Title: The Warriors of Faith: Part II: "Before the Storm"
Date: 2008-02-25 20:08:56
Type: Stories
Synopsis: The armies prepare for the battle, and the politics of the cities take a new shape
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
…
He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
My dearest Ka’Tryn,
Days followed nights, and time flew away. It has only been two weeks that tore us
apart, but it feels like years have gone between us. I thank the Highlord every night for your
still-fresh memory to keep me company in these desolate lands.
I have been pulled in a trap, my love. For days I have been running with Samil at my
back. For days my men have been
marching, and the way home is closed to us; our enemy is strong.
I require assistance from the War Ministry, my love. I need
another armed force to circle around my enemy’s rear, which will quickly lead
us into a decisive victory. However, as
a blue robe, I have already been trusted with more than enough soldiers under
my command. For even more units, the
procedure will take too long to carry on.
That kind of time, I do not have.
My love, I need you to write a letter for me to the War
Ministry, and use your Family’s influence to draw a few hundred soldiers from
the Ministry and have them sent along the Shield Wall to strike the enemy from
behind. The maps I am sending you with
this letter clearly indicate the position of the enemy units, and their
possible routes over the next two days.
A commanding officer would understand what is expected of him from those
maps. If they agree to send the force,
this battle will end quickly, and we will be together once again. Please do this for me, my love, for I miss
you so much.
Walk in His shadow.
I love you, with all my heart.
Sulach Tor of the War Ministry
Lord Cadra
Borsail rolled the written parchment in his meaty hands, a pleasant smile
curling up on his lips. He was glad to
hire a servant specifically tasked to watch Ka’Tryn’s letters. A bold move it was, and finally it produced
fruit. He crossed the spacious room,
carrying his substantial body to the window where he could watch the beautiful
colors of the garden stretching out to the rest of the estate. The view was relaxing in nature.
Ever since
Sulach had marched out for his campaign, everything worked for the success of
Lord Cadra. He was quick to catch the
attention of a Senator of his House by throwing a party in the man’s name. Pretty soon, his relationship with the
Senator got very close; he was attending his meetings, helping him arrange
social events, rallying his own servants for his course, working with nobles of
other Houses to collect votes for the said Senator. His knowledge and experience with the
politics of the city expanded so much in a very short time, even he was
surprised.
His meaty
cheeks were pulled back, revealing a childish smile. He tore his gaze away from the garden and
began to walk toward the hearth. More
work would have to follow. He would host
another Senator tomorrow in the Estate and he would use all he could to try and
manipulate the senator into passing a vote in his favor. If he failed, it would not be a loss for him,
but for the current Senator of Borsail.
But if he succeeded…
His smile
broadened as he stood near the hearth, staring at the dancing light with
hypnotized eyes. In the end this was all
a game for him, at least for now. Until
he became comfortable in the political schemes and made his name heard in the
Senate Halls, it would remain as a game.
The real politics would start after that moment.
His eyes
focused on the firelight, as he woke from his daydreams. His game was going very well and it should
not be disturbed, and that meant Sulach would have to stay out of his way. Even if it meant the downfall of Sulach and a
few hundred soldiers, the success Cadra could accomplish in the long run would
easily pale this minor loss. He threw
the crumpled parchment into the hearth and let the flames catch it with an insatiable
hunger. The parchment shriveled and
wrinkled, the ink marks leaving dark spots in the firelight.
When the last
ink mark shriveled and died in the fire, a relief washed over Cadra. He quickly called the slaves for
refreshments, and let his mind wander on the taste of the afternoon dessert.
* * * * * * * * * *
“We cannot
keep avoiding them forever, my Lord. The
soldiers are beginning to question why we have been changing routes so very
often, and why we have not met the gith army after all that marching,”
Lieutenant Strian spoke, his voice high to overcome the wail of the wind
outside. A sandstorm was raging in the
desert, sending ripples over the tightly-secured interior walls of the tent. The commanding officers were silent around
the map table, their gazes appearing sullen after the weariness of the day.
Sulach
pressed his fists on the map table, his brows wrinkling as he weighed Strian’s
words. He had kept the news of the
Tuluki force a secret from the rest of the army to this moment, for fear that
if the soldiers learn the grave mistake of the scouts they would lose their
trust on each other. Each soldier in the
army trusted their life to the other. If
they heard of a weakness among them, it would morale would drop and cripple
their will to fight. Sulach could not
allow that to happen.
He knew he
had to fight the Tuluki force, and he knew he had to break the news of the
enemy to his soldiers... but not yet. He
wanted a reply his letter to Ka’Tryn and to how the War Ministry responded before
giving the news to his army. He could
not use the Way and ask about it. When
the subject was Tuluk, use of the Way would only mean giving all his plans to
Samil on a silver plate. The only option
he had was to wait, and wait he did.
Two days
passed like that. This was the third
day, and his officers were getting as restless as the rest of his army.
“What about the supplies?” he asked.
“Very low my
Lord. We probably have three days’ food
and drink on the carts, give or take,” Itina said shortly. Then she added after a momentary
thought: “The enemy was moving toward
the supply routes. If that is their
goal, these might very well be our last supplies.”
