CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR—SULTAN’S LEGACY
Deciding to keep off the roads, Shiro led the way through the forest. Because of the night, the trees and the grounds were only illuminated from other light sources, such as the moon or by fire from various structures throughout these forests.
Shiro and the others avoided them as best they could, but this area was actually rather populated. The further they got from the Eiphr, the more densely populated it became.
They passed through a clearing, then stalked though crop fields of tall grasses. The crops had bulbous fruits of an elongated quality and wrapped with a sort of husk of leathery leaves.
If a city lay beyond or near the pyramid, then farms were to be expected. For the most part, the grounds and the roads were sparsely populated. The night was wearing on, and many of the local Yamu and their slaves were probably sleeping.
Though some slaves did walk about with baskets in their hands.
“Down,” Razul hissed.
Shiro ducked behind a row of the crops and someone stepped about through the fields. The man stopped, then spilled some water from the container he was holding.
They are watering the plants.
He wondered why.
In these jungles, it rained heavily often. But perhaps these crops required more water than what nature provided.
As the man approached, Shiro got a closer look at him, and realized the man was actually a woman, topless and wearing one of those wrap around dresses belted at the front. Though this woman’s looked to be tied by a simple hempen twine, the strap on her dress—something the male slaves didn’t seem to have, traveled up her stomach and split to go around her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare.
Stalking away and going about her farming duties, Razul nodded with a smile, and said, “I like this place.”
Shiro rolled his eyes.
Debaku sighed. “The man breaks into the sultan’s haram, steals his women, and still he wants to look on the breasts of these locals.”
Razul pushed his magnificent hair back and with a self-satisfied grin, said, “I am what I am. A man of many appetites.”
“And you will be serving the appetites of these savages,” Shiro said, “if you do not be careful. Let’s move on.”
They did well not to be seen.
Shiro was a samurai, not ninja, though sneaking about through the night to remain unseen was indeed the way of the ninja from his homeland.
“Do you think they are still after us?” Razul asked as he glanced at Shiro from over his shoulder.
Shrugging, he said that he did not know. They knew next to nothing about Avarnis—if that was even what the peoples from this region even called this place. He suspected the name was given by the Abassir Empire to describe this place, as the name meant “avarice” in the local imperial tongue.
Perhaps in the past expeditions had been sent to this place to explore and tame these wilds—to conquer the peoples here. But they had obviously been unsuccessful.
Jessamine had said that even Darius sent expeditions into the Eiphr and they never returned. None of them. Not a single man.
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It was eerie, and it meant that this place was extremely dangerous. Shiro needed to be careful—they needed to protect the army at all costs. If they Scorpion Guard was not able to cross Avarnis into the most southern portion of Kalush—then the war might as well be over.
“Perhaps they have no way of tracking us,” Debaku finally offered in answer to Razul’s question. “We do not understand these lands. None of those men were adventurers or even magickers. We are probably safe. For now…”
Razul nodded.
“It will not be much longer now,” Shiro said. “We will scout the pyramid and everywhere bellow it to find our men.”
“And if we do not find them?” Razul asked.
Sighing heavily, Shiro said, “Then they are lost to us.”
Debaku looked at him and nodded. “I agree. We must get the army out of Avarnis so we can lay waste to the Florencian’s supply lines. Only then will this war be in our favor again.”
“Do you think this war was ever in our favor?” Razul asked. “Because I do not think so. I wonder how far south Avarnis goes?”
“Have you not looked at a map?” Debaku asked incredulously.
“Well yes, but if no one can come through this place, how can they accurately draw a map?”
“By sea?” Shiro suggested.
“Fine, fine. You are right. So how far south does Avarnis go?”
“Far beyond the province of Kalush,” Debaku said. “And then after there is the Isles of Sand and Bones.”
“What?” Razul asked incredulously. “Why does everything have to be so eerie?”
“Perhaps because it is,” Debaku suggested. “I once planned to adventure in the Isles of Sand of Bones, but my expedition was stopped.”
“Why?”
“It was a client,” Debaku said. “He contacted me with a lucrative quest to the west. So I went.”
“And to think, had you gone to the isles, maybe you would not be here now, eh?”
“I doubt it,” Debaku said. “I can look after myself.”
“That is what every adventurer says, man. And then”—he snapped his fingers loudly—“before they know it, they’re dead!”
“Keep your voice down,” Shiro said.
“Sorry.”
“Sultan’s legacy,” Debaku said.
“What?” Shiro asked.
Debaku cleared the trees. “This is the sultan’s legacy—the legacy of Darius al Hassarani—a discovery of a new world.”
Shiro pushed past the large leaves and what he saw stole his breath away.
What had not been visible before, was now made clear to him. A sprawling metropolis of slaves and Yamu. There were stone structures of multiple stories surrounding the pyramid from every angle with wooden structures throughout, rope bridges connecting them all together.
There were temples, pools, courtyards with palm trees. The lights—large torches atop poles—illuminated the city, and the top of the pyramid, what looked “gold-like” before now sparkled in the moonlight.
“The wealth of this place must be overflowing,” Razul said numbly.
“Perhaps Debaku is right,” Jessamine drawled lazily and imperiously. “Perhaps it is the destiny of the Abassir Caliphate to conquer Avarnis and bring that wealth into the empire.”
Shiro tuned to regard Jessamine—her garments now dry and no longer sticking wetly to her body. “Do you believe so?” he asked.
She smiled lasciviously and put an arm over his shoulder. “Shiro, my love. If the Scorpion Guards cannot manage to get into Southern Kalush, then why not conquer these lands?” She gestured with her hand as she held his gaze. “Bring the wealth back to Darshuun so we can win our little war, yes?”
He growled deep within his throat, wondering why she was acting this way. Did she really hate them so much for some past conflicts that were no longer relevant?
“We have no qualms with these people.”
She laughed. “Don’t we?”
“What do you mean?” Debaku asked as he glanced back at them.
Her eyes flicked to the Mar’a Thulian. “It was because of them that the Florencians discovered our continent!”
They all looked at her, and Shiro found himself feeling quite astounded at her tone.
She seemed to take notice and brushed it off with a halfhearted laugh. Jessamine trailed a finger over Shiro’s shoulder and she sauntered around him. “Oh yes. They sent their ships”—she gestured dramatically with her arm—“all across the seas. They are quite the seafaring nations, you know?”
“What?” Shiro asked. “I thought you said you have never seen a Yamu before.”
“That does not mean I do not know of them,” she explained. “The jinni used to be quite plentiful. We had gatherings, even.”
“Gatherings?” Shiro asked, his eyes wide. “Truly?”
“Yes,” Debaku said, seeming as if he were remembering something. “Archaemenes once mentioned these things to me. But I must have forgotten.”
“The minds of mortals are fleeting things,” she said, her tone bored.
“You are mortal,” Shiro reminded her.
“Oh? Yes, that’s right. I had almost forgotten.” Then her face hardened. “I want them all dead, Shiro!”
Her rancor actually made him take a step back in surprise, but before he could respond, she whirled violently into the air and disappeared amidst a haze of blue mist.
Chuckling nervously, Razul scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Women, eh?”
Shiro and Debaku looked at him with flat expressions full of sardonic annoyance.