Chapter 28 - Dishonored

Another loss.

Kazir had lost count of the number he'd suffered at the hands of Xenaria's duke. Time and again, Kalin survived assassination attempts and well placed traps on the field. Many had fallen to the same ploys but Xenaria's bastion continued to resist. "A true bastion indeed," he muttered. He dug his heels deeper into his roan's side. It was already going as fast as it could. He lashed out with the reins, forcing the animal to add in every last bit of strength.

He'd seen it all. A single rider felling a contingent of the Empire's heroes. A hunter from the Papillion Forest. Her loyalty had already been bought by Kalin. Kazir had surety in his victory, but he'd lost once again. His plans thwarted by an unknown factor. He exhaled, trying to calm himself, his hot breath colliding with his face as his horse maintained its speed. The forest hunter wasn't an unknown factor. Not entirely. The primary reason for fielding his army was to enter the forest. There no longer seemed a reason for that. The Astral Union had no doubt taken what was rumored to be hidden within. Kalin had gotten a skilled warrior to use. The spoils had already been divided.

"I should have expected something," he muttered to himself. Assassins had little room for mistakes. Expecting the most absurd of factors in every situation was how Kazir had survived to reach the upper ranks of the Wickar assassins where others did not. Though, there still were a handful others better than himself.

The horse began to slow as it neared the Tarmian war camp. Thousands more soldiers rested, prepared to fight. More prepared to die, Kazir thought. Rabble conscripted militia. Many from recently conquered lands without a shred of loyalty. They were no match for the duke's well trained army. The Empire's real army was occupied on the eastern front.

Kazir leapt off the back of his horse before it came to a full halt, summersaulting through the air before landing on his toes. His long hair unravelled. It stood an inch above the ground. He wrapped the smooth black mass around his neck as a scarf, hiding the scars of a slave collar from a time past. A chill breeze glazed over his bare torso. He clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. Temperature was one of many things the Wickar were taught to ignore. Most succeeded in pretending to ignore it. The sea of soldiers in the war camp parted as he walked through them. He ignored their greetings and poorly performed salutes.

Kazir marched into his command tent, mimicking a mirage of anger whilst truly being grateful to be in the warmth of the enclosed and shaded space. A broad shouldered young man barely into his twenties sat cross legged on the ground, sipping from a cup in his hand. His hair, split evenly down the middle, nearly reached his shoulders. He wore a white coat with maroon designs of vines weaved into them. A red shawl hung over one shoulder, marking him as one of Tarmia's highest ranking officials. The tent smelled of cinnamon tea. Spoiled runt.

"Again you have failed," the man stated without looking up.

"Silence!" Kazir cried, snapping his arm to the side. "Your Hussars were felled by a single rider. A single woman. They were more useless than a eunuch in a brothel!"

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"Eunuch in a brothel," the man echoed. "You Wickar say some humorous things. All fifty done in by one woman? Explain to me in detail, please." Even in the shade, the young man's eyes glinted with a childish excitement. Intrigue touched the edges of his voice. Kazir hated that look. The look of pure innocence untainted by the foulness of man.

"They were picked apart by a swooping eagle like scurrying mice before they even posed a threat to Kalin Serene."

"Stop with the analogies. You mean to tell me those heavily armored soldiers of mine were shot down?"

"Is their iron made of butter, Idris? Do they let in whatever shaft just as your mother?"

Idris sighed. "Do all you Wickar speak as such or is it just you? We're both bastards, Kazir. Though, you seem content with living like one. I won't be lending you any more of my soldiers."

"Content living like one!?" Kazir spat.

"Indeed. Blademaster Kazir. The Waltzing Blade. The Living Body of Wind. Some say your skill is peerless. I'll give credit where it's due. I've seen your swords. Yet… you insist on taking the dishonourable path. The cowardly path. Just as bastards do. I hate you assassins. Hiding in shadows, veiling your faces, slitting enemy throats. Have you no pride? Your name is uttered in whispers. By fearful tongues in lightless alleys. By crooked aristocrats, with hands bloody. 'Idris Khan' is chanted on every street in every city by every child of this Empire. My Empire. I was fifteen when I picked up a sword and joined a campaign. Seven years later, and Tarmia has become the largest nation in Illusterra. Carve your name into history, Kazir. Challenge Kalin to a duel if your pants hide more than just your legs."

"He has no reason to accept!"

"Perhaps not." Idris stood up, his height a full inch higher than Kazir. He was the Emperor's most favored general. The twin scimitars at his side were being used as hand rests. One corner of his mouth twisted as he lost himself in thought. "This… archer woman. Did you get a name?"

"The shadows tell me Kalin was shouting 'Sar'tara' as she chased after them during the botched assassination. They say she follows him around like a hound on a leash."

"Kalin himself was calling her? Humm… Maybe I'm reaching this time. Then again, my predictions have hardly ever been wrong. Is the duke still unmarried?"

"Yes, so far as I know."

"Mm. Then perhaps he does have a reason to accept?"

"High Lord Serene is no child. He won't accept a duel merely to show off."

Idris laughed, his voice clear and deep and full of joy. "All men become children when near a pretty flower. Kalin himself taking care of a lone woman who's lost her home. There's room for feelings to develop mayhap. Hah! Sar'tara was it? Fifty of my heavy cavalry… It would certainly be amusing to cross blades with such a person." He pressed a firm hand against Kazir's shoulder before exiting to leave. The glint in his thin eyes still held.

Kazir cursed under his breath. Idris Khan had slain so many and yet his innocence never seemed to wear away. Kazir wondered if it was due to the man's youth. A boy who lived for one thing and one thing alone. Battle. Nothing else mattered to him. He thrived on seeking challenge on equal grounds only to prove himself better. To prove himself the best. War, to him, was just a game to be beaten. Idris was the pure manifestation of every boy's dream. A warrior without equal. The people had begun labelling him a War God. He had won against the greatest names of the east. Names that were now forgotten in the great shadow that was his own. A hero.

Kazir kicked the empty tea cup as hard as he could. It shattered before scattering in multiple directions. Even within the shadows of his tent, he was finding little comfort. He knew himself to be jealous of Idris. "I thought you'd come to mock my failures. Yet you leave, thinking I will share in that romantic dream of yours. A duel to regain my honor… My honor died a long time ago."

Idris was still young. Kazir wondered how long that smile would remain untainted. If there was one story people loved more than heroic legends, it was a tragedy. Heroes, after all, were destined to fail. For before every recorded calamity, there was a hero's tale.