ZARSIEN


A fantasy novel written by
Silke Jacob

ã by Silke Jacob 1999
Printed on OKI C5100
Created with STAROFFICE
Layout and printing by Silke Jacob 2010


Dedication

For my daughter

Sorscha Aneyja Uta



The Telling
    The Rain………………………………..................................................................................7
    The Way………………………………..................................................................................8
    The Castle….………………………………..........................................................................13
    The Meal………………………………...............................................................................21
    Encounters………………………………............................................................................32
    The Lesson………………………………............................................................................41
    Night Meal………………………………............................................................................48
    Storm………………………………....................................................................................54
    The First Fight……………………………….......................................................................64
    The Transition……………………………….......................................................................70
             Death………………………………....................................................................................76              The Other Side………………………………......................................................................79
    The Dragon World………………………………................................................................85
    The Pain………………………………................................................................................90
    The Search………………………………............................................................................92
    The Vision………………………………...........................................................................108
    The Awakening of Beyla……………………………….....................................................109
    The Demon……………………………….........................................................................119
    The Guardian………………………………......................................................................126
    The Dragonsworn………………………………...............................................................130
    Beyla’s First Flight………………………………...............................................................135






















The Rain

Only as Jamar lay his heavy coat around her shoulders did Beyla realize that she was shaking from the cold.  The wet fabric of her gown was pushing uncomfortably against her damp skin which brought Beyla back to reality.  Slowly she turned around and looked at Jamar.  Brown eyes looked into blue ones, even though they could not send out the desperate need for comfort, could not undo what was fact. 
Jamar felt deep compassion as he found the bent-over person, wet from rain, her hair in disarray, rocking slightly back and forth to drown out the pain that even the now ceased tears could not ease.

        How many hours had she sat there?






