>
> Death can be a choice.
>
> But with Life, one can’t gamble.
>
> -
>
> Bakufu Segun Zemim*
>
> Last leader of Tull Cautara-Magor
>
> Circa 78 IC (First Era)
>
>
>
>
>
> *Ancient Cofol for Prime (of all) Leader (First General), Sesei Segun being the lower rank (Master General) Musha (Warrior) the lowest. The Ancient Cofol language had more in common with the Old Imperial (not the later Court Imperial though it had traces of the defunct esoteric Witch Tongue of Cydonia Cazan) than the Common Language used by the Horselords of Eplas that was closer to Lorian Common used on Jelin by both the Lorians and the Issirs with slight variations.
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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
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Tales of the Peninsula | Aftermath
Part IV
-The Swordmasters of Cautara-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/vZ1TyfDc/Zai-Zel-Ka-194-NC.jpg]
Act I
-The Old Gods-
“Gratitude for the welcome my friend,” Chubin Amin said to Phon-Iv Sopat. “You carry the wounds of a warrior.”
“Well, I rather I didn’t,” Phon replied with a grimace and they grasped elbows. He glanced at the group of men and women waiting under the sun. “There’s sufficient shade for everyone. Please join us.”
They had set up an open-walled tent like a pavilion at the center of the camped caravan. The smaller procession that had come with Chubin Amin numbering around two hundred armed men and women. Cofols, but with higher cheek bones and more austere faces even for their females. The men had heavy armour on, riveted small plates secured on leather and made into heavy cuirasses with prominent shoulder pads out of the same material. A leather skirt extended to the knees over rough-hemp pants. Most men had half-face helms on, protecting the jaw and nose, shaped cruder than the full-face mask of the Zilan Rokae and the Khan’s Cataphracts.
The three women’s faces were painted gold but for the lips and eyes that were black. All had their black hair fixed in tight buns. They wore kimono-style robes of different colors –red, black and yellow- with leg coverings made out of white strips of cloth and carried a long-staffed polearm-type sword on their backs. In stark contrast with the other Cofol females they stared Phon-Iv straight in the eyes.
Glen, who was standing under the large –five by five- pavilion’s shade as he’d turned crispy-enough after days of traveling with the caravan, perused the gentle-curved single-edged blade swords with the long-grip they called Kata-Cim with interest. He’d seen them depicted in wall-reliefs inside the Crimson Palace ruins along other types of Imperial swords.
Four armed men and three women accompanied the similarly dressed Chubin Amin under the shade where Foreal offered folded chairs for all. Hesam, Samak and Asmudius were watching with their men closely. The slaver had asked to be released from contract to pursue a career in finer arts but Phon had told him that until they had returned to Lai Zel-Ka he was still employed, though he could stop paying him if Asmudius so wished. Asmudius had flatly refused to work for free.
‘Working for free,’ he’d stated half-jokingly. ‘Is like being a full-time slave but with the benefits of a homeless person. Out of respect for my family’s longtime slave-capturing history, I refuse my lord.’
“Ahm,” Phon-Iv said looking at his guests. “Chubin I appreciate the effort, but I must say it comes a bit late in the game.”
“Is the war over?” Chubin asked and sat on his chair, Phon following his example. Glen remained standing, his back on the wooden pole at the west corner of the pavilion behind Phon-Iv and so did the rest of the newcomers from Cautara. The men at the front and their women or girls –Glen couldn’t tell their age with all that wall-paint on- at the back. One of the armed women turned her lightly slanted eyes on him, the light-brown color more prominent inside all that black makeup.
“Prince Nout is dead,” Phon-Iv replied. “This means Atpa has ascended as heir. It’s not confirmed, the Khan is indisposed and in the middle of campaign but Atpa’s actions dictate he’ll be the next Khan. So we talk with him.”
“A truce?” Chubin Amin asked. “You must have inflicted great harm upon them.”
“The Chiliad did and Lord Garth,” Phon-Iv replied modestly. Glen turned his eyes on Chubin Amin and nodded lightly. When he returned them on the Cofol female Glen noticed one of the Cautara warriors staring his way. They all did.
Ah.
“Lord Garth, is the wise Monarch of Wetull, a great ally, close friend and part of my family,” Phon-Iv introduced him, milking the fuck out of it and Chubin Amin nodded seemingly impressed. The rest of them had masks on and Glen only got a raised brow from a woman standing furthest from him. Her eyes a bright green.
Glen wondered whether the paint would run if they were left standing under the sun for too long and they would have to reapply it.
Ye got to have a drum of the stuff someplace. Hopefully it’s drinkable in case ye run out of water, ha-ha.
“We offer greetings to the Monarch of Wetull,” Chubin Amin said formally and Glen gave another slight nod with his head. He didn’t know these people and didn’t trust them.
“That’s nice,” Phon-Iv said pleased to get the difficult part out of the way, but the man that had stared at Glen earlier stooped his head near a robust warrior, they spoke briefly in whispers and then he turned to face Phon-Iv again.
“Sesei Segun Atrusim,” the Cofol said in an abrupt angry tone with a very heavy accent. “Asks.”
“Yes?” Phon-Iv probed a little uncomfortable.
“This is Sesei Segun Daichim,” Chubin Amin helped.
“Right,” Phon said and clasped both hands on his cane stooping forward. “Go ahead Sesei.”
Apparently just honorifics, Glen thought.
“Lord Keeper of what?” Daichim barked.
“Ahm,” Phon stood back. “I’m not sure…”
“A Wyvern,” Glen replied looking at Daichim and then pointed an arm at the sky.
Uvrycres was busy so he got no special sound effect this time.
Damnit Uvry.
The warriors conversed among themselves for a while and then Daichim turned to Chubin Amin.
“Sesei Segun Abadaim,” he woofed. “Cautara won’t fight for a beastmaster. It is dishonorable.”
“We are not,” Chubin Amin grunted in the same tone. “Lord Garth is a friend.”
“Friends fight for no reward other than gratitude and to receive the God of Heavens blessing!” Atrusim gruffly admonished him speaking aloud for the first time. He sounded like a much older guy under the helm.
Glen went to speak but all three women bowed deeply at his words and uttered a quick prayer so he paused a little amused.
And impressed as they had folded at the waist in unison, the tips of their polearm-swords touching the ground.
Whoop.
Whoa.
“Chubin… ehm, Abadaim?” Phon started unsure.
“I have taken a boorish name upon receiving the Horselord’s rank,” Chubin grunted.
“Of course. Well, color me uncouth but my family has a long tradition as well and I assure you Lord Garth’s—”
Atrusim murmured something.
Phon sit back on his chair, his cane tapping at the ground angrily. “Yes Sesei?”
“Sesei Segun—” Daichim started Phon interrupting him through gritted teeth.
“Get on with it!”
“Merchants,” Daichim retorted gruffly and then spat on the ground. He did it without a projectile just as a gesture of disgust.
Phon-Iv’s rose-painted cheeks turned white and he almost dropped his cane. He couldn’t speak mostly from anger but a bit of shock as well. Atrusim stepped forward and bowed once at the Lord of Lai Zel-Ka.
“Apologies. We are guests. But you know merchants have no honor Sopat of Zai Zel-Ka. So the truth has been heard.”
“While dishonorable in your eyes,” Phon started, speaking with difficulty. “Nevertheless, the Sopat have never broken a contract. I take pride in that Atrusim.”
“Yet,” the old warrior retorted gruffly and returned to his spot.
