As Commander Kisa caught the subtle nod from his companion, a momentary flicker of triumph lit up the hidden alcoves of his heart. It was a slow nod, heavy with the weight of understanding, and while it might have seemed insignificant to an onlooker, to Kisa it was a crucial affirmation. He was a man who lived on the knife-edge of strategy and subterfuge, and each small victory in this game of wits was a step towards his greater goals. However, this inner elation was meticulously masked behind a facade of impassivity. It was essential that his companion, Nura Bayajidda, remained blind to the duplicity that was at the core of Kisa’s plans. For Kisa, Nura was a pawn in a much larger game, a useful ally to be coddled and comforted with sweet nothings until his inevitable dispensability was reached.
“Why do we not redirect our efforts towards Prince Ikenga instead of the larger tribes?” Kisa pondered aloud, framing the question as if it were a sudden stroke of insight. “Yes, it’s widely acknowledged that gaining an audience with the Prince is anything but straightforward. In truth, to many, it would seem an insurmountable task. Yet, I’m acutely aware of the challenges we face should we attempt to venture into Wilberforce’s capital. The city’s protective seal, a marvel of sorcery and science, is designed to alert its guardians of any unwanted intruders at once. My lone return would certainly provoke suspicion and uncomfortable questions. But let’s delve into the heart of the matter: why not approach one of the King’s Legion outposts that lies beyond the capital’s boundaries? My rank as a commander within the Legion is not just for show—it comes with certain liberties and access, including ingress to these outposts. I have cultivated relationships within the Legion, connections that can be leveraged. I can draft a letter that would grant you passage and an audience. We have the opportunity here to warn them of Armad’s growing menace. With a measured blend of intelligence and guile, we could maneuver the Legion’s gaze, steering them to confront and potentially eradicate Armad. It is well within their capabilities to dispatch such a threat, should they resolve to do so.”
Nura Bayajidda absorbed the flow of Kisa’s argument, his mind parsing through the layers of implications and suggestions. A man less astute might have been swept away by Kisa’s eloquence, but not Nura. One assertion, in particular, clung to him—the bold declaration that he should be the emissary to the King’s Legion’s headquarters.
“You speak as if my journey to the Legion is a foregone conclusion,” Nura countered, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism and challenge. “But if we are to consider who is most suited for such a task, it is unquestionably you. You are the one who has been entrenched within the ranks of the Legion. You are the architect behind this strategy; thus, it follows that you should carry it out. You have the authority, the recognition, and, presumably, the loyalty of your comrades within the Legion to facilitate this mission. On the other hand, my suggestion was to seek an alliance with the major tribes—a course of action that plays to my connections and expertise. I proposed that we might be more effective if we were to part ways.”
Commander Kisa quickly raises his hand and gives his head a firm shake, signaling a misunderstanding. “You did not grasp my meaning,” he clarifies with urgency. “Our journey will be made in tandem only until a certain point. Together, we will approach one of the towns where the headquarters of the King’s Legion lies. But ponder this scenario: the moment I step into the headquarters, every pair of eyes will inevitably fall on me, and the burning question that will surface is ‘Where is Prince Armad? What became of my comrades with whom I ventured out to safeguard the prince?’ What plausible explanation could I possibly furnish them with? That, my friend, is precisely the dilemma. It dictates that there are locales where our paths must diverge. There are places where, if we wish our plan to come to fruition, your solitude is imperative. I shall be the strategist, the voice in your ear, imparting directions on your path and identifying the contacts you need to seek out. Your entry into this region is far from a perilous endeavor. First and foremost, your face is not known among them. Your origins are a mystery, and indeed, if not for the turmoil of battle, even I, in my capacity as a commander, would remain oblivious to your existence. Furthermore, it is fortuitous timing, as the King’s Legion is amidst a pivotal recruitment drive, seeking out new champions. Particularly, those individuals who have attained the requisites to undergo the examination stand a chance. Pass, and they are assimilated into the Legion’s ranks. Who, then, would cast aspersions upon you, deeming you anything other than a mere candidate attending such an evaluative process? It is under this guise that you will seamlessly engage with the individual to whom I need you to deliver a message.”
