Luckymoose
The World is Mine
Exatai of the North Part 11
The tall, sea-stained sail sat limp, while the oars gave one last push. The ship drove hard against the fine sands of Nech, carving a rut like an axe in wood. From the ship a dozen men in bronze scale jumped into the shallows with ropes in tow. They pulled up onto the dry sands to pull with several great heaves, securing the ship. The ship was small, of the old style, and could be manned by a much smaller crew than the southern style warships of the Prince of Bone.
The men onboard lowered a large wooden ramp to the ground where the edge of waves still rolled. Aelona, now a girl of thirteen, stepped from the deck to the ramp, and descended to the beach below. The shores were as her mother described. Thickets of sand-grasses dotted the beginnings of the beaches with forests as dark as night on the horizon. The sound of a nearby camp echoed with the sounds of the sea.
They had followed the banner men of her uncle, Katu, King of Nech, along the shore for two days to find their destination. When she had left from Udul, she feared for her life, but now she knew she was safe in the lands of her blood. Behind her, on the ramp, came Thryar, her personal guard, with the iron plate she had bought for him across his chest; Tasmarc had already leapt from the ship. Her silk dress dragged in the shallows as she walked from the ship.
“Where is the king?” asked Tasmarc when she approached.
No sooner had Tasmarc questioned her kingly uncle when a horn blew over the high dunes of the beach. The sound of a dozen horses hit her ears and filled her imagination. Her mother had come to be Fulwarc’s bride as a child, so all of her stories of Katu were of him in his youth. Would he look like her? Would he be the sweet boy her mother remembered or a battle hardened warrior?
The horses came over the ridge; a banner rider waved the blue and white flag of her mother’s house. The horses were all decorated in bronze scale, just as her men were, from their heads to their hinds. The men on top wore bronze plates with leather straps across their arms, cloaks of deep blue hanged on their backs. She knew Katu the moment she laid eyes on him. He was the foremost rider, with a helm so finely decorated in gems and gold that a man could live as a lord by selling it. He wore a great white wolf pelt across his right shoulder. As he came closer his blond hair could be seen flowing from the sides of the helm, with a groomed golden beard underneath.
They dismounted to meet the line of Cyvekt men in front of Aelona. Thryar and Tasmarc stood center, prepared to defend their princess should something go wrong. Yet, she held no fear for this uncle, the blood of her mother would hold stronger than her father’s. She stepped between her guards, at the forefront, and stood as straight as she could.
Her uncle approached, removed his helm and eyed her, intently. He stared at her face for a moment, but it felt like an hour to her. He looked at her chest, where her bosom had begun to fill; he looked over her dress and her hair, and all the little things. He stood at the same height as her guards, all of them were the tallest and strongest her cousin could give. Katu was a strong prince, a soldier.
He smiled, “You look like your mother.” He handed his helm to one of his riders, and grabbed Aelona in a strong bear hug, lifting her from the ground, much to the concern of Thryar and Tasmarc. His strength took her breath away, but he quickly put her back down. He smiled again. “You terrify me with your beauty, Aelona. You are your mother in all but name; I swear it to any man.” He sighed. “I wish I could have seen her one last time. Come,” he said. “I apologize for the accommodations, but we’ve marched back north at word of your arrival.”
“I would have come south,” she said. They now walked back up the beach. Katu’s riders mounted and returned to their camp at their king’s command.
“Aye, the blood of warrior kings runs in you too. But winter’ll be upon us in a few months and these men have harvests to bring in. The march is through until the first thaw. We’ll retreat to my palace in Lutan, a fortnight ride north, and retire for the winter. I cannot give you everything Cuskar can, but I can give you safety, that is certain.” His words were powerful, like Fulwarc, but kinder. “You’ll have everything I have, and more if permitted, but my stronghold is not the Rock, and my wealth…”
She cut him off, “Your wealth is no concern to me, majesty. I have been in the house of Cuskar, yes, but I have not been spoiled on the riches as my father’s brother has. Wealth only holds if you master it, and power.”
“Well spoken, child, but it is uncle here or Katu if you must be unfamiliar.”
They topped the beach, and could see the cleared forest land where farms now stretched for miles on miles. The fields were golden with grain, and some had unusual leafy green vegetables that she had never seen. Beyond, in an empty pasture, sat several dozen tents and hundreds of horses. He told her that this was his camp, but only part of his men remained to march north. He had great loyalty amongst his subjects, when they went home for the winter they returned in the spring.
They walked down a dirt path between two fields of grain, wheat or barley, she did not remember the difference. The grains weren’t as high as the ones she remembered in the fields beyond Lexevh, but the grains atop were large and numerous. They came to the camp to the silence of the soldiers; their eyes watched her and her entourage pass by. In the center of the camp sat a large tent of pelts and wool fabric, spearmen guarded it on eight sides. He entered first, and she followed. The interior was well lit by a stone fire pit in the center; beds of thick furs lined a wooden platform in the rear. He sleeps here, she thought. A wooden throne, no taller or more magnificent than the average table chair, sat to their right at the edge of a short table. He was a northern king, not a southern aristocrat.
