As the official Living Greyhawk campaign draws to a close tonight. I
would like to thank all of you who made it a surfing disco time.

I was weeding out some old material from my hard drive and cam across
the following story (broken into three parts) that I originally wrote
with the intention of publishing it here in the winter of 2007,
shortly after Bissel invaded Ket. Somehow the story did not get
posted. It is based on the events of interludes posted in message
#6681 & #6936, which you may want to read first to remind you of past
events.

Alan Brown
Ordinary Citizen of Ket with a small farm just outside Molvar

---------------

Somewhere in Ket, 28th Day of Fireseek, CY597

Abada brushed off the dust that clung to his jurat's robes. It had
been a short walk from his courtroom, but the wind blowing from the
Yatils at this time of year dropped a constant supply of dirt onto the
streets of Falwur. Satisfied that he looked socially acceptable, the
old Jurat knocked on Khavar's door. He had met the popular Kaman
officer a few times, but had never been in the captain's quarters.
Just last week, Khavar had been in court for his ushdar's annual
accounting of service; Abada wondered why Khavar had asked him to a
meeting so soon afterwards.

The door opened and a fit-looking man in his thirties, marked as an
ushdar by the thin iron ring around his neck, bowed briefly and
motioned for the Jurat to enter. Abada nodded pleasantly to the man as
he entered the house—this was the ushdar Khavar had brought to his
courtroom last week.

"Khavar has been expecting you," the ushdar murmured as he ushered
Abada into the main room of the officer's residence. Abada's footsteps
echoed loudly off the bare wooden floor, and he was startled to see
that the room was completely empty save for a sword rack holding two
sheathed scimitars, and a small table with some papers and a quill. An
open door to his left revealed another room that was just as barren.
The gambling and spendthrift ways of younger cavalry officers was
legendary, and Abada knew several who had been forced to sell
everything they owned after rolling the dice one too many times.
Although Khavar, in his late fifties, looked to be beyond that age of
wild excess, Abada had seen too much in his years as a jurat to rule
out a similar occurrence here.

Khavar stood looking out a window, apparently lost in thought, but
turned as Abada entered.

"Abada al'Jurat, welcome to my home," Khavar said with a smile,
proffering a hand. "I would offer you a seat, but…" He gestured around
the empty room. "I've just been transferred to a small outpost in
Durva Province and I suspect my quarters will be somewhat smaller that
these. So I sold all my furniture. Unfortunate timing…"

Abada smiled politely, although perhaps a bit stiffly, as he shook
Khavar's hand. A posting to Durva Province was considered a slap
across the face and certainly the end of one's military career. A
competent officer like Khavar must have angered someone very powerful
to be punished in such a way.

"It is of no concern, Captain," he replied. "How may I be of
assistance? Your message indicated that it would be better to meet
here rather than my courtroom."

"Indeed, there are actually three pieces of business that I would like
you to witness," Khavar replied. He gestured at the ushdar quietly
standing at the room's entrance. "Eshqi, fetch my pack, if you please."

The ushdar nodded and left the room, reappearing a moment later
carrying a large leather rucksack. Although Eshqi appeared fit and
strong, it was obvious from his straining muscles that the pack was
very heavy. He placed it at Khavar's feet—there was a slight "chink"
as he did so. At Khavar's gesture, Eshqi left the room.

"As I was saying, there are three matters to attend to. The first
concerns my ushdar, Eshqi. I believe you are familiar with his case?

"Indeed," replied Abada. "Although I was not the Jurat who originally
heard his case—-that would have been Leila al'Jurat—-I inherited
Eshqi's file when Leila retired three years ago. Before his annual
accounting hearing comes up each year, I re-read his file to
reacquaint myself with the details of his case. As I recall, he was a
Kaman officer like yourself—-younger, of course. He borrowed ninety
thousand lances from your father eight years ago for a business
venture which ultimately failed. Since he had used his honour as
collateral and had no other assets, Leila al'Jurat had no choice but
to commit him to your father's household as an ushdar. When your
father died four years ago, you inherited him. My judgment last week
was that he owes you seventy thousand of the original ninety thousand
lances."

Khavar nodded. "You are absolutely correct—-that in a nutshell is how
he came to be here. However, let me apprise you of the finer details.
For that, perhaps Eshqi should be present."

He clapped his hands twice and Eshqi immediately reappeared in the
doorway.

"What is that you wish, Master?" the ushdar asked.

"Just a moment of your time, Eshqi. I was having a conversation with
Abada al'Jurat about how you came to be part of my household."