The Way

A strong autumn wind had been blowing across the desolate countryside.  Lonely standing trees bent where they were healthy, broke where they were old or dead.  Thick raindrops twirled around and Durinn pulled his head between his still scrawny shoulders to protect him from the wind-whipped rain.  An uncomfortable feeling started to flood in around his heart, gently and hardly noticeable.  It tried to push it’s delicate sprouts in the incessantly beating muscle, tried to spread.  But as soon as Durinn became aware of this feeling he suffocated it in it’s budding stage.  He would not be so quick to admit defeat.  So he stomped on with the determination of the young, only sometimes lifting his blond, wet head as to not lose his chosen path.
For several hours Durinn’s thoughts had now been circling constantly in his head.  Ever since he had started his journey he regretted not having anybody with whom to share those thoughts.  How nice it would have been to have a companion to distract him from the desolate region.  However, there wasn’t anyone of like-mind at this time in Durinn’s hometown who would have shared his sense for adventure.  His friends loved life as it was , or they would’ve never brought up the courage to leave house and home.  He himself had always been filled by a burning passion, a longing that had even as a child driven him outdoors in the early morning hours to explore the to him unknown surrounding area.  Due to this he often forgot his daily duties.
Thinking of his childhood adventures, and his father’s never to fruition coming rebuke, lit Durinn’s face up and put for a split second a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  Thanks to his father he was now allowed to go to Steinfels castle, though he did not want to make it to easy for his son and denied him an expensive horse for the journey.
“You will need only a few days, not even a week.  And you have always wanted to see the area!” his father had said with a smile upon his face.
So began his journey of five days on an inviting, shiny, beautiful autumn day.
“Oh yes, there isn’t anything to say against spending a few days outdoors when the weather is nice,” growled Durinn quietly as the rain ran down his nose.
His father had given him warm traveling clothes, as well as a small knife, with a somewhat used-up blade, which was to be fastened on the belt of his woolen leggings.  He was also given a small purse with some coins which was, by his father’s orders, to be hidden inside his leather vest.  With that his father had left the room.  Durinn looked around his small chamber one last time.  Everything was neat but seemed cold and strange now that the bed had been taken down.  His few traveling clothes lay tied neatly tied in a bundle on top of the dresser next to the door.
“Off for an adventure” were the last words he spoke into the quiet of his chamber before he closed the door the last time for a long time.
In the kitchen his mother just finished filling a brown leather bag with provisions for the march.  She offered him some bread but Durinn had no appetite and just wanted to start his journey
As he was leaving his home he threw the warm, dark green coat around his shoulders, shook his father’s hand and gave his mother a kiss on her round, rosy cheek and started on his way.  His parents watched after the somewhat lanky seeming figure of their son stride off  but were calmed by the fact that the lands of the Lord of Steinfels, which included their farm, had been secure for fifteen years.  The lands had been brought back to bloom through bone breaking work and the terrors of the past had been quickly forgotten.
The first day Durinn felt thoroughly adventurous and as he arrived late that evening in Inxmoor he took, full of pride, a room in the only inn in town.
Leaning casually against the counter he ordered a warm meal along with a large jug of mead.  The innkeeper, a good natured man who had raised six children himself, tried hard to hold his composure as he saw Durinn’s serious face which tried to say “I am all knowing”.  In his desperate efforts he looked over Durinn’s shoulder and saw the grinning faces of his regular customers Erkmar, Friedigern, and Hartrat.  With that his noble intensions were gone and he burst out laughing.
Durinn was still trying to decide if he should flee to his room or loudly object when the innkeeper jumped, despite his rounded figure, nimbly to his side and lay his arm around his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“Aren’t you Angatyr’s son?  Boy, you grew up.  Last time I saw you, lets see it must be seven years past.  Your father called a search for you because you had been gone a whole week.”
Now Durinn’s feelings were all jumbled so that he plumped down on the chair to which the innkeeper had gently pushed him.  Right away he found himself drinking within an amusing, merry circle which
Let him forget the previous humiliation.  He was told that the four of them had been with the search party that had brought him home.  Ever since they had been friends with his father.  Durinn became more than enough to eat and drank his mead in quick measure.  Probably too quick because a leaden tiredness overcame him, so that he could hardly keep his eyes open.  The trials of the day also requested tribute.  He excused himself and went up to his room not even realizing how much he staggered. The next morning the innkeeper send him on his way with well wishes and a substantial hang-over.  
Soon the fresh air worked wonders for head and stomach.  The wonderful scent of damp, sun warmed earth rose to his nose, putting him in good spirits.  However, the thick, grey clouds that slowly moved together above him soon dampened his mood.  Soon it would start raining again.  He sat down on one of the many rocks to eat his earlier rejected breakfast.  Heartily, he bit into his thick sandwich as he explored, from his elevated seat, the surrounding landscape.
The pastures weren’t quite as thick here, not like he was used to from his father’s lands.  More and more the rocks broke through the grass which caused the landscape to form anew in front of Durinn’s eyes.  Sparse, yes, but in this sparseness was a rough beauty which the boy started to like.  Durinn drank a sip of his diluted wine and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.  Even the air smelled different here, somehow fuller and austere.  A joyous shiver ran through his body and he opened his eyes in a good mood, looking for one of the landmarks his father had told him about.  He found it in the southwest, where a long thick  forest stretched along the horizon.  It was dark and green and stopped in the south near a large mountain whose foot was his destination.  Whistling a little song Durinn packed up the rest of his provisions and started back on his way freshly strengthened.  
In the afternoon it started raining, just as he had feared.  At first it only drizzled but toward evening a strong wind started blowing and the rain thickened.  The weather pulled on Durinn’s strength even though he was used to rain, and he was very happy to find shelter before nightfall.  Rock framed the small street leading to the square; where only three small and simple buildings were to be found.  This wasn’t an inn but a farm.  The family always found room for people passing through which was long known amongst the travelers.  Durinn was received politely and paid a fair price for plenty to eat and a bed to sleep in.  The family left him alone for the most part, so he was able to eat his dinner peacefully, interrupted by only few questions, and then retire to his room quickly. 
It still rained the next morning.  Durinn heard the patter of it on the thin beams above him before he even opened his eyes.  A deep groan left his chest.  He had slept in his cloak and the warmth of the night still held him comfortably enclosed.  For a short moment he missed his mother’s voice, which would’ve called him for breakfast by now.  Those feelings waned with the opening of his eyes and were replaced by his appetite for the unknown.  Even the rain could not dampen his good mood.

With that Durinn went of into his still unwritten future.





