After a few hours of riding, still before sunrise, they set up their tents of fur and hides. They found a flock of strange beasts that Alana had never seen before. They had antlers the size of a human hand, long and only slightly curved, their fur was short and yellowish, and their snout was prominent and shaped like a vase.

The clan stalked and hunted two and roasted them in an open fire. Their meat was soft and lean, a bit musky, their inner organs savory, with a slight irony flavor. “What’s next?” Alana asked, leaning her head on Kassius’ chest, watched only by the makeshift tent’s walls of fur. They had little time to be alone, and they treasured every moment. “Have you seen anything, Kasha? In your visions, I mean?”

“I don’t know. I can only hope the chieftains of the steppe tribes will agree to join us.”

Alana sighed.

“Kassara told me about the tribe that camps next to the river.” She turned around, and folded her arms above his bony chest, supporting her chin on her forearms. “She said their chieftain was a proud Gadalian, who hated the Itruschians with all his heart.”

“No wonder he decided to live outside the borders.”

“Many families were split after the war,” she said, with a whisper. “The ones who followed him out into the steppe were few. And Kassara says they are fewer now.”

“Fewer?” Kassius said. He narrowed his eyes.

“I heard they have been struck by a plague.”

“Plague? We’ll see, maybe we can help them.”

“We never had epidemics like the Empire has, Kassius, it’s not normal.”

“Well, ticks are everywhere, it doesn’t matter what you eat or what your lifestyle is—ticks, rats, these things carry evil. Once they appear, things go downhill.”

Alana shook her head.

“We can help them,” Kassius continued. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s a branch of the Commercial Routes that pass through here, isn’t there? We could find some secondhand books on common plagues and how to treat them. And, there are some books that I’d like to buy, anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Kassara muttered. “But our priests are the best when it comes to casting out those evils, we don’t need books to tell us what to do.”

“Alana, I’m serious. There’s a lot of patricians from Itruschia who are buying Parthian treaties; they are interested in their doctrines and mysteries. It’s for a reason.”

“I don’t know about that. And . . . what books are you planning to buy? And with what money?”

“I’ve been thinking about this. Listen. My father told me last year about this strange cult that’s becoming popular among soldiers. In the Itruschian army, I mean.”

“A cult?” Alana raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. A cult. A very different one. I don’t know much about it, but I heard it comes from the East, it’s some kind of solar worship mixed with dragonslayer myths and astrology.”

“More dragonslayers,” she giggled. She could only think that the Itruschians were still scared and had recurring nightmares of her tribe kicking their butt fifteen years prior.

“And there’s an elephant in the tent that we haven’t even talked about since it happened,” Kassius said.”Oh.” She understood immediately. “Yes, that.” She took a deep breath, intrigued and scared. They hadn’t heard anything about it, and if she had heard about it instead of seeing it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. No one else saw it, no one else but her and the dead soldiers whose limbs had been scattered like broken branches and whose blood had painted the snow that day. No one else had, but the footprints were there, and Kassius even crawled through them.

But it was real; she had seen a giant, and it had run through the forest, tumbling down the trees and scaring the ravens away, and its curved stony back towered as tall as the evergreens.

“We have been isolated for long,” Kassius said, then he slowly lifted his torso and jumped to his feet. Alana rose and stood by his side. “If there’s a giant walking around, somebody must have noticed.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m going to ask the slaves.”

Kassius stepped out of the tent and went to see the two, who were sitting next to the fire. They looked up at him; Avlix had a bit of resentment in his glance, and the other one, Kavros, had a neutral expression.

“I have a question for you two,” Kassius said, crossing his arms.

“What is it?” Kavros asked, as if there was something that could accuse them.

“Have you heard stories of giants roaming about?”

Avlix and Kavros exchanged a glance.

“Like those two?” Kavros asked his friend. “Do you remember the one who hung himself?”

“What happened?” Kassius insisted.

“Those rumors came from soldiers who came from the North, on rotations. One of them told us a strange story, that a comrade of his heard from another comrade. The comrade of the comrade was said to have seen giants roaming about in the woods, that’s it. He went mad and he hung himself from a tree.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s another one,” Avlix said, looking down. “There’s an old Suevian town many miles west of here, it was right in the middle of a thick forest of redwood and birch. They used to harvest apples. So the entire town got killed, massacred. Not even the dogs were left alive. They destroyed the whole thing. No one knows who did it; they blamed another tribe, but they pointed out that the trees around the area had been split. As if a ten feet tall lumberjack had cut all of them halfway and then given up. And the footprints, they said the footprints were huge.”

“That was quite detailed for a rumor,” Kassius muttered.

“It’s a thousand miles away, but it caused quite a stir,” Avlix muttered. “Why did you ask?”

