Chapter 3: Old Foes, New Allies
Inaya loosened the seams on the strange Vanderik clothing she had acquired at Theolar, the merchant port city just north of the Khorsul border. It was dreadfully uncomfortable, as she was used to the flowing, draped garments of her home city - what was left of it, that is, as cities on the borderlands of the Khorsul-Vanderik wars rarely stayed standing. Such was the cost of her efforts to blend, made all the more difficult by the darker tone of her skin, much darker than the sun-beat tan of the more northerly Vanderik. It was made all the more difficult still by the presence of her companion, Shalmanesser, who refused to don the tighter fitting clothing of his new home, accepting the glares and vitriol that came with it. To her unending frustration, he seemed blissfully at ease with it. He was blissfully at ease with nearly everything.
“What are you even searching for?” he asked her, lying with his back in the grass, watching the clouds dance leisurely in the blue skies above as his companion scouted ahead. “Here - let me tell you what you’ll find. A camp of Vanderiks. Each one will be staring at us with hate in their hearts, but knowing that we’re the best chance they’ve got. I know all that, and I haven’t so much as leaned forward. Don’t much intend to, either.” He patted the ground next to him. “Sit with me! Stare up at the clouds and wait for the happy campers to come to us. They will eventually. Might as well enjoy the wait.”
She didn’t answer him. Partly because she knew he was right. But there were advantages to her scouting. She wished to see how they worked, how they interacted with each other, and who was friendly with whom, a task she was well familiar with. She had been doing it for years, scouring the docks for careless merchants and guards with sharp eyes. Not that the Vanderik were aware of those with such talents, of course; to them, she was a merchant just like any other. Any other Khorsuli, that is, of which there were admittedly few in Vanderik lands, even since the ceasefire.
A strange sight caught her eye. Near what she deemed to be their leader’s tent, judging by it being the only one with a banner hanging outside, a particularly large man had just lifted a smaller, well-dressed one and tossed him to the ground. No one seemed interested in reprimanding the larger one, not even the particularly regal looking woman at his side.
“Now, Shal, this is what I mean,” she said pointing towards the scuffle, musing over the events. “What happens in Khorsul if you were to attack a man of wealth?” Shalmanesser dragged a thumb across his throat, a strange motion while still lazily staring up at the passing clouds. “Correct. If you were to even so much as lean forward you would have noticed that a wealthy man was struck out in the open and no such punishment has come. What does that tell us?” Shalmanesser put his hands out wide, palms up, waiting for an answer. “Either wealth in Vanda or the man himself are of no consequence. Regardless, we will not have to treat him with the respect we might’ve otherwise. Scouting, Shal. Scouting.”
Shalmanesser returned his arm to its spot over his eyes, blocking out the sun when the clouds weren’t performing the task for him. He was clearly enjoying himself. “A question, then. Why would I lift myself from this glorious spot in the sun while I already have a woman so willing to do the scouting for me?” He tapped the side of his head, smiling ear to ear.
Inaya smiled back in spite of herself. She couldn’t in good conscience accuse him of any wrongdoing by making her do the work for him. That was the core of her profession, if one was to call it that - benefiting from the efforts of others. His ability to always find a way to succeed with minimal resistance was a trait in him most found unfair and aggravating, but she thought it oddly endearing. She saw the good in him, and ever since they had met on the docks of Theolar, they’d been like brother and sister.
“Why’d we even come here, anyway? You were making good money back in Theolar, even if it was a little dangerous. And the clouds look no different here than back there.”
All mirth left her when she remembered her purpose for the change of venue. Her eyes took on a steely quality that both came out when she hunted game in Khorsul and when she spotted a simpleminded Vanderik trader in Theolar. “They took our home, Shal. It’ll never be the same again after the war. And if the only way I can strike back at them now that peace has been called is to strip from them every ounce of coin I can, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“By working for them.”
“They’ll pay us handsomely.”
“For work.”
“It doesn’t have to be done well,” she grumbled, realising he was, again, a little more right than she would have preferred. “We can take what we can along the way. Maybe a little on the way out.” She frowned deeply, her voice growing sharper. “If you have another way to get back at them then I am more than willing to listen.”
He sighed. “Clouds look the same here as they do in Khorsul,” he repeated.
Giving him a playful kick, Inaya offered her hand to lift him up. “While I’d love to sit and stare at the clouds all day with you, I’m afraid I’ve gleaned about all I can from here.” She looked back at the place where the peculiar group she had been watching congregated. “That, and the military-looking one keeps glancing our way, and he doesn’t seem too pleased. Even his shiny bald head is turning red and angry.”
---
Alarik frantically pulled the page aside, away from the rest of the group. “I need to see Colonel Willamar immediately.” He looked behind his shoulder to see the two Khorsuli in the distance, one in traditional garb and the other in an off-putting attempt to appear as a Vanderik. “Immediately!”
