End of Empires - N3S III

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.”
 
To: Atsan
From: Suran


...We have never seen an army of 40,000 before, have you?

There are many things -- awful things -- a king must do for the betterment of his people. But flee into the depths of the forests at a shadow of a rumor? My people live here. This is their home -- and has been, for generations. We fish in its narrows, trade between its islands, farm its terraces, and have built its cities from the ground up. I will not abandon my throne, my kingdom, nor my people just because some foreigner has brought a declaration of war to my doorstep. If they should launch ships, I shall sink them. If they should land soldiers, I will kill them. If their king should challenge me, I will break him. Whatever strange threat these "Haine" pose, I will meet it. You may do what you like.
How big is your fleet? Can it face an armada of nearly 200 ships? We have talked with them and saw their armies. We have seen their ships that are ready to embark. Their fleet is massive and they are very numerous indeed. We are not cowards, but we do know when a face to face fight is hopeless.
 
He had never seen rain like this before. On the Face of the Moon, rain was a gift of the goddess, so rare and delicate that every drop was to be savored. A similar tale was told in the dry south of Nahar. Even the Tarenans, who saw rain come by the seasons every winter, were over-awed by the torrential deluge. The Storm of a Century, they called it. So for as long as the storm raged, the army was bogged down in their tents and their quarters, and the young emperor was left to pace his tent in frustration.

Thubalup, thubalup. Even through the thunder, Khatai could make out the running steps of a horse. The messenger from Pamala, he realized. What has the tyrant done this time? He stepped outside and saw the horse and his rider appear to materialize like mist from the sheets that poured from the sky.

The courier dismounted and kneeled before his liege. “My Emperor. Messages from Pamala, from four days ago.” He handed him a scroll, wrapped tight in waterproof leather.

“My thanks.” The Emperor took the scroll. The courier bowed and began to mount his horse to leave. “Wait,” Khatai interrupted. “You have done well to brave the wind and rain. Come inside and find some respite by the fire.”

“T-thank you, my Emperor.” The courier bowed.

Khatai went back inside his tent and unfurled the scroll. A message was written in fine court calligraphy:

Falerat, the tyrant of Tarena, protector of Pamala, etc. etc., resigns from his position, effective immediately. He names the Emperor the executor of his will, ceding all holdings under his domain and all vassals under his protection to him.

Underneath was another message, scrawled in his chancellor’s cursive:

You’d better do something about this immediately. The court here is confused and bewildered, not that that hasn’t been a defining characteristic about his rule. You know the Gallasans and that snake Arto will try to do anything to get some of them to turncloak right now.

-Harunai


Khatai sighed and pondered his fire. I bet Mirai never had to deal with any of this nonsense from his companions, he thought. Tarena needs a leader, someone to unite their ambitions, to give them meaning. Tarena needs someone who will make Falerat a bad memory. He walked back out into the rain.

The tent of the nephew of Falerat was only three fires down from the emperor’s. Vesper lay on a bedroll of silk, luxuriating by the fire next to a large spread out map. His arms and armor were placed lazily by the bedside, with the dirt and grime of previous weeks still caked upon them. He appeared to be absorbed in a heavy book that rested on his thighs, but his green eyes shimmered when Khatai entered the room.

“Morning, Khatai.” The young Tarenan sat up on his bedroll, and put down his book. He was beardless in the Tarenan style, but he had clearly not shaved this morning. Khatai decided that the shadow on his face complimented his eyes well.

“Same to you, Vesp. You are always reading when we are not on horseback. What if we had to march? You are not well prepared.” Khatai sat down on the edge of the bedroll.

“Don’t be ridiculous. March? In this storm?” Vesper laughed and picked up his book again.

“Fair enough.” Khatai leaned over to read the title. “Da-high-you…?”

Vesper sighed. “Dahaiaou, by Tarofan Sihalahei. It’s what the Faronun call the Satar. Those upon which the Sun will not shine, or more literally, the un-Sun. I figured a bit of their history might be useful, with all these rumors spreading across camp that the Redeemer may finally cross the ocean.”

“A bit?” Khatai remarked, eying the massive tome. “Still, I came here for a reason,” he said as Vesper threw off a layer of his sheets, “no, not that reason – I was thinking – what would you have done in my place?”

“In what place?” Vesper squinted at him. “Emperor?”

“Yes. Ten years ago, when your uncle called for aid. What would you have done?” Khatai pressed him, black eyes staring into green.

Vesper blinked. “What’s going on, Khatai? You don’t usually do this – has my uncle done something stupid again?”

Khatai handed him the scroll. Vesper ran his eyes down it, his expression dropping with his glance.

“That fvcking idiot. Although I do see that Harunai is as cheerful as always.” Vesper scowled.

“Well?”

“Oh, well. I mean, this just proves it. My uncle was utterly hopeless, and you never should have come. And I mean that seriously. He dug his own grave, no reason you should scramble to remove the earth when he’s all too happy to lie in it.”

He spoke brazenly, in what most men would construe as a challenge to his decision making, even an affront to his rule. Yet this was what had so endeared Vesper to Khatai – the fact that he was not afraid to speak, surrounded as he was so often by obsequious men who would only tell him what he wanted to hear. He had a fire about him that Khatai often felt many of the northmen lacked, and he appreciated that.

“Do you really believe that?” Khatai began gently. Vesper nodded quickly, and so Khatai placed his hand over his own before continuing, “Tell me this: where would you be today, had I not come?”

For the first time that morning, Vesper was at a loss for what to say. Khatai continued.

“Kingship is not merely a game of strategy. If I had listened to what my strategists recommended, I would have driven a stake through the Airani Rosh’s heart, using the war between Gallasa and Tarena and our new peace with the Opulensi as the perfect screen for action. But I did not.”

“No, you didn’t,” Vesper agreed. “Why not?”

“Because it is not what Mirai, or the first Qasaarai, or my father, would have done. Because it was not the just, nor the honorable thing to do. The Airani agreed to a just peace: to recognize the conquests of father and to allow the faithful to pray and teach to the goddess as they pleased. Yes, they still cling to the old teachings of the Faith, corrupted by the Wards and their greed as it is, and it is not an easy peace. But it is peace. Tarena, on the other hand…”

“Even my cousins would not go as so far as to claim my uncle was a just man,” Vesper said.

Khatai smiled. “You have not let me finish. While it is true that Falerat may not have been an especially just man, nor a particularly honorable one, that is not the question I ask. Too often kings rashly seek to mete out justice to their subjects, when they must firstly judge themselves. In this case, it was not Falerat who was on trial, but myself. Just like any subject has an obligation to his master, every master has an obligation to his subjects. If the master cannot provide for his subjects, why should they choose him to call him their master? And thus it is so with subjects and their king. Your uncle, as flawed as a man though he may be, pledged himself to the goddess to restore the Light, as I have done. And as the bearer of her Flame, it was firstly my obligation to protect him from his enemies before making judgment on his actions. Do you understand?”

“Yes I do, your majesty,” Vesper said as he stood up, finishing with a mock serious bow.

“I’m serious here, Vesp. The books you read may talk all they want about kings and their game of thrones, but you must realize what responsibility befalls a king before you wear the crown.” Khatai pressed him on his shoulders.