Sulach
released a heavy sigh, but the cries of the storm quickly drowned his
voice. His options were getting thinne,
but he had to wait. The only way to
victory was hitting the enemy from the rear as he pressed from the front. And for that, he needed Ka’Tryn’s help. Why did he not hear from her still? She would do what he asked. She had Sulach’s full trust on that, but he
was running out of time. Perhaps he had to write another letter and put
pressure on the time.
Sulach lifted
his gaze to look at the officers gathered around the map table. All eyes were on him, waiting for any command
he would give them.
“Drop the
rations given to the soldiers to half.
We will wait for a word from Allanak for two more days. We will decide after that,” he spoke finally. The officers did not seem overly happy about
his decision, but they did not speak on it.
The final word belonged to Sulach and they would comply, whether they
liked it or not.
The
commanding officers left the tent shortly, leaving Sulach alone in the
trembling candlelight. He sat down at
the table, pulled over a parchment and quill, and started writing another
letter to Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- They have pieces of the puzzle, but only hazily see the whole
picture.
- Then I would safely say
very few know as much as we, Brother.”
-
Serilla Uaptal and Elithan Winrothol, Templars of Tuluk.
“They are not
using the Way anymore,” said Neodyn through the unseen Way.
“Then he is
aware of my presence,” replied Samil’s clear thoughts. “No more games then, I will close in and
engage him as soon as possible.”
“Most
likely,” replied the frail mental image of the Lirathan in Samil’s mind. “Still, it does not mean we should drop all
other plans. We can still plant our men
into the vile city as we discussed before.”
“Why,
yes. We can. I assigned the Lyksaen warriors that my
“Speaking of
which, your
“Send him my regards, and tell him that his
warriors are the best I have seen,” Samil sent his thoughts. In truth, it was a basic way of thanking the
noble blood for his aid rather than a compliment. Lyksae trained the most elite warriors;
twenty of them would make a difference.
“Thank you,
Faithful Sister,” Samil finished.
“His radiance
guide you, Brother,” Neodyn replied, before slipping from his thoughts.
Samil sat
alone on his pallet for a few minutes, mulling the recent news. He had Sulach cornered by closing the way
back. The Lyksaen warriors could easily
take care of his supply routes as well, and thus force Sulach into a pitched
battle. Considering he had the greater
numbers and fresh Legions, along with abundant supplies, he was confident of
the outcome of such a battle. Not to
mention he would also have his own men in Allanak once the supply route was
broken.
He lay down
on the pallet, taking a deep, relaxing breath.
The morning was still a few hours away, and his mind was weary from
meditation and the drain of the psionic contact.
The day would
dawn to the march of the Legions.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- Well, fuck, you did it already? I'd
figured you're wack off a bit before finishing it”
-
Marin of the Guild
Corporal
Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion…
The same phrase repeated over and over in
her head. Everything had been dark… for
how long? Was there ever a light? Did she ever look at the skies?
Corporal
Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of
the Dragon, reporting for duty.
A sharp headache was calling her back
from sleep, pushing away the dream world and reminding her of the physical
senses. She did not want to wake up
though, it was too painful to wake up.
The headache alone was unbearable, not to mention all those wounds from
arrows and spears, turning her body into a bloody mess. Sleep was taking her pain away; sleep was
comfortable.
Corporal
Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of
the Dragon, reporting for duty.
How did she fall into this? How did the lights go away, and the pain take over? How did she feel her life slipping away, and
the pain driving her towards insanity before unconsciousness came to her
rescue?
It was her first mission as a Corporal to
escort the supply carts to Lord Templar Sulach Tor, who was supposed to be
fighting gith. The routes had been
planned carefully, as they always were.
The gith numbers were so few that the Corporal and her unit would not
even be needed. But such were the
protocols. The slaves could not defend
themselves against the threats of the desert, were there a random group of
raiders or a beast sneaking upon them.
Her unit would scare away such raiders and could defend against the
occasional beasts lurking in the dunes.
The supply carts would be delivered in no time.
But it did not go so well.
The ambush started so fast and was so
deadly, nobody understood what hit them.
Suddenly arrows and spears rained out of nowhere, slaughtering many in a
bloody confusion. Shields were pulled up
at the Corporal’s order to stop the bloody rain of death, but then the sands
around them sprayed up in a blinding shower, throwing up more ambushers within
melee range in their wake. In seconds,
they cut through the prone unit, dropping down so many with brutal
efficiency. The Corporal’s order was cut
off in the middle as a spear caught her full in the chest, and a sword slashed
across her groin. Then her attacker passed by her, moving to his next
target. Instinctively she dropped her
hands on her wound, as if trying to prevent her guts from spilling out.
She saw another volley of arrows and
spears taking flight and she heard the thunder of galloping cavalry charging on
her men, followed shortly by the screams and the cries of the dying men. She knew she would not survive this. Her opponent was so strong. They were almost like… They almost reminded
her of…
Corporal
Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of
the Dragon, reporting for duty.
The same voice repeated over and over in
her head… Disturbing her sleep.
Corporal
Xides…
Powerful hands were shaking her and she
realized the sleep could no longer protect her.
