Ho!
For I will now tell you the tale of Zhalar of Shainsa.
For I was there.
I saw it happen.
It was on a bright day in the summer of the Dry-Towns.
Long into the night had his mother bore him, and long into the day did
she continue to bear him.
Until finally, his cries rang out through the desert town; a strong,
proud cry, followed by the joyous cry of his father.
A strong man, Hayat was, and a strong son he had hoped to sire, so
that, one day, his line would continue after he had passed.As each
year followed the next, Zhalar grew, ever more.
He grew in strength, and he grew in mind, ever reaching for peaks
undreamed of the day before.
By eight years, as the Bloody Sun would tell us, he was every bit his
father's son.
Destined he was, for great things... great, and mighty, and wonderful,
and terrible.
But all was not at rest in the house of Hayat.
Two women, his wives, wearing their chains as proper, civilized women
do, rose up.
They sought to leave their husband, with the girl child the second
bore him.
And into the night, they rode, marking the downfall of Zhalar.
Ho!
For I will now tell you the tale of Zhalar of Shainsa.
For I was there.
I saw it happen.
His mother he had loved, even when most men would not.
And when she left, he shed but one tear for her, one tear more than
most men would.
And before his father, was presented, so that he might be punished.
The punishment of a man who had the blood of a betrayer within.
For one year, he was beaten, one hour each day... for the crimes of
his betrayer mother.
For one year, he was beaten, one hour each day... for the crimes of a
woman he had never known.
For one year, he was beaten, one hour each day... for the crimes of a
stolen sister of half-blood.
For one year, he was beaten, two hours each day... for the purity of
his blood, so he would not betray his father as well.
His life after that was in the downward spiral, one that seemed
never to recover.
A younger brother, also of half-blood, became his father's heir.
And he, the former first loved of Havat, the former heir to his
throne,
Was cast off, and forgotten.
Ho!
For I will now tell you the tale of Zhalar of Shainsa.
For I was there.
I saw it happen.
And so Zhalar, son of Shainsa, stepped out of his house.
Determined, was he, to make a name for himself.
Determined not only to find his mark, but those who had left his
father's house,
And with both deeds done, his kihar would be regained.
He studied from the sages he could find, and the writings he could
not.
Swordsmen and rogues taught him the art of war.
Mercenaries, their swords for hire, taught him a trade.
And life, as cruel as kind, taught him a lesson.
Now he stands on a hill so high.
In a land where women walk, unchained.
And he works for the day when his goals may be called done.
And to his father's grace he will return.
Ho!
For I will now tell you the tale of Zhalar of Shainsa.
For I was there.
I saw it happen. |