“…before I wear the crown?” Vesper’s smile suddenly hung open. “B-but Khatai, I don’t know-“

“You have rode into battle, and proven yourself the equal of any man on the field, and twice any other in intelligence off it. Your countrymen know and speak of your courage. You are a little lacking in wisdom yet-“

“As you would know-”

“-But that will change in time. I will send word to the Pamalan Council recommending you as King of Tarena, and though your uncle’s name is scorned in many circles, it still has weight in your country. They will acclaim you as king – and in the meantime, you will learn how to be a good one. Are you willing, Vesper?”

Vesper looked thoughtfully at Khatai, eyes blazing. “Yes - Yes, I am willing, Khatai. I will carry myself with the dignity that befits the honor of the seat you have bestowed upon me.

Then he embraced his friend, whispering playfully in his ear, “Was that well rehearsed enough for a king?”

“It was,” the Emperor said, returning the embrace.

“Then my sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day to my last day*. I will do my best to fulfill my obligations to you as you have always down for me. I swear it.”

“And the same to you, Vesper. King Vesper.”


*Blatant plagiarism, but I love this line. Books>show, but show has some killer lines in places.
 
Can I rejoin as the Dulama Empire?
 
NK, can you show me the old wiki link? I need to port some Ilfolk details from the old wiki... :)
 
How big is your fleet? Can it face an armada of nearly 200 ships? We have talked with them and saw their armies. We have seen their ships that are ready to embark. Their fleet is massive and they are very numerous indeed. We are not cowards, but we do know when a face to face fight is hopeless.

Do we look like fools to you? We're not going to uproot our entire people (even if that were possible) and flee to some jungle land on the word of a madman.

Can I rejoin as the Dulama Empire?

Ah... You do realize that the Empire is probably at its weakest point now? If you're fine with that, then it's all good. :p

NK, can you show me the old wiki link? I need to port some Ilfolk details from the old wiki... :)

No problem.
 
Do we look like fools to you? We're not going to uproot our entire people (even if that were possible) and flee to some jungle land on the word of a madman.
OOC: So they are calling me a madman? Fine. I'll leave them to noob's people.
 
Sorry for not having much to say about the update - it is a good one, though, and I'm flattered by the quote. :p Should really look into writing something again, myself.

In the meantime, I have been re-reading some parts of the thread selectively to remind myself of things. I have a question aimed at Kal'thzar, North King or whoever else might be enlightened on the subject: what does the word Iralliam mean? :p

EDIT: Come to think of it, some information on the cosmogony would be nice as well. I could try and come up with something myself, of course. I understand that the origins of the universe is not Iralliam's top concern, but surely they have something.
 
A Shadowed Mien

Prologue
Part One
Part Two
Interlude

Part Three:

“Men do not kill or die for hate. They do so for love.”

-Atraxes

The siege of Vadathydr was over. It was now the sack of Vadathydr.

Iron-bound timber gates cracked at the insistence of unholy engines built in the teeming Accan cities. The city’s defenders wore ancient armor, rarely-used outside of ceremony. They also wore their fears, their anxieties, their hopes and dreams. Their foes wore crueler things.

Lightly-armored men in silver scales were first through the gate, limbs splayed wide in the opening to an ancient oracular form. These men were demons out of the southern deserts, men of shadow, of impure blood, whose ancestors had mated with snake-monsters. These people were called Satar.

These Satar were no ordinary men. They were the Argashim. Their Aspect Master, Zaphkel-ta-Siaxis, bore a brilliant black mask with a bright topaz marking the Redeemer’s favor. In this fallen city, he WAS the Redeemer.

Stolid, well-armored Accans with pikes and bucklers trundled behind, methodically and slowly clearing a space before the gate. A few Vithana, the manes on their heads as long as those of their horses, began to shout, firing off burning arrows into windows and doors and fleeing backs.

“We bring you mercy,” cried the Argashim as they scythed through the sad remnant of the Evyni army that defended this place.

“We bring you truth.”

---

The cool juice of the plum ran down his chin, darker than blood.

It seemed strange, he reflected as he ate. This peace they had won.

The top of the prince’s tower was open to the air, with nothing between the widely spaced, slim pink columns supporting the small dome. A tiled mosaic depicting Taleldil’s planting of the first lemon tree covered the ceiling. Five elegant simple chairs were set at an elegant simple table, a grand map of the Exatai covering its surface. He considered the view as he chewed. So rarely was he here, in the heart of his own nuccion. So rarely was he at peace.

Alma was perfect. The little city was growing at a rapid pace, orange-roofed houses with elegant archways nestled against each other like baby birds, topping the swell of three great hills, the tallest holding this very tower. A heptagonal oracular temple rose slowly on another, and the third held a prominent white-stone citadel. In the distance, the bright blue swell of coast teemed with fish. It was a charming, modest, prosperous, secure city. It was his.

And the deepwater harbor. Glistening and bright on the surface, it hid countless bones in the depths. At least a dozen men, he knew, made their living by diving into the bay to pull treasure from the bodies of the countless Aitahists that lay on the seabed. The Battle of the Bays…more like the Slaughter of the Bays. His greatest achievement.

He was toying with the fruit knife as the other princes arrived. The juice was staining his fingers.

Karal came first, the half-acclaimed Prince of the Moon. Youthful enthusiasm overwhelmed princely dignity as he bounded to the edge of oblivion to take in the view. For someone born on the shores of Lake Nasara, with endless dry plain in every direction, the hills and heights of Alma must be spectacular, he realized.

“This place is magnificent, Arto! No wonder the enemy wanted it so,” the teenager laughed. How unlike his father. Perhaps he’ll grow into him. He thanked him demurely as the young prince took his place.

Next was Laeng, the Xieni Prince of Wind. He moved curiously, as if conserving every motion. He paused to examine the mosaic, the column, the two men seated at the table. He spent little time on the awe-inspiring view. His mask had a single stone of jade set in the silver. He asserts both his independence and his submission at the same time, Arto noted.

“My princes,” he said softly.

“You have journeyed far,” said Rutarri.

“Yes,” said Laeng. “I was born a prince, then became a king, and then became a prince. In that way, though I have traveled far, I have returned to my beginning. As must we all.”

“Er…Exatas?” said Karal.

Arto shot the young prince a withering look. Then he stood to greet Elikas.

The Fire-Light stood in the center of the room, armored and attired as he always was, in riding leathers with a metal shoulder guard. “Sea-Prince. It is meet with the balance.”

Rutarri raised his eyebrows at the Evyni phrase. “I see you are spending much time in your northern holdings.”

“My understanding of the Aspects has been enhanced by the Ytau. We are neither bowed nor blind, and Taleldil is not weakened by new knowing.”

“Your pragmatism is your strength, Elikas. I would do well not to forget it.”

The four princes turned to see the Redeemer emerging from the stairwell. He wore shining silver plate armor with gold scrollwork running down the vambraces, the breastplate, and the greaves, looking like a shining argent body with veins of gold. The flowing golden curls still ran down to his shoulders, a boyish affectation from the man who was now almost thirty-five.

He prepared to bow…and then saw someone following him. Following him quite closely, it seemed. A slim figure in blue with a silver mask…his wife Zelarri.

“Arto,” said Prince Karal. “You cut yourself.”

He looked down to see a small trickle of blood running down his hand. “So I have.” He placed the fruit knife down on the table, as all four princes crossed their arms over their chests, bowing their heads in unison.

“My princes, my friends, no need.” said the Thirteenth Redeemer. “I cannot thank you enough, Arto, for the run of your charming city, your beautiful nuccion…and all it contains.” The Redeemer’s eyes flicked slightly to the side.