Phon smacked his dry lips and glared at Foreal. The slave rushed to bring him a cup of cool scented chamomile with honey. Phon drunk it all to calm himself down and then wiped his mouth with a soft towel the slave held for him.
“Let us eat first,” he decided with a groan. “Can we do that?” He asked his guests with a smirk. “Talk later.”
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“What are they quarreling about milord?” Fluke asked, the Chiliad’s tent built next to the army camp. A sole large but simple pavilion outside the caravan wagons circle, in the space left by the mercenary army’s square camp. About thirty of them had gathered and were eating their meal of biscuits and watery rise.
“Semantics and old grievances,” Glen replied with a shrug. “Is this spot free?” He asked and sat down when the gladiator nodded it was, cross-legged and with knees creaking. “Are ye the one they call Asper?” Glen asked the scar-faced wiry Cofol with the hard eyes sitting next to Fluke.
“I am. Are you the Wyvern Lord?”
“Yeah, you can say that I reckon and not be wrong. You led the Chiliad?”
Asper crooked his mouth and glanced at Zanot. Beskar, the gladiator with the Hoplite-type cuirass -without Glen’s fancy adornments- sitting at the near also. Kelly was talking with a couple of gladiators and the annoying Asmudius in another group nearby.
“Lots of leaders. Mista Savar had command of the Chiliad.”
“I bet he did. His name was Emerson. A knight of the Three Kingdoms and a nobleman.”
“Not for us milord,” Asper replied with a grimace. “He was a champion and a gladiator first and foremost.”
Glen nodded and looked inside his large bag. He found a bottle of rosy Goras wine and got it out. “Let’s make a toast to Mista Savar,” Glen said and took a sip from the bottle before offering it to the gladiator. Asper took it, poured some in his cup and passed it around.
“It’s a nice wine,” he commented.
“Yeah,” Fluke agreed after tasting it.
Glen found another bottle in his sack and got it out. Tossed it to Beskar and the man caught it, uncorked the bottle with his teeth. Then he passed that bottle around as well.
“The most expensive wine I’ve ever had,” Glen started reminiscing. “Was a bottle of red Flauegran in Rida’s port. Aye. Paid a gold coin for that thing. This wine is better.”
“That’s an expensive bottle to share milord,” Fluke noted shaking the bottle and pouring the rest in his cup.
“Phon imports it but doesn’t favor wine himself so he gifts it. He gave me a couple of bottles yesterday,” Glen replied and pushed himself up. Sitting on the ground was an activity he had weaned out of his system. “There are people passionate about it but for me it’s just wine. The value of things changes depending on who you’re talking.”
Asper nodded and even Janot the sober Issir seemed to agree.
“Emerson the knight wasn’t important to me as much as the man himself. Same as it is for you I guess,” Glen continued hoarsely. “And it’s heart-warming to find the man still remembered as a person and not a political figure or pawn.”
“To Mista Savar!” Janot said getting up as well and the rest followed him with a loud cheer.
“The old friend and the gladiator I never got to know,” Glen added emotionally and got a thunderous response out of the small group.
“To the Jackal!” Kelly screamed but it turned into a yelp when Janot grabbed her by the waist and lifted the small-bodied young teenager high enough for her outstretched arms to touch the ceiling. Everyone seemed enthused by the scene for some reason, an invisible bond tying all those different men and women together.
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“Kelly will come to Wetull,” Glen said some time later glancing at the flushed girl tasting his wine. “She’ll be safe there and free. I’ll take care she builds a life in my court.”
“How is she going to get there Lord Garth?” Asper asked.
“A ship. From Lai Zel-Ka,” Glen replied readily as he’d already put that into motion.
“How’s Wetull?” Janot asked and Beskar next to him took the bottle from Kelly’s hands.
“No worse than this place. Much greener,” Glen replied. “But I’ve a mostly empty castle and she can live there for as long as she likes.”
“Want to live in a Castle Kelly?” Beskar asked her and she chuckled afore frowning thinking on his query.
“Why? You don’t think I could?”
“Not what I was meaning,” the gladiator grunted.
“Of course I would!” Kelly screamed a bit inebriated.
“What about you mister Fluke?” Glen asked with a smile.
“I’ll return to the camp milord. The more people I get into the Chiliad the better,” Fluke replied and Janot nodded agreeing.
“I’m not going back there,” Asper grunted. “I’ve done it afore and ended up a slave in the sands again.”
“Why did you do it?” Glen asked.
“To be close with my brother, buy him out. But I got suckered by some sneaky cunts and ended up owing a lot of coin. So they tossed me back into the arena.”
“Your brother?”
“Killed. When ‘Sweet’ Sylia died aye,” Asper grimaced and taking the bottle finished off the last of Glen’s wine. “That was Toros’ mate.”
“The man that went to the lake?” Glen asked remembering the name and Asper nodded. “Anyone here fought with Emerson?”
“Qathor and Troy knew him better, won the games with the Jackal,” Beskar replied. “The Ani Ta-Ne Ludi. Ziba was from there as well, but Troy was his closest friend.”
“Yep,” Fluke agreed, everyone nodding.
“That the guy that got lost in them woods?” Glen asked.
“Nobody knows what happened to Troy,” Asper said. “But there’s no way he’s dead.”
“Why?”
“I saw him jump from a saddle onto a charging war chariot,” Fluke replied ogling his eyes. “He didn’t die in the woods.”
Right.
Glen glanced at the pensive Asper. “Kelly will need an escort,” he told him and Asper stood back with a frown. “To protect her in the journey,” he added unsure on what the gladiator had understood.
“Thought she was going on a ship?”
“Yeah but it’s a big journey after that,” Glen replied smacking his lips. “It’s a paying job.”
“I’ll do it,” Beskar volunteered and wrapped his big arm around a screaming Kelly’s wild head. Asmudius chuckled finding it funny and Glen eyed the nosy slaver warningly.
“What happens after that?” Asper asked.
“You’ll find work in Goras. I’ve a Zilan that could use your expertise,” Glen assured him thinking of Folen.
“Will Kelly work for him too?”
“No,” Glen replied quickly. “He’s a wicked creature.”
“I see. What does he do?”
Asper ain’t stupid, Glen thought.
“He’s a member of my Council,” Glen admitted and shrugged his shoulders. “Someone has to do the dirty jobs.”
And there were jobs even dirtier than that.
“Indeed,” Asper agreed and spat in his hand, afore tending it to Glen.
Fuck’s sake, he thought but took the gladiator’s calloused hand in his. Glen’s steely grip impressed the wiry man.
“The Jackal’s squire,” he said raspingly and Glen nodded much moved for he understood the sentiment behind the words. “Yeah. It makes sense.”
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Glen walked back towards the wagons after a while, carrying the heavy sack over his shoulder and his boots sinking in the soft sand.
One of the Nina-Musha, which meant female warrior, the one with the light-brown eyes stood with her back turned at the caravan guards and watched him return. Glen paused trying to remember her name, Chubin had introduce everyone, but the gold paint was distracting. He also hadn’t interacted with them at all as the conversation had devolved into another quarrel and Glen had decided to leave the table.
“It’s Rena, means a blossoming Lotus,” she explained, her voice that of a much younger woman. Not over eighteen.
“Sure,” Glen replied. “Something you want Rena?”
“I’m curious,” Rena blurted and bowed her head. “Apologies.”
“What about?”
“Why would the Monarch of Wetull reside with the slaves?” She asked.
“They are freedmen. Friends of a dear friend. Is it not sufficient?”
“My query has been answered.”
Glen pursed his mouth. “Why paint yer face?” He asked in turn.