“Sit anywhere you like,” he said, “my tent is yours.” He gestured to the fur beds, to the chairs and next to the fire. “It pleases me greatly to see you, Aelona, you have no idea. When I heard that my sister passed in childbirth, and with the heir to the kingdom being stillborn, I wept.” He was comfortable around her, but she would never have gotten that out of him in front of his soldiers. “I loved my little sister. Your mother was my friend, but I lost her to your father too long ago. I feared I might lose more of my blood if that other prince had his way.”
“I am tougher than you think, uncle,” she replied. “I’m the blood of two kings, two great houses. It takes more than an incompetent to bring my life to an end,” she said, boasting. She now took a seat on the fur bed of the uncle as he walked the room.
“That fire could melt the snow,” he laughed. “My Tisza was sweet, but I see you have the axe arm of Fulwarc.”
“I am sweet,” she snapped.
“A sweeter berry the forests of Nech could never produce, I am sure,” he replied. “But you’d be wise to learn humility. Had you pulled that act in the face of your errant uncle’s men… a spear would be through your belly. Your cousin and I are kind men, respectful men, and blood of yours that will not falter.”
They did not speak for a moment. Katu rolled his hands in the warmth of the fire pit; she sprawled on the furs. They smelled of smoke and sweat, of war and death.
“Do you have a wife?” she asked.
“Yes, and three heirs: Katu, of my name, Rokti and Aeuon. I have daughters too, younger than you, but a mirror of my queen. They remain at Lutan. You shall meet them all, soon, and they will love you as a sibling.”
“You honor me greatly, uncle,” she quickly said.
“Heh,” he snorted, “I have heard a lot about you from Cuskar. Am I to except your political commentary?”
“I would not be true to myself if I refused,” she said. “But I know the custom, it is the same in Cyve. I am but a lady, not a warrior.”
“Do not take me for a fool, Aelona cuCyve,” he said, kindly. “You are a diplomat of the highest kind. I know what you wish to say, and I will hear it with an open mind. You are well read, he told me, you know the ways of the southern kings and their silver-tongued messengers. Let a man speak falsely of you, and I will take his manhood so he may be the lady in my presence. A king cannot rule justly without a queen. Your father knew this; your father loved my sister, respected my sister as I respect my wife and her judgments.” He paused. “I was only a bit older than you when I took the throne. My mother raised me to be fair, to think, to rule with reason and logic. I did not have the resources of the Rock, but you did, and your word is worth its weight in gold. When we reach Lutan there will be a man from the Face there with a tongue that spins string to gold and gold to string. You will meet him with me, and we will discuss what you came for.”
The tall, sea-stained sail sat limp, while the oars gave one last push. The ship drove hard against the fine sands of Nech, carving a rut like an axe in wood. From the ship a dozen men in bronze scale jumped into the shallows with ropes in tow. They pulled up onto the dry sands to pull with several great heaves, securing the ship. The ship was small, of the old style, and could be manned by a much smaller crew than the southern style warships of the Prince of Bone.
The men onboard lowered a large wooden ramp to the ground where the edge of waves still rolled. Aelona, now a girl of thirteen, stepped from the deck to the ramp, and descended to the beach below. The shores were as her mother described. Thickets of sand-grasses dotted the beginnings of the beaches with forests as dark as night on the horizon. The sound of a nearby camp echoed with the sounds of the sea.
They had followed the banner men of her uncle, Katu, King of Nech, along the shore for two days to find their destination. When she had left from Udul, she feared for her life, but now she knew she was safe in the lands of her blood. Behind her, on the ramp, came Thryar, her personal guard, with the iron plate she had bought for him across his chest; Tasmarc had already leapt from the ship. Her silk dress dragged in the shallows as she walked from the ship.
“Where is the king?” asked Tasmarc when she approached.
No sooner had Tasmarc questioned her kingly uncle when a horn blew over the high dunes of the beach. The sound of a dozen horses hit her ears and filled her imagination. Her mother had come to be Fulwarc’s bride as a child, so all of her stories of Katu were of him in his youth. Would he look like her? Would he be the sweet boy her mother remembered or a battle hardened warrior?
The horses came over the ridge; a banner rider waved the blue and white flag of her mother’s house. The horses were all decorated in bronze scale, just as her men were, from their heads to their hinds. The men on top wore bronze plates with leather straps across their arms, cloaks of deep blue hanged on their backs. She knew Katu the moment she laid eyes on him. He was the foremost rider, with a helm so finely decorated in gems and gold that a man could live as a lord by selling it. He wore a great white wolf pelt across his right shoulder. As he came closer his blond hair could be seen flowing from the sides of the helm, with a groomed golden beard underneath.
They dismounted to meet the line of Cyvekt men in front of Aelona. Thryar and Tasmarc stood center, prepared to defend their princess should something go wrong. Yet, she held no fear for this uncle, the blood of her mother would hold stronger than her father’s. She stepped between her guards, at the forefront, and stood as straight as she could.
