keep for himself. Denarii and drachmae were always useful coins to carry, but the rest, even the jewels...well, he had no quarrel with the others having their share of them. Jewel's value were always subjective - denarii and drachmae far less so.

But as Misia presented her breasts and her lower lips to him, with a request to not discuss or share them with other men, Morcant smiled. "Only between you, me, and any other women I may claim," he promised. His hand reached out to cup one of her breasts, whilst the other pressed against her lower lips, even brushing against them slightly. But he didn't linger - he brought her hand back up to his face, and kissed the finger of her hand that had trailed along her lips. "Until then, only between us."
 
Misia took a deep shuddering breath at the feel of Morcant's touch, before she forced herself to take a step back.

"I think I will be anxiously hoping you are a quick study," she said. It was at that moment that the rock vault suddenly sucked itself into the ground.

"As much as I would like to tarry," Misia said, as she gathered her clothing, "We should pack what we can carry, and hide away the rest, to be recovered later." Misia began pulling on her skirt, but paused, looking at Morcant. "Morcant, would I be asking too much for you to compose a song in my honor?"
 
Morcant simply smiled back at his..wife? His woman, at any rate. His woman. The more he mulled that over, the greater he liked it. "For you, of course," he said with an exaggerated bow. "I'll have something ready for you to hear by the morrow."

Thoughts of songs would have to wait. As Misia dressed herself, Morcant busied himself packing all of the valuables onto the steeds, followed by Rhythia's claimed prizes before securing his own loot last. His mind was abuzz with what had just happened. There was a Greek god who embraced beauty and love, wasn't there? Aphrodite?

Perhaps he owed her an offering...just in case...
 
Misia rode silently for a while, her eyes scanning the horizon. Without looking at Morcant, she said, "You will be sleeping in my tent tonight. Just sleeping. I do not wish to do what we did today, not when the men can overhear. I will let you make the division of your treasure with the men. Tomorrow, I will send them with Lady Rythia's supplies while you and I make a side trip. There is an inn to the north of us, in one of those towns that lie between the lands of your people and mine. There is someone I want you to meet. Also, Lady Rythia has a small village around her western manor, where I have a house. It is your house now. Save for the horses. There is also...well, you will see."

As the pair saw their camp coming in sight, she added, "I would like to lay in your arms to sleep. I think that will be pleasant."
 
Morcant nodded as they rode. The difference between when they set off to the vault and now was stark. Misia was his woman now - that, and he was actively attempting to ride with some sense of decorum and not just tolerating it for the purpose of getting from one patch of earth to another. He would now live in her house, learn how to ride...

That, and the treasure that clinked in the sacks hanging from their saddles. That wasn't there when they started either.

"I would be honored to have you in my arms tonight," he promised her. Did she think he would reject that? The only issue he could see would be that his own sense of arousal would make itself clear throughout the night...but he would endure. "When do we set off?"
 
"First thing in the morning," Misia said. "You may find it difficult. I believe the men will wish to celebrate. In fact," she said, with a hint of a whimsical smile on her face, "I may have to forgo sleeping in your arms tonight, now that I think about it. The men will wish to celebrate your new status, as well as the fortune you will share with them. If you still so choose," she hurriedly added, with perhaps a bit of never seen diffidence in her voice.

"Wait here, Morcant," Misia said, once the pair were were within shouting distance of the camp. "I must establish something first." With a shout, Misia spurred her horse on to a gallop.

The first thing she did as she approached the camp was lift herself off the saddle and dropped to one side. Her feet barely touched the ground when it seemed the ground bounced her over the horse, and her feet touched the other side of the ground, all while the horse was speeding along. She then nimbly landed back in the saddle, withdrew a bow and notched several arrows, one after another in a blur, and let them fly. Each arrow landed on a wagon or tree.

She then drew the horse to a halt and once again launched herself off the saddle, this time with her sword drawn.

"I am now Morcant's woman," she announced, pointing at the bard. "Any man who thinks this makes me incapable of leading you into battle or into trail is welcome to press his argument."

There was not a sound from the camp.

