Chapter 2: Discord

Waals Kingdom;
Citystate of Zloka Oras;
Crescent Season of the 5:26th Era of Mortality

The ingredients of a Rascunga were quite simple. The basis of the meat pocket was the dough, which had to be crispy on the outside and firm on the inside to hold the filling. The filling was basically minced meat, often fried with cabbage, onions, and other ingredients in oil and spices before being incorporated into the raw dough, which was then baked in a proper oven. The best thing about Rascungas was two things: on the one hand, the handiness of being able to eat the snack on the go, and on the other hand, the interchangeability of the small dishes. Some seasoned the inside spicy and piquant, others preferred lamb over beef or pork, and others filled the Rascungas with a sweet mixture of ground sweet potatoes, almonds, and raisins.
The Rascungas that Violeta and Niculaie had bought at the street stand with the wooden standing tables were made according to old Hanseatic recipes. The old woman behind the counter had brought the pasta from the west to Zloka Oras over 30 years ago and immediately “invented” a new favourite dish of the Zlokans. The native Westlander remained modest and did not mind that other shrewd traders imitated her recipe at other stands in the city. Hers was the original, and the connoisseurs of the city knew and appreciated this. For having only a small hole in a hidden corner of a house, she was always well-visited. Because nothing beat Rascungas in the Hanseatic style, which, remaining true to their country of origin, added Hanseatic dark beer to the mix.
The two assistants were given the rest of the day off because today’s council meeting was postponed until tomorrow and Bârladeanu apparently had her own things to do, for which she did not need the adjutants. So, with the early end of their shift, the two Dravken made a detour to the local of the ‘Rascunga grandmother’.
Some of the accumulated juice ran over-zealously out of the bread and into Niculaie’s beard. “Damn it! Hot!”
Violeta shook her head bemusedly. “Let them rest a little longer. Then the dough will absorb some of the liquid too.”
Taking hurried breaths through his mouth, Niculaie tried to cool down the piece he had already bitten into, while tossing it back and forth in his mouth with his tongue so as not to burn himself. After finally swallowing the bite and wiping his chin clean, he put the Rascunga down again. “I don’t need your know-it-all attitude!”
Although the young nobleman was always sharp-tongued, and often rude and arrogant, he was the closest thing to a friend Violeta had in the city. Unlike her, who grew up on a goat farm in the outskirts of the city-state, he came directly from Zloka Oras. Where she saw a metropolis and the great unknown, he only recognised his everyday life and his familiar home. Although he did not necessarily prove himself as lazy, but rather reluctant to make an effort, always looking for the simplest way to solve a task, Niculaie took on Violeta, the simple country mouse, even if he would never admit it in his pride.
Maybe she was just imagining it and he didn’t care about her at all, seeing her as nothing more than a colleague. Perhaps he was only interested in getting her into bed, but Violeta wasn’t there for that. Either way, spending a lot of time together under Bârladeanu, it was only natural for some kind of relationship to develop between them. It was actually sufficient that it was an apparently good and mostly friendly relationship. It could be worse, thought Violeta.
Despite Niculaie’s constant chatter, Violeta’s gaze kept wandering past him, over to the table several rows away from them. Similar to the two assistants, there were two men sitting around it, surrounded by a selection of different Rascungas, many of which had only been tentatively nibbled on. They were two of the Meridian soldiers who came into the city with the Hesha. Two from Hesha Noalani’s troop, to be exact.
Shortly after Niculaie and Violeta took their dumplings to the standing table, the foreigners also arrived at the stand, visibly interested, although quite cautious about the probably foreign food. However, this did not stop the Rascunga grandma from talking to them and persuading them to try all of her pastries. In the end, she gave them one of each type of Rascunga so they could see for themselves which ones they liked best. Together with a brew of mint tea, which was actually brought to Zloka by Meridian traders, the two warriors set about testing one dumpling after another, visibly impressed with the experiment.
While the hearty Rascungas lay there with occasional bites, the men enjoyed the slightly spicy and above all sweet Rascungas all the more. Their pointed helmets laid next to the dumplings on the table, and occasionally sipping from the small tea cups, they conversed quietly, little interested in their surroundings and the glances of other guests or Violeta. The young Dravki had to smile a bit as she watched the warriors with their armor and scarred arms devour the sweet Rascungas with the joy of little boys. She liked the image of a hardened warrior as a sweet tooth.
Niculaie noticed the gesture and raised his eyebrows. “Am I so boring, or do you find bureaucratic salary statements so amusing?” Accusingly, he took another bite of his Rascunga, after he had actually wanted to tell her the punchline of the story from the finance office.
