CHAPTER EIGHT—SAMIRA AL HAMIROON

Shiro attacked the the horde in wide swaths, sending dozens of them backwards and in pieces as they popped and cracked.

Beside him, Razul did the same, jumping and spinning in the air with his massive sword, his body infused with magic he had never known. His aura was powerful, but with this magic, it was even more intense than the normal vibrations Shiro felt emanate from him—and the same was true for Ali and now the Scorpions who had drank of the turtlenuts.

One of the shelled beasts took a circuitous path toward Raz, and as a dumb beast, it had not been intentional, but from his powerful attacks, the creature and swerved away from him, then encircled back to attack him.

It pulsed, it’s body becoming opaque and luminescent.

“Watch out!”

Shiro lunged past him and cut upward with hiss blade, sheering the creature in half, its hard shell cracking and splitting like broken glass as blood prayed upward and over Shiro, painting him in luminosity of blue hues both light and dark.

Razul laughed and cut a wide swath over the falling swell, visible shrinking it back. “It will not be long before they are all dead!” he cried.

“Shiro!” called Debaku, and he turned—suddenly he shrunk back as the woman before him spoke.

“There is no need to kill the creatures.”

Debaku was there, behind her, his sword at the ready, and yet he made no move against the woman—this newcomer seemingly unconcerned. How did she get here?

Shiro quested out, searching for Jessamine’s presence, but she was no longer in their physical plane. She must have whirled away, back into the lamp as soon as this woman had arrived.

But why?

“Why, hello there,” said Razul, his smile broad. “And who might you be?”

“We are being surrounded!” Debaku called as Ali got up.

“Master Ali, do not move!”

“I feel fine, man!” he said, has he grasped his shoulder and moved it about.

“I will take care of the beasts,” the woman said, then she revealed both her swords.

Everyone bristled.

Shiro took a step back, cut down one of the shelled beasts that came too close. Then he followed the strange woman with his eyes as she ran across the ground—or the shell rather—swinging her swords in a complex arc that caused a whirlwind to appear around her—a cyclone of dust and grass and moss that waved in her upheaval and yet clung to the shell of the great beast’s back.

Shiro’s mouth nearly dropped as the smaller shelled monsters clung to the ground, but were ultimately blown off of the moving creature.

She moved with such speed, such force!

“Very impressive,” Raz said with a nod. “Debaku—my friend, I believe you may be outmatched by this strange beauty.”

No one said anything, but for a moment the Mar’a Thulian glanced toward Raz, his features blank. Then he watched as, before them all, she circumnavigated the shell, blowing off the remainder of the little beasts that stuck and clock with their many sharp legs.

The whirlwind dissipated and their pantaloons and jackets settled upon their bodies. Raz pushed up his magnificent hair and took two steps forward toward the woman as she approached them.

“Done,” she said.

“It is you!” Debaku said, almost accusingly.

“This is the second time I saved you, Zambouli.”

“I told you, I am not from Zamboulia,” he said. “I am Mar’a Thulian.”

She waved a hand. “It makes no difference, black.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. If she called Debaku “black” what would she call him? “Who are you?” he demanded.

The massive beast’s movement did not stop as the horizon continued moving with each rumbling gait of the massive beast.

“I am your savior,” she said, and spread her arms.

“You are very arrogant, aren’t you?” asked Shiro, a tinge of annoyance assailing him. There was a pause among them all. Finally Shiro said, “I am Shiro Takeda. I am leading this group—“

But before he could introduce the others, the woman spoke. “So you are the fool that awoke the mammoth shell.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I did not.”

“Then who was it?” she asked, looking him up and down, and making no attempt to hide her perusal of his person. “You’re no Abassir dog—and you’re certainly no Mar’a Thulian. Who are you?”

“Watch your mouth,” said Ali. “You stand in powerful company.”

She laughed. “Indeed?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ali,” said Shiro, “high vizier of the sultana Shai’na’s court in Darshuun.”

“The court of the traitor sultan’s sister-in-law?” she asked with incredulity and turned back to Ali, whereupon she looked at him quite critically as well.

“That is treason to say,” said Ali, though he made no move to do anything about it. “And who is this fop with the fancy sword?”

Raz laughed, touched his chest and said, “I am a great adventurer. I am Razul Al Bashur.”

“Ah,” she said with a thrust of her chin. “I have heard of you before, tomb robber.”

“What?”

She ignored him. “An ex-slave, a court toady of an illegitimate dynasty, a tomb robber, and a stranger from a land I have never known, all in one place, making problems in the Isles of Sand and Bones.”

She shook her head.