“The Accanon and my Redeemer are my life,” said Rutarri. “Everything I have is yours, my Scion.”

They sat, an exchanged the pleasantries of lands and families and skirmishes fought and won. There was no place at the table for his wife, so Zelarri glided behind Arto and stood behind his chair. She placed her hand briefly on the base of his neck. It felt ice cold.

“You would have your wife in our council?” said Elikas bluntly.

“She is here at my invitation, Eli,” interrupted Avetas. “And you forget your lineage. Vespelias Atteri, the Eleventh Redeemer and last of the Ardavai, had one infant child that survived the fall of Seis. She stands before you today."

Elikas exhaled briefly. “My apologies.”

Zelarri tilted her head in the princely fashion that indicated a smile when one was wearing a mask. “If my presence discomforts you, Prince Elikas, I will leave. Perhaps practice my weaving, if you think it more suitable.”

Karal laughed sharply, poorly disguising it as a cough.

“I am unused to the presence of women at a war council,” Elikas replied. “But the blood of the Redeemers runs in your veins. In that, you are my equal.”

“I had been informed only of a council,” said Laeng softly. “Twenty years of war have ravaged the world, and now we are called to begin again? I am too old for such ambition, my Redeemer.”

Avetas leaned forward in his seat. “Prince Laeng, your wisdom is legend. No war will touch Xien. But I do ask for your consent. Warlords still ravage the Nuvn, and my Prince Dvraesyn is helpless to conquer them. I must go north, for years, to subdue the great forests myself.”

Arto Rutarri cleared his throat. "The Concord of Sirasona granted us the Gallatene fleet, without which the Accanon would have fallen. Now, Gallat itself lies under threat from an empire of Aitahists that stretches far across the eastern desert.” He stood to point at the appropriate sections of the map. “If we do not honor our alliance now, our word will be worthless. And Aitahists bent on the death of our god and our world will stand on our southern and eastern frontiers."

Avetas stared at Laeng. “I do not demand your support, but I request it. I am willing to concede you your desire, control over the Ming lands.”

Laeng inclined his head at the man he had knelt to. “That is very well, Avetas-ta-Vaxalai. And my other request?”

Elikas frowned under his mask. “The prohibition of Enguntith is not under negotiation.”

Laeng chuckled softly. “Are you the Redeemer? I was under the impression that you were, as I am, a lowly servant.”

“Enough,” said Avetas sternly. “Few converts have come from the Einan, despite your adoption of the Ardavani faith. If I see that you can spread the word and the will of Taleldil, I will consider allowing the false god’s teachings, but only then.”

“I build great temples to a foreign god at my own expense, and send thousands of my subjects to die in a strange land for a war in which they have no reason to fight. In return, I receive ravaged lands and promises.” Laeng cocked his head. “Is this what passes for a deal?”

Silence around the table.

“He is your god as well,” said Karal quietly.

Laeng sighed. “I have already thrown my daughter into the wilderness on his behalf. I will consider your offer, my Redeemer.”

“That is all I ask, Prince Laeng.”

Avetas stood, and the Princes stood with him. “Prince Arto speaks Gallatene, and has gained much influence and respect in the circles of the League. I will place him in command of this war.”

Karal cleared his throat. “Avetas, what would you have me do?”

Avetas turned to his young prince. “My ward, I would have you reclaim your birthright. Xardan has overstepped his bounds. I will give you the Argashim, and Zaphkel, my finest warrior. I leave your uncle’s fate in your hands.”

At this, Zelarri stepped forward. “My Redeemer, if a lowly woman may speak.”

Avetas replied, “She may.”

“It is difficult at the best of times for the Prince of the Sea to control the Accan families. His absence on a dangerous campaign, at his advanced age…it could lead to terrible disunity. We Accans are loyal to you, Avetas…just not to each other.”

“The Letoratta owes this debt to his ruler,” said Avetas. “But, Acca will not consume itself. You will rule the Princedom in his stead.”

“Is this wise?” said Elikas and Karal almost simultaneously.

“She will not rule it alone. She has my support. And that of her fellow Princes.”

Arto clenched his teeth, and wondered for the thousandth time whether he actually loved his beautiful wife. Two sparrow-hawks flew from the tower towards the sea as the Letoratta gathered the great men of the Exatai around the table.

“We face a foe something like ourselves: Proud, mobile, and strong. Perhaps more dangerous than the Aitahists we have already broken. If we are to crush them, we must be cunning and merciless. Here is what I propose…”

While the Letoratta began to speak of troops and transports and liaisons with the Gallatenes, Elikas took the Redeemer’s arm.

“What of the Prince of Bone?” he whispered.

“We will greet him as the hosts gather in Atracta. Give him every courtesy, and treat him as an equal. We do not need this prince, but we will see if he is ours in truth.”

“Very well.”

Avetas grinned. “We will make Satar out of these barbarians yet. Arto! Pass me a plum.”
 
The New Good Story [Part One].

It is said that all good stories start in the beginning of history, proceed through the decline of the subsequent epochs and culminate in the death and commemoration of the modern protagonist by his survivors.

I pray to the Good God that your death is far off, and that I will not be among those who will be at your parting ceremony, for only an evil father would seek to outlive his own son. Nevertheless, I have been taught that every life can be a story; and the use of learning in the world is to help it be a good story. Therefore I have decided to write this letter, in order to impart to you the history of the world and the lessons that can be drawn from it.

You have heard all of this before, in person, from your mother, and your teachers, and myself. Yet you have been far away from home for years, on your honourable mission in our Emperor’s service. The threads of the good story in your head have become disjointed and frayed, and need renewal. Your knowledge has fallen apart into several pieces, and must be put back together in the proper way. And though the Foreigners are our allies and fellow-subjects, they do not have our truth; some say they have their own, but it is still not ours. Their ideas are as popular at the Court now as their ingenious inventions and performances were in your grandfather’s time, but they are still no substitute for our knowledge, especially as it is rooted both in the traditions of our Ancestors and in the teachings of the Prophet. Thus I ask of you to read this letter carefully, and think upon the lessons of our history; not out of filial piety, but for your own good.

Prior to the arrival of the Good Teaching in the Homelands, our ancestors were noble and just, but their knowledge was often imperfect – impaired by the broken state of the world. Thus they had very little to say about the beginning of the world, or otherwise what they did have to say was sorely mistaken and no longer worth studying, as it had been deemed a heresy by the Grandpatriarch’s representatives. The light of knowledge from the South had helped mend our views, and had made evident the great truths hidden both in and outside our old stories.

So now I could write to you with sincerity and confidence that in the beginning, just as now, there were two gods: the Good God, whose name is Opporia, and the Evil God, whose name is Istria. Good and Evil had always existed in the world, and will not cease to be while the world exists. They had always fought, as well, and so one must be careful in life to be on the side of the Good God; to walk Opporia’s Path lest one would fall to Istria’s Doom, a miserable and futile end that would not be a good story.

As the Church teaches, the world as we know it – and the world as our distant ancestors knew it – proceeds from the Good God. Therefore all life and all creation is good by default. Yet from the very start, Istria worked on ways to twist and corrupt all that Opporia had made. This was within his nature, and in a way the evil he had worked is something that we must accept, for evil is that which defines the boundaries of good, and of the world.