“Rumors as well.”

“Well, if the Titans are awake, there’s not much left to do.” Kavros sighed.

“I wouldn’t believe it even if I saw it,” Avlix responded.

“I would worry,” Kassius muttered, then turned around. Tor was seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book in hand. Kassius approached.

“How is it going?”Tor winked at him, then showed a piece of hemp paper from Kassius’ old diary, a gift he had made to Tor as the young boy wanted to practice writing.

“What have you been writing, comrade?” Tor extended the paper to him, and Kassius took a quick look.

“Is this poetry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Tor nodded. “I didn’t know you had it in you. It’s really not that bad,” he turned around. “Hey, Ala, you’ve got to see this.”

Alana peered out of the tent.

“Tor wrote a poem,” Kassius turned and the boy was as red as an apple.

“Oh, did he? What is it like,” Alana said from the distance, a sweet smile on her face and her luscious blonde hair reflecting the bright sun.

“Should I read it?” Kassius asked, and Tor shook his head. “Come on, it’s great.”

Oh fields, carriers of dreams,

watchers of a long-gone day,

you have beheld our fathers ride

in secret,

you have beheld our kinsmen fight and slaughter.

Tell of the days when dragon flags arose and prospered…

“That’s amazing!” Alana exclaimed.

“You haven’t finished, have you?” Kassius asked the boy. “Who would’ve known? You really have it in you.”

***

They rode through the steppe for weeks, hunting in the fields and singing war songs under the starlit heavens. Due to the lack of ink, Tor started carving the events that happened to them into the bones of the beasts Kassius hunted for them. Kassius had started to fast again and meditated on the name of Ares, although he started to think the god was hiding the future from him. The veterans started questioning among themselves where the Varalkian camp would be.

Kassius loved the closeness with Alana. His heart felt warm, and he felt lucky for having her by his side, especially in those tough moments. They shared secrets the entire world would go crazy over, and he felt he would die if he was forced to lose her. He wished she did not have to fight and that they could retreat back to his old villa and live a happy life together. But the world had changed, and he feared it would spiral out of control even further.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

After a few more days of riding, they saw a group of hunters on horseback. Alana turned her head and spoke to Kassius.

“It’s them.” The clothing of the hunters was traditionally Gadalian, and Kassius recognized it too. It was like seeing a long-lost brother. As soon as they noticed Alana’s group, they rode in their direction. Kassara and Raxana walked at the helm. The men approached with curiosity. One was a short man, his hair between grey and black, small, a bulky body, and messy hair. The other was younger, probably his son, his hair was dark blond and sported a short dark beard. They braced their horses close to the group and glanced at them in awe.

The short man’s eyes opened wide.

“Oh, by the Red Sun!” he said. “Am I seeing things?”

Kassara reacted with a cocky smile.

“You are not, Pharkus,” she said, leaning her fist on her hips.”What are you doing here? I heard your village was burned to the ground,” Pharkus said, shaking his head.

“As you can imagine, it’s a long story.”

“Who are all these?” the man asked.

“Look at the blonde girl,” Kassara pointed at Alana. “She’s the daughter of Ileria and Alan. That tall scrawny kid is the grandson of Aranus.”

“Oh,” Pharkus muttered. “I bid you welcome. Your forebears were great men and women.” He immediately turned around and called the young man on the black horse. “Dervas, my son, go to the camp. Tell them the men and women of Turnaz have come so that they are welcome.”

“Yes, father,” the boy said, bowing his head. He pulled his reins, turned back, and spurred.

“So, there are many things I’d like to know,” Pharkus said. His horse waved his ears and neighed.

“We could say the same thing,” Kassara muttered, looking back at Alana. She called her over with a sign.

“This is Ileria’s daughter? By the gods! She’s the living image of her mother,” Pharkus said.

“And she is our chieftain,” Kassara said, lifting her chin.

Parkus was not impressed. He looked at Kassara again, narrowing his eyes, as if demanding more information.

“All of us here owe her our lives,” Kassara clarified. “Raxana and I are advising her. We will tell Chieftain Varalkas of our struggles and certain demands we have.”

“Demands?” Parkus sighed. He spurred again and moved toward Alana. He approached with Kassius seated behind her. The man was wearing an open jacket, red ochre and golden in color. Over his shoulders, a red cape held together by a golden brooch depicting a dragon with open wings. The quiver hung from his belt, fashioned with intricate embroidering that represented bears and dragons. “How can we help?”

Alana raised her head. Kassius could feel the tension as she inadvertently pulled the reins, her fists clenched.

“I-I . . .” she stuttered.

Parkus stared at her inquisitively, and Kassius prayed in his mind that the answer Alana gave could be enough to gain his respect and support.

