Urdaisunia Bonus Scene #1: Rashali at the Palace
(Rashali POV) (from Chapter 6)
Holding onto Rashali’s arms, the two palace guards nearly dragged her through dark, cool, smooth-floored hallways, up many sets of steps, and along more hallways. Finally they stopped at a large, heavily-carved door. Behind the door, a man was shouting. Rashali’s heart sank and her stomach twisted into even tighter knots. It didn’t bode well for her, if the Sazars were already angry.
One of the guards pounded on the heavy door, and a different man’s voice replied. The guards opened the door and pulled Rashali into the room after them.
At least the shouting had stopped, but Rashali was still terrified. What sort of man was her benefactor at the river, that simply asking to see him got her searched and treated like a criminal and dragged to a room in the palace where men were shouting? If she had known it would be like this, she never would have let the other villagers talk her into leaving Moon Bend.
Inside the room, as the guards pushed her to her knees she barely caught a glimpse of four men in richly-embroidered dark silk tunics standing at a large table. One of the men was considerably older than the other three. A guard used his booted foot against her back to make her bow over until her forehead rested against the thick, intricately-woven rug. “Kneel to His High and Exalted Majesty King Nezudanasag, and to the High Prince Eruzasharbat and their Highnesses Prince Hazramatanarg and Prince Teshtarganazad,” the guard proclaimed in Urdai.
King, High Prince, the Princes... Though she should probably keep her head down, Rashali looked up in disbelief.
And saw him. The man from the river – one of the younger men, the princes.
Horror unfurled within her, and her face flamed hot. The man she had spat at on the riverbank, the man she had challenged when he spilled her water and intruded in her sister’s home, was one of the Sazar princes. The guard pushed her head back down, though she would have lowered it herself out of fear of having it struck from her body by the prince she’d insulted. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said into the rug, “I didn’t know –”
“Eruzasharbat,” one of the men, it sounded like the oldest one – the king – said, followed by a question in the Sazar language.
Eruzasharbat. Rashali’s stomach sank. High Prince Eruzasharbat was the man from the river. She prayed earnestly to whatever gods might care to listen that the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
She waited for the High Prince to disdainfully claim he had no idea who she was, or angrily denounce her for daring to cross his horse’s path and spit at him and demand favors from him. Instead, he answered the king in a perfectly calm voice. He spoke in the Sazar tongue; she could only make out the words Uz and Kubiz. He must have been explaining where he had encountered her.
The king responded, as others in the room – royal advisors? – murmured. Then the High Prince spoke in Urdai. “Why have you come here, Urdaina?” His voice was far kinder than she had any reason to expect.
She had to answer. Not answering might be considered an unforgivable slight against the prince. Fighting to maintain some dignity – she would not let these men, this man, see her cowering and terrified, she raised her head, though she didn’t dare look directly at Prince Eruzasharbat. “I’ve brought a gift from my village, in thanks for the water.”
The other two princes snorted in laughter. Too late, Rashali realized she should have added, “Your Highness.” The king demanded something of Prince Eruzasharbat in a contemptuous voice; the prince answered carefully. As one of the other princes muttered something in disgust, Prince Eruzasharbat walked from behind the table over to where Rashali was kneeling. He spoke to the guards, still in that calm, level voice but now with a note of command in it.
The guard who was holding her basket set it down next to her. Relief washed through Rashali; at least it seemed she would be allowed to present her gift to the High Prince. But she tried not to let herself feel too relieved. Only the gods knew – if even they did – if the prince would accept the gift or what would happen to her after.
Still fighting to present an air of calm and confidence, reminding herself that she was representing all the folk of Moon Bend, Rashali reached into the basket and brought out the dried clay tablet the villagers had prepared.
One of the other princes laughed. “A gift – a slab of mud!” he said in Urdai, making his scorn clear to her.
She couldn’t let him goad her into doing something that would provide them with an excuse to throw her out of the palace or into the dungeons. Doing her best to still appear calm and dignified, as though she hadn’t heard him, she said to Prince Eruzasharbat, “Your Highness, my village has made this prayer tablet for you.”
He reached down for it. To take it from her? To break it, or just to examine it? Surely he couldn’t read it; the Sazars were barbarians, without lettering of their own. Rashali held the tablet against her chest. “I will read it.”
“I am listening,” he said in Urdai.
She began reading. “Invoking the holy name of Ar the Most High; the hidden Name of the Mother of the Gods; the names of Usu, Anki, Ninharsa, and Hanisar, who made the world and all that dwell upon it; the names of Anzub of the fresh waters, Shosha who is merciful, Shaz who is wise, and Trannarnit of the mountains who gives birth to the rivers: We of the village of Moon Bend ask this: that the blessings of these gods and goddesses be upon the head and soul of the Sazar warrior who aided us in our time of need. May their aid and protection be upon him throughout his life until his name is sung by Araskagan, and may he walk in Araskagan’s brightest halls.”
When she was finished, she held up the tablet to the prince and he took it. Holding it carefully, he looked intently at the glyphs pressed into the hardened clay as though he could read them, after all. Was he offended, thinking that the villagers’ invocation of Shosha and Shaz meant they thought he was lacking mercy and wisdom? For long moments she waited, her heart pounding, to see how he would react.
Finally he spoke again. “Your village’s gift is accepted. We will see that you are fed and have a place to rest before you begin your journey home.” He switched to Sazar and addressed the guards who had brought her.
At a gesture from the guards, Rashali got to her feet, picked up her basket, and followed them out of the room. She was alive, she thought. She had survived being brought before the Sazar king and his sons, she had survived the horror and embarrassment of realizing that the nameless Sazar warrior she had challenged and spat upon was the High Prince. But only the gods knew if any more dangers lay ahead of her in this palace – if even the gods knew.
