The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 37

While Naci navigates the tense atmosphere within the general's office, the courtyard of the fortress transforms into a temporary encampment for her companions. Kalez and Lanau have clustered together, their conversation light and filled with the excitement of their surroundings, seemingly unaffected by the weight of their situation. Their laughter and banter create a small oasis of familiarity amid the foreign stone and snow.

Temej, in contrast, moves without purpose through the yard, his gaze scanning for a suitable spot to rest. Despite his focus, he can't help but notice the stares from Moukopl soldiers, their gazes sharp and assessing, hinting at a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The air between them is charged with an unspoken challenge, the Tepr warriors clearly marked as outsiders in this bastion of Moukopl power.

In response to the growing unease, Temej whistles sharply. High above, a shadow detaches from the embrace of the clouds—Sartak, answering the call with a swift, graceful dive. Landing with impeccable precision, Sartak chooses Temej's hat as his perch, a decision that elicits a tantrum from Temej. He shakes his head, irritated. "Come down, you overgrown pigeon!" he jests, his tone light despite the underlying tension.

Fol, the youngest among Naci's companions, sits apart from the group, his back against the coarse stone. His hands reach for the dopshul, a unique three-stringed instrument fashioned from a tool to stir yarag, the fermented mare's milk that is a staple of the people from Tepr's diet. The dopshul, with its skin stretched tight and its body carved with care, is more than just an instrument.

As Fol begins to play, the initial plucks of the strings are hesitant, the notes testing the echo of the fortress's courtyard. But as he finds his rhythm, the melody unfolds, each note clear and resonant in the crisp air. The music, hauntingly beautiful, speaks of starlit skies and longing. It is a song without words, yet it tells a story all its own.

Kalez, her laughter a moment before as light as the snowflakes that grace the air, is interrupted. Lanau gently signals her to shift her attention. Kalez's hands come together, clapping in rhythm. Eager to keep the moment alive, she asks Fol, her eyes alight with excitement. "Can you sing too?"

Fol's response is a shake of his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the hint of embarrassment. "My voice is too shaky. I can't sing at all," he admits, his gaze dropping to the dopshul in his lap.

Undeterred, Kalez rises to her feet, a spark of determination in her step. "It's okay, I can sing! Lan-an, sing with me!" she announces, her voice ringing with a mix of challenge and invitation. She extends her hands to Lanau, who remains seated, wrapped in her own hesitance. Lanau shakes her head vigorously, her hands fluttering in front of her in a clear gesture of refusal. "No way, no way!" she protests, her voice a blend of amusement and apprehension.

But Kalez is relentless. With a laugh that seems to embody the spirit of their adventure, she pulls Lanau to her feet. The laughter, infectious and bright, fills the space between them, and soon, Kalez begins to sing. Her voice, lighter than her attitude suggests, follows the melody that Fol is playing perfectly.

Guiding Lanau into a dance, Kalez moves with a natural grace, her steps unencumbered by any need for perfection. Lanau, initially resistant, finds herself swept up in the moment, her movements hesitant at first but gradually becoming more fluid as she allows the rhythm to guide her.

Temej, observing the scene, can't help but smile, his amusement evident in the softening of his features. The laughter, the singing, and the dancing create a bubble of joy that seems at odds with the stark surroundings of the fortress.

However, this bubble is soon to burst. The Moukopl soldiers, their gazes sharp and disapproving, approach the group with a sternness that brooks no argument. Their presence, an imposing reminder of the order and discipline that govern the fortress, moves through the courtyard like a cold breeze, chilling the warmth of the moment.