“Make it shine and cast evil thoughts away. The Light of Heavens touches all.”
Glen stared at the noon sun burning over their heads.
“Which god is that? Nesande is the moon, Oras too I guess. That the sun lass?”
“Only two forces are important,” Rena replied fervently. “The Light above and the darkness of the ‘Others’.”
“The others being?”
“Only wicked souls speak their names. They shan’t be named.”
Glen smacked his lips. “We got a bunch of different gods in Wetull,” he started. “Three main let’s say. Another five on Jelin. The rest of Eplas kind of prays to all. It’s a bit of a mess. Then there’s the painted God who I’m not really enthusiastic about and you girl are painted like a Zilan attending Valimae Lilt.”
“The ‘Others’,” Rena replied soberly and Glen spotted Chubin Amin/Abadaim approaching them. “Shan’t be mentioned.”
“Rena is intrigued Lord Garth,” Chubin said with a smile. He was about forty-five maybe a bit older but his hair was still mostly black. “We all are but circumstances leave little time for polite conversation.”
“This is a good moment Lord Chubin.”
“Possibly it is. The Khan stripped me of the tittle by the way,” Chubin replied and shook his head. “He probably regrets offering it in the first place.”
“Reckon he regrets taking it away as well,” Glen commented wryly and Chubin chuckled.
“A King with a sense of humor,” he said and nodded.
“I was being serious,” Glen retorted a little amused. “But sure.”
Chubin Amin smiled and then stared at the two camps for a long moment.
“You’ll keep Ani Ta-Ne,” he finally said.
“I’m not giving it to Tsuparin or anyone else,” Glen replied sobering up. “I need a port I control fully.”
“You have the Sopat. Phon never misses an opportunity to remind us of the fact.”
“Too far away. It’s Phon’s city, I won’t take it from him.”
“Is there another reason?”
“There is but it’s personal,” Glen said.
Chubin nodded and stared at the silent Rena. He grimaced and crossed both arms on his chest over his robes.
“I interrupted your talk,” the Cofol finally said. “You should speak to Akira. She’s a Priestess of Light or Kana who is much older. Rena is just starting. They finish weapon-training first.”
“Is that all they do?”
“We work the fields,” Rena replied.
Glen snorted and smacked his lips. “What do the men do?”
“Work the fields and build weapons.”
“All of them?” Glen asked.
“Life is struggle but not if you work hard,” Rena blurted out.
That was the worst saying Glen had heard. It had meaning to it but good grief people!
“Why are Cofol different?” He asked.
“All people are,” Chubin replied.
“That’s true,” Glen nodded.
“Some thrive in trade or farming. Fewer in prayer and histories. Even less than that follow the old traditions and choose to remain isolated. Content and unwilling to change. Wetull understood that and respected it,” Chubin paused and reached inside his robes. He found a small ebony box secured on a weapon harness he had underneath and got it out. He opened the lid and fished two ancient pieces of jewelry out. Two pendants one gold and one platinum with their chains tied in a knot. A golden leaf wrapped around it.
Glen accepted the pendants curious and tried to read the tiny scribblings on the leaf. The script Imperial. He couldn’t and examined the two figures. One of two bees wrapped around a gold disk with two smaller disks under it. The other the unmistakable figure of a wyvern.
“It’s faded,” Chubin said. “Because it’s very old. Atrusim took it with him afore we departed.” He placed a finger on the gold pendant. “The Light of Heavens,” Chubin said. “The scribbling used to read to Shaelor and Gilvaris, the old. It was a gift brought back when Shaelor returned, our ancestors took with them when they left years later.”
“There is a tall peak named Gilvaris in Wetull,” Glen murmured thoughtfully. “Right at the mouth of Torn Earth. The south bank of the canal.”
“Wetull recognized the name as well and left Cautara and Magor alone,” Chubin replied. “Atrusim won’t ask for it but I know how this world works better so I will.”
“You’re not here to negotiate on Phon’s behalf,” Glen noticed.
“Phon can do that for himself. My duty is to my people Lord Garth.”
“Aren’t the rest of the Cofol your people?”
“They are but they value different things and reject their past. I don’t fear for their survival in this world. Cautara is easier to discard than gold and servitude.”
“You said left afore. Left from where?” Glen asked now intrigued.
“Where most gods and peoples came,” Rena replied as if reciting from memory. “The Old Realms.”
“How many are there?” Glen asked and Chubin shrugged his shoulders not wanting to elaborate.
“Wetull, Mistland and Tull Cautara-Magor,” he started and Rena recited despite the older man’s grimace of discomfort.
“White Yalca and the Split Isles. The Burning Sands beyond the Round Sea of Galith and the Desolate Atolls of the Alafern.”
“That’s enough Rena. You talk too much,” Chubin stopped her austerely. “Wetull knows of these places.”
Glen didn’t. Wetull had been blown to smithereens and while a lot of stuff had survived a big chunk of it hadn’t.
“Can you use that?” He asked Rena to lighten the mood.
“It’s a Naginata.”
“Whatever rocks yer boat girl,” Glen retorted with a smirk.
Rena scrunched her face, the paint cracking and stood back.
“Lord Garth,” Chubin said and stared at the Atrusim with Daichim approaching. They didn’t have their helms on. Daichim was about forty with Atrusim looking ancient. While they had difference in age their faces held similar scowls.
The other two females stood further behind them and were glaring daggers at Rena.
Uvrycres who hadn’t graced them with his appearance for a day decided to land twenty meters away which was fortunate but flapped his large wings back and forth several times which wasn’t. A cloud of dust was raised, fine grit and some larger stones in it and it all came dousing the gathered group breaking the moment.
Hah-ha. Ha-ah ha-ha-ha.
Heh.
The wyvern chuckled uncontrollably as he’d done it on purpose but it came out as a prolonged shriek and the armed Cofols from Cautara stepped back from a thoroughly covered in dust Glen.
“Dude,” Glen grunted then blew his nose to clear the nostrils. “What in Luthos’ bullocks are ye doing?”
Backing you up, the wyvern replied.
Look at them angry fools.
Glen let out a deep sigh and fixed the wild white curls dropped on his face some, with little success. At least he got rid of some of the material and dirt lodged in it. He worked a finger under his collar to get some of the sand out and then turned to the staring group.
“There’s no need for alarm,” he started with his recurrent but of historically low-success opening and when that didn’t work as everyone appeared tensed as if they had swallowed a ton of fucks, Glen added. “It was just an innocent query.”
“The Monarch of Wetull will seek to challenge a young Nina-Musha first?” Daichim spat and Uvrycres growled menacingly despite Glen turning to wave for him to stay out of it. The Wyvern nodded and gave him a conspiratorial wink.
“It was just a question,” Glen repeated grinding his teeth. “How about giving me the proper order ye scowling prick?”
Now this was a bad turn of phrase. Glen knew it the moment he uttered it. Not the cursing part but the opening. Ye don’t do that with unknown folk for they might be inclined to make counter-offer.
And Daichim did.
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“A beast master’s challenge?” Daichim asked. “Nothing attached to it?”
Glen licked his dirty lips then spat down to gain some time. Shit.
Fuck!
“Sure,” he grunted narrowing his eyes.
Daichim stepped forward with a glance at the frowned Atrusim.
“Sesei Segun,” he started and the old warrior spat.
“Get on with it.”
Daichim bowed his head sharply and slotted the half-mask helm on his head. Reached around his back with his left arm and grabbed the scabbard hanging low from there, brought it out and sideways unfastening the front clasp, then unsheathed the long bladed Katacim sword out with a fluid move using his right hand. He kept the blade away while completely removing the scabbard and giving it to Atrusim.