She opened her eyes, trying not to flinch at the overwhelming pain
awakening inside of her, and the rush of light that burned her eyes.
Crimson and grey was her opponent, his
attire carrying not a bit of blood or sand from the deadly desert. How could anything be so untouched by the
misery of such a crimson afternoon?
“Tell me your name and your unit,
soldier!” The powerful hands shook her
again, causing a ripple of pain to pass over her expression.
“Corporal…Xides… Of the Ja - de Teeth…”
The fight scene was running in her head
again and again. Such a good coordination,
discipline, skill… They were almost like… Almost like…
“… quartermas-.. ter… of the second
battalion…”
They fight
almost like Tor Scorpions.
“Die miserably.”
A knife slashed across her throat,
leaving a trail of crimson in its wake, and then her killer dropped her
carelessly. She tried to talk, but the
words died in her throat with a sickening gurgle. She felt the precious blood pouring out,
leaving her weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. She could not help but to shake violently,
causing the blood to spray and paint the golden sands in a chaotic splash of
crimson stain.
Her eyes moved to the sides, looking past
the hands that killed her. She could see
clearly now, that there were only about ten to twenty attackers that created
such a field of death.
No!
She could not be beaten by a handful of
men like this! She was of the Arm of the
Dragon; she could not die like this!
Her hands clawed the sands as if to hold
tight to the life and fight against the grasp of death.
And she stayed like that.
“The mission was successful, Faithful
Lord. The caravan is neutralized,”
reported the Lyksaen warrior through the unseen Way, as the last ragged
breathes of the Corporal died away. All
around him were piles of bodies, lying in a lifeless mimicry of the chaotic
battle that had happened moments ago.
“Excellent, Mtakr. Any casualties among your men?” Samil’s mind
responded him shortly.
“None, Faithful Lord.”
“You truly live to the fame of House
Lyksae, Enit.” Samil honored the warrior
by calling him by his name.
“I do my duty for the Ivory and the
Faithful,” replied the warrior in the traditional way.
Samil’s thoughts were colored with
approval and pleasantness: “Keep the
carts secure now. In about an hour, my
men will come to take the carts from your hands. After that, make sure the corpses of the vile
“Yes sir,” Enit replied affirmatively.
“Once it is done, continue your patrol on
the supply routes. No supply carts
should pass to the enemy, Mtakr.”
“None will pass, sir.”
“Excellent. I will call you by my side before I engage
the enemy, and we will rejoice with the glory then.”
“As you please, Faithful Lord.”
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER
7
“ -
Look at my son! Is not he cute?
- I can snap his neck with two fingers.
- And I can remove your balls and stuff them down your throat.
- Good point”
-
Gin of the Alleys, and Inrof
Meleth’s Circle was overcrowded. The music and the noise of the Fale party
were over now, but the commoners still stood outside the Arboretum. Some old and crippled, some harboring a
child, some supporting a loved one, their bony fingers intertwined in a
desperate gesture of love, were all standing there weak and battered under the
scorching sun, hoping that they would be spared with the leftovers. The party was over now and the Highborn were
making their way out of the Arboretum.
Lord Templar Risac Valika was one of the
first to leave the party. He was not
surprised to be greeted by the mass of the commoners, but he was not expecting
the circle of soldiers in tight formation to hold the people out. He approached the ranking officer, who was
standing several feet away from the curtain that separated the Arboretum from
the Meleth’s Circle.
“Sergeant,” Risac called as he walked
over and dropped a bored nod of acknowledgement at the sergeant’s respectful
bow. “What is this about?” He gestured at he commoners pressing their bodies
against the soldiers.
“Sir, the people are starving.”
Risac nodded grimly. It was a time of famine and both the water
and flour prices had raised over the last week, leaving many people struggling
desperately on the verge of starvation.
“I see.
We are going through difficult times.
It is a shame to see our own people suffer like this,” he said
bitterly. The Sergeant could see genuine
concern on the templar’s face.
“Still,” Templar Risac added, taking a
deep breath, “we cannot let them disturb the noble-born. Make sure your men keep them away until the
nobility departs, then we will see what we can do for our people.”
Sergeant nodded sharply: “Right away,
sir.”
“It was a pleasant party, was it not Lord
Templar?” called Lord Cadra as he passed through the curtain and walked out to
the bustling noise of the Meleth’s.
“It certainly was, Lord Borsail,” replied
Templar Risac.
“We did not have much chance to talk in
the party,” continued Lord Cadra as he approached to the templar in blue, two
guards wearing the crimson of Borsail stepping to his flanks immediately. “I hope all is well?”
Risac spared a glance at the soldiers
trying to hold the commoners away from the Arboretum. Although it seemed to be a small commotion,
he noted it would be better to have more soldiers ready in these times. Too late for now, but perhaps for the next
meeting in Arboretum.
“The famine is breaking our citizens,
which concerns me. Other than that, all
is well. And you?”
“Oh I am fine, thank you for asking,”
Cadra replied, wearing a genuine broad smile.
“Is there any word from my old friend Sulach? I have not heard from him ever since he headed
for the gith campaign.”
“I did not know you were so close to him,
Lord Borsail,” smirked Risac playfully.