"Good," Misia said, sheathing her sword. "I wish you to celebrate my good fortune. Forget the watered wine this evening. You will find six vases of good strong wine from the Archipelago. This is my own stock, which I share with you to celebrate my good fortune in being this man's woman." The last was said with a gesture toward Morcant. "I will take all the watches tonight. But," she added, a grimace on her face, "You will be on the trail on the morning, and you will reach Lady Rythia's manor on the nightfall. I don't care if every one of you whoresons is puking every span of the trip."

Walking back to Morcant, she smiled, her tone no longer harsh. "Enjoy your bachelor revelries, my stallion. Tomorrow night...well, there are things I would ask," she said, actually blushing before she hurried away to the watch point for the camp.
 
The revelries were...well. Free. Morcant had had the rare opportunity to sample Roman wines, and the vineyards of fair Italia clearly lived up to the hype every wine merchant he'd come across heaped upon them. He'd made sure to distribute the wealth as evenly as he could amongst the men - while they were sober. What they did after that would be entirely on them - for his part, Morcant kept hold of a sack of the denarii for himself. Good Roman coin held value wherever he went along the Mediterranean, and any moment some foolish Proconsul decided to expand his holdings ahead of retirement, coin became that much harder to find.

He admitted to drinking a bit freely. The men, in their good cheer and spirits, gambled. They played dice. They demanded he recite stories to them, that he sing for them - tasks he was only too happy to perform. He even snuck in a few of the lyrics he was composing in honor of his woman:

Fleet of foot,
Swift of horse,
Guardian of the stone!
Keen blade,
Keener wit,
Fairest lady of all!

Morcant admitted that he was likely drunk on good cheer and good wine by that point, but the men seemed to not mind. Either that, or they were just as drunk as he was. Yet despite the revelries, he was impatient - he wanted privacy with Misia. He wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to know what she wanted the next evening...

Despite his annoyance with the public house he'd met her and Rhythia in, Morcant resolved to come back regardless. It had set him on the most fascinating adventure yet.
 
Dawn came early. But then it usually does after a night of drinking.

A cool hand gently stroke Morcant's face and a soft voice said, "It is time to arise, my lovely bard." An open eye, even a one made bloody red by wine, would have seen an uncharacteristically gentle smile on Misia's face. The fact that the side of her bed in the tent had been unslept in was proof she had been on watch all night, as promised, but there was no dimness in her eyes and no lack of alertness in her features.

She held a wine sack in one hand, and pressed it into Morcant's grasp. "A remedy for a night of singing and carousing. Best not to smell it. Just down it in one gulp. Then go wash up in the creek. We will ride in half an hour.

Misia left the tent quietly, which of course would beg the question of how Morcant had gotten into Misai's tent in the first place.

Misia didn't stay in the tent long enough to answer. As soon as she left the tent, she was bellowing at the top of her lungs.

"All right you lazy dogs! I warned you I would have no pity in the morning, and none I have. Up! Up!" The sound of a foot hitting a stomach and a loud "Oof!" was followed by the sounds of men scrambling and camp being broken.
 
Morcant didn't know when he'd slipped into Misia's tent. He didn't know he even made it that far...or when he'd lost track of just how much of Misia's wine he'd drunk over the evening. If that was considered to be the good Roman stock, now he really wondered just how much of the Roman stories of debauched parties and orgies were true. If this was what they'd drunk, he'd have believed those stories much more easily.

But after Misia's gentle awakening of him - and her not so gentle awakening of the men outside - he moved quickly. He downed the wine - and grimaced at the aftertaste, despite her warnings about the smell - and moved quickly to wash himself off in the nearby creek before the others could come foul up the water. By the time he returned, somewhat damp and looking more like a disgruntled cat than a human, the other men were just beginning to stumble towards the creek.

"Thank you, my dear," Morcant said to Misia with a smile. Waiting until the other men were out of earshot for sure, he leaned closer against her, murmuring, "I'm looking forward to hearing what you wish to ask tonight."
 