Glen all but groaned in frustration when Daichim turned to face him and bowed once more respectfully towards the King of Wetull this time.
“Sesei Atrusim,” Chubin said calmly. “This is a very bad idea. You’ll risk Wetull’s wrath or the Wyvern’s?”
“Lord Garth asked for the challenge,” Atrusim replied soberly. “Cursed we be all to all-hells if a fool sits the throne of Wetull and controls a wyvern.”
Ugh? Choke on a bag of dicks old dog!
“Atrusim,” Chubin insisted his face turning red. “Have Daichim forfeit the duel. We need not spill blood at this crucial junction!”
“Abadaim has lived with the merchants for too long,” Atrusim rustled angrily. “Fear grips his soul and fouls his thoughts. You all but begged for our assistance and we begrudgingly agreed!”
“My lord,” a flushed Chubin said turning to a grimacing Glen. “You can back down from this.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
A collective gasp came out of the crowd slowly gathering to see the Wyvern, but staying around realizing there was a bigger spectacle coming. Some of it curiosity, the rest of it fear.
“No Monarch ever would,” Daichim grunted glumly.
Oh, boy, Glen thought and eyed the sturdy warrior. Yer dumber than a bag of nails mate.
“Lord Garth,” Chubin insisted again and Glen started sweating under the sun, the scrutiny of the crowd getting to him.
“Death can be a choice Lord of Wetull,” Atrusim said seeing him unsure. “But with Life, one can’t gamble.”
“It’s not a gamble,” Glen grunted and puffed his cheeks out. “You’ll lose your man and the wyvern will lay waste to the whole camp.”
“A beast master would use the wyvern,” Atrusim yielded but then added just to be an annoying prick. “A noble King his sword.”
Not in this realm fool, Glen thought but the man’s words and the judgmental stares of the crowd got to him and he nodded, a spasm of annoyance at the predicament distorting his face.
“A sword it is then,” Glen replied hoarsely and kicked the sack away with his right foot to make room.
So, what’s the new plan? Uvrycres asked in his head.
Stay out of it, Glen retorted.
‘Stay out of it’ and sneakily poke him with the stinger?
No. Stay out of it period, Glen snapped.
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He raised his left arm high to ask for a moment. Then he worked all the muscles on his arms and kicked with his legs down a couple of times. Hopped back and forth to get a feel for the sandy terrain. Worked on his fingers one by one. Satisfied Glen unsheathed the longsword from his back and flipped it once in his hand.
“A helm my Lord?” Chubin asked sounding concerned. The three Nina-Musha gathered in a group and Akira giving each a couple of flat polished wood sticks a couple of feet long.
“It’s in the sack,” Glen replied. “I can’t breathe in this heat.”
Atrusim narrowed his eyes and then turned to glare at Rena that had let out a small gasp. By the time his stare returned on Glen the latter had moved to attack Daichim.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
The sticks went as Glen made two steps and slashed wide at the unmoving Daichim. The Jackal’s sword whooshed, the Segun’s blade snapping at the last moment to block it. The blades clanged and Glen pulled back expecting a riposte but the Segun just repositioned a meter to his left. He brought both arms on the elongated handle.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
Went the sticks, the three women keeping the animalistic tempo and the crowd watching entranced. Come on ye slow-moving lump of metal, Glen thought circling on light feet around the continuously repositioning Segun. He faked a right low attack and then angled it up mid-way, the sword whistling but getting parried again, fat sparks erupting out of the steel blades.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
Daichim brought his left foot forward, tip of his boot digging at the sand. Glen flipped the sword in his hand then changed the grip on it, sweat rivulets running down both his temples and the sun irritating for the eyes. So he kept moving to keep the sun on his back and on the Segun’s face.
MOVE! Glen blasted his stalling opponent and decided to strike when Daichim repositioned again. One stride. Two strides and he felt the sun burning on his nape.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
Daichim moved his Katacim, the polished blade turning slightly and the sun running the length of it from point to blade collar above the square guard. Segun’s right shoulder twitched and Glen moved forward aiming for an arching low-high center mass slash. A ball of light exploded in his eyes mid-move. Glen grunted, flipped the sword in his hand changing its trajectory from attack to defense in the blind and followed it with his head. Eyes smarting and filled with tears. The Katacim found his blade before it found Glen’s head, slid on the flat sword and then dipped when Daichim angled up both wrists raising the handle going for the neck. Glen was already twisting and diving for a slanted roll the other way.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
He found the scolding sands with the elbow, his right arm slashing backwards at the attacking Segun that was suddenly fast on his feet. Glen bounced off of the soft ground with the help of his arm, took one more step back, his sword parrying a sharp lunge and then jerking his neck away instinctively from an incoming hack, the Katacim biting on his left shoulder pad. Glen grunted, rotated his sword in front of him like a watermill’s blades and Daichim pulled back to save his arms.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
Motherfucking… whoreson, Glen cursed irate, ogling his red eyes to return some eyesight in them and jumped away, keeping Daichim in his blurry field of view. The Segun was the one circling now, Katacim protruding out of his hand like a steel rod from a wall.
Or cock, Glen supposed.
Can you fight without it?
Daichim snapped forward, both feet thudding energetically on the sand and Glen turned, kicked a leg and unloaded half a bucket of sand on him. Then he moved as well, left hand drawing the Kopis out of its scabbard.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
Daichim came at him again, the lunge finding the upturned Kopis and parried it aside, Glen snapping the longsword to cut him across the helm. The point clanged on the helm as the Segun had angled his head just enough to foil his attack. Daichim raised the Katacim high and hacked down, but Glen crossed both blades in front him. The steel swords resounded, someone from the crowd letting out a cry of panic and Daichim stepped back immediately to disengage. Glen went after him immediately attacking with both swords. A right hack with the longsword and a sideways slash with the Kopis he’d already switched the grip on bringing it up, then down. Daichim reacted snapping his arms up to brush the longsword aside and turning his torso the Segun downed it in the same breath to smack the shorter Kopis at the handle.
Looking to leave Glen fingerless.
Glen let go of the Kopis, both swords dipping together for a moment, the shorter thudding on the sands but the Katacim raising again. The jumping backwards Glen had aimed his own riposte right at that rising blade.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
The longsword found the Katacim and the force of the blow run up Glen’s arm, through the shoulder, right to his clenched teeth. Daichim grunted and stumbled back, the Jackal’s howl reverberating between them. Then the Segun of Cautara raised his arm and brought his sword forward again.
“What the actual fuck?” Glen cursed staring at the unbroken blade. Daichim run a finger on the flat of it and then wiped it on his pants.
“Thick oil,” he said gruffly, breathing heavy. “Protects blade.”
“No shit,” Glen retorted and attacked again.
Daichim deflected his sword away angling the Katacim and pulled back gasping to get some air into his lungs.
POW
CLACK
POW-POW
“Stop Allgods darn it!” Glen snapped at the three females and they did. He turned to the standing in a guarded stance Daichim and puffed out tiredly. “Dai you are a great swordsman,” Glen told him impressed and bowed his head in respect.
Daichim lowered his blade and returned the bob, then added a little affronted but willing to let it slide. “With all respect Lord Garth. I’m a Swordmaster.”
“Then you’ve given me lesson,” Glen replied with a sweaty smile. “I wish to know more.”
Daichim glanced at the miffed face of Atrusim and the old geese finally relaxed some then gave a slight curt nod with his grey head.
