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Chapter 37: Ikarum (1)
Even after Hak Maraka was dragged out, the commotion didn’t settle down for quite a while.
‘Something’s off.’
Jedrick observed the situation carefully, focusing on every gaze and gesture.
Yet, he didn’t turn his head or rise from his seat; only his eyes moved.
‘Maraka is stubborn and rigid, but he’s not someone to act so recklessly. Why would he suddenly do something like that?’
He thought of it as “something like that”, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it actually was.
What could he have planned with a dagger smeared in blood and powder?
To throw it at the prince?
The aim had been far from precise, and it didn’t even seem like he intended to hit the target.
It wasn’t thrown; it was merely dropped.
The dagger Maraka had dropped was now in Stuga’s possession.
He held it for a while, seemingly unsure what to do with it, before finally tucking it into his waistband.
Jedrick, however, was more concerned about what Maraka had said as he was being dragged out.
It sounded like a curse of some sort, but he couldn’t hear it clearly.
The distance and the noise made it impossible.
No one else seemed to have paid attention to it, either.
‘He said something... but I don’t know what it was.’
Jedrick wanted to discuss this incident with someone, but the mood wasn’t right, and there was no one to talk to.
Should he talk to Damion?
He was busy talking with Charlon.
Having witnessed a shaman hurling a death curse at him, it wouldn’t be easy for Damion to calm himself.
What about Terdin?
He was occupied with calming down the knights.
The kingdom’s knights were furious.
How could they just let this pass?
What kind of trial was even being talked about?
They demanded that the old man’s head be struck off immediately.
Some complained about how a barbarian had tried to snatch their sword during the chaos and insisted such insolence couldn’t be tolerated.
For the time being, Terdin wouldn’t even have a moment to sip water.
Then should he ask Ikarum?
Ikarum was also angry and busy trying to manage the situation.
"The banquet must end here,"
Ikarum shouted to the elders gathered around the bonfire at the center of the banquet hall and the two other Ehodins.
Without even seeking the prince’s permission, he marched out.
The elders followed him in droves.
A few glanced at the prince for his reaction, but Ikarum’s command held more weight for them.
Elder Sao approached Jedrick to offer an explanation.
"Ikarum was agitated and may have been rude to the prince. We’re in a hurry to discuss this matter among ourselves. Could you offer some excuse to the prince on our behalf?"
"I’ll come up with something suitable."
"Will that work?"
"He’s an understanding person. He’s not the kind of Southerner we often assume him to be."
Afraid that Sao might misunderstand, Jedrick quickly added,
"But don’t take advantage of his understanding. Please advise my brother not to act like that again."
"You know he wouldn’t listen to me."
"Still, please try."
"Alright."
After Sao left, Jedrick leaned toward Damion and spoke in a hushed tone.
"I apologize on their behalf, Your Highness. Ikarum is not in his right mind right now. He has no intention of harming you. On the contrary, even the slightest injury to you could jeopardize the entire negotiation, which could spell the end of our tribe. That’s why he’s so overly sensitive. I hope you understand."
"Aside from the sudden feeling of being abandoned, I’m fine,"
Damion replied with an exaggerated shrug and added,
"But leaving the banquet like that without even apologizing to the guest—this can’t be your tribe’s custom, can it?"
"Of course not. By our standards, my brother’s behavior was undoubtedly rude."
Jedrick acknowledged it, and Damion accepted his explanation with a smile.
"It’s better to resolve this awkwardness quickly, Jedrick. I don’t want this trivial matter to derail the negotiation."
Jedrick couldn’t be more grateful that the conqueror was Damion.
If someone like Count Vadio had been in his place, heads might already have rolled.
"Then I’ll convey your thoughts at the tribe’s meeting."
Jedrick nodded and withdrew.
As he walked toward the banquet hall’s main door, he hesitated several times.
‘This is troubling. Can I really leave my seat?’
Even a composed man like Maraka had acted so impulsively.