Having invented the first Evil, Istria did not rest, but started making many lesser ones. Those were the Niamdes, as the Southerners called them. To counter them and also to define creation, Opporia made the Aenid. Thus both good and evil can come in many different guises. The Niamdes and the Aenid formed armies and made war against each other, for that was their nature. As all armies, they had divisions, hierarchies and ranks that set the different members in them apart; yet also as all armies, they retained cohesion and fought for the same cause. So good and evil can be grand or petty, and vary greatly according to division. Yet for the most part, any evil will serve other evils, and any good will help other good things, even those that will seem unrelated at first glance.

During their struggle, the Good God sacrificed his worldly body to destroy that of his evil opponent. This has moved both of them beyond the world of mortals (to the place where all the dead things go), and forced them to continue their struggle on a lesser scale and through proxies. This is why there is no one big Evil and no one big Good in the world, other than the world itself, perhaps. But this does not mean that their struggle is over; rather, they had stepped back to let the world grow. Some say that the end of the world will come, one day, and the Good God and the Evil God will gain bodies again and fight each other; but that is irrelevant to my letter, and I only bring it up to curb the tongues of those who claim that the end of all humankind is near. One may not predict such things, and should not be concerned with them.

In any case, Opporia’s sacrifice let mortal life arise. For a long time, the Great Family ruled all life. Eso Kotuu, the Crimson Elephant, was the Chief-of-Chiefs, just like our Emperor is the Chief-of-Chiefs of the Moti; yet Eso Kotuu’s domain stretched much further, even to the distant and pathetic lands that we have not heard of until a few years ago. Some say that the world must have gotten larger since then. When a mirror shatters and its shards fly in all directions, does it become larger?

There are some among us who will tell you that Eso Kotuu and the rest of the Ancestor Chiefs were Aenids, while the Evil Family Chief was either a Niamdes or an Aenid that had been misled. However, this is not theologically correct. The Ancestor Chiefs were in their own category of beings; living things that were especially close to the Good God, and were the links between him and his power of creation on the one hand, and modern humans and animals on the other. Yet they were mortals, in the end, and they were fallible. The Evil Family Chief was the first of them to be corrupted, but others followed too, and that is where most Foreigners come from. The Evil Family Chief fell upon the Evil God’s path out of pride, which was a new and unique evil, because unlike many others, that were simply corruptions of lawful desires, it was a wholly independent thing, born of a mortal mind. And it is said that the Crimson Elephant was a wise Chief-of-Chiefs, but he only knew the things that were, and so could not defend himself adequately against this new-born evil. He was poisoned and died, and the families that made up the Great Family fell into infighting. And that was how the mortal world was shattered, not by the fight between the Good God and the Evil God, but due to mortal fallibility.

To be continued.
 
Exatai of the North Part 12

“Protect the prince,” someone shouted, and the shields went up to catch the volley of arrows. He hated that. The Prince of Bone stepped amidst his men, now cluttered together to block the shots from Marak’s line. A cold rain fell on the field of battle. The mud caked their feet, and slowed them, but the True Lord of the Sea still stood but a short distance away.

He pulled a man’s shield down as the volley hit. “Damn you all!” he roared as the arrows crashed down around him. “When you die I’ll not have your fvcking soul telling the gods that you fell protecting the Prince of Bone. I’ll not cower behind my own men, nor will you take credit for my life.” He released his grip on the man’s shield. The volley was over, neither man was hit.

A horn blew. Artaxeras, he knew.

The riders returned from the north, their left flank, thinner than before. At the helm was the steel scaled horse lord, the Prince’s own tarkan. He cursed in Satar over the shouts of the lower men as he approached. His armor was now stained in blood on the left side.

“My prince.” He leaned on his mount, a weak bow. “Marak fights hard, but we’ve shattered his advances in the wood. Yet, I lost two dozen riders in the mud.”

“Are you hurt?” asked Fulwarc. He walked clear of his line, which now pushed forward at the shouts of his captains. They knew his command before he spoke it.

Artaxeras patted his left side, “Exatas!” The movement of his head showed his pleasure at the orgy of battle. “If we hit him, now, hard in north at the edge of trees,” he said.

“We’ll break his spine on the wood,” Fulwarc agreed. He did not need to order his men; they heard and knew. These men were his men, they shared wound and victory. “I shall drown him in the sea he so claims, eh!”

“It shall be,” Artaxeras said, enthusiastically.

Fulwarc gripped his axe, its handle as tall as him. The rain soaked through the mask, clouding his vision. He had fought in worse, he remembered. “I will show these men what it means to be king,” he said. “Take the riders south, with five hundred fresh men, to strengthen our center. Keep the Lord of the Sea walking along the edge of the blade, brother, for he does not know he has lost.”

“He lost when came here. Exatas,” replied Artaxeras, and a horn blew.

The riders rode behind the line of shield and axe, and with fresh men they bolstered the center. Fulwarc jogged through the soft ground, over grasses and small stones that littered the fields where Marak had chosen to stand. He had run for weeks across Sarkanda with his host to escape the Dead King’s raids. He had tried to run across the sea to northern islands, but the new king of Voninheim had claimed his ships, and punished him for it.

He now stood with three thousand men, not a horse left from the winter. Fulwarc had burned their grain, so they ate their steeds. They were weak men, hungry and tired, but they did not surrender. Marak gave them courage, but courage is a fool’s armor. Courage would not stop his axe here, as it had never stopped it before.

His line traced the wood and the bowmen uphill let loose three volleys before they panicked and ran. Behind them was the shield wall, spears at the ready. They stepped forward several paces, and pounded their shields like thunder.

He looked back on his center. Artaxeras rallied the men in a push. Now every man would be tested by destiny.

They clashed on the northern flank as he watched. His men used their axes to pulled down the shield wall and bring steel to leather, and through leather to flesh. Men cried in victory, and men cried in death. The grasses overflowed with a crimson puddles, the water spread the blood so quickly.

He watched his center again. His tarkan now stood over men in the thick of it. His spear jabbed into every man that came for his horse. Fulwarc slid a finger under his mask, wiping the water that blurred his vision.

An arrow struck his friend hard in the chest, and he fell from his horse. In twenty years Fulwarc had never seen him fall, but now he did. His heart sank; his brother, his tarkan. Not here, not against this foe so close to peace.

The line had dissolved on both sides as men spread out to fight. Lusekt and Cyvekt danced with death on a sea of blood come to land. The Prince of Bone rushed forward once more, in anger so fierce it frightened him. He pushed his own man aside to get within range of a Lusekt spearman. The boy took a step back at the sight of the bone mask. Axes and spears clashed all around them, but in that moment Fulwarc saw nothing else.

“Come at me,” he begged, uncharacteristically.

The young man shook his head, flinging drops of rain from his short cut blond hair. His mouth hung open in fear. Fulwarc was frustrated. He stepped forward, but not even his approach would tempt the man to slay the Dead King. He slid to the right of the man quickly, and that caused him to jab, but he missed. Fulwarc’s axe hooked the spearman’s leg and brought him to the ground, and with one overhead chop he ended him to the splash of water, mud and blood.

The men of Marak were breaking.

He returned to his center, where his men now made chase. He did not run, he did not jog, but he walked, humbled. He saw the corpses of men of both sides through the haze of rain. Lightning struck in the far south. Thunder came.

Over the corpses a lone horse stood, the white stallion of his friend. A hand still gripped the reins, he saw, as he walked over. He dropped his axe a few feet away when he saw him. Artaxeras tried to pull himself upon his mount, and the horse remained steady through it all.