Misia's face was almost crimson at the sotto voce from Morcant. "Yes, well, I would not discuss it now. On one hand, this far west, the territory of Sarmaritan is more...you Celts and those who live along the Great Sea to the south would call us more civilized, as we have towns here, and a few great houses, such as Lady Rythia has. These are mainly here because of the trade between your people and mine, and those kingdoms that lie to the south, along the Great Southern Sea. Further to the east, we hold more to our nomadic roots. We have villages and towns of sorts, but not like what you have seen in your lands."

"And to the east, there are....other things," Misia said. "Here, I can only whet the appetite of my sword and bow with the blood of brigands, and this close to the great Western manors and the trade towns, they tend to be shy. Still, we need to keep a sharp eye out. When we get to the inn we are traveling to, we will have time to discuss...things." Misia's face was once again flush.

"Once we arrive there, I will acquaint you with the hot mineral springs there. And," Misia said, a sly look on her face, "There is someone I wish for you to meet."
 
"Oh? More great notables to visit?" Morcant grinned back at Misia. "Will they be as lovely as you?" If she flushed from this, then his woman was far too fun to tease! He liked her this way, he decided - it reminded him that beneath the harsh exterior, she was a woman who must have been quite lonely - and it was his privilege to be the man to fill that void.

"Once the lads are ready," he said, gesturing to the men just barely about to emerge from the creek, "I am more than happy to set off."
 
"They will be delivering the supplies to Lady Rythia's manor," Misia said, a scowl coming to her face when one the old man who had taught Morcant how to speak a basic form of Sarmaritan flashed the bard a congratulatory sign. The displeasure on the woman warrior's face caused the man to stumble and fall into the creek. This garnered a round of laughter from the other men, who hurried their preparation.

"We will be traveling to an inn run by a friend of mine," Misia continued. "His people are Holmrygir, a tribe of Norsemen who live on the southern shore of the..." a frown of frustration appeared on Misia's face. "You'll have to forgive me, Morcant. Lady Rythia is well versed on the tomes of traveling and naming and things, so she could tell you what the Greeks call the body of water. I am not that well versed in things. I only know it as the Great Frozen Sea. But my friend and his family traveled south from the lands of their tribe, and he has an inn in one of the towns I was speaking of. He is not the one I was thinking of, when I spoke of whom I wanted you to meet. But I believe you will find him an interesting source of the tales of the Northmen. But as pleasant as an old man as he is, he will not be the focal of our trip." Again, Misia gave Morcant a mysterious smile before mounting her horse, then spurring it toward the men as they gathered and begin hitching the wagons.

"One day's travel," she shouted as she rode around the men. "Keep your eyes sharp and no tarrying, or by Aylaray, you'll feel the flat of my blade on your back. Now keep an eye out. I don't expect anyone to give you to give you trouble this close to Lady Rythia's, but there are always fools who don't understand when the blade is turned against him."

The men all answered in the affirmative as the began their journey east, and Misia rode back to Morcant, dismounting.

"I'll spend a few minutes showing you the proper way to ride," she said. "Then we ride north."
 
"Oh, fine, be mysterious about it," Morcant said with a huff in mock indignation. But he didn't press the point. Let Misia have her mysteries - he would come to know who they were soon enough. If she was enjoying playing the mysterious benefactor for whatever it was they would be undertaking next, he would go along with it so long as it kept her happy. "But I've had a few dealings with the people of the Norse. Honest, earnest people to a fault. Terribly literal in some cases, though."

Because in all earnestness, a handful of coin was just a handful of coin. Not a literal hands-full of coin! He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

"As for riding..." Morcant nodded, knowing he was still very much the apprentice in this matter. As far as he was concerned, Misia was the master of horseback riding, and that was a status he was not at all looking to contest. "Teach me what you can...and when we make it to your home, I will learn from everyone else I can there." He sighed in faux drama. "Learning to ride the horse, possibly shoot with the bow...this is part of the tales they tend to gloss over. Perhaps it should be accompanied in snippets with a musical arraignment?"
 
"I really am the wrong person to teach you this, Morcant," Misia said as she got the saddle and riding gear on his horse adjusted. "There is a saying among my people that the most excellent teachers are the ones who had to work the hardest to master a skill. Riding came easy to me, even among a people who were born on a horse's back and nursed from a mare. Up you go," she said, helping Morcant to the saddle. "Perhaps it is the same way in the way that you can read and write, and learn to speak different tongues so easily."