Then he added: “No, actually
there is not much news. The slaves that
brought back the supply carts say he has not engaged the gith yet. I assume he does not want to say a word
without meeting the enemy.”
Cadra Borsail had a difficult time
disguising his surprise. Supply carts
being brought back? Slaves reporting
about not meeting gith?
A loud noise erupted from the crowd as
several people tried to break the soldiers’ block to come closer to
Arboretum. They were begging loudly as
they clawed their way against the adamant posture of the soldiers. Templar Risac shook his head as he watched
the commotion. It was a pain to see his
people so desperate and weak, and he prayed to the Highlord that no outbreak
would occur that day.
Cadra was lost in thoughts however. He had intercepted all of Sulach’s letters to
Ka’Tryn and to the War Ministry over the last week. In every one, he mentioned the supply chains
having been broken. The fact that Risac
saying the supply carts returning safely could only mean…
The soldiers were having a hard time
holding the crowds back. Risac was
pressing his fingertips to his temple, probably requesting a unit to back up
the soldiers.
“Your job is not easy at all, dear
friend,” said Cadra, forcing a smile.
Ideas were rushing through his mind.
Daring ideas, dangerous ideas…
Risac said something as a reply, but
Cadra did not hear it. He was too far
into his own thoughts. Learning that
Samil planted his own men like slaves of Allanak, and that only Cadra himself
had knowledge of this, were the best pieces of news he had heard in a
while. So many possibilities were
running through his mind.
“Ah, dear! Were you waiting for me?” called a female
voice beside Cadra, and he felt gentle gloved hands hooking around his
arm. Turning over, he was looking
directly at Lady Ansche Fale, her fluffy purple silk dress brushing against his
cloak.
Anger was spinning in Cadra’s thoughts as
he saw her, but he knew better than to jerk off his arm. Instead, he flashed a smile:
“Lady Fale, it was such a beautiful
party,” he continued. His smile was
growing as he placed his hand on hers, her purple silk gloves soft to his
touch.
Ansche Fale flashed back warmly, leaning
close to him. Her perfume was masking
the stench of the commons. “I am glad
you enjoyed it, dear.”
Cadra tried hard to keep a straight
face. Lady Fale, among all the nobility,
had so far proved to be the biggest
thorn he had. Quite manipulative in
nature, she was in this game much
earlier. She was successfully undoing
all his efforts to collect supporters for the Senator. Knowing how she had been, Cadra finally
decided to convince her to his side first, and then decide what next to do.
“Our little talk has been due for quite
some time, Lady. Would you like to come
with me to the Trader’s?” Cadra spoke
gently, his smile was warm and inviting.
“How lovely of you, dear. Indeed, we should talk”.
Her hand hooked around the crook of his
arm, Cadra began to escort her when the crowds broke into another
uprising. This time the force pushing
through was not as strong, but still a woman clawed and kicked her way through
the ring of soldiers. A baby in her
arms, the fragile frame of the woman stood confused for a moment, not sure what
to do next. But then, she threw herself
in front of Cadra and Ansche, and her eyes were teary and pleading:
“Please my Lord, my Lady… Please… My baby
is dying. Please, just a little water?”
Ansche on his arm, Lord Cadra stopped in
his steps, looking directly at the crying
woman: Bony figure, skin tanned
and dried from exposure to the Suk-krath, she seemed no older than mid
twenties, the baby in her arms no more than a month. Helping this woman would bring the rest of
the crowds begging. On the other hand,
it was not Cadra’s authority to discipline this woman. Even considering punishment for something
this simple would mean that his time and mind would become occupied with things
as worthless as a simple commoner; a shame to his noble blood. Yet the woman was there, in front of his
path:
“That is enough!” boomed Templar Risac’s
voice. “Soldiers, make room for the
nobility!”
“Weapons ready!” Sergeant Vorag commanded
to his soldiers, who stepped back from the press of the commoners and drew
their weapons. “Advance!” he ordered,
and he broke into a charge toward the fragile form of the woman. His first sword swing killed the baby, his
second finished the woman off.
Chaos erupted through the the Circle as
the soldiers cut through the commoners mercilessly. Each swing of a blade dropping another,
soldiers killed their own citizens without hesitation. The commoners, who were trying to push their
way through moments ago, were now tripping over each other in their haste to
run away from the advancing soldiers; the ones left behind butchered without
discrimination. They could provide
little resistance against the armed and trained soldiers before being cut down. Blood and gore spilled on the streets,
painting the paving stones in a dark crimson.
"Stand your ground!" the
Sergeant shouted when the soldiers were spread wide enough. "Stand
your ground!" he repeated, and the advancing soldiers stopped
abruptly, their blades coated in crimson blood.
Another unit of militia was jogging
through the streets, making their way to report to Templar Risac, who barely
nodded and gestured for them to join the forces that were holding the commoners
back, though it was no longer necessary.
Due to the brutal repression of the armed forces, the commoners were
still afraid to come any close to the circle of soldiers.
"I am
afraid this has delayed your leave," Templar Risac told Lord Cadra and
Lady Ansche apologetically.
"Ah, it
is no problem, Lord Templar," replied Cadra, "our time is a fine
price to do the Highlord's bidding."
