At last Aganyú showed himself willing to step out from within his bedchambers. Hardly a man of action it had seemed in the first days since his release, he was to soon regain some measure of his previous strength his once lethargic, broken eyes now blazed with fire and purpose. This change in the man, struck father and daughter at once as the once almost timid Prince now gave regular commands. Mostly his orders involved food or what he might have need of, should he agree to escort them north.
His initial unwillingness to aid and assist them, was something that Uju had tried not to let irritate her, yet the moment he signalled his intention to travel with them even for a short time, she found herself elated. Certainly, she still found him repulsive and frightening, not at all the soothing figure that Kayode or even Kolwé could be when at last they persuaded him to speak with them, however if there was one thing she knew he was skilled at, it was fighting. Since she and her father had taken up residency in Fadaodi they had heard a great many tales, about the skill and barbarity with which Aganyú could fight.
This knowledge was enough to soothe even her idealistic father’s apprehensions about travelling north. The north as all knew was bandit-infested just as the rest of the kingdom was, since law and kingly authority had begun to break down, and the currency had become inflated and since the last year when a famine broke out.
“Famines are common,” everyone tended to say, morosely.
This fact troubled not only father and daughter, but also Aganyú who when he heard of this fact reacted with a dark frown, saying as he did so. “In my homeland, in the distant east famines were once common after my crown was usurped by Dragnar. Yet before then, in my grandfather’s reign there was never a year when a single man went hungry.”
“Your grandfather must have been a great man, and favoured by the gods,” Owalade remarked as they prepared their effects for their departure.
“A clever one who irrigated the whole of his realm, and kept much gold that he might trade what surplus he had, out of worry that his subjects might well starve if he were not careful.” Aganyú explained quietly, averting his gaze as he felt the full weight of his ancestor’s greatness. His grandfather and father had ruled wisely, had never stayed in any one place until old age overtook one and death the other, and had never done as he had.
The burden and shame that his anger had brought about, were more than he could bear even as he knew he must inevitably return to anger. It was all that he knew. He did not know how to live without it, not unless he had Charáji at his side, which was how he found himself asking of no one in particular; how was he to live until then? It was a query that he considered asking the likes of Kayode yet somehow doubted that the old monk could answer for him.
“He was,” He said quietly eyes downcast, “He and my father were as Atlas; holding up the kingdoms upon their shoulders, both of them strong and proud, and I threw away my inheritance time and again.”
“Such is the price of anger,” Owalade answered quietly, only to add, “I was not always the merchant you see before you.”
“Father!” Uju hissed at him.
“Oh tush Uju, I can speak of what poor fate has befallen us if I so wish,” Owalade snapped at her, whereupon he told their newfound friend, “I was once a royal butler. I knew all there was to run the Pharaoh of Deshret’s royal household. It was quite the glorious position; however I was thrown out of the palace, after I squabbled with one of her handmaidens. Pharaoh favoured the other party, and so I was reduced to trading. I learnt from that, anger does not always help you as at times it is best to swallow it or to be careful with it.”
“I see,” Aganyú said impassively, seeking to hide his true opinion of the fate that had befallen the man seated before him.
“You disagree.”
“I simply meant that-”
“I understand what you meant Aganyú, however it happens that my own anger while justified caused me considerable discomfort nonetheless, as it has you. So know O Prince there is another path for those of us greatest anger.” Owalade told him with no small amount of passion in his voice, which shook with such emotion as he spoke as to even pierce the heart of the man to whom he spoke.
Always, Aganyú had been hard-hearted. Feeling and sympathy for others had rarely come easily or naturally to him, so that he struggled then for words. Never before then had words failed him so completely and utterly. Such was his apprehension, his uncertainty of how best to answer even as he struggled to understand the wisdom that the other man sought to convey to him.
Most merchants he had learnt were not necessarily of a goodly character, same went for those officials who worked for a King or baron. And yet here was a merchant, one of those he had come to consider scum conveying to him wisdom that few others had ever given him.
Swallowing audibly, Aganyú replied earnestly, “I think I do understand, though at times anger can be necessary for a man to survive.”
“And thrive it is true, however only if he can keep it from consuming him entirely,” the older man replied with a weary sigh.
It took a moment for Aganyú to realize the old man spoke not to him then, but rather that he was speaking of himself and almost to himself about his past. He spoke of anger that had once consumed him heart, mind and soul so that Aganyú was given over to wondering about his strange benefactor.
He had at first thought him simply a peculiar old man, one prone to strange acts of charity and that he was also somewhat feeble, and simply doing whatever Kayode told him to. It was only now as he stared at him, and spoke with him that he realized this was not the truth. The truth was that the other man had lived his own life, experienced his own sorrows and made his own mistakes.
“No man,” the strange merchant carried on with a small smile at his amazed new friend, “Is born without some special circumstances, or without some great tragedies shaping and moulding him into what he is presently. All men are subject to the tragedies and sorrows of the world, and must either succumb to its madness or overcome it.”
Given over to wondering once more, about the old man, Aganyú pondered at some length the wise sayings of the merchant. He had never before thought to consider what words a merchant might have to say, having always been suspicious of them. And while he still mistrusted them, he was now of a mind to consider Owalade different from the rest, and to treat him as such.
If he were ever to reclaim the heritage left to him by his beloved father and grandfather, Aganyú wondered if he might not make Owalade one of his chief advisors. The man was like Kayode wise and special, so that the Prince after having pondered his words at some length nodded his head.
“Truly you have wisdom that I have never come across in all the time since my first exile from my kingdom,” Aganyú murmured quiet and contemplative.
He knew not what else to say and so fell silent, with his benefactor smiling earnestly, yet with a puzzled furrow to his brow. “How is it, Aganyú that you were ever so consumed by rage as to slaughter all those people? You seem entirely different as you stand there before me, from the monster that others have spoken of all month long!”
Aganyú had no answer. He did not wish to answer, for he was ashamed as he thought back to his father, to his usurper, to Loukas who had each of them, striven to help him. Though two of them had betrayed him, and he still held some hostility towards them, he knew also that he had spurned them and chosen at all times, rage.
