CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN—JOURNEY

The mountains flattened into foothills which eventually tuned into an ambling steppe. The winds were that much colder now that none of them were stopped by the terrain. Shiro and the others had to remove their fur-lined cloaks from their saddle packs and put them on.

So far, Shiro had no need for his gloves, but he suspected that would change soon. Glancing off into the distance, he saw cattle herders. Most had sheep, but there were goats as well. Typical animals bred for meat, fur and milk. In the distance, sky sheep flew about as their shepherds corralled them with their red beak birds.

So far, there were no monsters, but talk of monsters in the night was not an uncommon thing coming from their guide Subulau, his look of which seemed almost Abassir, but his eyes were more akin to Shiro’s, which surprised him.

But upon asking him what lands lie beyond the Uratai Steppe, Shiro got an answer that he had not been expecting. More deserts.

Of course.

He sighed, thinking of that. His own lands were of a mountainous region near the sea, but not of deserts. That wasn’t to say there were not deserts on the continent from which he came, but the description given to him did not match what he had wanted to hear.

Still—perhaps he was getting closer to understanding the geographies of the world. Much of the maps were inaccurate when compared one to another, and most maps didn’t even bother revealing portions of the world.

He slowed, glanced about and realized his legs were tired. Shiro thought he had walked a lot in the past, but this was different. Their travel was almost nothing but walking. And more walking. And more walking. The road was hardly visible between the hills of grasses and rocky outcroppings.

It’s little more than a trail, actually.

After a time they mounted their camels again. It was best to give the animals a break from carrying riders, and so they spent time walking and time mounted. Though the sheer distance of this journey made the walking seem like an interminable time on one’s feet.

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Far in the distance where the mountains were shadowed against the lack of visibility, Shiro though he could see snow.

“Subulau?” he said.

“Yes, what is it? What do you want?”

He was a cranky man, frowned a lot and when he spoke, was often short, especially with Shiro.

“The mountains,” he said, gesturing forward. “Do they have snow?”

“Mmhm,” he noised and said no more.

It doesn’t matter, he thought. I have my answer.

Shiro hated the cold. His own country had cold winters but they were not particularly harsh. What made them seem harsh was the terrible insulation of Mikuma architecture. The summers were hot and cloying, but with the winds and the storms, the nights were often cool enough to warrant a small fire.

Glancing back at Ali who was behind him in their caravan, Shiro called, “How far is this journey?”

Ali smiled. “Why do you ask me, my friend? Our guide is there.”

“He doesn’t like to talk.”

Ali chuckled. “And you do?”

Shiro made a dubious noise in his throat. “I don’t not like to talk!”

“No, you don’t not like to talk, I suppose. Taciturn is not what I would call you. You are definitely one to use fewer words, though.”

“And you too many,” Debaku called from behind him.

Ali made a noise of mild frustration and waved a dismissive hand.

“Did you say these lands belong to the Abassir Empire?” Shiro asked.

“More or less,” Ali said, pulling his camel forward so that he was side by side with Shiro. “Darius conquered these lands about ten years ago. But I use that word, ‘conquered’ lightly.”

“Why?”

Ali laughed. “Because there’s a new rebellion in these parts every summer it seems.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“The Urutai Steppe is vast and hard to control,” Ali said as he motioned with his hand. “Most of the khans are tribal leaders. They are not rich and they hate their livelihoods getting taxed by Darshuun.”

Shiro nodded. Who would want some far off central power to demand moneys that probably didn’t even care what happened to you? “That makes sense.”

“What?” Ali asked indignantly. “Are you are their side, Shiro?”

Shiro glanced at Ali with incredulity. “Aren’t you going to kill the sultan?”

Ali shrugged. “Well, yes. But…”

“Does Darshuun send soldiers here to protect these peoples?”

“Hells, no.”

“So I see no reason why these people should pay homage to that distant power, do you? So, the khans, what are they? I have never heard this word used for a leader before.”

“They’re like the governors of the tribes and cities in these parts,” Ali said, not bothering to debate with Shiro on the other topic. “They used to be the rulers in these parts, always bickering and squabbling. They still do that, actually, but under the reign of Darshuun, they are somewhat more united.”

Their guide stopped and turned. “We should rest for the midday meal.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Should we not eat on the trail?”

“It is ten days to the Issyka Mountains,” he growled. “We must rest!”

And so they did.