The Castle

It hadn’t stopped raining for days so that the small unfastened road had become a muddy, red-brown mass, which snaked through the yellow grass.  The wind had pulled most of the leaves of their life-giving  trunks.  The rain did not allow, however, that they traveled very far in the misty grey air.  His eyes pinched together, Durinn lifted his head only high enough to be able to ascertain the path in front of him.  There, in the distance, through thin watery stripes, he was able to see his destination, Steinfels castle.  He lowered his eyes back to his feet to finish the rest of his journey, a little more energetic than before.   The last  part of the way he had to walk uphill because the fortress was, for better defense, built on an incline.  This circumstance gave the  advantage of walking on stony ground rather than mud.  The very last part of the journey he slowed back down with awe, for he had never been so close to a castle.  Since he was wet to his bones already he took the time to thoroughly take in this overwhelming visual. 
The walls of the barbican reached three man high in front of him and were patrolled by four guard towers.  The main castle wall rose to twice that, had also four corner towers, as well as two middle towers to build the gatehouse.  There was a gate in the middle to the West,  probably one to the East, as well as to the North.  The number of guards, however, he was not able to guess.   In contrast  to this concentrated power it seemed ludicrous that the gate in front of him stood open.  Since they lived in peaceful times it wasn’t further strange.  With those thoughts he started back up to finish the few steps that distanced him from the gate.
Only one guard received the soaked through traveler at the wooden gate with a nice greeting, asking his desire.  Durinn answered with a solemn expression on his face.  “My name is Durinn Apthar.  I’ve been summoned by milord, ruler over Steinfels.”
“Come in then,” said the black bearded man with a friendly smile.  “We’ve been informed that you would arrive these days.  Jamar will accompany you and show you everything necessary. 
A man in his early twenties, wearing light brown leather armor, came nimbly at the nod of the guard.  With a rough shrug he gave Durinn to understand to follow him.  Durinn was not given the chance to introduce himself, so he had to be content with keeping his eyes on the well trained back of his leader and stay trustful on his heels.  Walking quickly, they entered through the gate into the barbican, which was like a small fortress in itself, across the yard toward a second gate which stood open as well.  A drawbridge lay ahead of them.  Crossing a deep moat, it’s soul purpose to defend the castle gate along with the castle house, it connected to the outer castle yard.  Having now crossed the bridge they entered another gate.  They were now in a large yard, all green except the winding road.  Despite the rain many people hurried around.  There were stalls and some small buildings whose single usage Durinn could not recognize.  He saw fruit trees, a fishpond, yes, even some peacefully grazing sheep.  They followed the nicely landscaped road, first going in a straight line toward the West, then curving back around to the East, only to then change direction again and meet a gate in the North.  This now fourth gate was set again in a three man high wall and was, except for the guard walk, the only way to enter the grounds behind it and the there located palace.  The palace lay in the Northwest and Durinn, who started to realize the enormity of the whole castle, recognized the advantage of this intricate way to build.  A direct assault had been made impossible by the winding road.  Any possible intruder would have to re-orientate himself constantly to get from one gate to the next and offered himself as a great target during that time.
In this inner courtyard people were also busy with their works and he recognized by the delicious smells the castle kitchens.  Durinn’s stomach made itself known loudly to protest the missing of lunch.  Now Jamar, whose height towered above his own by three hand widths, looked him over from head to toe out of slanted blue eyes.
“You mustn’t have had time to pack something decent to eat.” he said in a tone that did not hide his dais disapproval.  “Well, we’ll have to do something about that”, he decided and lead Durinn to the huts of the castle kitchens.
Once there, they went directly toward a weasel like youth who was flitting around, with wild hair and a dirty apron that threatened to slide off his skinny hips. 
“Hey lad, bring us a portion to eat and a tankard of wine,” ordered Jamar in a harsh way.  He stood pointed toward a table for Durinn to sit there and waited, standing with his legs spread, in the entrance.
The boy, who had momentarily stopped in his tracks, started again with hectic movements to put together a meal for Jamar, or rather Durinn.  He seemed to be conscious that Jamar watched him impatiently.
While they waited Durinn took the chance to look over his seemingly unwilling leader.
Just like he himself  Jamar was of slim statue, but sinewy muscles were recognizable under his clothing.  His straight line and a fine drawn face, whose bronze color was certain from long hours outdoors, gave him a presence that would bring others to submit to his authority unconditionally.  When the food arrived Jamar turned around in the doorway.  Durinn shrugged his shoulders and began to eat.  He felt far better after he washed down his meal, which consisted of a small, still warm loaf of bread and a thick slice of meat, with some watered down, shimmering wine.
They were in one of the small huts so that they were protected from the rain.  His companion stared absentminded at the hustle and bustle in the yard.  Now he came toward the table at which Durinn had taken his meal. 