“You know what?” asked Ali as he pointed a finger. “I do not like your attitude.”

“No?” she asked. “Why is that? I spoke no untruths…”

He thrust his chin up at her. “You say that, and you still have not told us who you are. Go on! We are waiting.”

She looked at him for a moment, her stare clearly full of critical thought and contempt. “My name…” she said, leaving it hanging for a moment, “is Samira Al Hamiroon.”

Ali’s eyes opened and his jaw dropped.

“Who?” asked Raz with a frown.

Captains Ushtan and Gohar, with Hashem and the few swordsmen that had come with them, sauntered closer to the group.

Debaku’s eyes flicked to Ali, then to Shiro, but the samurai was uncertain what his thought were. Ali was clearly beside himself.

Then the high vizier laughed. “Not possible. Samira Al Hamiroon is dead.”

“Who is Samira Al Hamiroon?” asked Raz dumbly.

The woman’s mouth quirked up into a wry grin and she shook her head. She thinks we are all fools. Jessamine, who is this woman?

Amusement flooded into his consciousness. If what she says is true, Jessamine conveyed, then this will be interesting indeed.

Ali sighed frustrated. “I do not know who you are,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “but I thank you for helping us. You may be on your way now. We have to find a way to kill or escape this beast.”

Jessamine.

She did not answer.

Shiro growled low in his throat because of his annoyance and the woman who called herself Samira looked at him. He realized she probably thought him hostile toward her, because she lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

She then turned, taking them all in again. “There is no need to kill the mammoth shell. If you fools did not realize, it is fleeing you, and your little war up here has agitated it. In time, the creature will settle and go back into hibernation.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“How do you know this?” asked Dabaku.

She looked at him. “I know these lands well. I am a huntress in these parts—and an adventurer, like yourselves.”

“We are not adventurers,” Ali spat. “We are passing through—and that is all.”

“Then try to do so without bumbling around, yes?”

He grunted.

“You should not be here.”

“Why not?” asked Shiro.

“There is a beast that may killed you all.”

“What?” Raz said. “I think we can handle ourselves.”

“Yes, Princess,” Ali said, though the word came out like it was supposed to be some kind of insult.

“Princess?” asked Raz. “Hey, wait, how are you standing?”

Ali shrugged. “Later, Raz.”

“Enough,” said Debaku, and he came closer to Samira. “Do you mean the creature that took hold of me?”

She nodded. “The same one.”

He looked away for a moment, his mind clearly working and churning on that. Debaku had told Shiro and Jessamine of the creature, and that this strange woman had helped him—but it didn’t seem that dangerous.

“You may not sense its aura now,” said Samira, “but it is there. Look past the mammoth shell.”

Shiro quested out with his magic, feeling and searching.

I do feel it, conveyed Jessamine. Interesting. It is powerful. Do you sense it, Shiro?

Yes, but it is hard to put a knife point on. It seems… scattered.

Hmm. I think you are right.

“Hey you,” Samira said, and she snapped her fingers at Shiro. “Lord Strange Eyes—are you there?”

What did she just call me? “I am…”

“I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“Have you been drinking of the turtlenuts up here? No—I see that you have not.” She signed, looking at him like he was something she found on the bottom of her heel. “I am asking you to take your little army and leave this place—unless you want your men to be its food.”

Shiro glanced about at the faces of Ali and Debaku. Ali shook his head and scoffed. “This is ridiculous. We do not even know who this woman is, much less if what she tells us is true.”

“I told you,” Samira said, “I am Samira Al Hamiroon.”

“Samira Al Hamiroon,” retorted Ali, “was taken from her father’s palace by assassins and never seen or heard of again. That was twenty years ago!” He laughed. “You are not her, I am afraid. You are mad—that is what you are.”

She unsheathed her scimitar and lifted the blade in gesture toward his face. “Watch your tongue, traitor”—she flicked the blade—“or I will cut it out of your mouth.”

Ali’s face went white as he swallowed.

Well, conveyed Jessamine with delight, she certainly has the arrogance and the demeanor of Al Hamiroon.

“Enough,” Shiro said. Samira looked at him with her eyes, but she kept her blade raised. “Ali may be annoying,” Shiro said, “but he is my friend, and you will not threaten him.”

He glanced to Shiro and nodded.

“That is right,” Debaku said.

“And he is my brother,” added Raz. Then flippantly he added, “But… I do like your spirit.”

“What?” Ali said, snapping his head in the direction of his brother. “What about Leilyn? Keep your heart where it belongs, man.”