He walked beyond the horse, running his gloved hands over its head, to see his friend. He knelt beside him.

“Heh heh,” laughed the horse lord when he saw his prince. The arrow had pierced his scale, striking deep into the center of his chest. “I am struck down.”

Fulwarc’s men still engaged Marak’s in the wood to the west, but the fighting was dying down already. How quick had they broken? He ran his hand to the arrow shaft. “Can you draw breaths?”

“Yes,” strained Artaxeras.

He cradled him on his shoulder, lifting him to his feet. “You stand,” he cheered. “And you will ride,” he added as he forced Artaxeras’ foot in the stirrup.

Artaxeras groaned on the saddle. He took deep breaths behind his red mask.

“We are old men, brother. We have won our last, here,” Fulwarc preached. “Marak will fall, if not today, tomorrow or the next, and we will sail for home.” He patted Artaxeras on his scaled leggings. “We will meet the Redeemer. You may retire your spear, then.” They looked at one another through mask.

“I will not make the journey.”

“And I will ride you down in heaven.”

“You won’t give me this death will you?” sighed Artaxeras.

“No,” he said.

The horse lord held his gut, “Atracta.”

“I will send you home, as you’ve wanted, after this last battle. Do not punish me by dying. The other princes would mock me if I had no tarkan.”

“And you would take their heads,” he laughed. “My prince commands, I obey.”

*will clean it up when I'm awake, had to put something out tonight to stay on schedule
 
Enterprise

"We are understood then, Uncle? Have the grain shipments waiting for me on Rema, and you shall have your city."

The 'Uncle' looked at the young man in front of him. Tall, handsome, rash. Stubborn. Self-assured. Power without experience to guide it.

"We are understood Aimu. Your army will be fed." The 'Uncle' replied briskly. He liked the boy, but wouldn't waste any more advice on someone who refused to take it. If the king wanted to lose an army, lose an army he would.

“Now, what about Dala’s hand?”
“You wish to marry my daughter?” the ‘Uncle’ asked, surprised.
“I believe I meet the qualifications.”

‘Cocksure.’ That was the word he had been trying to think of earlier.

-------------------------------------

Exchange

Galwo stumbled as he walked up the steps. He cursed. Weeks of sailing had destroyed his sense of balance and made him grow nauseous at the mere sight of dried food. A Moti noble of his standing should never have to endure such things. Even an appointment as ambassador to the barbarous Satar would've been better than this.

At the top of the seven steps, Galwo found himself facing a simple undecorated wooden door. He knocked. Several seconds passed, filled with the loud chatter of the port. The door opened to reveal a short, round man, whose grin seemed to take up his entire tan face.

“Ah welcome welcome! You Uggornahar, yes? I Dahrmu of Haina. Welcome to Suran!”

--------------

Galwo quickly followed Dahrmu off the ship. This last voyage had been even worse than the one from Krato to Suran. He could not wait to set foot on Rema; whatever this Rema was, it was still dry land.

Dahrmu was rushing off to see one of his uncles or something of the sort. Galwo had stopped trying to understand him a couple of days after they set off from Suran. Dahrmu seemed to him an incredibly simple man, with a mind that had room only for money. The Haina man was utterly dismissive of spiritual matters: he had dared yawn as Galwo told him of the struggle of Opporia and Istria, of the great Prophet, and of the Grandpatriarch.

Before Galwo could finish his train of thought, they arrived at their destination. A larger building than the rest but still incredibly simple. The whole harbor in fact looked more like the poor quarters of Krato than like a proper merchants’ quarter. He knew that rumors could be distorted beyond recognition, but he did not understand how someone could claim that these primitives were “Lords of the Great Western Sea.”

While Galwo stopped to take in the great poverty of Rema, Dahrmu asked his questions and turned to leave as quickly as he’d came.

“Sea-swallow-them, Lanuhr raise spice-price. Saigh price low also; my ship make bad money.”
“That was your uncle there?”, Galwo asked, not particularly interested in Dahrmu’s squabbles with this Lanuhr.
“Oh hahaha no, no. That: office of Uncle. They tell price along Airendhe’s shores for fee. Smart man, Uncle, good business; he help me pay my ship too.”
“He’s paying for your ship?” Galwo asked surprised. “Where is your ship actually, if you are here traveling with me?”
“Saren, Galwo, between me and Uncle. My ship on way to Saigh now, office say.”
“Saigh??”

Saigh was the famed port of the Dulama. Half a world away from where they were now. And this office claimed to know not only the prices of goods in Saigh, but even what ships were on their way there? What an incredibly gullible person Dahrmu was, to not just believe in such lies, but trust his ship to these men as well. How incredibly strange. How very incredibly strange.

--------------

Finally a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed. These last two weeks on dry land had been a much-needed reprieve. Dahrmu had insisted on heading straight for the capital as soon as their ship had arrived in port at Daran. Galwo on the other hand had had enough of rushing about and had leisurely taken his time. Daran was not a very different experience from Rema. It was bigger, sure, with more people crowding around and more ships sailing in and out of the harbor, but it still looked more like a village than one of the great western ports. An air of excitement was hanging in the air during his stay there; Dahrmu had told him that the ruler, Aimadewahr, was organizing some sort of parade for a military expedition. Who knows what passed for a military amongst these savages.

He had arrived in the capital, Thagnor, the evening before. His motley convoy headed straight for the palace, Dahrmu having sent word ahead. By this point he had grown used to the Haina poverty, and was not particularly surprised that his own estate could rival Aimadewahr’s palace in terms of size and beauty. At least the beds were comfortable.

------

Galwo smoothed over his robes, gave another look at his servants, and entered the palace dining room. A seat had been arranged for him at the head of ornate dining table, opposite the Thag, Aimadewahr III. One of his servants pulled out his chair for him, another lay a soft cushion on it. Galwo sat.

Next to him was Dahrmu, acting as his interpreter. The plump man had been excited at the prospect of sitting at the Thag’s table, and was now chattering away with his neighbors, doubtlessly about money and ships. All around the table sat men of various ages, some of the richest in the land he had been told. Galwo certainly couldn’t tell from their clothing. The best-dressed Haina at the table, the Thag, looked little better than one of the minor nobles of Krato. Barbarians.

After the initial introductions and exchange of compliments, the food was brought out. Galwo understood why Dahrmu was so fat: Haina food was simply delicious. Oranges, prepared in ways he’d never seen, maize, a rarity in Moti markets, spices, some he recognized as Opulensi and others he’d never seen before; all in all a veritable feast. These backwards people at least knew how to cook.

Done gorging himself on Haina delicacies, Galwo decided it was time to dazzle this “court.” He clapped twice, and his servants entered the room carrying ornate boxes of the finest wood. They lay them before the Thag and uncovered them, revealing magnificent sculptures of Moti ivory. The most refined craftsmanship of Krato. Galwo smiled at Aimadewahr’s silence.

Then he heard – no, it couldn’t be. A chuckle? The Thag had chuckled at his gifts?? What manner of barbarians were these, that any sort of beauty or culture was lost on them?

“Aimadewahr say he load up your entire ship with trinkets like these,” Dahrmu said to him. Galwo looked up at the Thag. He was smiling at him. Condescendingly. The ruler of these uncivilized brutes was smiling at him condescendingly.