“Apparently the meal has strengthened you.  However, it doesn’t change anything about your appearance and that leaves a lot to wish for.  Do you have anymore dry clothes with you?”  Durinn shook his head and his blond hair, which seemed dark from the rain, threw little watery pearls in the air.  Only now had he become aware of the mud from the last few days.  He had more clothes in his bundle, though they had not been able to escape a soaking from the constant rain. 
“All right, lets see if we can find something more suitable for you.  If you get ill now we’d have to find a warm bosom to mother you back to health.”  To hear the last words Durinn had to hurry to catch up with Jamar, who had turned in mid-sentence and walked with quick steps toward the palace.
Once there they had to climb a set of very small and steep stairs to reach the entrance.  There were neither door nor windows on the ground floor.  Durinn, who had to take two steps for each one of Jamar’s, started to lose his breath.  Jamar on the other hand seemed to be in a hurry to finally rid himself of his underling.  After three inclining halls Jamar paused shortly to explain that this would be Durinn’s chamber.  He would have time to inspect it at a later point but now there were more important things for him to do.
After a few halls on the left and right; Durinn was glad for his sense of direction or he would have never found his way back: they came to stairs that led down to a large cellar room. The air coming toward them was warm and damp.  Two strong woman, with strictly tied back hair, stood by a midway laying well to wash laundry.  The air smelled pleasantly of soap and the water steamed.  A third, younger woman, carrying a basket of fresh linens, squeezed past Jamar.
“These are our warm wells,” explained Jamar, “something found often in these mountains.”  he crossed the room to pass through an opposite laying archway, which was covered by a light white fabric.  Durinn followed him and found himself within a chamber with  a manmade, water filled basin in the middle.  It was large enough to hold five or six people during strongly frequented times. 
Durinn thought of home, where once a week a large tub was filled with buckets of water that had been heated over the hearth.  The whole family had then bathed one after the other to make good use of all the hot water.  All the other days it had been cold water from the creek for washing up.
“All right , here you can get cleaned up and change your clothes.  We’ll see each other later.”  Jamar was gone before Durinn could ask any of the questions that came to his mind.
The basin was slightly embedded in the room, framed all around by large stair steps, which had been very carefully worked.  The water level started at the second step. 
Happy to be able to rid himself of the wet clothes Durinn undressed quickly and descended into the warm water.  He enjoyed the soft warm hug he received as he seated himself on the fifth step. Goosebumps overcame his still cold body and a moan escaped his throat.  He had never sat in water that was being moved from bottom to top rising bubbles.  Fresh water kept coming from the lap of the earth and flowed tingly between his toes.  Durinn recognized the slight swirl that carried the water outside through a slight opening in the wall.  He opened his eyes slightly and watched the steam flow to the ceiling where it then swirled around and was drawn outdoors.  He just asked himself how all this could work when a slight sound made him jump.  He looked around and noticed a carefully folded pile of clothes, as well as a dish with soap.  His own clothes were gone.  He felt uncomfortable at the thought that maybe one of the women out there had seen him like this.  A slight flush rose over his young face. 
The feeling of holy blissfulness left Durinn instantly.  Quickly he reached for the soap and lathered himself, more underwater than not, never once taking his eyes of the curtain.  He hurried in the water so he could get dressed as quick as possible.  Hiding halfway behind a towel, he held on to it with his teeth, he got dressed with hectic movements.  The clothes fit like they were made for him but he was not accustomed  to wearing white and so found it a little unsuitable for himself. 
As he finally entered the laundry room he could not detect any unusual look from the women there, though he did pay attention, so he chose to way that led outside, with his heart pounding. 
Durinn sighed loudly once he reached outdoors.  He looked around, asking himself what to do now.  He could not remember Jamar leaving any instructions and decided to go to his new chamber.  Without any effort he found his way back to the door Jamar had shown him and gently opened it.  It was, as expected, unlocked and swung open without a sound.  The chamber, that waste be his new domain, was not exactly large.  Durinn guessed it to be ten by six ells.  It did have a small window since it was not located on the ground floor.  To his right lay a rolled up straw mattress which would serve as his bed.  Besides that there was only a table with a matching chair to be found.  It was quiet and dim in the room.  Only very little light came through the window since the castle walls caught most of the last red-gold rays that Mehfaa sent out. 
Durinn closed the door behind him and stepped to the window to look out.  The stony wall rose grey and mighty in front of his window.  The battlements and towers, however, glowed in a flame like light, giving the impression that they were burning.  Deep in thought he watched nature’s color play, which started to fade quickly.
Unexpectedly someone knocked strongly on his door.  Without waiting for Durinn, who had swung around quickly, to answer the door swung open and a little figure entered the room.  Durinn squinted his eyes together but was able to only recognize an outline of the person in front of him since the only light emanated from the torches in the hall behind the person entering.  Durinn waited by the window. 