"My
apologies, still," Risac countered.
Slaves poured
barrels of dry sand over the sticky blood, making a
clear path for the nobles, though there was nothing to be done for the reek of
gore and open bowels that hung heavy in the open air.
As the
nobility were leaving, Risac noticed several unfortunate commoners dropping to
their knees, trying to drink from the blood on the ground to quench their thirst.
He felt his heart ache at the sight, and prayed to the Highlord for these
dark times to be over soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 8
"- Hey... Farran... if we all die t'gith... tha's
alright. No... m'serious... in th'end... what's it matter?"
- Agent
Horus-da Kurac, experiencing a thodeliv-fueled revelation.
The two days
of time given was over. There was no
response to the letters, not even the latest ones he sent. The supply chain was broken; the very few
rations left were the last for the Allanaki force. Little was said in the morning meeting with
his officers. Their woeful expressions
spoke volumes. Sulach felt his heart
sinking.
From the back
of his mount, he looked down at the great expanse of his soldiers. His mind wandered back to the last two weeks
and the pride he felt at the sight of his great force, the promises of the
glory in eliminating the raids. He would
be named “the Conqueror”. Already his
name was spoken with respect even among the other blue robes. The tales of his victories against the
overwhelming gith numbers, against all odds, were well received. But now he was here, in front of the very
soldiers, unable to decide how to start.
“I am the Conqueror,” he whispered to himself, but the words failed to
cheer him as they once did.
“Soldiers! Men of the Arm of the Dragon! My followers!” he started, taking a deep
breath. “Two weeks ago, we left our
hearts at home and stepped into these desolate lands. We all did this for the same reason.” He let his words sink in.
“For
Allanak!” he shouted and the soldiers gave a cheer, lifting their swords in
salute.
“But today,
we are facing an enemy we did not think we would find. An enemy we have had all the time, though we
did not come out here to fight them. Not
this time, not in this war.”
The soldiers
were silent as Sulach rode his horse up and down in front of the gathered
units. “Today, Allanak is too far
away. Highlord knows, if we die today,
they will not hear it for days.”
“Soldiers! We will meet this enemy! We will fight them! But I will not ask you to fight for Allanak
this time!” Confusion could be read on
the soldiers’ faces as they looked directly at Sulach. Sulach merely looked back, his eyes moving
from face to face.
“I will not
ask you to fight for Allanak!” he repeated.
“What does Allanak know of us here?
What does the Senate understand of what we are? The merchants in their houses, the slaves,
the commoners and the whores have not been with us in our battles. When I think of Allanak, I can think of the
city that has been standing for ages, and will stand for ages more. But my warriors are those that I see before
me now!”
The words
sank easily among the soldiers. He knew
them for what they are, and he could see the thin cheers as they gazed up at
him.
“I will not
ask you to fight for Allanak this time! This time, fight for me!” he said, and
they lifted their heads higher to hear him.
He swept a hand to the southern horizon in a vague gesture to point
toward the enemy’s direction:
“What an
honor that our enemy came in greater numbers.
They know our strength, my warriors!
They know we are unbreakable in spirit!
If I could change places today, and be one among them, I would fear
you! I would be terrified! For they are not us! The infidels, the barbarians they are, my
warriors, they are nothing like us! When
our hearts and arms are tired, we go on!
When our stomachs are empty and mouths dry, we go on!”
He smiled
upon the soldiers, pleased to see all of their heads high and spirits lifted:
“The enemy
closed in to draw our blood! Let us show
them how the Allanakki fight!”
A loud cheer
erupted from the gathered soldiers, drowning Sulach’s last words. Swords were rapped together, whistles,
cheers, cries rose from the crowds, and Sulach’s name rang repeatedly in the
noise.
Sulach was
pleased. Once more he felt the
excitement of the battle rising within him.
Let Samil come now, and fight me when I lead such brave soldiers. His heart
lifted with pride, and he ordered
them to move out. The enemy was within a
day’s march.
“Faithful
Lord, that black wave –“ started the captain Lesk of the legions.
“Allanaki
force,” Samil cut in shortly.
“Should we
move in and engage them, then?”
Samil stared
at the afternoon horizons for a moment, then to the enemy force a few leagues
distant. “First we need to rest.”
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Reila. A fine name, eh? I'm Lassan. Lassan Dito.
This is me partner, Azhaj. We both deadly with swords, an' amazin' with
cocks."
- Lassan Dito and Azhaj, Partners in
Debauchery
The night
fell as Suk Krath gathered its light and departed to the west. Both moons were high in the sky, their red
and white glow spilling to the sands and illuminating the landscape dimly. A clear mixture of sounds was giving life to
the night in the Tuluki camp, as bards played their instruments and the rest of
the army joined them with applaud and cheering.
The campfires were hosting the dancing contests as soldiers pulled forth
their ability to follow and accompany the music with aesthetic moves. The songs would end, the cheer and clapping
on hands would rise for the dancers, and the new song would begin with a
different tone, sometimes faster, sometimes challengingly slow, sometimes in
sudden changes requiring the dancer to guess the follow of the music to adjust
properly. It was as much a display of
playing the music as it was a display of its seduction.