Her uncle approached, removed his helm and eyed her, intently. He stared at her face for a moment, but it felt like an hour to her. He looked at her chest, where her bosom had begun to fill; he looked over her dress and her hair, and all the little things. He stood at the same height as her guards, all of them were the tallest and strongest her cousin could give. Katu was a strong prince, a soldier.
He smiled, “You look like your mother.” He handed his helm to one of his riders, and grabbed Aelona in a strong bear hug, lifting her from the ground, much to the concern of Thryar and Tasmarc. His strength took her breath away, but he quickly put her back down. He smiled again. “You terrify me with your beauty, Aelona. You are your mother in all but name; I swear it to any man.” He sighed. “I wish I could have seen her one last time. Come,” he said. “I apologize for the accommodations, but we’ve marched back north at word of your arrival.”
“I would have come south,” she said. They now walked back up the beach. Katu’s riders mounted and returned to their camp at their king’s command.
“Aye, the blood of warrior kings runs in you too. But winter’ll be upon us in a few months and these men have harvests to bring in. The march is through until the first thaw. We’ll retreat to my palace in Lutan, a fortnight ride north, and retire for the winter. I cannot give you everything Cuskar can, but I can give you safety, that is certain.” His words were powerful, like Fulwarc, but kinder. “You’ll have everything I have, and more if permitted, but my stronghold is not the Rock, and my wealth…”
She cut him off, “Your wealth is no concern to me, majesty. I have been in the house of Cuskar, yes, but I have not been spoiled on the riches as my father’s brother has. Wealth only holds if you master it, and power.”
“Well spoken, child, but it is uncle here or Katu if you must be unfamiliar.”
They topped the beach, and could see the cleared forest land where farms now stretched for miles on miles. The fields were golden with grain, and some had unusual leafy green vegetables that she had never seen. Beyond, in an empty pasture, sat several dozen tents and hundreds of horses. He told her that this was his camp, but only part of his men remained to march north. He had great loyalty amongst his subjects, when they went home for the winter they returned in the spring.
They walked down a dirt path between two fields of grain, wheat or barley, she did not remember the difference. The grains weren’t as high as the ones she remembered in the fields beyond Lexevh, but the grains atop were large and numerous. They came to the camp to the silence of the soldiers; their eyes watched her and her entourage pass by. In the center of the camp sat a large tent of pelts and wool fabric, spearmen guarded it on eight sides. He entered first, and she followed. The interior was well lit by a stone fire pit in the center; beds of thick furs lined a wooden platform in the rear. He sleeps here, she thought. A wooden throne, no taller or more magnificent than the average table chair, sat to their right at the edge of a short table. He was a northern king, not a southern aristocrat.
“Sit anywhere you like,” he said, “my tent is yours.” He gestured to the fur beds, to the chairs and next to the fire. “It pleases me greatly to see you, Aelona, you have no idea. When I heard that my sister passed in childbirth, and with the heir to the kingdom being stillborn, I wept.” He was comfortable around her, but she would never have gotten that out of him in front of his soldiers. “I loved my little sister. Your mother was my friend, but I lost her to your father too long ago. I feared I might lose more of my blood if that other prince had his way.”
“I am tougher than you think, uncle,” she replied. “I’m the blood of two kings, two great houses. It takes more than an incompetent to bring my life to an end,” she said, boasting. She now took a seat on the fur bed of the uncle as he walked the room.
“That fire could melt the snow,” he laughed. “My Tisza was sweet, but I see you have the axe arm of Fulwarc.”
“I am sweet,” she snapped.
“A sweeter berry the forests of Nech could never produce, I am sure,” he replied. “But you’d be wise to learn humility. Had you pulled that act in the face of your errant uncle’s men… a spear would be through your belly. Your cousin and I are kind men, respectful men, and blood of yours that will not falter.”
They did not speak for a moment. Katu rolled his hands in the warmth of the fire pit; she sprawled on the furs. They smelled of smoke and sweat, of war and death.
“Do you have a wife?” she asked.
“Yes, and three heirs: Katu, of my name, Rokti and Aeuon. I have daughters too, younger than you, but a mirror of my queen. They remain at Lutan. You shall meet them all, soon, and they will love you as a sibling.”
“You honor me greatly, uncle,” she quickly said.
“Heh,” he snorted, “I have heard a lot about you from Cuskar. Am I to except your political commentary?”
“I would not be true to myself if I refused,” she said. “But I know the custom, it is the same in Cyve. I am but a lady, not a warrior.”
“Do not take me for a fool, Aelona cuCyve,” he said, kindly. “You are a diplomat of the highest kind. I know what you wish to say, and I will hear it with an open mind. You are well read, he told me, you know the ways of the southern kings and their silver-tongued messengers. Let a man speak falsely of you, and I will take his manhood so he may be the lady in my presence. A king cannot rule justly without a queen. Your father knew this; your father loved my sister, respected my sister as I respect my wife and her judgments.” He paused. “I was only a bit older than you when I took the throne. My mother raised me to be fair, to think, to rule with reason and logic. I did not have the resources of the Rock, but you did, and your word is worth its weight in gold. When we reach Lutan there will be a man from the Face there with a tongue that spins string to gold and gold to string. You will meet him with me, and we will discuss what you came for.”