Collecting on a Wager

[Jay Carpenter]

Daryen Daimon, King of Arad Doman

The battle was long. Daryen was renowned for his prowess but his opponent was equally cunning. For every move forward more of his forces were lost or captured. The king was growing tired but he persevered, waiting. Waiting, for that perfect moment. Finally there it was, the opening he was waiting for. "Aha! Got you old man!"
Daryen's triumphant roar punctuated the swift placement of his black stone, the last in a complex move to trap a large group of their white cohorts.

His father chuckled good naturedly. "So you have. Maybe next time you can try to best your mother?" Sheik Daimon was the carrier of the recessive trait that painted several of his children pale, but the only hint was the sapphire blue of his eyes. His skin might once have been light but was stained as darkly as any of his countrymen by long hours spent in the sun. He was aging but handsome, with a square jaw and broad shoulders to match. The once rich brown of his hair was steadily giving way to gray, which he kept cropped short despite the trends among his countrymen. He had married into nobility after earning status for turning what started as little more than a mounted militia into Arad Doman's only true military force in a century. He still preferred the company of soldiers and horses to nobles. Except for his family, of course.

"Uh,"
Daryen hesitated at the idea of facing his mother in stones. His father was a brilliant military strategist, but his mother pulled the strings of a good many of her fellows on the Council of Merchants and had waded the turbulent seas of court since she could walk. Daryen had faced her before and come away hurting and more than a few favors in debt each time. The very first time he nearly got himself engaged to one of her associate's daughters. A pretty girl, but marriage always put a bad taste in Daryen's mouth. He'd had to take over the duties of an exceptionally pregnant maid for three months to work his way out of that one.

The two men looked simultaneously towards the balcony where the woman in question sat straight-backed before her easel. Where age ravaged some women, Roseleattes beauty only ripened with time. Even sitting she was willowy and elegant, with coppery skin and straight black hair that fell well past her waist. Though the flower of her youth was long faded the core of it remained, sleek and stronger for it.

Roseleatte's brush paused as her eyes shifted to the men she would always see as grinning boys. She smirked, daring her cocky son to try his luck. Beside her, Kiaralil grinned behind her hand. The youngest child of the Daimon family was well into her early twenties but barely looked the part. She was slender and coppery as her mother but shared more of her father's face, giving her wide eyes, round cheeks and a beaming grin that would forever mark her with youth. She also received a full dose of his curls, which kinked like thick, swirling chocolate down her back.

Before an excuse could form on Daryen's own lips a movement at the edge of his vision snapped his gaze towards the entrance of the hall. "Yui! How lovely you are my dear, I could just kiss you,"
he threw his arms open extravagantly towards his astonishingly tall serving woman. She gave him a small, reserved smile, and beckoned for him to follow.

"Come, your highness. It would hardly do to greet your guests in the family sitting room." Were any other than family present she would not have spoken to him so, but she was a hard woman who knew precisely her place, and his, and that of every member of her staff and his court. A remarkable woman, and one of few he trusted with his life.

As usual she was right, and Daryen bid his family goodbye and set off with his serving woman to the house stables. Given the family's close ties to horses, the Daimon estate consisted of a moderate but lovely manor and acres upon acres of pastureland, along with three large stables and an arena. The most valuable stock were always kept closest to the house, so the walk was not long.

The courtyard before the private stable was grassy and lined with flowers and decorative trees not afforded to the more active training stables. It was here that Daryen stopped, wrenching saidin into his grasp, boring a hole through reality to a place he knew well. The Travelling courtyard of the White Tower, nestled in the heart of Tar Valon.

Daryen couldn't imagine the man Fate was going to allow onto the back of her most prized Razor. The eldest son of the Daimon household had never shared the fondness for horses his father and sister had built into an empire, but he appreciated beauty in all its forms. Warcry was an exceptional specimen. The only reason he remained in Arad Doman and not under Fate's watchful eyes was because he'd earned a glorious life out to stud. Except for the occasional parade where Daryen needed to look as kingly as possible and the regular workouts that kept him in fighting condition, the two-toned stallion courted his heard of mares and stuffed himself with grass and grain.

A silver point of light grew into a line and expanded, revealing the shining white architecture of Tar Valon in all its glory. Daryen did not need the contrastingly dark uniform to tell him the masculine face the gateway revealed belonged to an Asha'man. It was a face he knew all too well.

Thankfully Yui was the one to step forward and greet him. The elderly maid had always been fond of Kojima, though Daryen could not think of a woman who was not. The steel gray bun at the back of her head then swung heavily as Yui's dark eyes went to the Accepted, whom Daryen thought looked to be awaiting dismissal.

"You must be the indecisive one, Nythadri is it? Well don't dally child, come along."