Captain Lesk
watched the dancers as the rest of his soldiers did for a while, leaving all
the worries of battle in the shifting light of the campfires. Such moments always gave him a feeling of
strengthening the bond between the soldiers.
As the dancing contests came to an end and Kruth decks changed hands,
Lesk realized the passage of time. The duties of his role as commander in the
army called him once more. With the rest
of the commanding officers, he made it to the Faithful’s tent, only to find him
sitting in the map table covered in thin loose garment.
They all
dipped their heads in greeting, and Samil returned their gesture. Lesk was the first to break the silence:
“No
disturbance, Faithful Lord. Looks like
they will not try their chance under the cover of the night.”
Samil merely
nodded, lifting his stone cup to take a swallow of clear water.
“Understandable.
Fighting in the dark is tricky, it
brings risk on both parties involved,” he said.
“And probably, he is also as curious of tomorrow’s battle as we are. If he attacks at night, he will never find
out if he would win or lose against the odds.” Samil wiped his mouth.
Lesk was as
confused as the rest of the officers. He
did not quite understand. Curious of the
battle? Perhaps that is what it meant to
be the messenger of a God-King, and to wield the power of life and death over
the masses. That perhaps, such measures
in hundreds of deaths may sometimes look like a game.
“Is there
anything you require us to do, Faithful Lord?
Perhaps a battle plan?”
Samil was
already shaking his head before Lesk could finish.
“No. I intend to let Sulach make the planning, and
I will counter him. We hold the upper
hand here and rushing things could bring risk.”
He started to wave his hand dismissively. “You may return to your units. Enjoy the night, and have a good rest. Tomorrow before the dawn, we will be facing
the enemy.”
The
commanding officers all nodded and departed from the command tent. The chatter and the noise outside were
significantly lower, as the new game was about concealing the emotions, and
reading the other players’ faces.
Players seemed to be lost in the card games and the observers only
watched in awe, trying to distinguish who was better in masking their
intentions.
Samil rose
from the map table stretching his muscles, thinking the battle was over for
that night. Over forty years he was,
nearly twice the age of Sulach, but still his physique was impressive. He decided to pray for the Sun-King for an
hour, and then he too would need to retire for the rest of the night. For tomorrow required a rested body and mind.
The fires of
the Allanaki camp were as alive as those of the Tuluki after dusk. After a few days of half rations, Sulach
finally ordered for food and water to be given as much as the soldiers want, so
that they would look like Allanakki when they met their enemy. Barrels of wine and ale were passed among the
campfires after the meal to lift the spirits, and it was effective. Soldiers were challenged to wrestle against
beasts captured from the desert during the day.
Bets were placed, coins changed hands and in the end, after the beasts
had been wounded or tired, they would be slaughtered and grilled over the
campfires to be shared among the men.
The laughter and joy could be read on the soldiers’ faces, as if they
were not to die tomorrow, as if they will not lose many friends and loved ones
in several hours.
As time
passed and the booze left a bitter taste in the night, the laughter and cheers
died as well. The lingering campfires
were playing tricks of light on their cold faces when Tild approached to the
largest of the groups.
He dropped to
his haunches, nearly spilling his ale over a soldier. Chuckling as he slapped the soldier on the
shoulder, he lifted his cup in salute.
The rest of the soldiers did not share his cheerful manner, at least not
as much as he did.
“What is up,
soldiers? You are not going to tell me
you missed your moms?” Tild started again, his voice still cheerful, untouched
by the gloom of his company.
“Some of us
are worried, Lieu… I mean, Tild,” the soldier replied. Ever since Tild had been demoted to the rank
of private due to the mistake of his subordinates, some soldiers were having a
hard time adjusting his new rank.
“Worried?” Tild’s eyes were wandering from face to face
now. “Worried about what? Fighting?”
The soldiers were shaking their heads in protest, but Tild ignored
them. “If you are scared of fighting, I
think you made a major mistake in choosing your jobs, fellas.”
“No!” one of
them broke in. “We are not scared of
fighting, Tild. But look at this.” The soldier’s hand was stretched to the
distant glows of the enemy fires. “Word says
we are outnumbered. And you know how we
have not been given much food lately. It
is obvious we are running out of basic supplies.”
Tild licked
his lips, tasting again the leftovers of the ale. He looked at the soldiers once more, and saw
all eyes were on him. He nodded then,
putting down his cup on the ground.
“So, fellas”
he began, raising his voice enough to be carried through the campfire, and even
to the nearby groups. “How long have you
known Lord Sulach?” He continued
quickly, without waiting for a reply. “A
year? Two? I know most of you have not even finished
your first year.”
The soldiers
were silent.
When he
started again his voice was stronger, carrying no sign of his drunken delirious
from moments ago: “I know him for more
than five years. I have fought many
times for him. My credentials speak for
me” his serious expression giving in to a mischievous grin “and my outstanding
rank!” a laughter erupted through the soldiers then, as someone from the
darkness added “To the rank of the private!” and all the cups were lifted
cheerfully, the soldiers taking a mouthful of the liquor. Tild saw clearly at that moment, that almost
all of the soldiers sitting around the nearby campfires were moving closer to
hear what he was saying.