The Meal

“I am to show you the way to the great hall,” said the small person, the voice still quite high.  Durinn’s eyes had quickly become accustomed to the weak light and he now recognized a young boy of maybe ten summers.  He gave a slight nod of understanding when the boy turned around and started down the hall.  Durinn started after him with a feeling of deja vue .  Why did people in this castle constantly run ahead of him?  Durinn sped up his step to minimize the distance that had grown between them already. 
“Tell me lad, why are you hurrying so?  Aren’t they gonna leave any food over for you?” asked Durinn annoyed.  “Of course they feed me!” he answered, obviously appalled by the question but never slowing in his step.  “I only want to get my chores done early because tonight Luobi will finally be present again.” 
“Luobi?  Who is that supposed to be?” asked Durinn, who had now with big steps just about caught up to the boy. 
“You don’t know Luobi!”  The boy had stopped abruptly, which almost decided his fate of being run over.  Durinn was so surprised by the sudden stop that he was able to avoid a collision only by jumping to the right.  Painfully his shoulder collided against the wall. 
“Ouch!  Damned be Perkunas!  Was that necessary?” he said with a grimace.  “What?” said the boy with childish innocence on his face and a touch of impatience.  “How is it my fault that you grown-ups are so clumsy?”  And off he went again.  “Luobi is…, oh he can do everything and he’s experienced much and he tells such wonderful stories.  You’ll see yourself .  He’ll be there for the meal.” 
In the meantime it had become busy around them.  They saw more people at each hallway crossing, all walking in the same direction.  Some of them wore white aprons and carried platters full of delicious looking and smelling foods.  
They all streamed in the direction of the great hall which Durinn saw as he came around the next corner.  The door was more like a gate with two wings that stood wide open.  The wood from which they were made was hardly recognizable.  Everywhere were ornaments or figures made of pure gold.  Gemstones had been used for eyes and other diverse decorations. 
Besides the doors stood two golden, sweeping candelabrum, each holding about twenty thick, lit candles in claw-like holders.  Four sconces had been fastened on the walls, imitating six headed dragons.  The reflection of the light upon the doors gave the impression that these were burning and melting away.  On the inner side welled sweeping, heavy, dark red, velvety curtains that had been only partially pulled back and with that only underlined the illusion. 
Durinn’s step slowed until he finally stood still.  He breathed in loudly because in his awe he had for a moment forgotten to breathe.  As he caught himself he realized that his young companion had left him without a word of farewell.  He concluded that the boy must have better things to do than watch a young man standing open mouthed and glassy eyed as if the Zseerbische had robbed him of his senses.  He shook his head and had to laugh at himself. 
His thoughts went back in time to the point where one could not be certain that his thoughts were really his own.  The old ruler did not think much of trust, but the more of control.  So he created the Zseerbische, a little folk just about two hand widths tall, which had the ability to fly as well as a mental strength.  Their duty was to extract the thoughts of the people to which they had been assigned, to then rip the hidden laying secrets out of those thoughts and then sometimes even replace them with new strange ideas.  It was a mental power of unnatural origins, created just like the folk. 
Some of the Zseerbische, however, had not bloomed to perfection, which lead to the impending disaster that thoughts were not returned to it’s rightful owners, leaving the victim stupefied. 
A shudder ran down Durinn’s back and this time he shook himself to ward of the cold that tried to grasp at his insides with long, pointy fingers.  He let his look wander about and it seemed that nobody had taken notice of him.  Some people still walked through the fiery sparkle, Durinn being amongst them. 
The hall was magnanimous.  The tables, set in a horseshoe pattern, were laden with the previously seen foods.  To Durinn it seemed like a scene taken from a fable.  Even though there was nobody going hungry on his father’s farm at this time; the harvest was plenty and taken in before the rains;  such a display of wealth was new to Durinn. 
Some of the people were seated already others stood around inspecting the hand woven tapestries.  There were a total of eleven, telling the story of suffering, evil powers, and the liberation of the people through the forces of good.  The first was left of the entrance, then three on the left wall.  Three more were to be seen on the wall ahead, followed by three on the right wall, and finally one last one to the right of the door. 