“It shall be mutually beneficial my Lord,” Daichim replied.
Chubin approached immediately and picked up Glen’s Kopis to return it visibly relieved. “I thought this was going to end badly.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Glen replied nonchalantly and accepted the sword.
“Eh, I was fearing more for you my lord and that wyvern unleashing on the crowd,” Chubin retorted and Glen slapped his shoulder once with a grin.
“Seriously? You’re a good man. Let me offer you a drink to ease yer worry,” Glen assured him and stared at the dumbfounded face of Phon-Iv that had arrived at some point during the duel. “Ah, Phon there you are. I’ll need a couple of more bottles of that rosé mate.”
> The Wyvern had the size of two elephants and that of a wagon for a head. From the front all you see is that full of angles horned head. It’s narrower at the snout expanding out towards the ear and has a bony rim over the eyes covered in black knobs. The scales are a very polished black, onyx in color and you can see the ground, sky or yourself reflected on them like a mirror. There’s fluidity in that elongated body and the tail moves sometimes independently but with precision. I watched it lift a girl off of the ground and then return it. A jest, for the beast had a sick sense of humor. It was also exceptionally stealthy for such a big animal and silent when it wanted. At times it would look at you and you’ll feel its intelligence. People might disagree in this point but what I’ve seen leaves no room for another interpretation.
>
> While there are stories written about Lord Garth Aniculo and new tales always try to paint him one way or another, much of that is just an exaggeration. Contrary to popular belief the strange milk-haired man was uncommonly normal and not an alien or an ageless wizard. I believe he wasn’t older than twenty-five despite his appearance. Remarkably fit, fast-moving and a skilled warrior with most weapons. Temperamental but gloomy when not in company.
>
> He shared the Wyvern’s weird sense of humor, was comfortable around the survivors of the Chiliad and the rigid Swordmasters of Cautara in a bucolic or commoner’s manner. Was Garth an evil bastard? Not the man I’ve seen during those months. In a campaign of atrocities I had followed closely and little compassion showcased from all sides, the King of Wetull was probably the one that showed the most mercy. And common sense.
>
> He did have an oppressing aura though. It was as if a dark cloud descended upon all when he approached. Lord Garth could lift that cloud if he wanted to but sometimes he wouldn’t. If the King didn’t like you, you knew it and the Wyvern knew it also instinctively. The latter was the most terrifying thing.
>
> To judge the political landscape, the realm’s rulers or theorize about events from afar is to stick your arms in putrid sludge and pluck a turd out. Some shall defend said turd for it is their own and others won’t. But to judge the man governing the mysterious Zilan and sitting the throne of Wetull one must walk a mile in his shoes. Or attempt to sleep peacefully in the arms of the Onyx Wyvern like he did.
>
>
Act II
-Who else would?-
-
Forty days later
Last month of 193 NC
Outskirts of Lai Zel-Ka
Late noon
Seven kilometers after the bridge over Levai River
Chubin Amin shrugged his shoulders at Daichim but Glen had his eyes on the Nina-Musha sparring using their polearms and missed their interaction. It was a no-contact session with lots of fancy choreography. Kana, the black-eyed sober Cofol female was the best of the bunch but they were all very skilled and fluid in their moves.
“Atpa asked for time to make a decision,” Chubin said. “Which means he’s trying to secure the heir’s title still.”
“Who would challenge him?” Atrusim asked and signed for Katsumin his pupil, along Hajim who was Daichim’s shadow, to go and stop the women as it was getting late.
“The Khan with a word,” Chubin replied and Atrusim snorted.
“You’ll find few sorcerers able to manage such a feat easily,” the Sesei Segun said. Being the oldest he was ranked first in a similar system like the Phalanx but also different. There was one rank above him, the Bakufu Segun or Prime Leader but there hadn’t been one for millennia now as it also meant the ‘one who leads a hundred generals’ and there weren’t that many Segun around. “Even fewer rulers.”
“The Khan would try to make a landing on Jelin or he has done it already,” Chubin insisted. “There’s no other explanation for the delay. No one wants to talk to him about the matter in the midst of campaign and so soon after a son lost.”
“Could Atpa attempt to bring the Army of the Desert to Shao Na-Lan?” Daichim asked. “Phon doesn’t think so as his command is split and difficult to regroup.”
Well, Phon knows more than that also, Glen thought.
“While the fake-cripple merchant is frequently wrong,” Atrusim started sourly. Rena was his daughter and Phon’s latest proposal for a closer alliance was built around Don-Iv marrying her. Apparently Atrusim thought the offer nigh insulting and not only because Don-Iv had found a wife lately. He’d married the daughter of Ibn-Sin Nagar, a rich clan of merchants from the west edges of the desert. Anyway that was a non-starter for the monogamous Swordmasters of Cautara but him being an immoral gambler and a hedonist, on top of a merchant was one fault too many. “In this topic he may be correct,” he concluded, not elucidating further.
“Atpa won’t risk it,” Glen agreed and Atrusim looked at him intensely. Glen didn’t elucidate further as well. The old Segun grunted and nodded with his head.
“Right,” Chubin murmured a little miffed at the silent exchange. “Phon could agree to keep the trade routes open, a freedom of movement out the mouth of Khanate Gulf but then there’s the matter of Que Ki-La and Ta-Ne.”
“He can keep Que Ki-La,” Glen replied. “Karit-Ki stopped at Rihtur. He might have to give that back as well.”
“Tsuparin might not agree,” Chubin argued.
“If he wanted to anger Atpa further he would have continued on. He didn’t,” Glen replied. “Karit is talking with Atpa already.”
“Do we know what they talk about?” Chubin asked him.
“Other than the missives we received from both, we don’t,” Glen grimaced. “The Khan won’t talk with rebels. But with Wetull he will.”
“What else there is in those messages?” Atrusim asked and Glen shrugged his shoulders.
“Flowery language,” he lied.
“Some flowers are poisonous,” the Segun retorted.
“On that note,” Glen said changing the subject. “I’d like to spar with the Nina-Musha.”
Daichim frowned. “The King of Wetull would challenge—”
Glen stopped him raising his hand. “Good grief, don’t start this shite again. I just want to see their technique.”
“Rena is not that skilled,” Atrusim noted.
“I want to fight the Priestess,” Glen countered. “Train with her… was my meaning.”
He turned his head afore they could reply towards the approaching women and smiled. “Akira. I’d like a demonstration.”
The Cofol Priestess’ of Light gold face remained stoic but there was a sparkle in her light green eyes. Akira was much older than Rena and Kana but Glen had the intelligence not to ask for her age outright. She was as fit and had a bit of flesh on her chest under the tight kimono-type outfit which was irrelevant but noteworthy nonetheless. It was white with lines of gold thread running the length of it. The parts of her that he could see were the sides of her legs and thighs as the dress had long cuts there. As with all the others Akira’s long legs –for her height- were wrapped in thin strips of cloth that ended just below the hips.
Probably.
Glen realized he’d been staring and he raised his eyes on her face.
“With the Naginata?” Akira asked evenly abandoning formalities.
“Eh,” Chubin reacted. “He’s a Monarch Akira.”
“I’m the Light’s Priestess and a Nina-Musha,” she replied sternly.
“Let’s use the sticks,” Glen said eyeing the long blade on the polearm.
Akira nodded and walked away to retrieve two long staffs out of ironwood. Glen stared at the other two females and grinned. “Where are the other sticks? The smaller ones?” He jested and Kana eyed him frostily.
“The Monarch wishes to play music?”
“It depends,” Glen retorted, never leaving an opening go to waste. “Will ye dance for me Kana?”