“Fellas! I fought with Lord Sulach when
outnumbered. I fought with him when we
were surrounded! There was one time, the gith ambushed us from
both front and rear ranks and outnumbering us two to one” he slowed down then,
letting the words sink into the soldiers.
His voice was clear and loud when he started again: “But we always won. That man” his finger was pointing towards the
command tent standing tall and wide in the darkness, “That Lord Templar Sulach,
knows how to fight. He knows how to
win. As a soldier, all I had to do was
to follow his orders and think no further than my duties. And I am here today.”
All heads
seemed to nod in silent understanding, but Tild was not finished: “Let him do the thinking, let him do the
worrying. You just do what you are told
to do, and remember that you are on the winning side.”
Tild was
pleased to see the change in the soldiers’ expressions. It lifted his spirits as much as it did for
the soldiers’. Still he forced himself
to take on a serious expression:
“Now there is
another important matter” and he lifted his cup, draining all the remaining
ale. He retrieved a bag of dice from his
cloak, and took a set from there without looking.
“I have my
eyes on a nice warbeetle for a while now” he threw the dice into his cup and
begin to swirl the contents, “and you know… Funds are low.”
Laughters and
chatter broke through the gathered soldiers as they were drawn into the
games. Soon more games were started
around the campfires; coins were exchanged and more jokes were shared.
Later in the
night, Lieutenant Strian caught the sight of the former lieutenant Tild in the
middle of a huge group of soldiers, playing games and sharing jokes, and
shamelessly adding more coins to the already overgrown piles of obsidian as the
games continued. A smile crept over
Strian’s face as he stalked off into the night through the camp, then. The joyful spirits of the former lieutenant
was thoroughly lightening.
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Krath in the sky, woman. You use yer tongue
better'n an armless beggar lickin' water off the ground."
-
Addlestone Salarr
Itina’s arm
stretched to feel the warmth of manflesh, but she woke up as it only found the
cold touch of the wrinkled bedsheets.
She straightened up, causing the still asleep Eoni beside her shift with
an unpleasant muffle. Her eyes easily
spotted Sulach’s half naked form in the candle light, wrapped in white sheets
at the map table, a cup of wine accompanying his troubled thoughts.
Soft steps
left their naked touches on the sandy floor, carrying her in the dim
light. If Sulach was aware of her
approach, he showed no sign of it. Her
hands were gentle as she placed them on his shoulders, massaging him in between
gentle squeezes.
“The first
time I was terrified of the enemy was four years ago” Sulach spoke, as Itina’s
hands worked in harmony to relieve the stress from Sulach’s shoulders. “I realized then, that there is no shame in
being afraid, only in action that follows it.”
Itina nodded as she listened, though, Sulach could not see it. “I have seen men still holding their ground
when they are shaken with fear; I have seen them suppress the pain and fight,
when their guts are being spilled.”
“Are you
afraid that you will die tomorrow in the battlefield, my Lord?”
Sulach shook
his head:
“Death comes
for all of us, today or tomorrow it makes no difference. Men live to build the future and die to make
a difference.”
Her
fingertips caressed his skin as she walked around him to his front. Open palms cupped his face then smoothly;
they ran up his cheeks to brush his hair back.
Sulach was forced to look her in the eye as she stood in front of him,
the thin sheet wrapped around her barely covering the naked flesh.
“Then what is
it my Lord, that wakes you up from your sleep?”
Her hands brushed his hair in gentle caress, her eyes watching him with
distant admiration.
“How will the
future remember me?”
Itina smirked
at his words then shook her head. There
were not enough words of admiration for him.
“My lord”,
she began, her hands moving down to the hem of the wraps enveloping Sulach’s
form. “I am a living witness along with
many more, that you are someone true to your ideals; someone worth dying for”
she finished. Sulach barely nodded his head,
then leaned on his back in the chair, his head staring at the ceiling in the
dim light.
He felt
Itina’s pulling away the wraps that cover his naked form. Her hands were gentle, and her lips were
soft. In the silence of the dimly lit
tent, he let her take away all his worries.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER
9
“-You's got six words to tell me
how you's gonna make dat shit square... roughin up a fucker westside when you's
ain' got no colors on you's. Six
motherfuckin words.. Say dem now.
- You can have all my sid!”
-
Quick, after catching someone in the wrong place
The night would often make the city
beautiful but not tonight, observed Sergeant Idenu.
The bustle of crowds and the city life
slowly faded away as he kept walking on the street ahead. The walls by the sides of the road started to
have more and more cracks and scratches, giving a painful image of nonhealed
wounds. Even the ground was different
here, reflecting the lifeless and cruel image of the part of the city: the
Rinth.
Low life of
Allanak, thought the sergeant. The
idea that he was in this part of the city was insane. One year of serving as a recruit, and two
years of the Wyverns, he was climbing up steadily in his career. And yet, here he was, in the Chamber pot of the Highlord, walking for
a hope he would find what he is looking for before trouble finds him.
The road broke into a crude junction, an
alley leading to the west, the other keeping straight to the north. A statue of a templar, arms outstretched in a
greeting was on the side of the junction, one of his arms and head was missing
in an attempt of insolent mockery. The
red light of Jihae was spilling over the statue, as though, the templar was
bleeding from various wounds and scratches.