Durinn was about to inspect the tapestries further when the sound of a fanfare announced the arrival of the ruler, Lord of Steinfels.  Right away people quieted in their conversations.  The seated stood up and all bowed in humility to their Lord, who made an impressive figure.  With at least six feet he towered over most of his subjects present in the hall.  He wore a blue silk robe run through with gold threat and one could more than suspect the sinewy muscle underneath. 
His face had a hardness and strength to it and might have once been considered appealing.  But now a burn scar disfigured the lower left side of his face.  The eye above it seemed somehow smaller, underlined by red, tearing constantly.  But it showed his strength that he hid neither this nor the empty spot where once his ear had been under an iron mask as Durinn had seen others do.  Just to the contrary.  As if he were trying to provoke he wore his light red hair, run through with gray, neatly pulled back and tied by a gold band.  The fanfares sounded a second time signalizing that it was time to rise.
A soft murmur rose and the host, followed by some chosen guests, placed himself at the head of the table.  Once the company with the Lord was seated the rest of the people followed suit.
Durinn found himself a seat at the lower end of the table.  To his left sat a stocky man with thinning hair and a red bulb nose.  A girl of maybe nine summers seated herself to his right.  The little one watched Durinn through thick eyelashes but turned away quickly and red-faced each time he looked her way.  
Durinn had not been able to observe any of the people entering after the Lord.  Upon the entrance of the high born he had concentrated on the tips of his feet as it was law.  Even now, seated at the table, he was unable to inspect any of them further.  His interest waned quickly and he rather concentrated on the mental task of deciding which foods to pile on his still empty plate.
A man, hunched over from age, with a wreath of white hair, stood up from his seat.  One of the pages rushed to him with a golden, ruby decorated bowl, careful not to spill any of it’s fluid contents.  He set it down in front of the old man who stood waiting  while staring at the crowd.  Nobody spoke a word.  The old man stood in the quietly, gathering himself.  Then he dipped his right index finger into the fluid and in the air he drew a cross for earth, a sickle for water, a circle for air, and a spike for fire.  He bowed in front of each sign and then carefully moved the bowl into the middle of the table. 
As if on command the talking began anew.  People loaded their plates with the various foods and poured plenty of wine.  Durinn’s neighbor did not make a great deal about the fact that he didn’t know him.  After he put more than enough food on his plate he wiped his greasy fingers, more for show, on his pants before he patted Durinn’s shoulder. 
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said and pushed a piece of meat in his small, pink mouth.  “Must be new?”  his voice escaped dampened by through the grinding of his teeth.  “Are you gonna stay for a while or are you just passing through?”  Durinn looked at him in confusion without answering him.
“Oh, my name is Otrad,” said he while holding out his right hand for a handshake as if everything strange would disappear with that.  While waiting for an answer Otrad shoved a whole potato in his mouth with his left only to realize that it was to dry to swallow.  So he took the mug with his right, emptied the contents in his mouth, before he stretched his hand back out and transported everything in his mouth with a big gulp into his stomach.  Satisfied he burped before refilling his mug.  Durinn decided after short contemplation and hesitation to prefer Otrad to the still red-faced girl to his right.  He shook his hand and entered a conversation which turned out to be amusing at times.  
As the people were generally done eating they started to another, adjoining hall.  This was by no means as majestic as the previous.  Though there were tapestries even here they were not as ornate as the others.  Also a large hearth which burned brightly by the outside wall added to the comfortable atmosphere. 
A small wooden stage had been set up in the room.  People sat down on small, wooden stools scattered around the stage.  They drank wine and chattered more or less excited.