Despite Commander Kisa’s articulate presentation of the plan, which on the face of it seems astute and well-considered, Nura Bayajidda’s intuition remains skeptical. His countenance betrays his inner conflict, his eyes reflecting the weight of experience that has taught him to be wary of paths that one must tread alone — those veiled with accolades and assurances often lead to peril. He acknowledges the commander’s point: his anonymity is his current shield, yet it is a shield that will shatter upon his unveiling at the legion’s headquarters. Until now, his ability to blend into the grand tapestry of tribes has been his saving grace, a cloak of invisibility that has allowed him to navigate unseen. However, the moment he exposes his identity within the walls of the King’s Legion, he forfeits this advantage forever.
Shaking his head, Nura Bayajidda expresses his deep-seated reservations. “Regardless of the arguments you present, the risk of unveiling myself to them is too great,” he counters with a note of finality in his voice. “What if, upon my arrival, they seize me, and subject me to their scrutiny and interrogations? If I am recognized, and questions arise, our plan will unravel. What then becomes of the mission? What becomes of me?”
Commander Kisa seemed prepared, his demeanor resolute. As the question reached his ears, he paused and with a sense of urgency, he addressed Nura to correct a potential misunderstanding. “It appears you might not have grasped my intent. There’s no plan to reveal to them the details of what transpired on the battlefield. What we are contemplating is more subtle—a message, inverted in its meaning. You must understand, that they are the instigators who pushed us into a conflict without a true measure of his power. What if we, too, could use such manipulation to our advantage? To prod them into taking action against him for us? We, who were incited, lack the strength to bring him down, but they have the might to eliminate a hundred of his kind. That is the crux of my strategy. I have no intention of sending you as a bearer of our defeat to the prince. That would spell disaster for us. But what about a letter? A letter so enigmatic in its origin and authorship, detailing not our plight but the exhibition of ‘pol string’ prowess in the territory we’ve left behind. We wouldn’t even need to drop the prince’s name. The sheer mention of ‘pol string’ activities should be enough to provoke their curiosity and lead them to investigate the prince. Once they discover the truth, action against him will be inevitable.”
Nura Bayajidda, upon hearing this, became ensnared in a contemplative silence. Commander Kisa’s words were meant to convince, yet Nura harbored reservations. The plan’s underlying machinations left him unsettled, prompting neither assent nor outright refusal. Internally, he was poised to sever ties with Kisa’s command, the trepidation of association growing within him.
Kisa, sensing Nura’s apprehension, sought to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I assure you that our plan is devoid of the risk of catastrophic failure. Consider the chain of reporting in our lands: Prince Ikenga has always been the primary recipient of such intelligence. Any hearsay about ‘pol string’ occurrences will undoubtedly climb the ranks until it reaches him. That is the pivotal moment we are orchestrating. Once Prince Ikenga is apprised, our involvement becomes passive. We will simply watch from a distance as they turn on one another. This approach offers dual advantages: the elimination of Armad, ensuring he cannot later seek retribution, and the diversion of their scrutiny from us. Inevitably, they might launch a search, perhaps more fervently for me, but you are not exempt. Keep in mind, that the widespread belief is that you deserted the battlefield, leaving behind nothing but a robot. What’s to prevent them from continuing their hunt for you? Do you not see the layers to this strategy?”
Nura Bayajidda remained unconvinced, and it wasn’t due to a lack of understanding of the commander’s intent. His reluctance stemmed from a genuine fear of being the bearer of the message. He knew all too well that such an action would make him a target; his face would become a mark for recognition, and the first consequence would be the enemy’s pursuit, eager to interrogate him about his sources. Nura understood the relentless nature of the King’s Legion; once they were on your trail, capture was inevitable, and it was only a matter of time before they would arrest you.
“If your plan is as sound as you claim, why not hire someone else to deliver the message for us?” Nura Bayajidda questioned.
Commander Kisa held a brief silence, his mind a tempest of silent fury. How could they possibly find a trustworthy courier to deliver such a sensitive message without revealing their own identities? Disguises could be penetrated, and their tracks could be traced. The risk of betrayal was high; the hired messenger might fail to deliver the letter or worse, the importance of the message could be downplayed by the recipients, given that it wasn’t delivered directly by them. Such a delay would be more than an inconvenience; it would provide Prince Armad with the opportunity he needed to capture us.