"Now, adjust your seat like so," she began. "And don't hold the reins so stiffly. You guide the horse with nudges from your legs. It is..." again, there was a frustrated look on her face. "And this is why I am such a poor teacher. There are things which to me are so clear, I never think of ways to explain them. It is like breathing. We will get you a teacher, though. Shooting a bow from a horse may be beyond you, but we will make a rider out of you yet."

Misia mounted her own horse. "While we ride north, I was wondering what knowledge you have of the North Men?"
 
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"Not to worry," Morcant said gently. "I would frankly be terrible teaching my craft to someone. It is a...state of mind. I cannot teach someone to love and seek out stories on their own - that must come from them." Still, as his horse shuffled slighty beneath him, he thought over what he knew.

"Strong, hardy people," he said. "They ride in ships that cut through the northern waters. They raid, they fight each other, they quarrel over honor and fight in individual bands. Not like the Hellenes or the Latins. They also worship gods who are just as likely to betray you as they are to come to your aid."

The stories of the All Father alone were enough to give him pause. "But if you make a friend of them, there are few better to have your back."
 
As the pair traveled north, Misia would stop from time to time, peering at some barely discernible dot on the horizon, or some movement in the woods.

"In truth, I will be happy when we venture East," she confided to Morcant. "The hills and the trees of this area seem...unnatural."

The approached a town of stone and wood, one of many that dotted the border between Sarmatian and Celtic territory. "I think you will like this town, though it is best to keep an eye open at all times, until you are under a roof you can trust. The land of your people is a few days that direction..." she said, pointing to the west, "...and truth be told, we are more than a few days travel from any people but my own. However, this town serves as a gathering point for traders from lands to the East, before they head West, and thus attracts peoples from all lands. I would swear I have seen a trader from far Carthage at one time. Told me tales of great horses as big as houses, with curved spears in its mouth and a thick gray hide besides. And that these fearsome beasts were afraid of mice!" Misia shook her head. "Truth be told, I think he was merely trying to charm his way into my undergarments.. Instead, he charmed my blades out of my sheathes...and quickly took his charms elsewhere."

In the center of the town was a large, squat gray building, with odd tubes stuck along the roof, with wisps of steam coming out of them. "This is Gordan's inn, the friend I was telling you about. It's the name he uses, anyway. I can't pronounce his real name. Sounds too much like crumbling ice and crashing waves to get your mouth properly around. I did Gordan a favor five years ago. It was my eighteenth birthday, and I wanted to prove my blade. Gordan was moving the rest of his extended family from the North. From what I understand, a few of his kinsfolk took exception. I stumbled on the altercation, and a few of the Northmen mistook me for a prize, rather than an opponent." A rather predatory smile crossed Misia's face as she added, "A better gift for my birthday I could not have asked."

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Misia led Morcant into the inn's common room which, as promised, was filled with men and women from all different lands. Dozens of different tongues and hand gestures were being used simultaneously to convey a hundred different messages. A young blonde waiting girl of made her way through the crowd, quietly placing drinks and plates at different tables.

"Alsa!" Misia yelled at the blonde girl. The blonde turned her head and beamed a smile at the warrior woman. "Two ales and two bowls of fish stew, and tell your father I'm here, if he has a moment."

Alsa nodded and made her way to the kitchen. Surprisingly, there were no outstretched hands to slap or grab at her as she moved through the inn. In fact, it was almost like the crowd gave way as she moved through the inn, and closed behind her as she passed.

"Alsa is Gordan's youngest, barely eighteen years. And Gordan may be an old man, but he can still crush rocks with those hands of his," Misia explained. "Also, Gordan is a...I think the word is Veerd, in that language of the Northmen. I'm not sure. But if he holds your hand, he can see things in you. And he can even see what threads the Fates might pull. As you can imagine, no one is going to molest a daughter of his, under his own roof. But you'll love the fish stew she makes. I love it, and I hate fish. Unnatural eating something that doesn't run or fly."
 