Durinn had left both his table neighbors behind.  It had been an easy task for him to lose them in the crowd.  Otrad because he was still busy eating and little Redface because she hadn’t been nimble enough to follow him.  Now he stood, leaning against a wall, behind a group of men watching the people, careful not to be conspicuous.    He saw Jamar coming toward him.  “Well, have you been sated again?” he said in way of greeting along with a friendly slap on Durinn’s shoulder, which enforced his words.  “Our Lord has taken acknowledge of your arrival.  He’ll meet with you tomorrow.”  Durinn was surprised by the easygoing familiarity that Jamar showed him.  It pleased him because it took away the awkward feeling of being a stranger. 
A sudden clapping rose and due to it Jamar turned around.  Now Durinn had to take a step to the side to see past him.  No matter how much he allowed his looks to wander he could not detect anything remarkable.  Only as there was movement on stage did he beware the dwarf.  Despite his shortness was he impressive to look at, being almost as wide as he was tall.  He was dressed in brown, woolen shirt and trousers as well as golden shining  breastplate, arm and leg guards.  His silvery hair went to his hips and was surpassed by his beard.  As he climbed on stage he was careful to not step on his beard.  He took the chair that had been reserved for him and waited for the crowd to calm down. 
A small figure pushed through the nearby standing mass and sat himself down on the top step of the stage, never looking away from the dwarf.  Durinn recognized the boy as the one that had shown him to the great hall.  So this was the famous Luobi. 
“As you may know,” sounded suddenly, into the quiet, the amazingly dark voice of the dwarf as if he were continuing a previous conversation, “did it come to an encounter between me and the then empower Zseerbano.”  a groaning went through the tensely listening crowd.  “I want to tell you about it”.  But before he gave the best of his story he pushed himself extravagantly into a more comfortable position, pulled a small, black, shiny pipe out of a covered side pocket, to then pleasurably light it.  It had obviously been lit before, for it quickly filled his mouth with warm smoke and didn’t damn the people to further anxious waiting. 
“It was during the time of the fires, when fruitful, blooming lands were taken by uncountable fires and impending famine was near.  The battle of Taar had just past with lots of dead to mourn, but we were able to hold out position, having forced the Red Army to retreat.  We had spent the day caring, as well as was possible, for our wounded and carrying together our dead so they could be burned after the holy burial ceremony .  The air was still so that the biting smell of burned flesh surrounded us like a stinking shroud.  We were actually tucked in by the smell so that some of my men almost puked out their insides.  I had put up a night watch of which I took the sixth turn myself.  An hour had past, Mehfaa was still sleeping peacefully but Nohfaa had already finished his round so only little Sihfaa gave us sparse light.  I went to the fire and started to poke it to bring it back to life when suddenly it started cracking loudly and rose higher and higher.  It started to turn and dance and then took on human form.  He looked at me and laughed, a cruel laugh that went straight through my bones.  My people woke from the commotion and watched with wide opened eyes as the flames started to dance again.  Zseerbano threw back his head and started to howl, which drilled into our brains like white-hot nails.  From his fingers jumped flames in an increasing rhythm.  They spread on the ground, the armor, even the unprotected bodies of the men who stood stared dumbfounded at it all.  Panic broke out.  Some people rolled on the floor, others fled.  I tried to help with extinguishing the flames and called upon my men to also help the screaming ones.  Quickly I realized that we didn’t get very far that way.  Though all were brought to safety we were losing our position.  The last of the water, which had been sparse already these days, was now used up.  Then I had an idea.  We had to act quick but it should be feasible.  I called all those still able to stand to my side and explained my plan.  I didn’t say it wouldn’t be dangerous.  We all gathered around the fire and released ourselves as fast as possible”. 
Luobi had told the story with a serious voice and the quiet had only been broken by an occasional groan or, mostly by women, a frightened outcry.  But now, at the end of the telling a lightened note entered and Luobi, whose bass shook, tried to repress his laughter.
“Zseerbano was no match for this flood and shriveled up like a foul apple.”.  now all in the hall laughed with him. 
Throughout the evening Luobi’s stories of Zarsien’s history continued and Durinn listened excitedly.  Only as Luobi said his farewells in the middle of the night did Durinn return to reality.  Suddenly he felt the leaden tiredness and looked around with glossy eyes.  Many had left the hall already and more followed.  So he followed lead and retired to his new quarters.