The page glanced at his scrolls, switching from one to the next, burying one and pulling up the other. “Name?” he asked, looking down at them.
Alarik reached a hand up to the man’s chin and tilted it towards his face. “It was moments - just moments! - ago. That’s when we last had this discussion. And yet you tell me you’ve forgotten already.”
The page shrugged. “It’s protocol to retrieve the name of any who wish to speak to the colonel and put it in the ledger, even if I’m fairly certain of your name already. It’s smart to be cautious.”
Alarik stared at him, mouth slightly open in shock. The page’s eyes seemed dead to him, as if he was dealing with only the hollow impersonation of a man. “Alarik. My name is Captain Alarik.”
The page thumbed through the scrolls as the frustrated captain glanced again over his shoulder, seeing the Khorsuli had begun to approach. “Hmm,” the page hummed. “I don’t believe I see you as having an appointment booked. Perhaps try to schedule one.”
“And with whom do I do that?” Alarik asked, growing incensed.
“That would be me, captain.”
Alarik laughed in spite of himself. “You know what? Forget it. Forget it.” He sulked back to the group, knowing that he would have to address the two Khorsuli suddenly as comrades in arms rather than combatants. He had spent the last several years battling against their ilk in vicious skirmishes in the unforgiving desert. It wasn’t that he hated the Khorsuli. In fact, he had a begrudging respect for them and their guile and fearlessness in combat. It was that every time he would see one born of that region, he would remember what they had done to him. And, what he did to them.
“Is there a problem, Captain Alarik?” Edda asked him politely, a smile on her face not befitting the suddenly dire situation. “You seemed in some distress when you were speaking with the page.”
Have you ever spent years slaughtering, or being slaughtered, only to have to stand with the very one you were slaughtering, or being slaughtered by? were Alarik’s thoughts. As always, what he thought and what he said were a world apart. “No, ma’am, I just had a few concerns. Nothing that cannot be cleared up. But, I beg your pardon, I believe I should introduce myself to our new companions.”
The duo had arrived in front of them. At the forefront was a young woman, sleek and thin, but still carrying a warrior’s muscle. Her hair was tied tightly behind her back, accentuating her angular features. She wore the clothing of a Vanderik merchant, the eyes of a hunter and the sleek form of a predator. Her companion, following casually behind her, was covered head-to-toe in the loose fitting, flowing garb of Khorsul. Her companion looking thin and frail, the woman at the forefront was clearly the leader of the two. The man in the back seemed hardly interested in being there at all; his eyes wandered around the camp, but not in a searching way. It was more like how a rich man would view a new city or a merchant’s shop. Just taking in the sights.
“My name is Inaya,” she announced flawlessly in the Vanderik tongue. “This is Shalmanesser.” The latter held up a hand in acknowledgement, still blissfully looking around the camp, unimpressed. After what he saw lost his interest he craned his neck towards the clouds, and seemed much more satisfied there. “We’re here to assist you on your journey. We’re to be your hunters, so you Vanderik don’t starve yourself to death.”
“I’m the leader of this crusade,” Alarik returned. “My name is Captain Alarik. Khorsuli shaman, then, I take it?”
Inaya nodded and held out her arms. “Even in your empire, no animal can hide from me.” Alarik believed it. The Khorsuli followed the goddess of the hunt, and in turn, their shamans were blessed with the supernatural ability to commune with the animal kingdom. Memories flooded him of fleeing in the desert, hiding desperately, tracked relentlessly, and being found at every turn through the eyes of the beasts that surrounded them. Nature herself was against him in Khorsul.
“Pleasure to meet you, cap’”, Shalmanesser said, either ignoring or not noticing the faraway look in Alarik’s eyes. Inaya took note, however.
“Apologies for him,” Inaya said. “We were hired as a package deal, if you couldn’t figure that out.” She pointed to Edda and Farmund. After glancing at the former’s waistline and the latter’s towering form, she made her assessments out loud. “Bodyguard, nobility?” she asked, pointing from one to the next. Farmund nodded. She looked Cendric up and down next. He rapidly uncreased his shirt from where Farmund had disturbed it. “Who is this buffoon?”
Alarik knew he should have reprimanded her for the insult, but the day was already spinning so wildly out of his control, he opted to accept it instead. While he waited for the silly quip or strained flirtation, instead he provided only a mumbled pronouncement of his own name. “Cendric,” he whispered quietly. The poor man was one step away from drooling. If they had been more formally crafted into a regiment, Alarik would have slapped him in the back of the head and told him to request the hunters search out his dignity. Cendric was obviously quite taken with her. Or, simply intimidated by her. They often looked fairly similar.
“If only he spoke as well as he dressed,” Shalmanesser joked. Farmund snorted, appreciating the jab at the man that had already annoyed him more than once.
“And who is that one?” Inaya asked, nodding her head in Alarik’s direction.
“I believe I’ve already introduced myself. My name is-”
“No, no,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “The one behind you.”