Atrusim bristled behind him but Rena’s eyes twinkled and even Kana seemed to get it.
“Akira is the better dancer,” she replied.
You don’t say.
“Is that so Priestess?” Glen asked and she tossed him a staff he caught easily. “I have to warm up,” he explained.
“Then I will too,” Akira replied, her lips cracking into a small smile.
Glen gave the staff to Chubin Amin who whispered to him if this was necessary.
“It is,” Glen replied and Akira made a half-cartwheel three meters from him, both arms hugging her staff. She remained upside down for a moment, feet pointed to the sky, hands gripping the staff now lodged on the ground and turned her head towards Glen.
“You might get dizzy,” he warned her and Rena chuckled unable to keep it in. Akira pushed with her arms and brought her legs down. She then jumped high in the air, slotted the staff under the soles of her feet and stepped off of it, catching it when she landed. Glen scratched the left side of his nose with the index finger. “Alright that was impressive,” he admitted. “Don’t see how it would be useful though.”
Akira breathed out and rotated the staff in her right hand, ducked under it as it climbed her elbow then her shoulders, around her nape and ended up its rotations in her left arm.
Glen smacked his lips, grabbed the staff from Chubin and tossed it in the air, walked its length heading for the Nina-Musha, caught it as it dropped from the edge without looking, yanked it forward, the long shaft sliding in his hand and heaved it at Akira.
The female sidestepped lithely and her staff whooshed over Glen’s head.
He pivoted to follow after her, staff slotted under his left armpit and plunging again at the fast-moving Akira. She dodged and her return smacked Glen’s right shoulder sending him down on a knee.
“Damn it! Akira!” Chubin barked, but Glen signed he was fine and stood up.
“Did it hurt?” Akira asked with fake concern.
Glen swung with the staff instead of answering and Akira had to jump away. She used her staff to pivot and change direction, a leg catching Glen’s shin. The King of Wetull went down on his back with a pained grunt.
You nimble little shite! He cursed and rolled away seeing her approaching again. Glen jumped on his feet a scowl marring his face.
Akira swung her staff above her head like a two-handed claymore, Glen raised his arm clumsily as if to parry with his staff pretending to still be hurt –which Glen sort of was so it was only half-a-lie- only to change the grip on it, flip it once, stepping out of the way and spear her in the gut with the other edge. Akira let out a gasp and doubled over, stepped left turning her torso lithely to avoid a return smack on the face but Glen just whacked at her bulging breasts instead.
The right one but it caught a bit of the left as well.
The woman groaned in pain and toppled over afore going down. Glen stepped away from a bicycle kick and whacked her again at the inside of the knee from a safe distance. Akira screamed and rolled away on all fours. She stood up hobbling, her eyes teary and breathing ruggedly.
“Alright,” Glen said and stood back. “You’re hurt. Apologies for that.”
“I’m not!” Akira hissed.
“That tit will turn blue soon,” Glen advised her. “Get some wet cold towel on it.”
“It won’t. I have them wrapped,” Akira retorted but a groan escaped her and she had to put a hand on her chest with a grimace that cracked her gold painted mask. Glen could see her rosy nose underneath.
But…
“When you say wrapped…” he started and Chubin got between them immediately.
“That’s it, the hour is late,” Chubin announced. “Akira go have that checked out.”
The Priestess bowed her head and went near her friends stooping to pick up her staff.
“Get the staff,” Glen hissed at Chubin after seeing they had gone out of earshot and grimaced in pain.
Son of a drunk goat!
“Hit the nerve?” Chubin asked casually taking the staff away.
“Aye,” Glen grunted and moved his numb arm up and down.
“You fought through it?”
Glen stared at him in surprise. “I did. Why?”
“Nothing,” Chubin Amin replied and waved the other Segun goodnight. “What was the meaning behind all this?”
“I want her to come to Wetull. So I had to test all her skills.”
“Lord Garth. You can’t… she’s a Priestess of Light.”
Glen groaned and shook his head. “I don’t want her like that Chubin.”
“Wetull is an unholy place.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“She won’t do it.”
“I think she will,” Glen retorted.
“Why not Rena? She’s young and not a Priestess.”
Whoa, just toss Atrusim’s daughter under the wagon heh?
“Rena won’t do because I like her,” Glen explained.
“How is that bad? She’s not a Priestess, no laws are broken.”
Ah, you again are thinking of alliances my friend. I misjudged you.
“I’m not out here looking for a mate Chubin.”
“Why do you need a Nina-Musha in Goras then?” Chubin Amin asked with a frown.
Glen smacked his lips and stared at the setting sun. “I have a daughter. I want her trained by a human and not just Phon’s Cofols. I liked what I’ve seen from your people.”
“Why not a Zilan?”
“She’ll get plenty of that or from Gish, dwarves…” Glen replied thoughtfully. “But not all. It might seem strange to you but I like your restraint, discipline and austereness as a culture. I need a balancing force. Someone to say no. Emerson would’ve been perfect for that but I can’t ask anymore from him whether I want to or not,” he puffed out audibly. “Anyway, some Zilan can be harsh sure but those in court will never refuse her anything I fear.”
“What about you?”
Glen grimaced and rubbed his sore shoulder. “I can’t do it and Inis knows it. My daughter is very shrewd Chubin. She might be smarter than all of us.”
“That’s not good?” Chubin asked and Glen thought of Sen, his eyes blurring not because of the light winter breeze coming from the north.
“Not always,” he croaked and looked at the lights shining beyond the junction the caravan had camped next to.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“That’s Lai Zel-Ka’s artisans’ district to the west facing the coast,” Chubin pointed out not pressing him further on the matter. “Across it, following the road that runs parallel to the river leading to the Opal Mountains and the Levai Mines is the slave district. Further south the farms and behind them to the east Amethyst Lake. The city’s center starts after the Artisan District, then the Merchant District and the Sopat Neighborhood.”
“How far does it run?” Glen asked.
“Around the south part of Amethyst Coast and the port all the way to the Sopat Fort. The city itself loops around the south banks of the lake and follows the road east towards the mountains again.”
“How big is the Fort?” Glen queried and wiped his face looking away.
“It’s not really a fort,” Chubin replied thoughtfully. “More like a walled estate complex with a west facing tower overlooking the Three-horn Peninsula. A dreamy lavish structure built over centuries of amassed wealth. Lai Zel-Ka was the first city the Cofol merchants built, so it’s rigidly made and reminds a bit of the old world. Anyway the Sopat females usually remain within the fort until they are married.”
“Not all,” Glen had corrected him.
----------------------------------------
Glen remained for another hour staring at the flickering lights of the nearby large city coming up and then gradually diminishing as the time grew late. He heard Foreal approaching and that ended his contemplation.
“Has Phon gone to sleep?”
“Not yet Master Garth,” Foreal replied. He’d a lightstone in his hands. “He requests your presence.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a moment,” Glen replied indifferently.
“I’m to take you back to the tents Master Garth,” Foreal insisted with a small voice.
Glen glared at him. “I can find the blasted way… what is this about?” He grunted with a grimace.
“I’m not allowed to say Master Garth.”
“Fuck’s sake. Move yer feet,” Glen snapped and walked past him pausing to bark at the slave. “Bring the darn light. There’s shit of many different animals all over the fucking terrain!”
He’d stepped on a fresh pile of it before the last word dropped from his lips.
----------------------------------------
“Leave us,” Phon-Iv told Foreal. “But stay near the door. Hesam you too,” he turned to the changing his boots Glen with an apologetic smile. “Mesi-Nasar has retired early. I’ll have to serve you myself.”