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After a moment of contemplative silence, Commander Kisa nodded, acknowledging the suggestion with a measure of resignation. “I understand that we could employ a messenger, but you’re missing a crucial point. The soldiers dispatched by Armad aren’t required just to capture us in person; they can travel to the capital and report our treachery. When that happens, it won’t just be Armad’s soldiers on our trail—it will be the full might of Wilberforce Empire’s council. In such a scenario, our chances of survival diminish significantly. However, I believe that Prince Armad will not immediately expose us. He likely still needs to conceal the true extent of his power. But what do you suppose will occur when he realizes that we are on the brink of unveiling his secret to Prince Ikenga? At that critical juncture, he will cast aside all concerns of hiding his power and inform his father of our betrayal. It would not be outlandish to expect that his father might dispatch members of the council for his protection, especially considering the potential threat from the larger tribes you have been considering as allies. Time is a luxury we cannot afford. We could outsource the delivery of our message, but the delay could be detrimental. The immediacy with which we act must match the gravity of the information we possess. If you choose to undertake this mission, I have a trusted individual in mind to whom I can give a letter. However, this personal touch cannot be replicated if we were to use a third party.”
Nura Bayajidda was far from being a naive or inexperienced youth. Efforts by the commander to sway his perspective proved fruitless; Nura remained immovable, a testament to his unyielding character. He had not verbalized a refusal, but his lack of commitment spoke volumes, leaving the commander to grapple with uncertainty.
Their journey continued, slicing through the air with the speed and grace of an arrow in flight. Recognizing the futility of his persuasion, the commander deftly navigated the conversation toward less contentious waters. The landscape below them changed as they flew, and in what seemed like no time at all, they approached their destination: a town of strategic importance, marked by the presence of the King’s Legion.
This particular town was fortified with a headquarters and guarded by a compact yet resilient battalion of the King’s Legion, a common feature in the region. Similar garrisons were stationed throughout the surrounding areas, forming a network of military presence, all in response to the influence and potential threat of the big tribes.
Throughout the days that they had been airborne, crossing vast expanses, they had left behind the territories associated with the town of Tiriba. Now, they were entering a different kind of terrain, one that was defined by the control of the large tribes. While occasionally a smaller tribe could be encountered, dwarfed by the imposing stature of its neighbors, such tribes knew their place and had pledged their loyalty to one of the larger tribes. This was the political currency of the region: allegiance for protection and the right to exist within the sphere of the great tribes.
Upon landing, Commander Kisa and Nura Bayajidda proceeded with deliberate steps toward the town’s entrance. They had preemptively woven enchantments around themselves, altering their outward appearance, a necessary precaution in a land where identities could be as dangerous as any weapon. Their faces and forms were now unfamiliar to the casual observer, allowing them to walk incognito among the townsfolk and visitors. While such illusions might not withstand the scrutiny of elite cultivators, they served well to mask their presence from the untrained eye
Drawing closer to the town’s entrance, Commander Kisa’s intuition flared, a silent alarm that something was not quite right. There was a conspicuous absence of the usual hustle and bustle that one would expect. Instead, a heavy stillness lingered in the air, punctuated by the stern faces and sharp eyes of the King’s Legion soldiers. The Townspeople and merchants alike were held at bay, their paths into their town obstructed by the very defenders of their walls.
Amongst the mix of soldiers and civilians, Commander Kisa’s attention was captured by an enigmatic figure. Though this person’s back was turned to them, there was something undeniably familiar in his stance, in the way his attire draped over his frame. The garment was long and decorated with intricate designs that seemed to echo the regalia of judicial authority. A myriad of questions raced through the commander’s mind, his experience telling him that the figure played a role in the day’s peculiar events—a role that might be crucial to unraveling the mystery that lay before them.
The commander was acutely aware that any prolonged scrutiny of the individual might betray his intentions. It was a delicate balance between observation and discretion; to stare too long would risk alerting the subject to their surveillance, possibly causing him to become suspicious and react. With practiced subtlety, after a brief one- to two-second glance, the commander casually turned his gaze away to avoid arousing any sense of being watched.
In the next moment, however, he gestured subtly to Nura Bayajidda, signaling him to ease off their pace. They slowed down, blending seamlessly with the ebb and flow of the town’s activity. This was a bustling urban center, not some secluded village edged by forest where unusual behavior might stand out. People crisscrossed in every direction, absorbed in their affairs, and so the pair’s cautious movements drew no attention.
Their approach to the town gate coincided with the departure of the king’s legion, who had just finished their discussion with the local defenders. The legion took to the skies, arranging themselves in a protective formation around a central figure robed in the garments of a judge, and set a course towards the east. As they vanished into the distance, Commander Kisa’s attention was drawn to an object in the hands of the defense chief—a substantial piece of paper that seemed to hold significant importance.
