The cold, mountain air was tangible. Sarth's breath seemingly escaped him faster than he could inhale. Once out, the breath lingered like the fog topping the mountain passes to the north. Winter had the land of the Thooms in a chilling embrace as Sarth and Brandooth headed to the mountain village of the Narsons.

"Brand, have you given any more thought as to why your father chose you to go on this journey?" huffed Sarth.

"Sarth, we've been over this. I'm sure my father thinks that I'm quite capable now that I've passed the Test of Traditions." Of course, Brandooth, grandson of Thoom'daron, left unsaid the fact that it was on his third try that he passed the test. "Besides, the Councils of Elders are preparing for a war with the Narsons. Who better to avert one than someone who just passed the Test of Peace and Enlightenment?"

Sarth wasn't so sure. What father would send his son on a last minute attempt at peace with the aggressive, warrior sect called the Narsons? Sarth knew that Brandooth was suave and handsome by Thoom standards, but was he polished enough to be an ambassador on a futile mission of peace? Was this Lord Daron's revenge for Brandooth's failure to marry the Lady Elise and the resultant political loss? A pensive frown accompanied Sarth's visage for the next day as they climbed the steep roads to the Narson's village.

"Before I see Queen Talisaria, can you tell me where are all the women in the village? By the Ancients, Sarth! I see only men! Look over there, the men are doing all the cooking, washing, as well as training to be warriors. Why is this so?"

Sarth thought for a moment and consulted a scroll he had brought along to read. "According to this scroll on the Narson culture, their society has existed for hundreds of years. They lived sequestered in these mountain passes during the Icheton War and are only now venturing forth to rejoin the Thoom society. However, with their aggressive nature, they've made many enemies. Their society is matriarchal and the women are allowed contact with their assigned mates only once every twelve years. Male children are released back into the care of the all-male soldiers at age five. Females are kept and trained to be scholars."

Taking a breath of the thin air, Sarth continued. "As you know, their warriors are said to be so fiercely trained that it's not believed that they will ever be able to convert to the Way of the Traditions. In the last skirmish between us, ten of their warriors overtook a well-armed outpost of ours. Our Elders are worried that a full scale war will be disastrous." Sarth lowered his voice as they approached their destination.

Presenting his papers, Brandooth entered the stone hut of Queen Talisaria. Forced to wait outside, Sarth paced - part in worry, part to ward off the chill. He couldn't help but notice that the Thooms guarding the sturdy, pragmatic hut were hardened. They were tall, rugged, with pale skin that was rough as leather. Each movement betrayed a grace and economy of motion. Thinking them to be the elite, Sarth gradually widened his pacing to include the training grounds. Despite the coldness, a troop was doing drills dressed only in loincloths. Sparring with real spears and swords, not dummies, they moved with such concert that they seemed to be schooling fish of the deadliest type.

Perhaps an hour later, Brandooth emerged. He joined Sarth watching the precision drill work. With a practiced eye, he studied the situation until a gleam in his eye bespoke a plan. He then proclaimed, "We must leave right away. I have an important message for the Council that they won't like.

For the next four days, Brandooth avoided Sarth's inquiries into his plan. He walked briskly and barely slept. Sarth was stumped, but amazed and somewhat proud to see his friend finally taking matters seriously.

Many men from around the land gathered at the building of the Council of Elders. A few soldiers lined the streets, but in truth, since Thoom'daron had brought the teachings of Peace and Enlightenment to the land, the military had suffered greatly. What remained were old men and the reckless young, so inexperienced as to think of war in terms of glory and not horror.

As Brandooth approached the Council building, Sarth couldn't help but ask, "Brand, what will you tell them?"

Without breaking stride, Brandooth smiled and calmly said, "What else? I'm recommending that we immediately surrender to the nation of Narson." He then continued into the Council chamber.

Never had Sarth spent a more worrisome day and night of pacing, hand writhing, and worrying. When the sun set and rose again and the Elders had still not broke session, Sarth could do naught but pray. It wasn't until high noon that Brandooth found Sarth at the Temple. With a respectful bow to the Ancient, he approached Sarth's pew and collapsed beside him.

"Well?! Don't just sit there! Tell me! What happened? What did they say? Will there be peace or war?" Sarth exclaimed.

Brandooth was tired. His voice betrayed weariness, but he could not help but smile. "Sarth. Sarth. Have you no faith in me? I recommended that we surrender and the Council eventually agreed. Of course, it helped that I had a plan."

When Brand didn't continue for a few minutes, Sarth was forced to prompt, "A plan?"

"Well, I can't take credit for all it. It was actually you that helped me with it, albeit unwittingly." Holding his hand up to prevent Sarth from speaking, Brandooth continued. "My meeting with the Queen did not go well. She was unresponsive to all of my charms. In fact, she demanded that we surrender by the next full moon or she would invade. Her men then escorted me out. I thought that war was imminent, especially when I realized that their society was geared towards it. Their warriors are fearsome and demand respect. A war with them would be disastrous. Then, I remembered what you told me about their culture."

"I realized that if we would surrender to them, they would have to station men at all parts of the land. They would need to spread their meager forces to protect all borders and their men would be forced to intermingle with our culture. Since their men aren't allowed to see their women but once every twelve years, I knew that our own women, who are by far much more attractive than what I saw sequestered in the Queen's chambers, would eventually lure them into intermarrying."

"But wouldn't the Queen prohibit this?" Sarth interjected.

"Probably. However, she won't live forever. Her successor would then be faced with asking loyalty of men who would have never seen her. Each successive Queen's power would diminish. After all, they would be going against the most basic of instincts. Thus, in two, perhaps three generations, their culture would cease to exist and my grandfather's teachings would prevail. They might win the battle with nary a sword drawn, but we will win the unspoken war."

With a renewed gleam in his eye, Brandooth rose and said upon parting, "Speaking of women, I must rest and get changed. I noticed that one of the visiting nobles has a beautiful daughter and I believe she needs my attention."

With a smile that told of pride in his friend and former student, Sarth returned home, confident that things were well in hand.

---

Analysis by Merlisk

This folktale of Brandooth and Sarth is more typical. Note that Brandooth uses his wits and not brawn to overcome an adversary. Also, judging by the events, this tale takes place one to two years after the first tale, Brandooth's Riddle Day.

Is it true? We may never know. However, in the northern mountains of the Thoom homeland, there is, to this day, a convent of holy women called the Narsians. However, since the Emperor forbids the teaching of the Thoom language, these nuns are prevented from ever admitting that they know what the real history is for fear of being exiled.