“I need an army to liberate our people. All of our comrades were killed by the Empire.”

Parkus sighed. “I feared as much. Talk to our chieftain, but armies, we have none. Our men and women are all dying.”

“We have heard of a plague,” Kassius spoke up.

Parkus tilted his head, acknowledging him.

“Yes, a plague has scourged us. Not only you have suffered with the tidings of time. Have we done a great evil when fighting that old war? Now, we wish only to raise our beasts, ensuring they may not die in sickness, take care of our families, and live on.”

“Parkus of Varlakia,” Alana said, her voice louder and more confident. “I admit I am not skilled as a leader. I know not of warfare, and my skills at the sword are limited. But by the grace of Ares and Venus, three of us stood against the Empire and prevailed.”

Kassius felt his heart pound faster and warmth in his chest, but Parkus sighed.

“I am not the one to hear this. My voice has no value in this matter, let us ride, and you may meet our chieftain and address him,” he said, pulling the reins. His horse trotted away.

“Aye!” said Kassara, spurring again. The rest of the company followed.

Kassius could feel a shift in the air, but what they had heard could potentially ruin their plans, as they had been confident they could gather an army quickly and ride back to save their people.

“That was a great talk,” Kassius said to Alana. “I could really feel it, but did you see that man’s face? He seemed almost as depressed as our people were.”

“Yes, I agree, but we’ve seen worse. They’ve got to listen, besides, I know chieftain Varlakas was a brave man. He even fought Hrezia’s father for leadership. He really wanted to keep fighting against the Empire, I’m sure he has planned this forever, that’s why he came here, to the edge.”

“And yet, they are at peace, Alana. They also followed the peace treaty, they basically guard the Empire from outside.”

“So?”

Kassius sighed. “They’re afraid to engage in battle with them, they have no reason to.”

“Trust me, Kasha, they will listen.”

And they did ride forth, until the sun leaned over the horizon and they saw red yurts with fluttering flags, wide fields protected by movable wooden fences, and cows and sheep pasturing behind them. Two mounted sentinels approached, both young men with pointed hats, simple fish-scale type armours, long leather trousers, and fur-coated boots.

“Who comes to the Varlakian tribe?” one of them asked. They were young men, Kassius thought, about his age.

“These are our sisters from the other side of the river,” Parkus said. “Our relatives.”

The sentinels looked at each other, nodded, and rode forth toward the camp. Alana couldn’t wait and spurred on her white horse. It was happy and restful, even far away from its previous home.

Their horses trotted lightly, approaching the yurts. But when they entered the camp, Alana did not see the vigorous steppe life she yearned to experience. She felt her breath stop for an instant as she passed by the untidy yurts, some with crying children in the arms of thin women. When Alana glanced at the babies, she noticed their arms were almost bare to the bone. Some young children ran around naked, their bones able to be counted on sight. Flies covered the entire place. A blacksmith stood outside, his leather gloves and apron on him, arguing with a bald man who haggled his prices, his clothes long and elaborate, but old, its colors fading.None of them were glorified Gadalians, the proud race of artisans and warriors. However, their clothes retained their craftsmanship and wealth, although the colors had faded with time, and many wore patches on their clothes. Both men and women wore hemp tunics in the front, made of triangular flaps, one crossing over the other, kept in place with belts of gold or bronze for those who could not afford it. Their trousers were long, slightly baggy, with rich vertical embroidery. However, the people appeared rugged, weak, and their glances held deep pain, like men who had lost a decades-long war.

“What is wrong with them?” Alana whispered, tilting her head back so Kassius could hear.

“That’s what the plague looks like.”

“But I wonder what is causing it, and what we can do.”

“We’ll find out.”

They trotted through the aligned tents, and Alana caught a glimpse of sickly animals beyond the wooden fence. Some of the cattle looked barely alive, a cow had its bones showing as it sat on its scrawny legs.

Alana could see a wide yurt in the middle of the camp, much bigger than the rest, about fifteen feet in diameter. A large flag waved on top, yellow with a dragon with open wings and a red planet or moon on its upper side. A metal chimney emerged from the center of the yurt, towering over it, and beneath, the curtains that guarded the small door had the icon of a bear.

The curtains opened, and a man stepped out. His hair was dark and short, his skin olive-colored, and his eyes green like the forest in spring. He wore a fur cape, a yellow tunic with orange buttons, trousers made of animal skin, and a red band on his forehead. It was the priest. He raised his hand, signaling the visitors to stop.

Then, another figure emerged from the yurt. He had a long, flowing red-and-white beard, a ruddy face, and wore a black robe over his shoulders. A pointed headdress covered in sparkling gold towered over his head, and a golden pectoral covered his chest. Although he was a bit fat, his features were those of a true nobleman.

