Original Submissions
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The Warriors of Faith: Part II: "Before the Storm" by Ghost
Added on Feb 26, 2008The 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.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
…
He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
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