Violeta shook her head in alarm. “No! Sorry. I was just somewhere else.”
Niculaie followed her gaze and turned around defiantly, looking at the Meridians with a twisted mouth. He didn’t hold back, which is why Violeta grabbed his arm.
“Niculaie!” she whispered quietly, as if they were sharing a secret.
Grinning, the Dravki turned back to her. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for the Longs!” Remembering the deep black and pure skin of Hedeh Haatmis at that moment, Violeta blushed a little, which Niculaie picked up on as a response and laughed.
“No, not like that!” Violeta scolded him. “I was just thinking about the Hesha.”
“Yes, they always make me laugh too!”, Niculaie joked. But when he noticed Violeta’s serious expression, he finally held back. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, interested in Violeta’s thoughts. Mostly because he had some thoughts on the Hesha himself. When was there ever a better time to talk freely about the high guests than now?
“I just don’t know why they came here? To Zloka once, but also to the Waals Kingdom. The Meridians never really cared about our concerns, let alone the rest of the world. As if Meridia came to our aid when Tarmenia once attacked at the southern borders. And now we’re supposed to ask the countries in the west for help in their name? I just don’t understand what they’re hoping to gain from it?”
Niculaie chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s arrogance, thinking that people bow down to them without receiving anything in return? That we come to their aid, even though we have always been rejected?”
“And that the Church will help them?”
Niculaie shook his head. “I think the whole thing with Magistra Cantrell – his kindness in highest esteems – will come to nothing. If anything, maybe the Mountain King will get involved if there are any disputes near the borders. But if the new rulers maintain trade and behave well, it doesn’t bode well for sympathies for the Hesha here or in the West.”
Violeta sighed. Somehow she felt sorry. As she understood it, the Hesha were being expelled from their own country against their will. And decades of isolation and rejection of the Western world left them pretty much on their own. To agree to such a meeting indicated the generosity of the Waals Kingdom. Presumably, the Hesha were on their own in the end, just as they had always been.
The sound of softly clinking metal echoed along the wide stone street. Small metal plates rubbing and hitting against each other indicated armoured figures walking lightly along the promenade where the niche with the Rascunga-Stand was located. The Meridians at the neighbouring table almost instinctively looked up. Violeta and Niculaie also hesitantly looked down the street.
Another group of four warriors walked slowly through the city, observing the stalls and booths of the locals. They too were of the same skin colour and tall, slim build as those from Meridia. However, they wore golden armour with flowing white robes underneath. Unlike the two other Meridians who came from the northern oasis city of Inhlu’Kahgela, these were soldiers of the Haatmi family, from the city of Ahel’Hwalem. The initial good mood of the Kahgelites immediately changed as the Hwalemen approached the stand. Among the many Dravken and scattered humans, the two armoured groups of dark-skinned Meridians from different regions of the country stood out, which is why the bright figures from Ahel’Hwalem immediately stopped by their table.
The leader of the group, a handsome young warrior with a shaved head and a sharp chin, smirked contemptuously as he saw his colleagues from the north at the booth with a variety of dumplings. “If the pointy-hats like it, it must be terrible! I was just about to suggest we try some of it!” The Hwalemen laughed maliciously. One of the Kahgelites wanted to turn to them, but the older of the two pacified him by grabbing his arm.
“Go find a bathhouse where you can finger each other!” the young Kahgelite couldn’t help but say in the end. The obvious tension between the two groups at the food stand spread immediately. The Rascunga grandma looked around anxiously, while Niculaie and Violeta remained rooted to their seats, not wanting to get involved in the affairs of strangers. The Hwalemen’s leader made a face and seemed to build himself up. While he was a bit taller than the Kahgelites, they were stronger, so the gesture only went so far.
“Shouldn’t the savannah pack hunt their own food? Best eaten raw and unseasoned, like wild animals!” He took a step towards the two of them, his entourage behind him. “Or did old Noalani let his dogs go feral over the years?”
The younger of the Kahgelites jumped up now, facing the golden eyes of the Hwaleman. “You know nothing of honour; of battle! You, behind your golden walls, with golden helmets and golden cages! Tell me, where were the brave, honourable soldiers of Ahel’Hwalem when the False Gods threw your beloved Hesha outside the city gates like unloved strays?”
A certain satisfaction was evident on the face of the hwalemen leader, who had been waiting for the Kahgelite to take one step too far. “I hardly think you’re worth the attention,” he sneered, trying to further provoke the other testosterone-fulled young man.
“Taghea! That’s enough!” interjected the elder of the Kahgelites, trying to prevent his younger colleague from further foolishness.