When he considered it, he knew of only one answer; rage was easy, calmness and serenity difficult.
*****
They left not long after dawn arose on the third day after Aganyú had announced his intention to depart with the pair of merchants. Acquiescing to escort them north to the delight of Kayode, who pleased that they had at last helped to restore the Prince’s old confidence and strength back to him announced his own departure.
“I must extend my congratulations and my hopes for you all,” Kayode said to them as he offered up some small amount of silver coins he had. “Here you are Owalade, now do not refuse. This is my thanks, and the payment for your having assisted young Aganyú.”
“There is no need to pay for me,” Aganyú stuttered self-consciously.
“Yes there is, young Aganyú, but I suspect you shall soon repay us our kindnesses,” Kayode replied quietly, with a small smile on his lips.
Aganyú pondered those words, uncertain if he truly believed them. It was not that he had no desire to, to the contrary it was all he could hope to do with the time remaining to him. That and find Charáji of course however, he well and truly doubted that he might ever do so given that they had not only saved his life but had nursed him back to health where others would not.
It was the view of the young man that not all that he had done was wrong, only the murdering of the locals, anger itself may have led him astray but there had to be a reason for that. Or so he wished to believe, lest he should have done everything he had done in the past year for naught.
Thinking this as he helped to load the chart, tied it to the camel, and convinced the camel to pull the tarp covered cart out from the stable.
It was as he finished in this series of tasks that something struck him in the shoulder. Startled from his work of pulling on the truculent animal by pain biting him there, he leapt up fifty feet or so in surprise. The culprits or culprits it might best be said, stared at him defiantly.
No man or woman in the village could possibly have had the courage, to throw stones at him in such a defiant manner. And that was certainly true as he discovered; for the culprits were several children who glared at him, full of hate and seething anger.
Ignoring them proved difficult, as the shaken warrior focused his gave on the path before him and his feet on the road that seemed to beckon to him. He had come too far and wasted too much time, abed and had to find Charáji, he told himself.
Kolwé who sat in the caravan holding the reins of the horses, eager to press forward towards Ariluwa, and to put the southern kingdom behind him, even as he cast sidelong disdainful glances at Aganyú. Annoyed to find the warrior ignoring the hatred of those around him, and assuming a dignified countenance, so that Kolwé was uncertain how affected he was by those around them.
If the mage was divided in his attention, Uju was not. She was to focus the great majority of her attention upon his handling of the reins. Sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed the young woman was hardly a patience teacher, which was what she considered herself at that moment as they departed from the village.
“No, no, no you are not doing it right; you really must handle them with greater care!” She would burst out every few minutes, or she would say, “You should let the animals move about as they like with greater sensitivity for their feelings and nature.”
Eventually Kolwé lost patience and was to say to her, “Oh do be silent, I can certainly accomplish the manning of horses attached to a carriage!”
Ignoring their bickering, Aganyú still pondering the words of Owalade was less than interested in their endless bickering. He also felt burdened by the knowledge that his newfound friend, and beloved mentor of sorts Kayode had left ahead of them. The man had left without a single word of farewell earlier that day, so that Aganyú felt bereft in some manner.
He would have liked to have travelled with the monk, so that he might better understand the other man, and might fall back upon his wisdom. It was thus with a great deal of reluctance that he set out armed, with a sword purchased by the likes of Owalade, even as he scratched at his left arm, swatting away this or that fly. He suddenly missed the hauberks and armour he had worn in the distant east, so that his mood soured with each passing day.
“I shan’t understand why we could not buy me back, my armour,” Aganyú grumbled to those around him most of whom rolled their eyes.
“Now, now Aganyú, we could not afford such a thing. At the end of this journey, we hope to have armour properly forged for you,” Owalade replied from within the carriage, where he was dozing off.
It was a promise that offered no solace to the Prince then, who continued to grumble and complain for quite some time. His discontent great as it was, led to nothing more than a number of repeated promises that Edo was not far, and had some of the finest blacksmiths and artisans one could hope to find.
If it was not the flies and bugs that hovered about him that bothered him most, there were the innumerable merchants on that first day that passed them by. By nature a man with a relaxed air about him, Owalade preferred to travel slowly. Certainly he could be made to press forward, faster than any other man, such as when he had travelled from Deshret to the Kingdom of Hausen with Kayode. However, in recent days he had once again begun to prefer the more relaxed pace to travel.
It was his view that life should be enjoyed, so that he felt more and more adverse to risks, and to venturing out from his home. Born in Edo he had left at a young age for Deshret where he had made his fortune, so that he was of the view that he ought to once he made his last fortune see to marrying off his daughter.
Later he was to mention this notion to Aganyú after night had fallen, to which the Prince was to remark to him, “It would be your duty, though do remember that your daughter is a nag and is fairly sharp-tongued.”
This warning was one that any other man might have taken offense at, yet not Owalade. A man prone to always defending his daughter and seeing the best in her, he was however not one to allow himself to be blinded by his affection for her, so as to not see her flaws. It happened that she was to choose that moment to complain bitterly about Kolwé.
Hearing this, her father was to bow his head in defeat and say to the man whom he had helped rescue, “She has taken after her mother, who was likewise sharp-tongued.”
Aganyú simply shook his head, adding with a not unkindly air though his tone was still rather gruff, “I would do what I could to convince her to mind her tongue.”
“Oh but it is so difficult, my Prince,” Owalade told him with a slight chuckle, “It happens that I am rather too fond of her, so that I cannot bring myself to properly reprimand her. Perhaps, this could be something you might assist with?”
It was considerable discomfort that Aganyú glanced towards the maiden in question, and realized just what it was that his friend wished for him to do. To reprimand Uju meant having to expose himself once more to her tongue, without losing his own temper. Something that appalled him and that he preferred to demure from, as his own great rage though temporarily far away, he knew might well rise up once more in him.
That first day ended with Kolwé volunteering for the first guard duty, with Aganyú unsure of the wisdom of entrusting such a task to him. It was thus, with more than a little suspicion that he grunted as they established their camp near a great rock that loomed high. It was a stone that was more than thirty-meters high, and twenty meters long, so that it cast a long shadow.