Raz laughed. “That is right.” He sighed dreamily. “I so miss her wonderfully big—“

“All right, all right!” Ali growled. “Enough, you fool. You are embarrassing me now.” Unperturbed, Raz’s smile did not falter, though he said nothing in response to his brother’s shutting him up.

“The Angor will kill you all,” said Samira, and she lowered her blade. “Is that what you want?” She turned to Debaku. “You are no slouch like some of these others. Did you tell them what happened to you.”

Debaku said nothing. He only nodded.

“The… Angor,” Shiro said, the word strange in his mouth. He had never heard of such a beast before. “If this creature is as dangerous as you say—how long will it take us to go around its territory?”

She shrugged somewhat.

“You are not really contemplating what she said?” Ali asked in surprise.

“We do not know if it’s the truth,” said Shiro. “We must investigate.”

“In answer to your question,” Samira added, “the monster’s reach is vast, and its magic powerful. Even now I know some of you can feel its aura—and yet, perhaps you have not. It is a dull thing, easy to miss, easy to become distracted away from. The mammoth shell may interfere with the attentiations toward its power.”

“I have felt it,” said Debaku. “It is vast—everywhere, and nowhere.”

Samira nodded with a smile. “You are powerful, Mar’a Thulian.”

“He is the Black Cobra,” said Raz, “he is more powerful than even myself.”

“That is not saying much, Defiler,” said Samira. “I can best any one of you.”

“Oof!” Raz said with a pained smile. “That wasn’t too bad. But surely you have better than that?”

She sniffed.

“You are quite arrogant,” said Ali, “and I have had almost enough of you. Shiro, we should leave this”—he glanced at her up and down—“’pretender’ behind once this monster stops moving. We have a lot of work to do.”

She smiled, but it was one of sustained contempt, Shiro was certain. But Ali has a point. Still though… “I think we should investigate her claims.”

He made an annoyed sound.

“It is only wise, Ali,” said Debaku.

“That is right,” added Raz as he lifted his index finger into the air. “It would be terrible if the army was destroyed by this woman’s little fable, yes?”

Ali whirled on Raz. “Be quiet!” he snapped, gesturing wildly with his hands. “We do not know who this woman is—she could be a Florencian spy!”

“I assure, you that I am no spy, and neither do I know of these ‘Florencians’ you speak of. Would that they wipe your empire off the face of the lands, though.”

“See!” Ali snapped, speaking to all of them and none of them directly, “she has nothing but contempt for us. Why would we trust anything she says?

“You forget,” she said, “that it was I who saved ‘your most powerful warrior.’”

He growled.

“Well then,” said Raz, “I suggest you stop hiding your aura so that we can know the true extent of your magic.”

She made a face. “For what reason?”

He shrugged lightly. “You keep insisting that we are your lesser. Go and show us.”

“Yes!” said Ali. “Show us.”

She made a contemptuous face, and even Shiro felt annoyed at her arrogance, but he said nothing. In fact, he thought this was all rather foolish.

“I have no need to reveal anything to you.”

“Ha!” scoffed Ali. “Big talker, aren’t you?”

“Silence, Toady,’ she warned. “I can end you with a flick of my wrist.”

Ali put his hands on his hips and smiled sardonically. “Right.”

“Do you wish to test your mettle against me, mouthy one?”

“I asked you not to threaten my friends,” said Shiro.

“Then perhaps they should be careful how they speak.”

“This is foolish.”

“Indeed,” said Samira. “In some places I am known by the title of Blade Dancer—if that will help you to know who I am.”

Shiro frowned over those words.

Ali shrugged. “Never heard of you.”

“Me neither,” said Raz.

So far up to this point, the captains Gohar and Ulshtan had remained silent, and with that of their scorpions and the requisitions officer Hashem, who now had conglomerated among themselves. They remained part of the wider group, and yet were separate.

They were an altogether different class of warrior than the rest of them, not to mention different in rank. Ali was the high vizier to the sultanah Shai’na, Shiro one of her top advisers and generals, and even Raz and Dabaku served as her bodyguards.

Even so, the Scorpions and their captains came forward. “Master Shiro,” said Gohar, interrupting. “If we must drink the turtlenuts to escape this beast, I want you to know that we have all agreed and are willing.”

“No,” Debaku said. “We do not need to repeat what has already happened.

“I would not mind,” said Raz.

“We know that,” Debaku retorted. “But this place is dangerous. We should not take untoward risks.”

“I agree,” said Shiro with a nod. “But thank you, Captain Gohar for your suggestion. We will do as Samira says. We will wait for this beast to settle, then we will climb off of it.”

“And how long will that be?” asked Ali as he gestured with his hands. “We could be a hundred leagues from the army by then.”