“Cut the crap,” Glen admonished him. “You’ve sent her away. What’s going on?”
Phon got up from his rosewood desk and took a bundle of scrolls with him. He left them on a small table next to Glen’s chair and poured some Goras wine in two gems adorned crystal goblets.
“No chamomile?” Glen taunted and stared at the scrolls. “What’s that?”
“We’re close to the city. So we got a bunch of news all at once, on top of those from our own birds.”
“Don got a divorce? Lost you a fortune in the horse races?” Glen could keep on going for a while but Phon stopped him.
“My brother… no. He’s a bit sad since for two days or thereabouts young Don was head of the family but he’ll get over it.”
“Right,” Glen said and had some of the wine, afore eyeing the messages. “Atpa replied?”
“He did through a man called Aquila-Dor. He rules for Atpa in Shao Na-Lan.”
“What does he want?”
“The rebels dead, the Khanate Gulf free for their ships.”
Hmm.
“Nothing about the cities. Most rebels are dead,” Glen replied.
“He knows of Ziba-Ra.”
“Fuck him. He ain’t getting a woman and kid. Did you talk with Tsuparin?”
“We can’t exactly—”
“I’ll burn the ships in Shao Na-Lan,” Glen cut him off. “Torch the whole fucking port.”
“Let’s revisit this then. Tsuparin lost the slave.”
Glen stood back. “You think he gave her to Atpa already?”
“He wouldn’t so soon. He claims his youngest son got murdered,” Phon replied.
“Did you do it?” Glen asked.
“Of course not,” Phon retorted. “What’s the gain in that? Better to kill Karit or the ‘Old Scorpion’ himself.”
“That can be arranged,” Glen offered. “I’ve a bunch of killers dawdling in my court.”
“That’s concerning and it’s not a good tactic. Tsuparin is telling the truth. The young man was murdered.”
“What does that have to do with the slave girl?” Glen grumbled.
“She escaped with the boy.”
“Hmm.”
“He suspects Troy might have assisted her,” Phon added. “He visited Tsuparin’s daughter while Ziba was present. Left after that and disappeared as well.”
“When was his son murdered?”
“He was found a couple of days later. Not the head. That they didn’t find.”
Glen finished the wine and got up. He walked to one of Phon’s trade maps and stared at it for long.
“Troy might be on a mission from the old man,” Glen said. “He was looking for him after the battle, disappeared after that. If he’s alive and all the way down in Fu De-Gar then he didn’t make all that blasted journey on a whim or just to see Tsuparin’s pretty daughter.”
“Ugh,” Phon-Iv commented and Glen glanced his way surprised. “Anyway, this makes it a bit awkward, but I might have a solution,” the Sopat patriarch said quickly without elaborating further.
“I’m listening,” Glen probed him.
“Tsuparin promised to stop the search and cover up for the woman provided we do our part as well and reach an agreement.”
“Speak clearly,” Glen retorted. “And he’s stopping the search because she’s gone. He can’t find her,” he glanced at the map. “How smart is this Troy?”
“Eh,” Phon-Iv mumbled. “He’s brawny? I don’t really know. He’s a well-known gladiator but I never cared for their likes.”
“Asmudius knows him.”
“Yeah, he’s a storyteller.”
“If Troy has Ziba and the boy. Say, he gets her out,” Glen said. “Where will they go?”
“Here?”
“Maybe,” Glen replied. “What’s the solution?”
“Do you want to know what Atpa promised the Khan?” Phon asked. Glen didn’t but nodded just the same his face dark.
“A chest filled with heads,” Phon replied with a grimace of distaste.
“Ziba’s head?”
“Uhm.”
Glen breathed out and walked to the small table. He poured another cup of wine and had half of it avidly until the liquid almost came up his nose. “And the boy?” He asked wiping his mouth.
Phon nodded.
“Who else?” Glen queried.
“Chubin Amin. The leaders of the Chiliad.”
Glen puffed out a knot in his stomach. “What’s the solution Phon?” He asked wearily suddenly feeling very tired and reaching for a chair he collapsed on it.
“Tsuparin doesn’t want to kill the gladiators.”
Glen waved him on.
“We could potentially send some heads to Aquila-Dor. Pretend that they were those he wants. We’ll have to preserve them for the journey but it can be done.”
Glen felt his stomach turning. “So you need some fresh gladiator-looking heads, a young Lorian woman’s, a boy’s gods forgive us and someone to stand in for Chubin?”
Phon-Iv cleared his throat looking a bit sick himself. “Pretty much yes.”
Glen made to have some wine but couldn’t and just stared at nothing instead.
“Now Ziba’s face and the boy are not known,” Phon continued as there was a wrinkle obviously in the whole rotten affair.
“You have candidates?”
“Dekerut has. He needs to act as if he still has them,” Phon replied quickly.
“Good grief,” Glen breathed in and out closing his eyes.
“Chubin has visited the palace,” Phon pressed on. “So Atpa knows him. So does the Khan assuming the chest makes the journey and many other people including Aquila-Dor, it’s a problem.”
“For you?”
“No Glenavon, for Lai Zel-Ka. It’s either that or the war continues.”
“Eh,” Glen grunted and got up. “They won’t do it. Anfalon is marching on Dia. This will be over in a month. Atpa will either commit here or defend back east. He’ll take peace and be satisfied or we’ll head for Rin An-Pur.”
“You do that we’ll have to fight him to the bitter end Glenavon and Tsuparin might not be so eager to help. How many places can you be at once?”
“I befriended these people Phon! For crying out loud,” Glen growled. “I can’t do that.”
Phon gulped down. “We could have agreement here my Lord,” he said. “Atpa would take it upon himself to honor it. Convince the Khan or whatever else he’s probably already plotting. The Three Sisters will be free to govern themselves how they want, as it has always been afore the Khan’s reign. I’ll ensure my city survives anyway I can Glen. I could offer to die in Chubin’s place but it’s him the Khan wanted all along.”
“What about Que Ki-La? Ani Ta-Ne? Because only two of the four are still left standing Phon. And what about the Segun? Will they ever agree to that?”
“I’ll ask them openly. You probably know this, but Sen-Iv wrote me afore we lost her that a sister might have to die for the others to live. I thought she meant something else, a macabre insight on her future. It is macabre and it was an insight. One Sister might die. Or two,” Phon replied gravely. “You’ll have Ani Ta-Ne. Letakin has an heir somewhere for sure, will you return it if he appears?”
Glen eyed him intently for a long moment.
Choose war, the dagger whispered in his mind. Save your noble new friend. You have so few! What do you care about these ruffians and their petty differences? Soon they’ll fight again or even betray you.
Kill your enemies.
Kill them all.
Glen breathed in slowly, pushing the dagger’s voice out of his head. He glanced at Phon’s strained face another time and with a heavy heart he nodded.
“I’ll talk with the Segun,” Phon said quickly.
----------------------------------------
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The caravan should have been ready to depart early the next morning but it didn’t. The Segun of Cautara gathered outside the tent around a worn-out Phon-Iv and a standing behind him solemn sleepless Glen.
Atrusim looked at Phon first and then at Glen. The latter avoided the Segun’s eyes and stared at Chubin Amin’s grave-looking face instead. The Cofol sensing it glanced his way and nodded once as if to reassure him.
“The Segun of Cautara and Magor disagreed on whether we should get involved in this conflict,” Atrusim started. “Those guarding Yon Simun Fort outright refused.”
Phon breathed out ruggedly.