There were some small bits of grass to be found within this area that allowed for their steeds to eat and when Aganyú hewed apart a nearby cactus water poured out which the animals pounced upon. While the animals sought to assuage their thirst, Owalade and Uju were to begin cooking some of the rations they had brought along with some of the mutton bought in the southern village.
Kolwé having started the fire easily with the aid of his magic, was to then see to doing something that startled the Prince; he leant back against the stone, and pulled from his pack a large tome. Comfortable as he was, he was to devour the knowledge contained within the tome he held, with visible hunger. Hardly interested in him or the book he held Uju who had argued with him for hours, turned away now, with a moue of disappointment.
Her father for his part was to regard Kolwé with evident respect and appreciation. Hardly a literate man, he had however considerable admiration for those, who could read. It was thus for this reason that he was towards the end of an hour ask of the sorcerer, “What sort of writing is that? Is it a copy of the Hagios, passed down in Deshret and Orissia?”
Kolwé for his part when he heard the query was to burst out into a long chuckle that shook him from the smallest of his toes, all the way to the top of his body. “What? Such folly to think me a man who might read such works! No, this is but an old series of annals of the ancient era of our lands from the time of the first Pharaohs up through to our own present era. It is the finest of Cassius Benignus’ great works on the history of the world, and centers on Ifriquya.”
“What could a dead man tell us of any true significance?” Uju asked with a grunt of indifference as she threw a fur-cloak over her legs.
“Mind thy tongue girl,” Aganyú snapped startling the other two men, who stared at him not having expected him to speak up. He had stood apart, towards the edge of their camp as though afraid of joining them near the fire. “History is a noble pursuit, and its recording is a sacred art that has been passed down across the generations in only the finest of empires and kingdoms. Most of those who have recorded what one will find in such tomes, lived centuries ago at a time when men were wiser and greater than we are in the present, therefore some respect for thy betters.”
It was with a great nod of approval that Kolwé agreed with him. Just as Owalade did, though he seemed to be a little more uncertain of himself. A great lover as he was of great men such as Kayode, he was however uncertain of the importance those long dead. This much Aganyú could see.
He wished he could have argued better on this matter, as he took great pride in his own knowledge of his homeland and her lengthy history. He also knew the ancient songs and tales of the Earth-Elves, for it was only with their aid and friendship that his own people had established themselves in the lands of Zingium.
Just before he pulled up his own cloak up to his shoulders, and drew nearer to the fire, even as he kept his sword nearby, while his benefactors fell asleep he noticed Kolwé studying him. It was perhaps for the first time that he saw, in the other man’s eyes something approaching respect.
It was hardly a sentiment he returned, though he had a better appreciation for the man’s intellect, as he could see from his interest in the histories of the past a trait he had once admired in others. Loukas and Mubiru had similar inclinations, he remembered and though he felt somewhat sorrowful for their absence, he was suddenly to remember Charáji who knew much of history. The memory of her, and the sense of comfort that Kolwé’s interest brought him was one that was to later help him to sleep when it was the other man’s turn on watch.
*****
It was as they set out on the second day, from their campsite that for the first time in quite some time, there was a semblance of peace, of serenity within Aganyú, who studied the landscape all about him with evident curiosity. The land was sickly, this much he could see at once. The border lands’ were where a great deal of the crops was supposed to be grown and where there was supposed to be an active thriving commerce between the northern kingdom and the slightly larger southern one. Yet he could see no evidence of these things, could see no real hint of traffic as they crossed the sun-soaked, beaten earth.
There were no cattle to be found either, to his alarm. It was strange and bewildering how on the previous day they had seen a great many cattle-herders, yet on this day there was no hint of them. It was as though the space between the kingdoms was somehow cursed, as though everyone was afraid that just as they crossed them there might be a sudden explosion of violence.
The land seemed frightened also, as it had little of the greenness of the distant east from whence came Aganyú, so that he was left to wonder if these really were the most fertile lands as Kolwé claimed they were. The soil certainly appeared dry and when he descended from his horse to test the soil, he found it rich and dark brown, so that he could see that with a little irrigation or water there might yet be hope for this earth.
“The river changed course, with another part of it drying up just as more merchants began to move between the two kingdoms, so that the horses and camels devoured all in this place not unlike locusts.” Kolwé explained to Aganyú, with a mournful air about him, one that surprised his former captor. “It happens that this place was once green, not very long ago yet as said it has changed these past twenty years.”
A faraway look entered the bold eyes of the sorcerer-bandit, who was not to speak for some time, no matter how much Uju attempted to guide his focus back onto the road that stretched ahead, Kolwé however remained distracted.
“Leave the man alone,” her father told her sharply, after a time he added, “We all must contend with our own shadows, just as he does now.”
“But he is simply thinking and daydreaming whilst manning our caravan!” she protested irritably, not understanding her father’s wisdom.
“Look once more on the road that stretches ahead, though unpaved do you observe, how it goes on and on, is without changes or anything at all to attract a thoughtful mind!” Kolwé snapped at the young girl who puffed up with fury.
It happened that with a great curse she threw herself into scolding him with even more fervour. Neither of the two could resist attempting to gain dominancy over the other, their contest of wills one that served only to annoy her father who in time lost patience and demanded she leave Kolwé be. Aganyú for his part was to roll his eyes, and prefer to keep his peace all while keeping his eyes upon the road ahead of him and all about him.
He might have liked not only for the flies and fleas to leave him be, he began to distract himself with the frustration of being for the first time in some time bored. Aganyú was never bored on his prior adventure, through the lands of Zingium. It was upon those adventures when he had fought to reclaim the Kingdom that was his by right of succession, due in large part to the great trials that had presented themselves before him.
A part of Aganyú wished for a battle.
Hardly ashamed of this thought, he was to however swallow his frustration, and at last admit to himself that he truly did miss his old friend Loukas. The youth had a tendency to whilst on the road, singing alongside Mubiru great songs to entertain and distract their friends.
It was with a sigh that the Prince took to mumbling and whistling one of the songs, or at least he sought to do so, if in a quiet manner.