“Then so be it,’ said Shiro. “The men can look after themselves.”

“Ohh,” Ali said, his eyes wide. “Are you certain of that, Shiro?”

“They will have to.”

“I can take you to the Angor,” said Samira. “I can show you what it is. Then you will heed my warning and be gone from this place.”

“Where?” asked Ali, “to the sea? That will take us so far out of the way as to add three months to our journey. Kalush will fall by then.”

“He is right,” said Debaku. “Shiro—do you believe we can accomplish such a similar plan if we lose that much time?”

It was impossible to say. Would the armies be decimated, routed and scattered to the winds? Or will Shai’na and her generals have the good sense to keep the army intact even if they have to retreat back to Darshuun?

Inwardly he sighed. I am a samurai—not a general. I know nothing of these things, so why do they rely on my thoughts in these matters?

They respect you, conveyed Jessamine. That is why.

Only because you are with me.

She conveyed amusement back. Perhaps, but why do you respect Debaku so?

What?

“Your leader’s strange eyes are glazed over again,” said Samira.

“I am present,” said Shiro.

“Where are you from?”

Jessamine conveyed no more as their internal conversation was cut off. Shiro said, “Far away.”

Samira approached him and got quite close. “You are so strange.”

“Back away from my isekai,” said Jessamine, her voice completely disembodied from the physical plain.

Samira glanced about. “Who said that?”

“One called the Blade Dancer.”

“I am the Blade Dancer.”

Jessamine laughed derisively.

“You mock me? Show yourself!”

“Do not provoke her,” said Debaku. “Please.”

“He is right,” said Shiro. “You, should not do that.”

“I do not even know who she is, you band of miscreants.” Samira glanced about. “Show yourself.”

Up to this point, Shiro had kept the lamp hanging upon its rope behind his person. He was not one to allow others easy knowledge of such a valuable treasure—not that he thought of it as such. It was the door from which Jessamine had access from the void into the physical plane—the door from which his love could come to him, or by which he could go to her, though he knew not yet how to use it.

“Very well,” Jessamine said, “but only because it is what I wish.”

A plume of blue luminescence appeared, swirling mysteriously. As it thinned, the first part of Jessamine to appear was her bare leg as the cut in her long dress parted. That, and her golden sandals.

It was hard for Shiro not to smile upon seeing her in her green dress and low neckline. His heat beat a little faster. Kami-sama—she is so beautiful.

I know, she conveyed, her eyes held directly upon Samira, her lips quirked in wry amusement and arrogant contempt. She put her hand on her hip.

“I knew it,” said Samira. “A jinni.”

“You…” Raz began in surprise. “You knew?”

“Of course,” said Samira with a smile. “They are not uncommon on the greater parts of Ashahnai—is that not correct?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Jessamine. “I’ve been away for a time.”

“I will show you the respect you deserve, Jinni—but only because of the vast powers you hold. So…” she turned, glancing about. “Who is it of your company that holds the vessel?”

“I am,” said Shiro.

She looked at him, her eyes moving up and down over him once more. There seemed to be a new appreciation there, or at least a restock of her thoughts concerning his person. “Surprising, and yet wholly predictable.”

“You called yourself the Blade Dancer,” said Jessamine. It was not a question.

“I am she.”

“No you aren’t.”

“And why is that?”

They all glanced back and forth as each woman spoke her piece, the men simply watching to see what would come of their conversation.

“Because I am the Blade Dancer, child. It is peculiar that you would take on the venerable title of a jinni. One might even say… pretentious.”

Samira looked upon her for a time. Finally she said, “I am schooled in the hashashin arts of Dar Shaq. Our fighting styles are often found after your race.”

“What?” asked Raz. “Is this true?”

“Indeed,” said Samira.

Jessamine smirked.

“What?”

“Mimics,” she said flippantly. “Like the long armed primates of the jungles in these parts of the world.”

Samira’s face took on an altogether deeper hue as what could only be anger rose to the surface. “Then face me, Jinni!”

The woman who called herself the Blade Dancer flourished her scimitars.

Jessamine raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”

“Do you not believe me?”

“Please, do not do this,” said Debaku. “There is no—“

“Be silent,” said Jessamine. It was a command, not a request. “All of you.” Then she looked to the samurai. “You too, Shiro. I am going to put this little girl in her place.”

Raz laughed excitedly. “This is wonderful!”

“Oh gods!” Ali complained, his hand over his face. “Shiro, you must do something.”

He raised his hands. “I hold no power of this insolent jinni.”

“Hmph,” Jessamine sniffed, her amusement flooding into Shiro’s consciousness. Then she glanced to all of them. “Back away.”