--------------

Galwo rode back towards Daran, ready to sail home. Dahrmu rode with him; his mythical ship had apparently managed a large profit, and he was now borrowing even more money to sail alongside him back to civilization. Galwo had given up trying to understand these people.

As he approached Daran, he was surprised to see hundreds of men marching towards the same destination as him, some armed with bows, some with spears, but all ready for war. The streets of Daran were infinitely more crowded than he had left them. A festive mood hung in the air, with soldiers parading throughout the city.

The harbor held a great shock for Galwo. Ships: transports, warships, stretched out as far as he could see. This was larger than any fleet he had ever imagined. Its sheer size dwarfed the Uggor fleet. This was like a warfleet straight out of tales of the Opulensi. How could these peoples, so primitive, have built all this?

-------------------------------------

Exploration

A swarm of men marched towards him. Behind them, a forest of masts sprouted menacingly out of the sea. He held fast.
The march halted. A signal was carried through the back of the Haina army, unseen to him. Thousands of bows stretched taut at the same moment.
Tens of thousands of arrows flew up, darkening the sky. The young Suran soldier turned to flee. The arrows did not care.
 
Exatai of the North Part 13

Fires roared on three walls of the longhouse that Katu called his palace. The base of smooth river stone supported the wooden structure. The great hall ran down the middle, with tables for all that lived within and some from without, as rooms branched off down three of the long walls. A second story sat on the rear of the longhouse, with wooden stairs crawling up the walls on either side to the balcony outside Katu’s personal chambers. It was not the Rock, but it was a palace all the same.

They gathered at a large rectangular table near a fireplace. The heat could scarcely keep the ice out, and some corners of the longhouse were chilled enough to freeze water. It’s so cold here, she thought, so much colder than home. She had been at the longhouse in Lutan for two months, living amongst the children of her uncle. Yet, the hardness of winter had recently set in on the winds of blizzards from the north.

At the end of the table sat her uncle, Katu, King of Nech, in his finest furs. The golden band that was his crown sat on the table in front of him, holding down a number of papers brought from the south by the Savirai diplomat, Tanesai. Tanesai sat across from Aelona, farthest down the table from Katu in this small meeting. His hair was shoulder length, curled and glossy, and black as night. His face was sweet, full, and disguised his true motives behind his charm. To her left sat, Tulec, son of Tulec, who himself was son of another Tulec it seemed. He was Master of Helt, a noble of eastern Nech and rider in Katu’s army. He reminded her of Fulwarc in his size, but his beard was brown, not black. The thin man adjacent to Katu, opposite Tulec, was Okner the Frelesti, the king’s most trusted advisor. Okner came from the farthest reaches of the north with an education from Gallat no less, and a mind as sharp as any blade.

Her uncle welcomed her here, to speak her mind when spoken to, but she would not push her luck unless tempted.

“The Bearer of Her Flame seeks no war with you, King of Nech,” said Tanesai with his colossal smile. “It hurts us so, you see, to be enemies with one another over what? Lands? You have lands, king, many lands. I beg of you, as a friend, seek peace with my emperor so no more blood may spill in Tarena.”

“Friends?” asked Katu in response. “Since when have you called me friend?”

“Who would not want to be friends with Tanesai, eh? Look at this face,” he said, smiling. “I bring no ill-will north, you see, nor shall I bring it south again by my own desire. The emperor does not wish to march north, but if he must he must, you see. I do not want that, no. Your faces would haunt me if I allowed it. Haunting is no good for health.” He frowned. “Besides,” he began, turning to Aelona, “Your majesty has new concerns, familiar, eh? You cannot hope to protect such precious ones by bringing my master’s host north, you see.”

I do not need you sympathy, she thought. But she refrained from speaking as her uncle’s eyes caught hers. She rubbed her hands on her fur covered thighs in anticipation. She loved politics.

“What does your master propose?” said Tulec in his typical low growl. “I lost a nephew on those fields.”

“The Bearer of Her Flame is open to all suggestions within reason, you see. Do you know? You tell me the young princess needs support? Name your price, King of Nech, my master is wealthier beyond your dreams, eh. You know this. You see this with your own eyes. The prince to your south saw the Light, you see. She guided him. May She guide you as well.”

“We would make well from gold,” added Okner the Frelesti. “The lands we hold are poor, your grace. Perhaps the Emperor of Sand and Gold can offer you far more wealth for peace.”

Katu considered it, “I will ask a fair-“

“Five thousand men,” Aelona interrupted. The table turned to her. “The gold for five thousand men, however much that is,” she added, nervously.

“Done,” said Tanesai. “She has a taste for politics, you see. The gold for five thousand men is not unreasonable, eh,” he said to Katu. “You could build a palace as grand as any other. A palace for a princess so kind and sweet,” he said.

“Ten thousand men,” she blurted.

“What?” asked Tanesai. “You cannot change a deal that is in motion. You see,” he began.

“I am not the king. No deal was made, just suggestion,” she said. She hoped Katu would not be angry with her. Her uncle said nothing. He waited and watched. Tulec seemed discontent, but he had heard Katu’s warning in the camp. “Is ten thousand too much to ask of your master?”

“Why must you turn sour to Tanesai, eh?” He faced Katu. “Your princess plays the strings of my heart. Her words cut through me. She offers me one, but changes again, you see.” He faced her once more. “The gold for ten thousand men is more than the kingdom is worth, I am afraid, and my master is not loose with his coin.” He sighed. “I know of your plea, young princess, of your struggles, eh. I know your kind uncle needs coin to purge the throne of Ederrot of the evil man. You are the wolf, eh, at the edge of the pack. The leader eats first, but you eat well. You are the hunter, you see, as my master once said to the Prince of Bone. A young girl with an old soul,” he said. He leaned back in his seat, smiled and combed his curly hair behind his ears.

“What can you offer on behalf of your master?” asked Katu. He now leaned his elbows on the table. He smirked at Aelona.

“As she said, King Katu of Nech,” said Tanesai. “The gold for five thousand men is more than doable, eh? You will accept this deal for peace? To save our souls in Her Light? I do not wish to prolong what my master demands I end, you see. For the gold you will withdraw your claims to the lands you raided, eh, and stay north? I see your lips twitching, Tulec, son of Tulec, but you must hear my words. You have won no war.”

“But he has,” said Aelona. “The Redeemer will come to earth from heaven, and he will smash the Emperor of Sand and Gold in Gallat. Your emperor cannot fight two wars at once. Tarena would fall to Nech and the Redeemer would grant it to my uncle for his service to the Exatai.”

“You wound me, Aelona cuCyve,” he said, gesturing to his chest, “my heart bleeds from the daggers you throw my way. But, you do not want that do you? Word travels, you see, and we know of Gilot and your father’s folly. You do not want to help the Redeemer?”

“No,” she said.

“Then who?”

“Myself,” she said, “and my family.” She looked to her uncle. “We need the gold, but-”

“But, it is never enough, eh?” Tanesai finished for her. “I have many plans and plots, you see, so very many. My master has many great men that think many great ideas. I have them, here,” he said, pointing to his head, “you have only to say the correct words.”

“She’s right,” said Okner the Frelesti. “It isn’t enough. My king wishes to secure the north for his sister’s daughter, his blood, and the gold for five thousand men is not enough. In truth we need much more for these ambitions. Raiding Tarenan lands will not get us what we need, nor will accepting a peace for so low a prize.”

“Your son, Katu, wishes to marry her,” Tulec told his king. “With proper support we could merge the houses and birth a son with claim to both. The greatest kingdom in the north.”