Hearing him it happened that Kolwé tiring of the endless arguments with Uju was to say to him with a sidelong glance. “What is that tune? I have never heard you sing before, is it from your homeland?”
Aganyú had not expected curiosity on the part, of his travelling companion given the man’s steadfast hostility towards him. Stumbling for words, for several minutes he was to at last sigh and admit, “It is a song that one of my friends from the east once sang.”
“You had friends from whence you came?” Uju queried incredulously, wherefore her father threw her an angry look.
“Uju! Some respect for the Prince!”
This was enough to silence the girl, who reluctantly did as bidden though not without several dark looks in her father’s direction. Aganyú for his part paid her no further mind as he contemplated the past with some difficulty.
It was true that he had had friends at one time, he had been harsh but it was to reclaim his crown and liberate Zingium from the likes of Dragnar. Certainly, some such as Loukas had turned upon him; however his own anger at the realization had turned more than one soul away from his cause.
It was for this reason that he blamed him, hated him and still at times wished him harm. Aganyú could not tolerate betrayal. Especially from a man, he had considered as a brother to him, and in the way of the death of Mubiru, so that to him it was Loukas he most thought of.
It was thus, with this in mind that he considered Uju’s question. That of whether he had ever had any friends, so that it was with a start that he realized just how lonely his life truly was.
“Still though, I should very much like to know the song,” Kolwé admitted with a curious glance in the prince direction, “Because of how you never speak of your homeland or its inhabitants.”
Aganyú thought about those words. He disliked them. Not because they made any implications about him as they brought back a great many memories. Memories of both harder times but also better ones, he did not much care to remember.
And so it was that with a great deal of reluctance he began to sing. It was with a start that his companions stared at him, none of them not even Kolwé having known or come to expect how well he could sing. Not only did he sing the song in his own native eastern tongue, but when he had finished it, he began to sing it in theirs so that they better understood it. It was only Kolwé who understood the song in Aganyú’s eastern tongue, learned as he was, whereas Owalade and Uju knew only the tongue of Deshret, Hausen and Orissia.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“By the sea she waits,
Bound there by the fates,
Vast the lakes,
Upon which she waits,
At the mercy of he who hates
All in his realm,
Long is her hair,
Dark yet fair
Is her face, the stars’
Smile down upon,
Many the songs spread far,
And up along
The road, of her lonely vigil,
Begun decades back when men strong
In nature and with many a sigil,
Sought her defence,
Her dress long and great his offence
When he took her up and didst fence
Her up from the world, and her friends lives he didst dispense.”
When he had finished, he fell quiet. All there was, was the silence of the wind and of the land of the Marcher-lands that separated the two kingdoms from one another.
The first to speak was Kolwé, who uttered reluctant praise for his singing and the song itself, “I must admit that I did not expect you to sing it so well. Though, I should think an Earth-Elf song such as the lay of Merialeth a great deal more appealing than this one.”
Aganyú felt his cheeks redden with fury, as his old temper flared.
It was however Uju who spoke out against the man seated next to her, “What do you mean? He sang superbly, and the song was truly a wonder to listen to, I daresay you have no great love in your soul for others Kolwé!”
“Uju do not be so quick to judge another,” Owalade muttered if only perfunctorily and reluctantly, when he saw the wounded look the bandit gave his daughter.
Grateful to them for their defence, even as he glared at the other man, Aganyú did his utmost to remember the words of Kayode even as he swore to later strike back against Kolwé. Quite how, he did not know, he knew only that the man deserved some measure of humiliation for his unkindly words.
It was when he noticed the burning enmity in the eyes of their guard that Owalade, sought to heal the breach that had had begun to be birthed between Aganyú and the sorcerer. “Really now, even you thought it a lovely song and that is all that matters, is that not correct Kolwé?”
Kolwé grunted. Reluctant to give praise, dogged as he was by his prior dislike of Aganyú, he was to however fall silent once more. Pouting for he did not much like to be regarded as the guiltier of the two of them, for to his mind there was still a great deal resentment towards the Prince for having slaughtered a great many of his friends.
Yet if this flame was hard to stamp out, it did not burn quite as fervently or brightly as it had in the past. It was rather more of a candle-flame that had greatly waned in comparison to the great inferno that once was.
The song though charming as it was, passed from memory the moment that Uju saw in the distance a large group of tents in the distance. Excited she was to point at it, crying out, “Oh do stop there, they might have water! We really must stop!”
“Yes, yes I know,” Kolwé grumbled and reluctantly he moved to oblige her.
“I have a good sense of that place, the first in some time about any place,” Uju declared to her friends and father, each of them smiling tolerantly. Her father soon was inclined to agree with her, while the sorcerer rolled his eyes and Aganyú hardly interested simply trailed after the caravan.
*****
Little could they have guessed at the danger that lay within the desert that now stretched, between the two Kingdoms’, as it was a danger that few even knew of. A danger that had rooted itself into place not unlike how a worm might burrow its way into an apple, a danger that some had begun to become aware of. It was why there were so few travellers on the road there, so few men and women taking to the road. It was also why this place was known as the ‘Death Barony’, and the reason to why, was a mystery to the frustrated Kings who hated to hear of the problems that haunted the caravans that travelled from Marche land to Marche land.
The reason though was not a mystery to the men of nearest to that place. The reason it was not a mystery was a simple one; it was they who were preying upon the local caravans.
Wicked and greedy, the men were vagabonds who had journeyed into the land that existed between the kingdoms years ago. Some in another life were warriors, others thieves and still others farmers. All were dispossessed and had established themselves as the only stop-over location between the two states.
They ranged far and wide, moving from place to place between them and at times between the other southern Kingdom Ife, due to their fear of being caught by the Kings and their barons. It was by moving from place to place, they held the influence and the force that they did in the lands between the Kingdoms, ravaging everything they came across, and delivering such a magnitude of pain and sorrow to all around them that they came across.
It was for this reason that when they observed the richness of the caravan, of the clothes of the merchant and his guards that they were to watch them with greedy eyes. Certainly they could see in the eyes of the warrior with a sword girded to his belt, a warrior of some merit.
