Chapter 2 - A Test of Faith

Torchlight and shadows danced on the roof of the banquet hall. Underneath, voices yelled and feet stomped. Dice rattled across the table as the diners waited for the food to be served. The table was long, with space for twenty people a side. And it was full.

None of these people seemed to be able to communicate at a regular volume. And the banquet hadn’t even started. Were they already drunk? Or just aqshyans? Or both?

As if in response to Tagada’s thoughts, the figure to his right, the man at the head of the table, rose to his feet and raised his hands for silence. “Brothers, sisters!” he cried. He was tall, and wide. He had a fur over his shoulders and his chest and stomach were bare, showing huge muscles and not a small amount of fat. As strong as he was, it was a leisurely life here. “Welcome to our feast tonight!”

A roar drowned him out. He smiled good naturedly, as if he’d expected the disruption. He raised his hands to quiet the crowd.

“Tonight, we’re joined by a man of faith! A pilgrim! A man who has travelled from Azyr.”

He might weigh almost twice as much as me, thought Tagada. Though Tagada was naturally a tall and big man, 10 months on the road had left him gaunt.

“He does us much honour by stopping by.” The man grinned showing a mouth full of teeth stained soot black. “Perhaps he has heard of our faith, or perhaps tonight is the night when he meets, and is blinded by, the purity of our faith.”

Tagada’s stomach growled again. Sigmar’s teeth he was hungry. Servants were bustling at the far end. Where was the food? He’d asked for some when he’d arrived but had told that there would be a feast in his honour that night, and that he’d have all the food he wanted. If he could eat words, he’d be full just listening to this man.

But one did not make unnecessary enemies, particularly not in their house at their dining table. So Tagada bit his tongue. Plus, he thought, at least it’s always nice to talk with those of the faith.

So he bowed his head. “Indeed, it is always a balm to the soul to meet those of the faith.” He looked around at the expectant Aqshyan warriors deigned important enough to eat at their lord’s table. Might as well play to the audience. “Particularly,” he added “when their faith shines as brightly as yours.”

Hoots and hollers rang out from down the table. The lord nodded his head in approval and then gestured towards the servants at the back of the hall. They started carrying around plates. Instead of starting with the lord and his guest of honour, it appeared that they started at the other end.

Though his stomach disagreed, Tagada could not help but nod approvingly. Good leaders ensured their people were fed first. He’d learned that from his father. His father had been a good leader. It was the too bad the tribe had never given him a chance to show how much he had learned.

This was the main reason he walked the pilgrim’s path. His faith was true, it did not need testing. No, he walked it to petition Sigmar for wisdom. What was his role in the giant game of the cosmos? If he wasn’t to lead, then were did he fit? And would he have to tame his ghurish blood to do so?

Lost in thought, Tagada only belatedly realized Lord Feterene was talking again. “… with Lady Anna, my neice and house champion,” he said gesturing towards the woman to Tagada’s left. “She’s the fulcrum of our faith.”

His stomach pounding in his ears, he turned to his left. The woman was muscular. Maybe even taller than him. Her face was … surprisingly pretty. Well crafted, full lips sporting a pleasant smile. She was an interesting juxtaposition in fierceness and welcoming. He normally went for women shorter than himself, but maybe that was more because he rarely met one taller than him. And bigger.

“I’m Tagada.”

“Anna. Well met.”

He reached out and shook her hand, noting as he did the scars crisscrossing her forearms.

“Thank you for showing such hospitality to a traveller on the road.”

“Not just any traveler. We always bring out the best goblets for the devoted of Sigmar.”

Despite himself, Tagada was starting to enjoy himself. The food hadn’t arrived yet, and he wasn’t totally thinking straight, but maybe that was to his benefit. At least he hadn’t started drinking yet. There was a goblet of firewine in front of him, and some around the table had already started into their second and third goblet, but he was fairly sure that they hadn’t been fasting for three days like him.

Anna had a twinkle in her eye that made him think that there was some sort of private joke that only the two of them were into. He found himself wanting to keep her talking.

“I hear you’re the fulcrum of this community’s faith,” he said.

She smiled broadly, showing her teeth. “It’s true. I have the role of Assessor, which has traditionally been performed by the captain of the guard. Second only to the Lord in seniority in the manor. I’m the first woman to have the role though.”

He was barely paying attention. Tagada was just enjoying the sound of her voice.

“What do you assess?” Tagada asked. There was something interesting about the way her mouth shaped the word “assessor”, as if it was also a word in another tongue.

“Faith.”

“In Sigmar?”

“Of course.” She nodded and lifted her goblet to her lips. Her cheeks flushed as she took a sip of the fire wine.

Tagada appreciated the blush, even if it was caused by the wine and not him. He couldn’t tell if she noticed his attention. Though he was a guest, and newly arrived at that, he hoped that she had. “How do you assess it?” he asked.

“Why, with our heirloom blade. Blessed by Sigmar himself.”

Tagada’s attention snapped back at that. He’d heard plenty of people over the years claim that they had artefacts blessed by Sigmar himself, and of the claims he’d seen — well, they’d all been false.

But … what if it were true? If he could get a sense of the God himself and maybe then be shown some wisdom for his journey?

“By Sigmar himself?” he asked, doing his level best to keep the skepticism, and hope, out of his voice.

She nodded, a faint smile on her lips.

“May I see it?”

She nodded again, her smile growing. “I was actually hoping you would say that. I would very much love to test your faith with it.” She reached down to her far hip and started to unbuckled something.

He’d never really thought of his faith like that. As something that could be measured. He’d always believed in Sigmar. He’d met a few philosphers who disputed the existence of gods, but he wasn’t daft enough to believe them. Gods walk among us as sure as we live and breath, he’d said to the philosopher. Tagada didn’t just believe in Sigmar, he believed in the righteousness of Sigmar. He’d always felt very secure in his faith. But despite that, he had a slight pang of unease. Who were these people to measure his faith? And what would it say about him if he was found wanting.

All of those thoughts were pushed to the side as Anna placed a blade on the table between them.

It was the purest silver, almost white. And its blade was etched with dark runes that made his head hurt to look at them.