Aelona frowned. She did not want to marry her cousin, despite his advances. He was handsome, kind like his father, but she did not wish to become his wife. She shifted in her seat.

“She does not wish this, you see,” Tanesai said. He looked at her, but she looked at the table. “Forcing marriage is not always the best, yes?”

She thought for a moment while they chatted to themselves, arguing over combining the dynasty into one. “Gallasa is rich,” she said.

They turned to her.

“Yes,” answered Katu, “it is paved in riches.”

“The Emperor of Sand and Gold may not have the coin to spare, but what he cannot pay could be taken in the true spirit of the north.”

Tulec groaned, “Ride south?”

“Ah, the princess is on to something, you see, for the sacking of Sirasona would provide such ample wealth for the King of Nech that any and all debts would be paid thrice over,” said Tanesai.

“And fight for the Aitahists?” Tulec was not pleased with the prospect.

“With,” she corrected him. “Fight with the Aitahists, not for them. The gold he offers is enough to fund the expedition, and beyond that everything is profit. You move the riders to earth to bolster the emperor against the Redeemer.”

“Anything you could carry from Sirasona would be yours, this I can promise, eh. Wealth enough to build an empire of your own, Katu of Nech, and to dethrone the coward of Lexevh,” said Tanesai. "She plays a sweet song with my heart strings. Do you hear? The song of alliance, wealth and glory, eh?”

“How can I trust your word?” asked Katu.

“Your family has it out for Tanesai, it seems. To burn my heart from my chest,” he said. “The Emperor of the Dual Thrones, Bearer of Her Flame, does not offer promises he would break. You will do this for wealth, and peace, and fight alongside him to forever be a friend in his eye and the eyes of his sons, you see. We are Her servants in humility. War is the calling of the men that hide behind masks, eh, friendship is brought by the smile, you see,” he said, smiling.

She smiled at Tanesai’s comment. “If you ride south, uncle, I wish to ride with you.”

“Absolutely not,” he commanded.

“I can help you. I… I speak Satar and-“

“She is wise, and young, yes,” Tanesai began, “She could serve you well in the south, you see. A mind as hers should not be wasted. I do not wish to offend, Katu of Nech, but your halls have few books and fewer masters to teach. As a sign of great friendship we can treat her to all the luxuries and educations of the southern courts, and she may indeed use her tongue to better your position.”

“Winter is young,” Katu replied, “and I have many night to think this over. I do not know if I will allow you to go, Aelona, but…” He lifted his crown from the table. “We need the gold, and we need the peace.”

“The green plum is sour, but with time, you see, it becomes sweet,” said Tanesai. “Time waits for no man, even kings, but some things must simmer in the pot before being eaten. I will give you this time, to think and collect, to be wise with your advisors and priests, eh.” He smiled. “But the princess speaks the truth. A great queen she will be one day. May Her Light shine forever on your house.”
 
They left the outer camp and rode back, three riders in a line, galloping down the old Fermani road to return to the city before dusk. At the rear was the King of Tarena, riding on a stallion of dappled gray and cream, clothed in fine robes of royal purple. Ahead of him was the Breaker of Horses, Qasra, now old and white-whiskered, cloaked in black with a steed to match. And leading them was the Emperor, riding his silver steed, whose magnificent coat shimmered white in the dying sunlight. He wore a cloak of deep red, over armor painted in the black and white arms of his eternal house.

Edrim did not have the beauty of Gallasa or Sirasona or even Tarena, but the Fermani constructed their cities well, solid and thickly built of quarried stone. The last rays of sunlight painted the stones a pale red, touching the city with a soft embrace of calm amongst the lengthening shadows. The riders only slowed momentarily to appreciate their surroundings, and then Qasra blew his horn, low and rich, for the men to open the gates. Then the three steeds took off another gallop into the central keep.

Two men greeted them when they entered the Edrim’s highest chambers, formerly the offices of the Bhari Rosh. They sat at a long table, on a spacious open balcony that jutted out across the keep to tower over the stone city. The bigger man, wearing southern robes of silver and red over armor of massive plate, stood and bowed to each in turn when they entered. “Your majesty, my Lord, my Emperor,” he said to each in turn. “Harunai and I are overjoyed that all of you would honor us with your presence. May I offer you some Gallasan wine? This vintage is the best of the Rosh’s cellars, aged and kept for over fifty years. It is rich beyond your imagination.”

The three arrivals acknowledged him, and Khatai said, “At ease, Lord Reman. Thank you for receiving us, although I must decline the wine. I must have a clear head for this meeting tonight.”

At that moment the other man in the room made his presence known. Chancellor Harunai, nearly as small and slender as a man could be, threw his quill across the central table in disgust. “Fvcking idiots, who in the hell came up with these numbers in this account?” He looked up at the visitors and saw Vesper, acknowledging him. “It’s no wonder that your uncle had no idea what was going on in his realm with these dunces advising him.”

“And a very merry greeting to you as well, Harunai,” Vesper said gaily. “I’m sure that you’re doing a very fine job cleaning up their mess. And having fun as well.”

“You would do well to show some respect to your Emperor and the King,” Qasra growled, speaking for the first time.

Khatai ignored them both and took his place at the center of the table. “I’m sure you can find adequate replacements for them. Vesper will defer to your judgment. But that is a matter for a later time; I am in need of news, my lords.”

Reman stood and bowed again. “The work on the walls is proceeding apace, my Emperor. The same goes for the other projects your highness ordered. Our garrisons within the city have found your plans to open the wine stocks to them exceedingly popular. Her majesty, may she live forever, the Empress Dowager wrote yet again. She wishes your grace well and regrets that she cannot visit, busy as things are back in Hrn. She says she is in good health and spirits, your highness.”

“Thank you, Reman. And you, Harunai?”

The diminutive chancellor had been muttering under his breath while reading through the accounts. “What? Oh… right. Well, the first order of business,” he said quickly, pointing a finger at Vesper. “Is that you need to go back to Pamala and take your crown. The responses that I have received to my letters have mostly… been affirmative, which is shocking considering the subject we’re talking about, but still we need to give them the dog and pony show of the actual coronation.”

Vesper laughed at the insult and said, “I find it more shocking that they agreed considering who was writing the letters.”

“Oh, just a brilliant turn of phrase there, my king. You know that how I write differs much from how I speak to you esteemed gentlemen here. Anyway, they’ve agreed upon the basic articles of Pamala as we’ve previously discussed, so it shouldn’t be a major deal. They know who they’ve decided who to make their bed with and it’s difficult to change that now.” Harunai snatched back his quill, scribbling some notes on his top sheet of accounts.

“And the other letters?” Khatai asked.

“Your ‘friends’ dither about worse than you did at Pamala. The easterners still have no clue how they’re going to resolve this Acayan fiasco they’ve dug themselves into, while the Carohans swear up and down about how their treaties are inviolate and unbreakable. If the Opulensi decided that it was time for a little payback,” Harunai growled, “They might make it all the way to Gurach before we stopped them. As for that senile old Rosh to the west, well, he talks in pretty phrases with no meaning and sits on his hands. Which might not be the worst thing, but…”

Khatai crossed his arms. “Harunai. Please.”