Fearful as most men might have been, they were however far too greedy to pay dread much thought. Their leader, the bearded Ikenna studied them with considerable interest from near his tent as several of his men and women gave over water from their wells that the travellers and their camels might drink. Seated in the shade of the doorway to his home made of sandstone bricks, he was to follow Aganyú’s every movement with darkened eyes.
When one of his men was to approach him, asking of him, “We will let them pass us by? I do not like the look of that warrior accompanying them, or that mage of theirs.”
The bearded figure spared him but a passing glance, one which was utterly dismissive. “That sorcerer is nothing, I know him.”
“You know him?” The incredulity in the other man’s voice caused it to rise, so that he earned himself a sharp glance from his chieftain.
“Yes, for that is Kolwé the Fat.”
“Yet he does not appear quite as fat, as I had heard.”
“Still I recognize him, it is Kolwé the brigand, and he is more a gazelle than a lion,” Ikenna informed the other man quietly in his deep baritone. “We shall have need of all our men though, due to that lion he travels with.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.” Once more the older man’s voice was firm, and would brook no arguments even as the muscular giant who stood when at his full height a little taller than Aganyú himself.
Try as he might to discern the true strength of the man before him, he could not quite ascertain it. Because of this, he was concerned for what the future might hold and would have preferred to first investigate the man or see what the local villagers near the Marche lands thought of him. Yet he also could not risk it. Too many in recent days, had begun to become wary of strangers especially those with foreign accents such as those possessed by many of his men.
It was thus with more than a little trepidation that he summoned all his chiefs, and captains that they might hear what he had to say once the merchant caravan had departed.
Addressing them in stern tones, he informed them without preamble as was his way, “We have found our newest target and he happens to be richer than the others we have seen hitherto now, in recent days. It happens though that we shall have to afterwards consider leaving this place, while we have grown comfortable, men have become wary of this road. We must return north west, back to the Marchlands between Ife and Edo.”
“But what of those men who had begun to hunt for us there?” one of his captains Ivun asked of him, a hint of wariness in his voice.
Ikenna could have smiled, he had trained the youth well.
“We will return there knowing the dangers, but also that the booty should be richer now that at last two years have passed since our departure.” Ikenna decided with a nod to himself, convinced this plan might just be best.
He was not alone in agreeing with this scheme. There was however one lone voice, one lone individual who seemed uncertain.
Now among these bandits as with those who had belonged to Kolwé’s troop a great many women. Not all of them of a sordid nature or character. Most were, and this could most easily be detected in how many pursued Ikenna with an aggression that one might well have compared to the sort a lioness might wield in the pursuit of her prey. Yet Ikenna was no weak gazelle to fly at the sight of a great feline.
This was not to say he was without sensitivity for his women, for he greatly liked a number of them. In this case though, his favourite was the likes of Fisayo, who hesitated when she heard of his plan.
It had been the women who had been sent to welcome their guests, to help pull up the bucket from the well. It happened though, the men who assisted them were the thinnest and where some were concerned the youngest in the small village of some two hundred souls. Those who came to the assistance of the merchants, did so with a great deal of care and did so almost with nary any real thought behind their actions. So accustomed were they to the gleaning of knowledge, and the noticing of small details about them that they did so almost instinctively.
The only one who gave them pause was Aganyú. Kolwé they were wary of, for there were those who recognized him though he had lost considerable weight since last they met. Yet once they realized who it was that he was, and that he did not recognize them they felt all the more at ease. It was Aganyú that they avoided, for they could sense that he was not safe.
When Ikenna asked them about this, they could only say, “He is not like any other man we have entrapped or ambushed before. He does not feel safe, or peaceable like them.”
Ikenna did not say much more. Ordinarily he might well have resorted to violence against them, or might otherwise have insulted them, yet he did not. Though he was keen to claim what treasure and wealth Owalade had, he felt uneasy.
He did not like chance and did not like to trust all to it, or trust in the weakness of a man who left him as uneasy as Aganyú had. He was to turn now to the likes of Eikun, saying to him, “Eikun, my son, we must discuss how we will attack these fools.”
Thankfully he had more than himself or a number of strong men to rely upon, but his sons’ and daughters’ to aid him. The former with their brute force were often used for just such a purpose. Yet they were kept at bay at times, as the latter when need be were used to charm others into a false sense of security, or to cook dinner, so that Ikenna truly was convinced that he was favoured by the gods.
The only query he had, was where Kelechi had disappeared to, since some time ago?
*****
It thus came to pass that the brigands of the Marche-lands resolved to attack the small group. It was a risk to their numbers, and one that they were quite convinced would yield more than enough treasure for it to warrant the risk. Hardly suspicious of the threat posed by them, Owalade and Uju continued on north, following the main road with a great deal of cheerfulness. In contrast to the two of them, their escorts were in a far grimmer mood, with Kolwé though not entirely of a mind to the identity of the small tent-village they had come across, he knew he knew them.
Vexed by his inability to place them in his memory, he felt certain he had observed the great bearded fellow at least once. The man was tall, mighty and fierce and of a nature that he knew to be no less dangerous than that of Aganyú. What the bearded fellow lacked though, was the aristocratic air that seemed to follow after the Prince, what he lacked in dignity he made up for in a noteworthy commanding air.
“That man, he was no ordinary fellow,” Kolwé muttered more to himself, having no intention of being overheard.
It was thankfully not Uju who overheard him, seated as she was in the back of the caravan with her father. The two of them were in the midst of fussing over something or other, not that this was of any interest to their escorts.
Rather the two men were more interested in the road ahead, with neither of them speaking to one another. Kolwé sought to place within his memory the faces of those he had seen in the camp they had crossed through, while Aganyú cursed the road that stretched on ahead.
“Those men,” Kolwé was to say after quite some time, ignoring the father and daughter to the rear of the caravan, “They were familiar to me, I know them and yet I shan’t remember them from where.”
“Then do better to remember them,” Aganyú reprimanded him impatiently, ignoring the hiss and the muttered remarks under the other man’s breath, as he told him. “There was a great deal that I found troubling, about those brigands.”