Alarik turned, and in a motion uncharacteristic of those in the military, was startled so strongly he jumped back a step. Immediately behind him was a short, stocky woman, her red hair cut short and haphazard around her head. She had such a strong frown it looked as if it was permanently etched on her body. However, that was all just appearances; the point of interest to Alarik was the bright orange she wore in painted metal around her wrist and legs, in addition to her standard military light armour which she was already wearing. Something about her looked strikingly familiar.
“Hello,” Alarik said, gathering himself. He cleared his throat, realising his greeting was not of a proper standard for a captain in the army. The rest of the group was snickering at him, except for Edda, who respectfully covered her mouth with a smile. “Who might you be?”
The woman stared at him, small, beady eyes boring into him with full concentration. Still, she didn’t say a word, didn’t so much as blink. Alarik had never seen anything quite like it before, and hoped he’d never see anything quite like it again. However, considering how the rest of the day was going, he had a sinking feeling he knew her purpose here.
“Would you happen to be our shaman for this expedition?” he asked, garnering from her orange plates what her role would be. “We’ll be packing plenty of armour and weapons, so I would assume there would be a need for someone to maintain them. Perhaps…” Alarik was stumbling. Her gaze was locked in on him. He found it to be intensely uncomfortable, as clearly there was an underlying anger beneath it, but he couldn’t for the life of him discern why. “I’m sorry, but I cannot understand why you have not yet introduced yourself.”
Immediately, she knelt down in the dirt and drew a rudimentary map. Using her finger, she carved a thin, wavy line. Tapping the ground, she made several dots beneath it. From there, she drew an arrow in one direction, moving towards the line, before crossing it out. She then stood up, stamped the whole thing into the dust, and returned her gaze back to Alarik - who had gone white as a sheet in spite of the sun.
“Would you care to enlighten us, captain?” Farmund asked in his gravelly, deep voice. “It seems you understand her message more than us.” Alarik realised that the big man was more inquisitive than his brutish appearance gave credence to. As with all his war parties, expeditions, or otherwise, he’d make note of it all.
“No, no,” the captain said softly. “I don’t believe that’s necessary at the moment. She just means to say that perhaps she recognizes me. In fact, I believe I recognize her, as well. It’s…” he thought for a moment, feeling the eyes on him. “It’s Hil… Hilda, isn’t it? Hilda?” The woman nodded slowly, gaze never leaving his, intensity never fading, not even ebbing. “She is indeed a shaman. Assuming she is a part of our expedition... “ he searched for the page to see him dropping a scroll some distance away. “Blasted idiot,” the captain mumbled. “She’ll be taking care of our weapons and armour, enhancing them as need be, and consulting with our god to see if the area can be plundered of any valuable metals or other such riches. Her position is intensely valuable.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hilda!” Edda said cheerily. “May I ask why you haven’t spoken with us?”
In response, Hilda opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue as far as she could - which, for her, hardly made it to her teeth. She shot a glance first at Alarik, and then two long, lingering looks at Inaya and Shalameser and glared just as spitefully. Edda couldn’t help herself, and instinctively recoiled at the sight.
“You lost your tongue. I lost my home. My family. Close your vile mouth, you dreadful woman, you know nothing of pain,” Inaya said, fists balled in anger.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Alarik called over the group. He had seen dissension in the ranks many times before, and with a minor scuffle and multiple hatreds building between members already, he had to make things clear that they were now all on the same team. “Listen. We have our roles. If we do not follow through on them, we’ll be cut down by whatever waits for us in this blasted rainforest. Farmund, you’re our muscle beyond just looking out for the duchess. Shalmanesser and Inaya, your responsibility is to keep us fed. Cendric, you’ll guide us through this place. Hilda, you’ll be responsible for repairs on our weapons and armour in addition to searching for resources for the empire. If you have questions or suggestions, they come through me. Bury your hatreds and your misgivings now and learn to work together, or it’ll be a matter of time before we’re burying you.”
The group paused. Farmund nodded stoically, Edda standing by his side. Inaya, to her credit, did not push the issue further, nor did her partner, Shal. He was glad Hilda at least remained calm enough not to start a brawl. As for Cendric, he seemed so entranced by the Khorsuli woman he hardly seemed to care what the group did. “Excellent,” Alarik said, seeming to have gotten them cohesive enough. “Pack light, and sleep well. Tomorrow we walk into the unknown. If we stay together, there’s a chance we’ll all walk back out in one piece. Our mission is simple. We move through the trees and establish a route. If it’s easy, good. If it’s hard, it doesn’t matter. Our only task is to make it through and report back our findings if the path is viable. This spot, dawn. See you then.”
He walked off to his tent to spend the remainder of the night. For all his troubles, for all his frustrations with the Vanderik empire, for all the tragedy and loss in Khorsul, he was pleased to have his chance at redemption in this forsaken rainforest. All he had to do was keep these fools alive.