“However the Segun of Cautara went ahead and promised Abadaim to help. So we made the journey. It now seems the conflict could be over as an agreement was reached.”
“Atrusim,” Phon started but the old Segun stopped him raising his left hand.
“If the agreement is not honored the merchant says, war will come to Lai Zel-Ka valley. It will come to Cautara and Magor. To Yon Simun Fort. The Khan wants Abadaim’s head to not lay waste on our families. That’s the deal the merchant made. Some heads for peace.”
“I’m prepared to fight Atrusim,” Phon croaked tensely.
“Um,” Atrusim grunted and stared at Glen. “The Wyvern King is prepared to fight for you is your meaning. And then all land will be under his yoke.”
Glen clenched his jaw and stepped forward. “I don’t wish that Segun.”
“You wish my daughter or the Priestess in Goras. But you’re not seeking enlightenment but to learn of war and spread the knowledge to your offspring.”
“That’s not my intention,” Glen growled narrowing his eyes. “I won’t have you judge me Segun!”
“Who else would dare? Garth Aniculo. That’s not a name. A man who has no name must also search for a soul to fill the void,” Atrusim retorted gruffly.
“Sesei,” Chubin intervened soberly. “Lord Garth is a friend.”
“Um,” Atrusim grunted and stood back. “Would your deal save the people Lord of Trades?” He asked a pale Phon-Iv. “Speak the truth for once!”
“We need the time,” Phon replied angrily. “As I’ve said to you before Sesei Segun, the Sopat will honor their word!”
“Will Wetull honor theirs?” Atrusim asked gruffly.
“It would,” Glen hissed through his teeth.
“The Priestess will think about it. She won’t take a pupil unless she’s allowed to teach the word of Light Lord of Goras.”
“I’ll think about it,” Glen retorted.
“The Segun wanted to walk away,” Atrusim continued with a deep sigh.
“What does this mean?” Phon asked with a frown.
“I appreciate the hospitality my friend,” Chubin Amin repeated what he’d said that first day. He paused to collect himself and continued. “Death,” Chubin reminded him evenly and turning he smiled reassuringly at a stressed out Glen afore adding. “Can be a choice.”
----------------------------------------
An unemotional Glen observed the former War Leader of the Khanate kneel in front of the tent with haunted eyes. Akira brought a square red piece cloth and spread it in front of him. She tried to iron out all the wrinkles with her hands until Chubin Amin grabbed her elbow and ushered her away. The Priestess stood back amidst her friends and Daichim approached, holding the Katacim in his hand. Chubin took a deep breath, glanced at the sun one more time and bowed over the red cloth, crossing both arms on his chest.
The long sword came up, the rays bathing it in a brilliant light that blinded the watching Glen. It showed the distress marring his face for a moment but it was brief. When it came down Glen’s face had sobered up again and most missed it but for young Rena. Akira moved to gather Abadaim’s severed head and cover it with the red cloth.
After that the large caravan started moving again and was inside the waiting city’s streets within a short hour.
> Early 194 NC
>
>
>
> The Desert Cataphract nodded behind his silver mask and Ruhak-Dor proceeded to walk inside the narrow hall of Sadofort. He walked straight for the simple limestone throne, the stone tiles making the sound of his cavalry boots and spurs reverberate strangely inside the stone walls. It was a barren place, built for a military commander without any fanfare. Some foreign touches could be seen though. A woman’s discarded shawl on a table. Silver cutlery and expensive opened bottles, a scimitar with a golden pommel and a white handle.
>
> Sebek-Tep who had been the Prince’s right hand man long before Ruhak-Dor had been knighted because he knew of the Lurking Asp’s dangerous character best, glanced his way annoyed. He waved for Nesabor the brute hulking Cataphract out of Wotcheki Castle to stop him from advancing any further. Nesabor moved to intercept and Ruhak-Dor halted and stared at the throne where Prince Atpa stood watching him under furrowed brows.
>
> His eyes an ashen-grey, cold and calculating. The arms raised, elbows on the throne supports, hands forming a stand for his chin to rest. A wiry man of medium-height, on the thin side, the Prince had a Cataphract’s scaled chest armour on and wore leather pants instead of robes with soft leather boots on his feet.
>
> Atpa was twenty six years old now but he could be twenty or forty, depending on the time of day and what he’d been doing the previous night. He looked older at that moment.
>
> “Ruhak brought us news of his brother I reckon,” Sebek-Tep said in his typical cynical tone. “The Sisters sent us a gift?”
>
> “A chest for his highness, the illustrious Heir to the Khanate,” Ruhak-Dor replied and eyed Nesabor’s large head and small eyes.
>
> “Should we open it?” Sebek-Tep asked and seeing the Prince silent, he signed for Nesabor to carry the large chest inside. Since it had taken two people to bring up the stairs and inside the castle Ruhak-Dor thought of warning him but then decided the brute could carry it by himself.
>
> Nesabor was almost at the door well behind him when Atpa finally spoke.
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> “Leave it,” the Prince said in his dry voice. “It is the gesture and not the contents what I was looking for.”
>
> Ruhak-Dor gulped down, his mouth dry and skin cracked from riding for weeks through the desert.
>
> “First Karit-Ki stops, victory within his grasp, my brother sadly dead. Let us mourn him no more,” Atpa continued unemotionally. “Then Sopat retreats and chops an ally’s head off. He had to. Can’t fake that,” he paused breathing in once and closed his eyes in deep thought.
>
> Everyone inside the room was staring at him.
>
> “Who fears winning? Hmm?” The Prince asked.
>
> Ruhak-Dor stared at Sebek-Tep and he looked at him.
>
> “Karit says there’s a wyvern sire. It burned the west banks of the Khanate up to Que Ki-La,” Sebek-Tep finally answered.
>
> “Don’t exaggerate,” Atpa admonished the advisor and signed for Nesabor to punch him in the face. Sebek-Tep blinked afore the heavy punch landed and then he got splattered down the stone tiles. With a pained groan he got up, Nesabor helping him, the advisor’s mouth bleeding. “Nout burned Ani Ta-Ne and the Jackal torched Sol’s arse,” Atpa continued from where he stopped before the small interruption and after making sure Sebek-Tep was in good enough shape to stand on his own. “Could a Wyvern have finished the job?”
>
> “Maybe. It’s quite possible,” Sebek-Tep croaked holding a bloody cloth on his face.
>
> “Assume there’s a wyvern on the loose and Zilan Hoplites holidaying in Dia and Ta-Ne who wants to make a bet this might be the reason? I knew this was going to happen. You bring Aken into the mix, a bosomy witch and sooner or later more crap start falling from the sky.”
>
> Nobody wanted to say anything. Ruhak-Dor grimaced and gave it a try.
>
> “Should we inform the Khan my Prince?”
>
> Atpa untied his hands and stared beyond them at the doors then around the room.
>
> “How many came with the chest?”
>
> “Two,” Sebek-Tep replied and glanced at Ruhak-Dor. “Alongside him.”
>
> “A tragic loss,” Atpa said sadly and Ruhak-Dor tried to turn or reach for his saber but Nesabor’s scimitar got him afore he could. He felt the blade sawing at his innards and he collapsed to his knees, blood bubbling out of his mouth. The Prince got up from his throne and glanced at him fading away whilst trying to speak. “But the desert is unending and crammed-full of perils.”
>
> “Argh,” Ruhak-Dor managed to mumble before he completely lost sight of the room.
>
> “By the way my friend,” the Lurking Asp added just as Ruhak-Dor expired. “The answer to your query, is no.”
>
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