“I am surprised to hear you say so,” Kolwé remarked quietly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “Here I had thought you merely liked to play at intelligence rather than actually having any great deal of it.”
Aganyú ignored the baiting remark, reminding himself that it would not do to kill the bandit as he replied. “That bearded brigand, he was more Ogre than man, I should think it highly unlikely that he is but a mere chieftain or merchant as the rest claimed themselves to be.”
It was thence that Kolwé let loose a great cry.
Startled everyone stared at him in surprise, for his yell had come rather from nowhere it seemed, and yet to him it did not as the memory of where he had seen the chief of the clan of bandits ere that day. “That was no merchant, I know that man. His name is Ikenna, and he is the ‘Terror of Narwali! The most terrible of all the man of the Hausen, he once proposed that we ought to ally together! He wished for us to ‘rule’ the east of the Kingdom. I refused because he frightened most of my men.”
“Hold, do you mean to inform me that those were brigands that we just so happened upon, betwixt the two kingdoms?” Aganyú demanded worriedly, as he pulled his horse to a stop, with a sudden tug on the reins of his horse.
Kolwé avoided his gaze, however he nodded his head in affirmation. “Aganyú, those people were one and all bandits. They post as merchants or as desert folk wherever they could, and pounce on unwary and vulnerable travellers. They are clever and sneaky, and far more brutal than my own men ever were. There were some things I never dared do such as sell men and women and children into slavery, what is more is that I never felt it right to seize women against their will, or to slay them. Then there are the children… what those men if we can call them such a thing, do to them is inhuman.”
Though Aganyú had snorted at the remark of not seizing women against their will, all else he believed the other man spoke true. He had seen first-hand just how attached many village women were to the Kolwé-brigands and just how many had served in the man’s fortress before he had slaughtered most of the residents there.
What troubled him most though, was the notion that if a bandit as feared and brutal as Kolwé could be stricken with such horror and terror, what did that say of these bandits? Shuddering despite himself, he was to turn to scream to the caravan.
It was at this time as they passed firmly near the oasis, a place that reminded Aganyú a great deal of that which he had first visited when he had arrived from the east. It made him think of Charáji and regret what had come to pass. How he had wasted so much time being chained, or recovering from his subsequent illness!
‘Gods,’ he prayed silently, ‘let Charáji be alright, and let her still be waiting for me!’
This prayer he murmured to himself, and was to always remember thereafter, for it was just after he had given it that there was a great cloud of dust that swept over the landscape. It was one that swept in from the south and that startled all present, with the likes of Kolwé crying, blinded and stunned even as he cursed loudly.
His own curses were intermingled with those of Uju and Owalade who did not much like this cloud of dust much more. What caught the attention of the equally infuriated Aganyú was the sound of another voice cursing.
Bewildered he was not alone in turning towards the caravan, with a stern look in his eyes. As he did so he exchanged a furious look with Kolwé, who was equally enraged by the sound. The both of them aware at once, what the two merchants had done.
“What was that sound?” Kolwé growled as he threw down the reins of the camels that were pulling the caravan along.
“Nothing at all,” Uju replied nervously.
“Liar!” Aganyú bellowed with all the fury of an ox that was preparing to charge, as neither he nor Kolwé were convinced for a single heart-beat by the young woman’s words.
“There really is nothing at all,” Owalade agreed at once with his daughter, if in the same nervous manner as her.
No longer willing to listen to him, or to his erstwhile daughter sorcerer and warrior both threw themselves forward towards the rear of the caravan. One came at them from the front and served to distract the warrior.
Neither attempt to keep the men from searching the caravan was a success, as the warrior reached blindly, past the barrels when he saw something dark that was not a shadow. At once suspicious, he pulled what happened to be a young woman from the rear of the caravan.
“Let me go, release me at once!” She commanded desperately.
The young woman was short and dark of skin, with long hair she was a little shorter than Charáji and with lips half as full, and with dark eyes that were narrowed with anger. Yet there was something of the familiar about her, with the warrior at once seeing the resemblance between her and the chieftain of the brigands they had left behind by almost half a day’s travel. Dressed lightly in beige and grey robes made from the roughest quality of clothe imaginable, and with her hair bound in a bold of brown cloth, it was with a start even through her thick robes that Aganyú realized if absently alongside Kolwé that she was beautiful.
This hardly affected the Prince though, nor was it enough to save her from his wrath.
“Out with you!” Aganyú shouted furiously as he threw her to the ground.
“Aganyú my Prince you must not harm her! She is but a girl!” Owalade shouted helplessly, throwing himself before the Prince.
“Do you realize what you have done, by bringing her along?” the Prince yelled back into the man’s startled face, “Now those brigands will have no choice but to pursue us!”
“Yes, but she was desperate Aganyú,” Uju protested weakly.
“They always claim such!”
“And it is the truth, Aganyú, I wished to escape my father, to escape from his brutal, horrible ways,” the girl protested desperately as she drew herself up so that the she might sit up and glower at him. “I could not fight him, I am but a girl and one with no knowledge of combat and violence.”
“Then steal a horse and begone from his presence,” Aganyú barked impatiently.
“Aganyú, you cannot be so harsh,” Owalade attempted to mollify him, “She was in need of help also, just as you once did.”
“This is not the same, and I will not tolerate this girl’s presence, herewith us,” Aganyú snapped once more, “There is an oasis in the distance, she can find her way from there.”
“All on her own?” Uju screeched outrage at what he had declared, “But-but,” when she saw that there was no persuading him, she growled, “You have not changed at all, you are the same as you always were! You are still a murderous cur! Always will be, because there is no goodness in you!”
The last accusation was the one that made him flinch ever so slightly. Glancing back at her, it was but for a brief moment however their eyes met and he felt none of the old fury. To the contrary he felt only a kind of hurt he had not felt in some time.
Turning away to hide his momentary vulnerability, he was to encourage his steed forward searching for the oasis that Owalade had spoken of and that Kolwé had also mentioned as being near. It was the only truly good thing they could do for the bandit’s daughter.