“Welcome, sisters, and young sons of this race,” the man said in a deep, commanding voice. That was Varalkas the Red. “It has been so long since you came to visit us. I have heard of the loss, I have heard of the death of Turnaz the chieftain. And here, I see only women. Women are the remains of the great followers of Turnaz. Those who wanted peace... Are you leading this group, woman? I do not know you. Who are you?”

Kassara spurred her horse on and advanced, stopping in front of the chieftain, with her comrade Raxana behind her.

“I am Kassara Markdatra, veteran of the War of the Dragon, captain of two hundred in the Raven Division. I commanded the horde after the demise of General Ileria.”

Varalkas lifted his chin. “So, are you the leader of this tribe?”

Kassara looked away and stared at Alana with her deep brown eyes. Alana felt as if an arrow was pointing at her.”Nay, Chieftain Varalkas, I am but a servant of our elected chieftain. The one who commands us is extremely young and may seem insignificant, even foolish, to you and many experienced warriors here. Too young, too simple, sometimes naive. But she alone, and the counsel of her young husband, are the only reason we survived our struggles and came all the way here.”

“A long talk,” Varalkas interrupted her. “Who is this that you speak about? We heard only rumors of assassins lurking in the woods.”

“Our chieftain is Alana of Adachia.”

Varalkas raised an eyebrow.

Alana swallowed, and Kassius tapped her shoulders. She felt she was about to melt; she had heard so much of Varalkas, and she could not spoil that moment.

“So, if she is in charge, let her come into my tent and talk, from chieftain to chieftain,” Varalkas said, turning his back on the committee.

Alana nodded.

“Ala, should I write a sigil for you?” Kassius whispered in her ear. “Like one with the power of being persuasive or something.”

Alana turned her hips away, climbed down, with her feet on the stirrup iron, then down to the ground. She shook her head, not knowing what she should say.

“Not now, Kassius, but... Should I tell him everything?” she whispered.

“Keep the Sword for later, just hint at it,” he said.

She nodded; she knew such a brave man had to make the right choice. She knew he could. She quietly advanced and entered the yurt, looking around. The townspeople back in Adachia would set up yurts over the hills during the summer and spring seasons, and she enjoyed sleeping in them. But in the middle of the steppe, she felt she was traveling back in time.

She walked stealthily. The inside floor was covered by a wide carpet depicting a stellar map, with the animals of the heavens painted in great detail. Varalkas was already sitting cross-legged in the center, next to the priest, very close to the movable chimney, empty and cold during the spring.

She advanced and imitated his posture. The priest, perhaps representing the god Mercury, whispered something into the chieftain’s ear that Alana could not hear, but the chieftain nodded at his counselor. She feared they were judging her unfit. She had pictured Varalkas as a strong-willed warrior, but he was frankly out of shape, with a big belly almost springing out of his jacket.

“So, Alana of Adachia, daughter of Alan and Ileria, I suppose,” the chieftain said, eyeing her from head to toe.

“Y-y-yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. She felt her tongue stick for what felt like a minute.

“I have yet to hear of your exploits,” Varalkas said. “Frankly, I do not let myself be fooled by appearances, and defending yourself to the point of bringing terror to the imperial legions deserves my admiration. So, young woman, what are you seeking here—refuge for your people?”Alana lowered her eyes, contemplating how to express something of utmost importance. “Chieftain, you are aware of the fate that has befallen your friends and brothers in Adachia.”

“I am,” he replied, a frown etching itself onto his face.

“I have come to implore you for assistance. We need you to lead us back to our village, to avenge our fallen brothers. Drive out the enemy and liberate their women and children. Your sisters have been enslaved. We endured great hardships, but with the blessings of Ares and Venus, we emerged triumphant.”

Varalkas stared at her with his usual impassive gaze. “That is impossible,” he said dryly. “We lack the manpower to fulfill even our duties as guardians. Our main task was to protect a commercial route in the north, and even that stretched us thin.”

“Chieftain, with all due respect—” Her heart pounded within her chest. “—the gods have aided us. I cannot claim to be a formidable warrior or as cunning as others, but the gods are on our side. Kassius knows this; he constantly searches the sky for signs. He hears them, and his visions have proven true.”

“Kassius?” Varalkas asked.

“My husband,” she confirmed.

“The tall boy?”

“Yes.”

Varalkas cleared his throat and scratched his red beard. “No, but you may stay with us.”

“But what if the gods reveal a sign to you?” Alana inquired. “We possess evidence of their support, an omen that confirms it all.”

“What is it?”

“Gather the people, allow us to address them, and let them decide whether to fight alongside us.”

“A sign, you say? Very well, let them see it for themselves. They shall determine and judge accordingly.”