Bitter anger passed over the Sergeant as he observed the disrespect to
the Highlord, but he knew better than letting his anger control him. It was not in his place to correct the fools
dwelling here. The fact that this part
of the city still exsisted, meant that the Highlord and the templarate did want
it to exist. He shook his head in an
attempt to cool his thoughts as he turned toward the alley to his west. He wanted to get done and get out of this krath
forsaken place as soon as possible.
The brushing sound of cloth against cloth
came from his back and he spun wildly to meet his follower. The alley was dark; too dark for the
sergeant’s liking to catch someone sneaking around. In a reflexive motion, his hands drew his
blades and twirled them in a skillful display:
“Come out, whoever you are and face
me! I am sergeant Idenu of –“ the
sergeant started to challenge, but he stopped in the middle as he heard armored
boots clacking along the stone floor of the alleys. He spun wildly, taking on a defensive
position, but no attack came forward.
“Your name means nothing to me” responded
a male voice softly from his back.
Sergeant was staring at a towering frame
of an armored man. His shield was in
front and an axe was held in his other hand. A scar cutting his face diagonally
in half, the man was looking with murder in his eyes. Yet this was not the man who spoke to him,
the voice came from Sergeant’s back, from the shadows.
Sergeant hated being at a disadvantageous
situation like this. He turned over his
shoulder, trying to figure out where the source of the voice was:
“Look away from me!” the voice was not as
soft this time, and the sergeant felt he had no choice but to do as he was
told. He turned back to the hulking
figure of a man in front of him, and tried to remain calm. With years of training, it was quite possible
he could take down this towering figure of a man, but flanked by someone in his
back, he did not like his odds.
“Now give me a reason why I should not
beat you senseless and take away all your valuables” the soft voice spoke, and
the hulking man in front of him made a grunting sound at that. “And it better be a good reason” the voice
continued, “because, I really want to beat you.”
What a
fucking coincidence, I want to beat you too, sergeant thought, but it
was not time for being sarcastic:
“I came here on behalf of my Lord to
offer business.”
“Who, and what business?” demanded the
voice.
“I will only tell to the person who would
do it” sergeant said adamantly.
“Say it now” the voice softly demanded
again.
“No” the sergeant replied.
The sergeant was startled at the sudden
movement of the gigantic man ahead of him, but he recoiled quickly:
“Come then, you cowards! I will take at least one of you down with
me!” he prepared himself for a fight, as he took on a defensive posture, but
the attack did not come again. “And my
Lord knows I am here, and if I get missing, he will bring the drov upon you.”
“He will do no such thing” the voice
responded softly. “You are not supposed
to be here, sergeant, it is against the House rules. Since you came here instead of Waying your
business, surely your Lord wants something that should be really really secret. And your Lord will hide the fact that he was
aware of your coming here, for doing so would alert his rivals of his possible
plans. He will announce that you came
here against the House rules, and you will be remembered as a disgrace to the
Great Borsail” continued the voice in the same soft tone. When it spoke again, a pleasant tone was
accompanying the words as well, for the source of the voice had seen the
conflict of the sergeant. “I have been
nothing but polite to you. Do not
dishonor me by trying to play smart here, sergeant.”
“My Lord .. Lord Cadra” Idenu whispered in such a low voice he was
not sure if the man behind him could hear it, “He is asking if a riot could be
arranged.”
“Anything can be arranged if the price is
creative, sergeant” the voice replied, proving that he indeed heard it well.
“How much do you ask for it, and what
name should I give him?” Idenu asked.
“I think the price should be spoken with
him directly. Tell him to find my mind
and give me a price proving how badly he wants it done, without giving any
hints of what the price is about… Just the number” the voice spoke again, and
Idenu nodded to himself.
“I will tell him a yes or no, and if it
is a yes, he should give me which day it is he wants it done” the voice added
softly.
“What name should I give him to look
for?” Sergeant Idenu asked again.
“Mine.
I am Serpent.”
Moments later, after the sergeant of the
Wyverns departed, the towering man and Serpent were alone in the alley.
“You know, I don’t like that you will
make a riot and get many people killed for some coin” the big man spoke,
gritting his teeth in anger.
“Hmm?
Why do you care?” Serpent asked.
“It is our city! Our people!
They should not die because a fat ass noble wants them to!” he shouted
angrily, but then he took a deep calming breath: “At least, we should not be leading them to
death.”
“Scarface” Serpent began, and whenever he
called him Scarface, it would hint that an argument is on the way. “If the people are as stupid as to go to
their death for something they will never get, then it is better that they die
and the smarter ones are left alive.”
Scarface furrowed his brows in
confusion: “I don’t get that shit.”
“Exactly, you don’t” snapped
Serpent. “Remember now, the rinth is
your business, southside is mine. Do
–not- question the way I run the shit, if you do not want me question yours.”
The argument was over at that, without a
need for a fistfight between the crimelords.
It was a peaceful evening, and even though Idenu would not agree to it,
it was indeed a beautiful night for those who could see it.
* * * * * * * * *