“We will leave her at the nearest oasis, for there is naught that we can do for her,” Aganyú told the two of them, his voice stern and harsh. “If you wish to retain my services, do as I command. This girl can only bring doom and peril upon us all.”
Neither father nor daughter was pleased by that statement, as they were of the view that they had a duty to the young woman. In this they might have otherwise been correct, yet this was the daughter of a brigand, and she was Aganyú could already sense, someone for whom morality was a loose thing; something to be followed and considered lastly after one’s own survival and gain.
The oasis that lay in the distance was one that they made for, with very little in the way of enthusiasm, with Aganyú holding fast to the daughter of Ikenna as she struggled to break free from his grasp. The oasis that lay on the horizon but a short time ago, soon loomed ever larger until at last they stood before it.
“Kolwé feed the animals and do not forget to water them also,” Aganyú growled as he climbed down from his own all while carrying Kelechi with him, as she struggled futilely.
The oasis was considerably smaller than that of Charáji. It was also a place with considerably less sunlight bearing down upon it, even as the tiny font of water drew Aganyú’s attention to it. He was curious as to whether it might house a spirit like that further south-east had yet he dared not test it to determine if this was true or not.
Waiting until after Kolwé had finished feeding and watering their animals, before he announced, “We leave now.”
“But Aganyú, the maiden sought to abandon her father, what will he do to her if we should leave her here?” Owalade said attempting to reason with the warrior.
“Likely nothing pleasant,” he replied as he continued to ignore the complaints of the maiden who was still pounding her fists futilely against him.
Espying the oasis, he studied the water for several moments, wondering once more if there was a spirit that lived within its depths. A quick drink later, and he was ready to depart once more, with nary a thought to the girl still pounding her fists on his back.
After a moment’s thought he threw her into the water, ignoring her spitting, cursing and bellowing after him.
“I shan’t believe you did that,” Uju cried out making to help the other young girl.
“Back onto the caravan, young lady,” Aganyú commanded in no mood to converse or to debate with her.
“No, I will not stand for this-”
“If such be the case, you will die here,” he retorted evenly, sword in hand before she could otherwise blink an eye. “Now onto the caravan you young fool.”
Staring at him, it took them another moment to scramble back upon the caravan. In agreement with him about the pair, Kolwé was to whip up the reins. It was only after the caravan had departed that Aganyú hurried back onto his horse.
“You cannot leave me here!” Kelechi shouted after him, “You do not know what my father is capable of!”
“I am quite certain it would be worse for us if he did discover you in our midst.” Aganyú retorted evenly, “But know this girl; I do not fear for myself but those you have placed in danger with your stupid actions. Think on who your choices affects before you make them.”
The scream that followed after him hardly affected him, to the contrary amused he could hardly resist a smile as he galloped after the caravan.
*****
It was not long after they had left the oasis, only perhaps a few hours had passed since it had disappeared behind them, when in the distance there appeared a sight none had expected to see. It was one that Aganyú who continued to travel some distance ahead of the caravan was the first to see, then Kolwé and then the father and daughter.
The desert winds once more bore down upon them, harsh and unpleasant with Aganyú studying the figures in the distance, with some interest. It took him a moment to realize who they were, whereupon he was filled with more than a little eagerness when he saw them.
“Wait what is that in the distance? Is that that young man from that camp earlier this morning?” Owalade asked uncertainly from where he now sat to the front of the caravan.
“It must be,” Aganyú replied eagerly a diabolic grin climbing its way onto his dark face as he glared at the figures in the distance with something that was almost glee.
“Wait, I think it might be a trap Aganyú!” Kolwé cried out ever the wiser of the two of them, however the warrior had already begun to charge after the enemy.
“There they are!” Aganyú howled seized by battle-rage and some measure of relief to be able to once more exercise himself in the art he knew best; battle.
Battle for him had never been something altogether terrifying, to the contrary it was akin to a mistress or lover he had not seen in some time. Since his recovery he had lain in bed, had bemoaned his fate and had feared what might happen should he pick up the blade. Since that time he had longed and hungered for battle, as another man might thirst for water in the midst of the desert.
Battle-rage combined with a strange eagerness and hunger for violence fused together, so that he was to throw himself against them with all the eagerness of a lover who has not seen his intended in some time.
Half mad, he met the flashing blade of the first man with his own, throwing it back before with the swiftness of a jungle-cat slitting the man’s throat. Carrying himself forward, he ducked beneath the swinging blade of another and ran him through.
Such was the fury he struck at the next man, and the next one thereafter that those he fought against could only marvel at him. They had never seen a man fight as he did then, and none had imagined that there was any alive who could.
The man after the third to perish, stepped forward, buckler up high and while he parried a number of blows and slashed back at Aganyú he was dismayed to find he had missed him. The larger man leapt back as another dashed forward to stab at him with a spear.
This sudden ambush was followed, by a third man stepping forward with the intent to run Aganyú through from behind. His attempt was to fail disastrously as the man somehow to the shock of his attackers seems to have sensed it and rolling to the side, away from all of his encircling attackers.
Aganyú for his part slashed as he rolled and regained his feet, hewing another man who had made to attack him, just below the knees.
While he fell, the Prince leapt over his corpse to come at a different man, with his long sword hewing apart the man in question even as the Prince rolled about and drew himself up next to the man behind that first one. The man in question stared in shock for too long, his mind racing to catch up with the fact that Aganyú had moved from being several meters away, and having two men to kill before he could so much as hope to combat him to standing before him.
The man swung if clumsily so, being more accustomed to attacking defenceless travellers, women and children than he was an actual warrior.
His assault was so pathetic that the dark-haired warrior could have sniggered, yet he repressed that instinct. Preferring to strike at his foe with all the fury of an indignant lion, he swept the man off his feet.
Eikun was for his part no less astonished than his companions were, before they had met their untimely end. Never before had he ever crossed blades with such a man, who seemed to be everywhere all at once, blade flashing glimmering silver in the suns’ and tearing asunder with each sword-slash and thrust another man’s life. It was a sight to behold, one that many a men before their life’s blood had been spilled from them, had been given over to wonder about how possible it was for such a man to exist.