It was hard to say others in the village wouldn’t do the same.
Too many faces came to mind.
‘Not that my presence would change anything.’
Behind the prince and the princess stood a cluster of knights.
Even the servants clearing the food dared not approach.
There were more than enough people to protect the two.
General Terdin remained by the bonfire.
He nodded toward someone, and when Jedrick turned to look, Stuga nodded back at the general and began following Jedrick.
"The general ordered me to follow you,"
Stuga said quietly as he approached.
"This will likely be a private meeting for just us,"
Jedrick replied cautiously.
"You won’t be able to stay by my side."
"Then I’ll stop at the door,"
Stuga offered.
"I’m not sure they’ll allow even that, but you can try."
The tribal meeting took place about twenty paces from the banquet hall in a storage house.
It also served as a small banquet hall and guest quarters for important visitors.
The roof was covered with dried leaves, and though its shape resembled the grand banquet hall, it was only about a third of the size.
Compared to other houses, however, it was significantly larger.
Ikarum let the other tribal leaders and elders enter first and waited at the door for Jedrick.
When he noticed Stuga following, he asked,
"Who’s that?"
"Mind your words. He’s a Southerner who understands our language,"
Jedrick quickly replied, but Ikarum was unfazed.
"So, who is he?"
"He’s the shadow who protected me in the Triton camp. He’s still protecting me now, so there’s no need to concern yourself. He won’t be attending our meeting, but if you could permit him to stand outside the house..."
“Let him in.”
Ikarum's voice was loud, still laced with anger.
It sounded less like an invitation to the meeting and more like a challenge to join a battlefield.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a secret meeting? That’s why we left the banquet hall,”
Jedrick said, puzzled.
“He’s the prince’s bodyguard, isn’t he? His presence will serve as proof of the sincerity of our meeting. We just didn’t want to show the commotion of the process, not the result.”
Jedrick glanced at Stuga.
“Will you be alright with this?”
Stuga, as always, maintained a calm and polite demeanor, nodding without saying a word.
‘Well, it’s safer than leaving him outside.’
This wasn’t the banquet hall protected by the kingdom’s knights.
It was the village outskirts, where townspeople—especially Batus—wandered freely.
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The walls of the small meeting hall were adorned with the skins of great beasts hunted by past chiefs.
The largest bear skin, hunted by Jedrick’s father, lay stretched across the floor, its jaws agape.
Ikarum stepped onto the bear skin and walked to the far end of the hall.
The elders seated themselves one by one on the heavy wooden chairs placed on either side of the bear skin.
Ikarum took his seat in a massive wooden chair, rivaling the chieftain’s chair in the great hall, and shouted,
“This southern man will attend the meeting, but speak freely without hesitation.”
At first, the elders cast wary glances at Stuga, but they soon began their heated discussions.
Although Stuga was meant to witness their honest deliberations, he would likely struggle to grasp their content.
Even Jedrick found the accents of Meios and Rocher, the two chieftains, nearly indecipherable.
Their slurred speech often left even their fellow villagers puzzled.
Indeed, half the meeting consisted of phrases like, “What?” “What did you just say?” and “Speak clearly!”
The meeting didn’t last long.
Geronians considered brevity a virtue in meetings, and Ikarum, being impatient by nature, found even short meetings unbearable.
He had often been scolded for rushing to conclusions in his father’s strategy meetings.
“Didn’t I say from the start that we should lock up Hak Maraka?”
Meios shouted.
“If we confine Hak as well, there won’t be any shamans left in the village. You agreed to that, didn’t you?”
Rocher retorted.
“I said it couldn’t be helped, not that I agreed!”
“That’s the same as agreeing!”
Neither chieftain had brought their village shamans, as it was taboo to do so.
This left Hak Maraka as the only shaman who could operate within the village.
In the midst of negotiating an important surrender, it was unthinkable to lack a shaman to interpret the gods’ will.