“They treat us like dirt! They treat everyone like that! Even those who have welcomed us as guests, they look down on upon and disrespect.” The young Kahgelite gestured first to the Rascunga grandmother, then to Violeta and Niculaie. “They’re arrogant peacocks!”
The Hwalemen was about to reply when a deep voice cut into the moment: “That’s enough!”
Approaching with heavy steps was another armoured man. He wore the same garb as the two Kahgelite warriors, while a long two-handed sword dangled at his side, quite different from the sabres and spears of the other Meridians. His face was not what Violeta expected to see in an eastern garb: a gray-blond head, with light but heavily tanned skin, stared at the scene under steel-gray eyes. The older man, with a clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed hair, came closer to the group and exuded a commanding presence over all present.
“Commander Weisner!” The Kahgelites immediately stood at attention, while the white man scrutinised them critically.
“I will not tolerate disobedience from my warriors, especially when we are guests in a foreign city!” He looked at the young Kahgelite, who nodded slightly with genuine contrition on his face. “Good!”
While the Hwalemen were still enjoying the fact that the commander of the Kahgelite troops was apparently giving the warriors a dressing-down, he now turned around to face them. “And you! How do you think your Marshal would feel if he knew that the golden Glaives of Ahel’Hwalem were marching through the streets and looking for trouble like common scum? And as guests of the governor no less!”
“We were just-” the leader tried to counter, underestimating the man’s authority.
“Even better: What would the honourable Haatmi say, if he learned of such behaviour from his subjects?” The Hwalemen visibly quieted down and lost their mocking tone. The silver eyes of Commander Weisner met the golden eyes of the Hwaleman. Like hard steel piercing through soft gold, they pierced through him, and the belligerent warrior gave in and bowed before the man.
“You are right! We forgot ourselves. Please accept my apology!” The others followed hesitantly. Even the Kahgelites, especially young Taghea, admitted their fault. Still being stared down silently from the Commander, the leader of the golden warriors waved down the street: “Come, it smelled better over there anyway.” Just as they had come, the warriors from Ahel’Hwalem disappeared again.
The warrior Taghea stepped towards the peculiar Meridianer joyfully. “Thank you, Commander, we-” Weisner grabbed the young warrior by the collar and pulled him towards him.
“Is this how a warrior from Kahgela is supposed to behave? Does the hunter allow himself to be provoked by a pack of vultures?” Taghea shook his head, which seemed to be enough for the Commander to let him go. Both warriors bowed deeply to their apparent superiour. “I’ve been looking for you! Taghea, Rostaa; Noalani wants to see you. At the Guesthall.”
Both warriors nodded silently and made their way back to the ballroom. As they took their helmets from the table, Rostaa quickly stuffed the last bite of the sweet pastry into his mouth. Weisner lingered for a moment, examining the Rascungas. His gaze wandered to Violeta and Niculaie, causing his forehead to wrinkle slightly. He seemed to know who they were, which is why he addressed them: “I deeply apologize for the behavior of my warriors. Everyone has been on edge since the events in Meridia.”
Niculaie waved in his casual manner: “Nothing happened, good sir. And if it did, you would have had to apologise to the owner, if anyone!” Weisner’s gaze went to the Rascunga-Grandmother, who was visibly relieved that there was no fight. She looked at the strange commander with her blue-green eyes and tilted her head as if she recognised him.
“Gôt Tag, Truhtîn!” she waved at him in a language that was inaudible to Violeta but familiar. It was the Hanseatic, which many Western merchants spoke. Weisner frowned and froze for a moment, as if caught in a misdeed. Then he hastily nodded to the Rascunga grandmother, turned around, and disappeared without another word, in any language.
“Odd, fella’”, Niculaie snorted loudly. “Okay, you’re right. Not everything is as peaceful and united as the Meridians show on the surface.” He took a sip of his drink. “At least the clans of our people keep their disputes behind closed doors as they should…” Both finished the last bites of their meal and stepped away from the standing table.
“Guesthall?” asked Violeta, but Niculaie shook his head.
“I have to go to the warehouses at the North Gate first. Take inventory. Or at least I hope the books have already been pulled out and I don’t have to do everything myself!” He looked mischievously at Violeta. “Say, you like to do meticulous little things, don’t you?”
Violeta immediately shook her head. “Oh no, you’ll have to do that all by yourself! Besides, I’m supposed to check if the guests need anything in their quarters. And they have priority according to Bârladeanu’s wishes!”
Niculaie briefly considered how he could get Violeta to do his work for him. But the governess gave priority to Hesha’s tasks. The young dwarven nobleman still grinned. Surely there was someone in the city’s trading disrtict he could trick into doing it for him.