Eshqi nodded, but Abada could sense a wariness settle around the
ushdar like a cloak. He stood stoically just inside the door, his back
straight, his hands clasped behind him.

"Abada al'Jurat, Eshqi's failed business venture involved an
investment in a caravan of precious but fragile goods from the
Ourmistan. After purchasing the goods, Eshqi then accompanied the
caravan down the Irafa Road through the Bramblewood forest, intending
to travel to the Sheldomar Valley to sell the goods. As I understand
it, he employed six caravan guards—-that should have been enough to
protect him from monsters and bandits. However, as he travelled
through the Bramblewood, he came across another group of travellers
who had been beset by monsters of the forest." Khavar turned to the
silent ushdar. "Then you and your guards rushed to their aid, did you
not? How many of the other travellers survived?"

"All of them, Master."

"And how many of your party survived?"

Grim lines framed Eshqi's face as he replied, "Just myself and one
guard, Master."

"And what of your unprotected caravan?"

"It was destroyed during the battle, Master."

"And if you had simply avoided the fight, taken your caravan back to
the nearest fort, and left the army to sort out the tragedy, you would
still have your ninety thousand lances—-or more, I suppose, since you
would have made a handsome profit once you reached your destination in
the Sheldomar Valley."

"Yes, master."

"Why didn't you avoid the fight then?"

"Better to be an ushdar without honour than a Citizen without honour,
Master."

Abada gave an inward sigh. Although the law was clear that Eshqi was
responsible for his debts, here was an honourable man who had taken
the hard path when the choice had been presented to him. At his
current rate of repayment for service, Eshqi was committed to at least
another twenty years in Khavar's household.

Khavar gestured to Eshqi, who still stood waiting. "Thank you, Eshqi,
that will be all for now. No wait…" The ushdar paused in the doorway.
"What was the name of the caravan guard who survived that horrendous
fight in the Bramblewood?"

Eshqi hesitated for a moment. "Gobryas."

Khavar snapped his fingers. "Gobryas! Yes, I thought the name was
familiar." He turned to Abada. "I ran into Gobryas just last month. He
now tends bar in a little village beside the Tuflik River. When I told
him that I knew Eshqi, he insisted on buying me a drink and telling me
the story all over again. But there were a couple of differences in
his tale. The way he told it, it was Eshqi's sister, Estella, who had
borrowed money from my father to buy the caravan, not Eshqi, and it
was she who had hired Gobryas and the rest of the caravan guards.
Eshqi was just along for the ride through the Bramblewood as he
returned to his cavalry unit here in Falwur."

Eshqi flushed red and shouted, "That's a lie! I borrowed the money,
not Estella! It was my honour that was lost, not hers!"

Khavar held up his hands to stave off the flow of anger.

"Yes, yes, undoubtedly a misunderstanding on the part of Gobryas,
although it is hard to understand how he came to believe that your
sister had hired him, not you. In fairness, I did re-examine my
father's papers upon my return, and found nothing that would lend
credence to Gobryas's version of events. The only unusual thing was
that according to my father's notes, he met with your sister several
times before the caravan's journey, but only met with you for the
first time after the tragedy. Nevertheless, all his papers indicate
that it was you who borrowed the money, not Estella."

Abada considered what he had heard. If it had been Estella and not
Eshqi that had borrowed the money from Khavar's father, then it was
she and not Eshqi who should have become an ushdar. If the old
caravan guard's version was true, it was an iron vice of honour that
had trapped Eshqi when his act of saving the travellers in the
Bramblewood had sacrificed his sister's caravan, her personal fortune
and her honour. This was undoubtedly Eshqi's way of repaying his
sister for the consequences of his honourable act in the Bramblewood.

Khavar bent over the rucksack and flipped open the top. Abada
involuntarily caught his breath --the rucksack was filled with
bastions, the valuable but rare platinum coin of Ket.

"How did you come by this fortune, Khavar?" Abada asked cautiously.

Khavar shrugged.

"I don't have many expenses, no family left after my wife died, never
had children, don't have any expensive hobbies. This is my share of a
few profitable border raids, the bulk of my savings from my army
pay—-and what I got for selling all my belongings," he concluded,
waving his hand around the empty room. He easily lifted the heavy
rucksack and proffered it to Abada. "All of that adds up to seventy
thousand lances. Would you like to count it?"

The old jurat bowed.

"Your word as an officer is sufficient, Captain Khavar. I concede that
you hold seventy thousand lances."