The conversation soon shifted to the village trial and the possibility of punishing Maraka, but the elders found it difficult to bring up.
Ikarum, displeased, shouted,
“Are you all worried about bad omens now? Do you want this negotiation to fail?”
Elder Sao gently tried to soothe him.
“No one here wishes for the negotiations to fail, Ikarum.”
Out of the ten tribes, only three had surrendered.
Terdin had promised to protect these three tribes and to hunt down the seven tribes that fled.
If Terdin’s army withdrew now, the three tribes would be branded as traitors and left vulnerable to attacks by the other seven.
The villagers would face death or enslavement.
“You must understand Maraka. To him, Mantum was a lifelong friend and king. How can he suppress his desire for revenge so easily?”
“I lost my father!”
Ikarum roared.
Sao fell silent, and the other elders, intimidated, remained speechless.
“Maraka’s ridiculous thirst for revenge will destroy the village. I’ll behead him before that happens. We must show the southern prince our sincerity. Does anyone object?”
No one objected.
Or rather, no one dared.
‘No one here will confront his anger head-on. I’ll have to speak up. Damion wouldn’t want an execution.’
Jedrick raised his hand to speak, but Sao spoke first.
“The southern prince said there’s no need to execute Maraka.”
Another elder, emboldened, added,
“The ‘princess’ next to him said the same, didn’t she, Jeje?”
Jedrick nodded.
“Both of them clearly stated they don’t want an execution. And the southerners don’t fear our magic as much as we do.”
Sao emphasized,
“If the conqueror himself says not to execute him, doing so on our own would be an affront to his pride.”
“He told us to hold a trial. That means we should conduct the trial and impose a severe punishment. That could be his way of asking us to handle it appropriately. That’s respect for the conqueror.”
Jedrick sighed.
‘If respect was so important, they shouldn’t have stormed out of the banquet hall in the first place.’
Sao suggested,
“Why don’t we let the prince witness the village trial as it is, and leave the sentencing to him? That way, we can preserve his pride while showing that it wasn’t entirely our decision.”
Another elder chimed in,
“Good idea. And why not offer him our utmost courtesy?”
“What courtesy?”
Ikarum asked.
“After tonight’s banquet, the prince plans to return to the camp outside the village, doesn’t he?”
While the people had put effort into the banquet, for Prince Damion, it was merely a formal dinner.
The food wouldn’t suit his taste, and what was precious liquor to the Geronians might seem crude to the southerners.
“There’s no need for that. Why not offer him the great hall instead?”
Jedrick wanted to object, but the elders were enthusiastic.
“A fine idea. Didn’t he bring his wife as well?”
“Indeed. It would be a wonderful gift. Offering the great hall, sacred to Adian Mantum, to the conqueror would carry significant symbolic meaning.”
In Geronian culture, lending one’s home to guests was the highest form of hospitality.
But Jedrick doubted Damion would see it as a gift.
It was uncertain if he’d understand the symbolic meaning at all.
Yet no one asked for Jedrick’s opinion, nor did he offer it.
The decision ultimately rested with Ikarum, who had already made up his mind.
Changing it without force was unlikely.
“Let’s do that. Has the southern guest heard the contents of this meeting?”
Ikarum asked Stuga, standing behind Jedrick.
Stuga shook his head and replied in halting speech,
“I... not familiar... with Geron’s words. I... don’t understand.”
The others nodded, expecting as much.
But Jedrick was surprised by the unexpected turn of events.
‘He didn’t speak like that when talking to me. He’s pretending! Clever man.’
Ikarum pointed at Jedrick.
“Then Jeje, relay the meeting details yourself. But...”
Before Jedrick could respond, Ikarum fixed his gaze on Stuga and asked,
“What’s that hanging from your belt?”
Before Stuga could retrieve it, Jedrick recognized it.
The distinctive shape of the hilt was unmistakable to any villager.
It was Hak Maraka’s dagger.
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