He yawned.  It came out as a grunt and the trio before him jumped, the Aenesi leader of the three stopping mid sentence.  He supposed he couldn’t blame them, the people here so closely relied on facial expressions and exaggerated tones to communicate their emotions.  These representatives inability to see past his mask, to understand the set of his shoulders or the tilt of his head was frustrating but also to be expected.

“Is there something wrong master rider?” the Aenesi started again when Brokel didn’t act to fill the silence he had created.  Strider, his Taikeet, gave a chirp-honk, a sign of the bird’s own restlessness but it was enough to make the men start once more.  Brokel fought off a sigh that would no doubt be taken for some greater show of anger.

“Nothing is wrong,” Brokel answered, uncrossing his arms and letting his feathered cloak fall around him.  He noted for a moment that it probably made him seem even more off putting to these men of the city.  “As I have stated, there is no intent to bring you or any,” and here he had to be particular, “Hunai, Aenesi, Bovini,” he pointed to each of the men before him in turn before finishing, “or even an Oneidi, if they truly do exist, harm.”  Brokel finished there.  The men looked between one another.

“It’s just that if we knew why you were here…” the Aenesi started again.

“We have offered what trade we have, we will see what goods any of from your city will bring to us.  Is it not in the Provinces that roads are open and free?”

“They are…” the Aenesi stammered.

“It’s just that we’ve never seen your kin come this far south,” the Hunai added, filling in for his fellow.  “Much more of a pro..ahh, common dealing for the Korilites.” 

Brokel bit back stating that if they didn’t want people riding freely across their lands then perhaps they should take measures to secure them.  What hope they had to secure them against his tribe wasn’t his problem.  A thought occurred to him though.  “Perhaps we are on land kept by the city, space made use of by it at times.”  As he spoke Brokel reached down to his belt, fishing around in the pouch there, feeling around the rough and smooth edges within.  “Perhaps we need to offer compensation for use of the land.  This will make you feel better about our camp here.”  He held out his hand, six gemstones twinkling in his palms.  “This I’m thinking will be sufficient.”

It was the Hunai who stammered now but this seemed to put the Aenesi back on more familiar territory.  The man’s long fingered hand reached out and plucked the stones from Brokel’s palm in one smooth motion.  “Ah yes, that would indeed resolve the matter.  The city thanks you for understanding.”  The Aenesi turned and headed back towards the city.  The Hunai followed.  Only the Bovini, the man’s head still lowered to level his horns at Brokel, remained.

“What about Landians,” he huffed.  It gave Brokel paused, which the rider covered as he crossed his arms once more.

“My understanding is there is only one of those.  I am not intending to encounter him.”  Brokel turned, reaching up to grab Strider’s reins as he headed back towards his camp.  It was a true enough statement.  It had been weeks now since the Landian had been spotted here, had killed the clan that had been first tasked with watching this City of Towers.  It seemed the least likely place he would return to.  Which was what Brokel wanted.

How long he could keep it a secret from his clan was another matter.

As he walked back towards his camp, his tenuous relationship was a frequent reminder.  The sentries, sitting astride their Taikeets, offered him deference.  As did those busying themselves with the various chores of the camp but while the gross movements were there, the bowing of heads, the touching of fists to chests, the little ones gave gave the feelings of his people away.  The tension in steps when he was spotted, the barest of pauses that came before some of the salutes.  The clan was not happy with this assignment.

Brokel reached the tent at the back of the camp, his tent, and tied off Strider to the post staked outside it.  The bird reached out, its beak nuzzling his shoulder.  It was at least one companion who had no reservations with him.  He gave another yawn as the tent flap fell shut behind him but had just lowered the hood of his cloak and reached up to his mask when the call came.

“Sirrah!”

Brokel reset his mask and hood, turned and drew aside the tent flap.  It was a pair of figures this time, their own red masks looking at him.  His people.  Brokel shifted, making way for the duo to enter the tent and then once more let the flap fall.  He turned and waited.  It would not be long, as oppose to the city dwellers his people would not confuse his silence or waste time with preamble.

“More news from the mountains today,” started one.  Elric, a younger rider, young enough to still find it comfortable to make the long treks of a messenger.  “Jotun and his clan have disappeared into the mountains, like the others only their Taikeets emerged.”

“The Landian remains a deadly prey to hunt,” Brokel answered, arms crossing.

“Yes, the Dragon-bringer proves a dangerous hunt,” responded Kartof, one of the riders that had been a friend before Brokel had even taken over the clan.  Now though, there was a hint of emphasis on the newer title the tribe-leader had brought into use.  A subordinate daring to offer a reminder to his superior of the story that had them all doing this.  “A hunt that will continue if it is now Jotun and his clan that are considered most deserving of their turn at the hunt.”

Brokel turned his hooded gaze to Kartof and waited.

“How long until you ask the tribe-leader for forgiveness for your transgression?” Kartof began, Elric stiffening next to him.  “The prey has holed itself up, we would be best to rip it out and give the tribe-leader this great prize.  The grace of our turn would no doubt have come if not for your mistake.”

Brokel waited again, ensured that Kartof had spoken all his words.  “The tribe will ask for aid when it deems it needed, to sully that with begging would only further sully this clan.  Greater will be our return when it is remembered what strength it is that we bring to the tribe.”  Elric relaxed as Brokel spoke, a good sign of if not the young man’s agreement, then his acceptance.  Kartof had gone still, his forehead dipping forward ever so slightly.  Anger, and growing ready for a fight.

There was nothing more to say though.  His words as clan-leader held sway, it would only be actions that could overcome them.  Actions that Brokel held no doubt were soon to come but this was not the moment.  Kartof saluted, Elric followed suit and the pair departed the tent.  Alone again, now with the time to remove his cloak and the mask.  To reveal the gray tinged beard, the grim lines, the cold eyes.  It might be Kartof, though Brokel expected their years together would stay the man’s hand, the he would instead wait for another to try.  One of the firebrands, those that trained now and made a point of being seen doing so when any of the city folk came near the camps.  Those that believed the tribe-chief, both in the stories the chieftain had told of the Landian and of the stories of their own people.

Brokel had fought those stories, but had only fought them softly.  He had thought they were foolish notions, that others would see them for what they were and let them fall away, believes rolling into a new form like the fields of the Finnupave.  They had not, the tribe-chief had locked the story.  The glory to be had by those of the Finnupave, to stop the return of Dragons and receive the reward of the land for doing so.  Most seemed to believe the promises, or to at least want to believe.  Brokel knew he was running out of allies just as he was running out of time as a clan-chief.

One would challenge him soon.  That one he did not doubt he would defeat but then the certainty of his leadership would be broken.  The clan would splinter into fractions and he would lose control one way or another.

The man sighed, forcing his thoughts to quiet.  The feather was in the wind and it would tumble as the winds carried it.  What he could do at least for for himself now was not be caught up in his burdens.  Heavy thoughts made for poor sleep and he was no longer interested in his cot and hides.  There was a city here, one his life had never afforded him a visit and no one there who knew what he looked like.