The defense chief, after a brief examination of the document, passed it to one of his subordinates. The soldier affixed the paper onto the wall of the town, a public notice for all to see. It was no ordinary document; the script upon it was bold and luminous, undeniably infused with a diluted form of Yeni, a substance known for its involvement in spellcraft and cultivation. This ink was renowned for its resilience; even after a thousand years, the elements would not erode its message, nor would the paper succumb to decay. It was the same time-defying medium used in the sacred texts that detailed the mystical arts and preserved the history of the great tribes like the Wilberforces.
Commander Kisa, from where he stood, could easily read the luminescent writing on the paper, and what he read caused his brow to furrow in concern or perhaps frustration. Nura Bayajidda, however, did not possess the Kilebayan ability to decipher such script from a distance. To Nura, the paper was nothing more than an illuminated beacon, its contents a mystery.
As time passed, a ripple of curiosity spread among the onlookers gathered at the entrance of the town. They began to gravitate toward the wall where the paper had been posted, eager to discover its message. The town’s defenders had not barred their approach, and so the populace moved as one, drawn by the enigmatic proclamation. Each person who read the notice reacted with a mix of astonishment and intrigue.
Nura’s curiosity swelled. He turned toward Commander Kisa, seeking some hint or explanation, intuiting that the commander had already absorbed the paper’s message from a distance. But instead of sharing what he had learned, Commander Kisa simply gestured to Nura, prompting him to go and read the inscription for himself. The nonverbal cue was clear, and it suggested that Commander Kisa had his reasons for withholding the information—a silent indication that perhaps the knowledge was better acquired firsthand, or maybe the implications were such that they required personal reflection. Whatever the reason, it was evident that the commander believed Nura needed to experience the revelation of the paper’s content personally.
Nura Bayajidda’s expression settled into a frown, etching lines of concentration deep into his forehead. He lingered in thought before deciding to approach the gathering crowd that had formed near a paper affixed firmly to the wall of the town hall. As he drew nearer, he harnessed his internal cultivation power, directing it toward his eyes to significantly strengthen his vision. With heightened clarity, he began to read the contents of the notice with an intense focus.
“The King’s Legion is actively recruiting members of the Bayajidda tribe of distinguished rank. Any individual who carries the bloodline of this esteemed tribe is urged to present themselves at the nearest headquarters of the King’s Legion to declare their heritage. The authenticity of the lineage will be verified. The first to report will be awarded a sum of 50,000 Airids, a reward to precede their service with the legion.”
This message was authorized and signed by none other than Commander Kappa.
Upon reading the notice, Nura’s brows knitted together even more tightly. This call for members of the Bayajidda tribe, did it imply that he was now a target, simply because he had fled the battlefield? He quickly discarded the notion as preposterous. How could his status possibly be significant enough to prompt the King’s Legion to distribute such a specific and public summons? What was his true connection to the Bayajidda tribe, and why did the mere mention of the tribe’s name stir such a sense of foreboding within him? Despite sharing the tribe’s name, he could not help feeling that the notice was not meant for him alone. Yet, he couldn’t shake off the intrigue. What transgression had the Bayajidda committed to warrant such a focused search by the Legion?
The signature of Commander Kappa was adorned with an emblem of five stars. Although the name Kappa did not ring any bells for Nura, the symbol of five stars spoke volumes of the commander’s formidable strength and high ranking within the legion—a stark contrast to Commander Kisa, who was known to have but a single star to his name. The disparity in their insignias implied that Commander Kappa was a figure of considerable influence and power, perhaps even one of the elite within the King’s Legion.
The implications of the notice sent a flurry of thoughts racing through Nura’s mind. His heartbeat accelerated, not out of fear, but out of an adrenaline-fueled mixture of curiosity and caution. The promise of a reward for the members of his tribe was enticing, yet his experience had taught him that such generous offers were rarely without strings attached. It seemed imprudent to march into the Legion’s arms, claiming his Bayajidda lineage, but the mystery of their intentions was tantalizing. He yearned to understand what machinations lay behind this public decree.
His reflective moment was interrupted as he locked eyes with Commander Kisa. The commander’s gaze held a semblance of understanding as if recognizing Nura’s internal conflict. But to Nura, Commander Kisa’s look offered little in the way of comfort; it was merely a mirror to his frustration and confusion.