A seer. Misia somehow knew a seer, and she'd taken Morcant to his inn. Only his time as a bard encountering the fantastical tales inured him from gaping openly. Not to mention that he eyed the young waiting girl appreciatively. She was quite the beauty, Alsa was. Yet his eyes didn't venture too much - enough that Misia might notice, but not enough to make her think that she was feeling neglected. Having a beautiful warrior woman swear herself to him did wonders for keeping him from eyeing other women too much.

Possibly because they would have to be quite extraordinary to match up to Misia...even if Alsa looked quite fetching.

"I look forward to speaking with him," Morcant said. Smiling as he sat at a table nearby with Misia, his hand grasped at hers beneath, his grip firm but welcoming. "Something tells me you also know quite a few interesting people," he teased quietly. "Soon you'll tell me you had dealings with Roman senators."

He'd have given her the benefit of the doubt, as well!
 
Alsa reappeared shortly, with a huge man in tow. As soon as the man appeared, there were cheers from around the common inn, which the man returned with a wave, as he and Also made their way to the table.

A number of things were noticeable about the man as he came closer. The crags in his face, his receding hairline (punctuated by a jagged scar on his forehead) and his thick white beard all indicated a man of advanced years. Nevertheless, the bear of a man was as hale as a man half his age. And though the man had a roll of fat around his middle, the rest was enough muscle doe three men. The only part of him, besides his stomach, which the years had taken its toll on, was his left eye, which was covered by a milky gray film.

And one additional odd thing about the man was the gloves he wore. They weren't simple leather gloves, like any tradesman might wear, but studded ones, with strange designs worked into them.

Alsa reached the table first. As soon as she set the bowls and ale down, Misia stood up, and the two young women embraced like the long lost friends they were. Before they could exchange news, the other man reached the table.

The huge man looked from Misia to Morcand to Misia again and grinned. A grin with more than a few teeth missing.

Misia blushed.

"So I see my prophecy bore fruit," the man said, in a North Man accent muddled by years of living with Sarmitans.

""Morcant, this is my friend Gordan," Misia said. "He told me...well, I thought my skills with sword and bow would preclude me from ever..." Misia's cheeks were red as she stumbled, unable to finish her sentence. Alsa's interest was obviously piqued.

"Go share your news with my daughter," Gordan said, shooing the two women away. "I'll send your man after you shortly."

Misia followed after Alsa, looking more like a young schoolgirl than one of the most dangerous warriors the steppes had ever produced.

Gordan watched the two women leave before turning his attention back to Morcant. He pushed one of the bowls of stew and ale toward Morcant, before taking a spoon to the other bowl.

"Girl should have brought some bread out," he said, as he lifted the bowl of ale and took a swallow. "Too excited to see her friend to think straight. So, tell me, bard, what instruments do you play? And no, I did not ferret out your calling with my other sight. Even with just one eye, a man who works a tavern can tell things about a man just by how he sits, and what he wears."
 
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"You've found me out, sir," Morcant conceded with an easygoing smile. He would be lying if he claimed the man wasn't intimidating, but if the man really could see visions of the future, and had predicted that someone - if not necessarily him - then he wouldn't need to fear from him. Unless the topic of his daughter came up - in which case he planned to tread carefully.

"I play the pipes and the strings," he offered. "Though my talents are more recently geared to entertain through stories." Sampling from the ale - good ale, at that - he gently set the bowl back down and tapped at it with his thumb, a sign of respect for the brewer. "Misia was quite coy about who you were until we arrived," he said. The gloves hadn't escaped his attention, but he kept eating - it was rude to ignore his host's hospitality, after all. "She seemed rather insistent we meet as well."
 
"I was probably incidental, or just attached to her main goal," Gordan replied, between sips of ale and soup. "And I can see you appreciate the ale. I have an arrangement with the village cooper. Two types of ale I keep here: what you drink when you want to drink, and what you drink when you want to get drunk." Gordan studied Morcant intently, his ice blue eyes never blinking. After a few seconds silence, he began removing his glove.

"I suspect that Misia has told you I can read a man's weird by just holding his hand with my own," Gordan began. "And I need to know what kind of man you are. So take my hand," the old North Man said, extending his now bare right hand.
 
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