At the start of the battle they had almost completely encircled the warrior-Prince, and had outnumbered him by more than fifteen men. So that now they numbered only three.
That number was soon diminished by one more, when the sword of Aganyú cleaved the head of one of the larger warriors’ from his shoulders, in one smooth action after he had parried the man’s blow then spun and slashed with the momentum of his dance-like movement.
Sword thrust after sword thrust followed, as the young warrior danced and swerved, and slashed here there and everywhere, so that his despatching of those around him, to the realm of Anubis and Osiris.
Gathering his courage, and waiting for Aganyú to be distracted by a number of his followers the brigand’s son was to smirk and grin like a hyena while the Prince slashed apart another of his followers, just before stabbing another man through his heart. Ducking below another horizontal sword-slash by the likes of Eikun who stared in amazement at the speed with which the older man had evaded him.
The final sword-thrust was doled out in due order, as the fiercest of the lords of the East of Ifriquya, pierced the man’s heart with his sword.
It was however when he went to pull it out from the man’s chest that he found himself cornered. Eikun as he soon discovered was unlike most of those he had fought in the west, willing and happy to trade his life over that his compatriot might dole out, his own killing blow against the Prince.
“Do it now, Adaugo! Strike him!” He shrieked as he clung to the sword pommel of the weapon that had been thrust through him. “Strike him dead!”
Releasing the sword-hilt at once, Aganyú threw himself to one side, with all the desperation of a wounded ox. Frightened and desperate he was to roll with the momentum of his great leap that seemed to carry him forward, far and away from the last of his victims. The other man was made to endure his disembowelment at the hands of his comrade, who had slashed horizontally in the hopes to sever the Prince’s spine.
“Adaugo you fool!” Eikun howled as his bowels poured forth from within him, and as he lay dying thereupon the ground at the other man’s feet.
“Eikun! Forgive me!” the brigand cried out, stricken by what he had just done if inadvertently to the son of his liege.
If he had hoped for forgiveness for his accidental misdeed he was to be sorely disappointed as Aganyú showed how little mercy he had as he slashed so deeply through the man’s throat he almost severed the neck in two.
Panting, he stood tall amongst the corpses he had made, looking and feeling almost akin to an artist of death. The blood of his enemies once more splattered on him, and his eyes wild as a wolf’s as he searched for more victims.
Disappointed when he found none, he was to burst into a great laughter when he saw that nigh on twenty men had defied him, had challenged him and still he had triumphed. “Well? What say you all now? I have slain ye, and not a single one of you have so much as cut me in the slightest!”
“Certainly, you have slain me, but what of thy charges?” The dying man grunted with a sneer at his killer, who stared down at him.
Hardly able to understand him for a moment, it was only then that Aganyú realized that the thirty or so men had not been the main force. “What?”
“I am not my father,” the broken, bleeding man sniggered, “He is thrice as fierce as I and liable to soon claim his vengeance, this after he has seen to reclaiming my half-sister and punishing thee for your crime.”
The man’s laughter was cut short by Aganyú growling down at him, “Be silent you worm!” and down came the punishing blade through the man’s throat, ending his life.
Aganyú did not however remain there for long.
Racing back, stepping around this and that corpse, he was to return in half the time it had taken him to chase after the brigands. Though it was but a few minutes, to him and his pounding heart it was a number of hours, so hard did his heat pound itself against his chest and his mounting sense of horror weigh upon his very soul.
While he ran, he prayed. To whom he ought to have prayed to he did not quite know, he knew only that he must.
At present he had never felt such desperation that fuelled as it did then. His heart almost in his throat as he at last saw the caravan appear in the distance.
The camels of the brigands as with the horses were gone, having disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. Their riders had also vanished with the wind, so that one might well have wondered if they had ever been there at all.
The culprits of this crime had taken all that they could, and slaughtered father and daughter. Owalade had covered his beloved daughter with his body, in a futile attempt to shield her from harm even as she had shrunk behind him. This much was evident from how they clung to one another even in death.
Falling to his knees, it was to be
The attention of the two men was diverted though from their grief and the new arrival of the daughter of Ikenna, by the cries of some figure in the distance. Neither of them in any state to combat anyone, not without going mad they were to glance up feeling lackadaisical and world-weary. The screams grew louder, and though at first they could not identify the voice, they soon realized after a few seconds who it was that was calling out to them.
It was Kayode.
“Aganyú! Kolwé!” Kayode’s voice was heard to resound throughout the land, as he appeared quite suddenly in the distance, desperation painted into his face and words.
The holy man when he arrived was to pull himself to a sudden halt, his face pale and aghast. He could barely form the proper words, as he looked on the broken Aganyú and weeping Kolwé. The two of them were utterly consumed by grief, pain and humiliation at their losses and their failure to protect Owalade and Uju.
No less stricken with pain and sorrow, Kayode was to give himself over to tears though they were not the wails of pain of the former brigand, he nonetheless clung to the discarded head of Owalade. In time he spoke, and it was to bless the man saying to him, “Go now my friend and brother, to the land of honey, milk and plenty where all good men may go to reside after they have departed this realm.”
As he spoke, Kelechi wept and wailed as she descended into a great sea of sorrow, with Kolwé shaking and trembling as he covered his eyes.
While they gave themselves over to great demonstrations of grief and loss, Aganyú could only stare incomprehensively at the remains of those he had sworn to protect.
He wished to grieve, to wail, to weep yet could not. He could only stare, all while he knelt even as he soul bled and grieved, his legs and arms and very being unable to move.
It was as he wondered about how any god could have permitted such a wretched thing to happen, he thought he heard Loukas’ song in the distance.
“By the sea she waits,
Bound there by the fates,
Vast the lakes,
Upon which she waits,
At the mercy of he who hates
All in his realm,
Long is her hair,
Dark yet fair
Is her face, the stars’
Smile down upon,
Many the songs spread far,
And up along
The road, of her lonely vigil,
Begun decades back when men strong
In nature and with many a sigil,
Sought her defence,
Her dress long and great his offence
When he took her up and didst fence
Her up from the world, and her friends lives he didst dispense.”