(Rashali POV) (from Chapter 6)
Holding onto Rashali’s arms, the two palace guards nearly dragged her through dark, cool, smooth-floored hallways, up many sets of steps, and along more hallways. Finally they stopped at a large, heavily-carved door. Behind the door, a man was shouting. Rashali’s heart sank and her stomach twisted into even tighter knots. It didn’t bode well for her, if the Sazars were already angry.
One of the guards pounded on the heavy door, and a different man’s voice replied. The guards opened the door and pulled Rashali into the room after them.
At least the shouting had stopped, but Rashali was still terrified. What sort of man was her benefactor at the river, that simply asking to see him got her searched and treated like a criminal and dragged to a room in the palace where men were shouting? If she had known it would be like this, she never would have let the other villagers talk her into leaving Moon Bend.
Inside the room, as the guards pushed her to her knees she barely caught a glimpse of four men in richly-embroidered dark silk tunics standing at a large table. One of the men was considerably older than the other three. A guard used his booted foot against her back to make her bow over until her forehead rested against the thick, intricately-woven rug. “Kneel to His High and Exalted Majesty King Nezudanasag, and to the High Prince Eruzasharbat and their Highnesses Prince Hazramatanarg and Prince Teshtarganazad,” the guard proclaimed in Urdai.
King, High Prince, the Princes... Though she should probably keep her head down, Rashali looked up in disbelief.
And saw him. The man from the river – one of the younger men, the princes.
Horror unfurled within her, and her face flamed hot. The man she had spat at on the riverbank, the man she had challenged when he spilled her water and intruded in her sister’s home, was one of the Sazar princes. The guard pushed her head back down, though she would have lowered it herself out of fear of having it struck from her body by the prince she’d insulted. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said into the rug, “I didn’t know –”
“Eruzasharbat,” one of the men, it sounded like the oldest one – the king – said, followed by a question in the Sazar language.
Eruzasharbat. Rashali’s stomach sank. High Prince Eruzasharbat was the man from the river. She prayed earnestly to whatever gods might care to listen that the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
She waited for the High Prince to disdainfully claim he had no idea who she was, or angrily denounce her for daring to cross his horse’s path and spit at him and demand favors from him. Instead, he answered the king in a perfectly calm voice. He spoke in the Sazar tongue; she could only make out the words Uz and Kubiz. He must have been explaining where he had encountered her.
The king responded, as others in the room – royal advisors? – murmured. Then the High Prince spoke in Urdai. “Why have you come here, Urdaina?” His voice was far kinder than she had any reason to expect.
She had to answer. Not answering might be considered an unforgivable slight against the prince. Fighting to maintain some dignity – she would not let these men, this man, see her cowering and terrified, she raised her head, though she didn’t dare look directly at Prince Eruzasharbat. “I’ve brought a gift from my village, in thanks for the water.”
The other two princes snorted in laughter. Too late, Rashali realized she should have added, “Your Highness.” The king demanded something of Prince Eruzasharbat in a contemptuous voice; the prince answered carefully. As one of the other princes muttered something in disgust, Prince Eruzasharbat walked from behind the table over to where Rashali was kneeling. He spoke to the guards, still in that calm, level voice but now with a note of command in it.
The guard who was holding her basket set it down next to her. Relief washed through Rashali; at least it seemed she would be allowed to present her gift to the High Prince. But she tried not to let herself feel too relieved. Only the gods knew – if even they did – if the prince would accept the gift or what would happen to her after.
Still fighting to present an air of calm and confidence, reminding herself that she was representing all the folk of Moon Bend, Rashali reached into the basket and brought out the dried clay tablet the villagers had prepared.
One of the other princes laughed. “A gift – a slab of mud!” he said in Urdai, making his scorn clear to her.
She couldn’t let him goad her into doing something that would provide them with an excuse to throw her out of the palace or into the dungeons. Doing her best to still appear calm and dignified, as though she hadn’t heard him, she said to Prince Eruzasharbat, “Your Highness, my village has made this prayer tablet for you.”
He reached down for it. To take it from her? To break it, or just to examine it? Surely he couldn’t read it; the Sazars were barbarians, without lettering of their own. Rashali held the tablet against her chest. “I will read it.”
“I am listening,” he said in Urdai.
She began reading. “Invoking the holy name of Ar the Most High; the hidden Name of the Mother of the Gods; the names of Usu, Anki, Ninharsa, and Hanisar, who made the world and all that dwell upon it; the names of Anzub of the fresh waters, Shosha who is merciful, Shaz who is wise, and Trannarnit of the mountains who gives birth to the rivers: We of the village of Moon Bend ask this: that the blessings of these gods and goddesses be upon the head and soul of the Sazar warrior who aided us in our time of need. May their aid and protection be upon him throughout his life until his name is sung by Araskagan, and may he walk in Araskagan’s brightest halls.”
When she was finished, she held up the tablet to the prince and he took it. Holding it carefully, he looked intently at the glyphs pressed into the hardened clay as though he could read them, after all. Was he offended, thinking that the villagers’ invocation of Shosha and Shaz meant they thought he was lacking mercy and wisdom? For long moments she waited, her heart pounding, to see how he would react.
Finally he spoke again. “Your village’s gift is accepted. We will see that you are fed and have a place to rest before you begin your journey home.” He switched to Sazar and addressed the guards who had brought her.
At a gesture from the guards, Rashali got to her feet, picked up her basket, and followed them out of the room. She was alive, she thought. She had survived being brought before the Sazar king and his sons, she had survived the horror and embarrassment of realizing that the nameless Sazar warrior she had challenged and spat upon was the High Prince. But only the gods knew if any more dangers lay ahead of her in this palace – if even the gods knew.