Khavar smiled, although his eyes were serious, as he tossed the pack
to Eshqi.

"Eshqi, I give you seventy thousand lances as a gift."

The ushdar staggered under both the weight of the pack and the shock
of Khavar's statement.

"Wha… Master… I…"

"Seventy thousand lances, Eshqi, to do with as you wish. Spend it,
invest it, give it away, keep it in a sock under your bed—-it is your
choice." Khavar took Abada's elbow and nonchalantly steered the
shocked jurat over to the window. "There are privileges to being
captain, Abada. My quarters overlook the gardens and ornamental pools
of the temple of Geshtai…"

Eshqi's gaze flitted from the heavy pack in his arms to Khavar, now
describing the wonders of Geshtai's gardens to the Jurat. Snapping out
of his state of disbelief, the ushdar gathered himself and walked over
to the window.

"Master," he began.

Khavar turned around, his tone casual.

"Yes, Eshqi?"

"Master," Eshqi replied, his voice becoming firmer. "My debt to you
and your family, as recently accounted by Abada al'Jurat, is seventy
thousand lances. I freely give these seventy thousand lances to you in
order to discharge my debt."

Khavar took the proffered sack and looked into it.

"Why, I do believe there are seventy thousand lances here, Eshqi.
Well, we must seek out a jurat at once and have your act officially
acknowledged." His gaze fell upon Abada. "What luck. There happens to
be a jurat right here." He walked over to Abada. "Abada al'Jurat, you
have witnessed that Eshqi, an ushdar in my service, has totally
discharged his debt to me and my family, using money that was not
borrowed, but that was totally his to give, keep or spend."

Abada, who had been as astounded as Eshqi at Khavar's act, adjusted
his robes and cleared his throat. He turned to Eshqi.

"Eshqi, in front of witnesses, you have discharged your debt to
Captain Khavar and his family."

He leaned forward and touched the thin iron ring around Eshqi's
throat. "Only honour has held you in servitude. This collar has no
lock, and could have been removed at any time," he intoned.

Eshqi, his heart pounding, recited the ancient words that he never
thought he would never say.

"This collar has been locked with my honour. None may unlock it but me."

Abada bowed.

"You have worn the collar of servitude with honour. Remove it, Eshqi.
I declare that all your debts have been paid, and that you have taken
your place once again as a full Citizen of Ket, with all of its
privileges and responsibilities."

Eshqi slowly reached up and unsnapped the thin band, and just as
slowly removed it. As he gazed at the former mark of dishonour in his
hands, Abada turned to Khavar.

"Once I have returned to my courtroom and signed certain papers, I
will send for the town crier and have him make the announcement in
Thresher Square that Eshqi's honour has been restored."

Khavar coughed a bit self-consciously as he picked up the papers lying
on the small end table.

"Suspecting that they would be needed, I actually took the opportunity
to have the papers drawn up by Faheen the Scribe and brought here," he
said, handing the papers and the quill to the Jurat. Abada frowned at
this breach of protocol, but could not think of a reason why the
papers had to be signed in his courtroom.

As Abada busied himself signing the various declarations and forms,
Eshqi turned to his former master.

"Why now, master… err.. ?" H caught himself. "Why now, Captain?"

"The Ket army suffered mightily during the Battle of the Bramblewood
last fall," Khavar replied. "It left the army severely under strength
for the first time in living memory. Now that Bissel has invaded, the
Beygraf will need the services of every good soldier. You are trained
as a Kaman officer, and you are still young and fit. The Beygraf and
his generals can make good use of such as you, whereas I will have
little use for a manservant in the coming days. The solution seemed
obvious."

Abada interrupted, his work done.

"I will keep these documents for my files, but you may take this
notice" he said, holding out a piece of paper to Abada. "Post it in
Thresher Square and ensure the crier also announces it."

"And," Khavar added, "you should then immediately report to Captain
Seeta. I believe she has a patrol in need of a lieutenant that leaves
Falwur tomorrow morning."

Eshqi, still unbelieving, took the proffered piece of paper from
Abada. Sombrely, he shook hands with Khavar, then straightened his
shoulders, breathing in his freedom.

"Farewell, Khavar. You have been a generous master."

"And you have been an honourable brother to your sister," Khavar
replied. He saluted Eshqi. "For the Glory of Ket and in the service of
the Beygraf."

Eshqi returned the salute, shook hands with Abada, then quickly ran
out the door, clutching the paper that proclaimed his freedom.

------------

(continued...)