“Alright, alright, we did get some commitments. The Carohans are willing to deploy thirty of their thousands overseas, and the recruitment campaigns that I sent Xrn and Irach south on have found quality enough men and horse for the amount of coin you have to rub together.” Harunai took a massive swig of the wine that Reman had poured for him, spilling some and staining his robes. “We’re probably all doomed anyway when the Satar cross the sea with seven figures of men and horse, but hey, at least we tried. It won’t be as embarrassing.”

Khatai looked around the table, first at Vesper, who was struggling very hard to retain laughter. Reman wore a calm and pensive expression on his face that gave stark contrast to his massive build, while Qasra gave Harunai a hard stare to which the disagreeable chancellor gave no attention. His uncle held his chancellor with quite a bit of contempt, he knew, and he understood why. Disrespect on this level was an insult to his House, and held the teachings of Mirai in contempt. Yet, Khatai knew that Harunai’s lack of respect only extended skin deep, and he would not offer his talent to him if he did not find him worthy to serve. And he was immensely talented at what he did.

This time, Reman spoke. "I disagree, my lord. When has an army that flies below the banner of crescent and moon and prays to the Red Lady been defeated? None that I can remember. She will guide us toward the Light.”

Khatai raised his hand, palm outward. “Thank you, Reman. Your conviction is appreciated. And you as well, Harunai, for your efforts. I respect what you have to say, although I know in your heart that you do not really believe it. If there is nothing else, I believe we are adjourned.”

Harunai took another gulp of wine and paused. “Wait. There is one more thing. I sent Tanesai to Nech to see what they wanted.”

Vesper laughed. “Tanesai? I thought you loathed him. He’s not really your type, being fun to have around and all.”

“He was the only one that I could find who could speak passable Nechekt. And if he failed, then I would finally have been rid of him,” Harunai grumbled. “Anyway, he wrote a letter back… King Katu will renounce his attack on Tarena and march south with us to fight the Gallasans, as long as he and his men get to keep their share of the loot and we give him a pittance of our esteem.”

“That is a fair deal,” Qasra said, nodding approvingly for the first time.

“Yes. Thank you for your help, Harunai,” Vesper said.

“… and the last thing. Tanesai claims that Katu brings the granddaughter of Fulwarc with him. He writes that she is young and sharp, the daughter of Unger, Fulwarc’s eldest son, who was killed a few years ago,” Harunai said as he ignored the compliments.

“Fulwarc? But he is the crazed lapdog of the Satar. The rumors from the north say he may be more insane than the cannibals themselves,” Khatai said skeptically.

Harunai shrugged. “Things are not always as they appear. Maybe Fulwarc grew tired of being the Redeemer’s lapdog. In any case, the girl’s late mother is of the Nechekt house, so she is just as much their blood as she is Fulwarc’s. It would stand to reason that she would be with them and not with her uncle whose claim she challenges.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I have to read up on barbarian politics now?” Vesper said with a mock sigh.

“Perhaps they will be more significant than you realize. In any case, Harunai, write Tanesai and tell the Nechekt they will be welcome here at Edrim. We are done here. Good night, gentlemen,” the Emperor said.
 
The New Good Story [Part Two].

You have seen depictions of the Crimson Elephant and the other Ancestor Chiefs. They have the bodies of men and the heads of animals. Some say that this is not to be taken literally, or even deny it entirely, being foreigners. Others among us would insist that what is depicted in our statues and friezes is the exact truth. What I know is that they have been pictured that way for a good reason, for they indeed had traits of humans and animals alike. That is why, though Foreigners may scoff at that notion out of ignorance and envy, we always had such unique ties with animals; why our family consists of both humans and cows, just like the imperial family consists of men and elephants. They are our brethren, and the retention of our ties with animals is one of the reasons why we – the Moti – are the original and most true people of the Holy Empire, though others have been allowed to live under it and serve it too, even before Second-Gaci had conquered Bisria.

The other reason why we are most true is that we know where the true centre of the world was; Eso Kotuu’s Tent, which we have reclaimed and made into a city. It is a holy place, because it has always been favoured by the Good God as the middle of his creation. That is why Eso Kotuu, who was wise about such things, set up his tent there. This is also why it is the capital of the Holy Moti Empire of today, for unity – both Churchly and Imperial – can only be brought back to the world by finding its centre first. Now all the other parts of the world can rally around it; people from the Empire and from further away could travel to it to pay their respects; and good laws, teachings and knowledge could radiate from it as from the Sun.

But you know that between Eso Kotuu and Second-Gaci, the world was in the Dark Age, for even though the Moti Great Family existed and did its best to carry on the traditions of old, the centre of the world had not been found and the knowledge of Good and Evil had been severely compromised if not lost. Many did evil without knowing, or punished people who sought to do good. Such things always exist, of course, but when the world has a clear centre it is more easy to correct people when they succumb to evil. In older days it was more difficult to be sure that, for example, a rebellion was evil, for it may have been raised to combat genuine abuses that could not be redressed in any other way. There was the Chief-of-Chiefs, but his authority stretched only as far as his family’s did, and even that was not always united.

When the Crimson Elephant was poisoned, the Ancestor Chiefs were pitted against the Evil Family in an awful war that even our wars against the Bad Horse People could scarcely approach in magnitude and sheer terror. Mountains crumbled and oceans flooded around the earth. In other words, the lay of the land became mixed up, and for the longest time most people had very limited knowledge of geography outside of where they lived. This is why it took the momentous events of the reigns of First-Gaci and Second-Gaci to help us find the middle of the world again. The Evil Family was destroyed completely, but that is not the same as to say that evil was destroyed, though for a time some people thought it was. The ranks of the Good Council were thinned. Many families abandoned the Great Family in its time of need, or left after the war, thinking it was no longer necessary; all their descendants became Foreigners, though some have been restored to Moti Great Family in time.

Those that remained formed the Moti Great Family. They retained enough of what we now call conscience or humanmindedness to wish to bring back the Great Family instead of succumbing to savagery. They knew that the Elephant Family could be trusted with leadership, for it, in turn, retained enough of the sacred secrets of Eso Kotuu. Then as now, the elephants were the most sacred animals of all, and the lucky people who could call them their kin were also a natural race of kings among the Uggor.

The first of the Moti Great Family Chief-of-Chiefs was First-Kotui, who united the families and divided the lands and duties between them. Ever since then our chiefs were the war-leaders for the entire Moti Great Family. The family holdings were small and close together back then, and the people and their herds were not as numerous as they are now. Thus all the chiefs were able to come to the annual council in person, and as they recognised the wisdom of the Chief-of-Chiefs, the land could be governed without roads, officials, literacy or currency. There were no armies other than those called to protect the Moti Great Family from its outside enemies.

But do not repeat the mistake of the Illiterates faction, who had denied the value of our present civilisation. Though life back then might have seemed good, the world itself was broken and poisoned by evil. When our ancestors made mistakes – and they did that, alas, being only human and confused without proper religious guidance to boot – they found it much harder to correct them. Many barbaric practices took root during that time. And later on, the unity of the Moti Great Family was lost as well; the chiefs of various families had grown disrespectful and began to flout their supreme leader’s authority. Eventually they even disregarded the laws that had kept them from fighting and enslaving each other, and after that, some families never recovered, though the strongest ones like our own had survived and prospered. Yet it truly did us little good to prosper through evil, for that left us with many resentful relatives.

First-Frei was the Chief-of-Chiefs in whose reign many present-day laws of the Moti Great Family were set in stone. He was a wise man indeed, for he was not only well-versed in the spoken word tradition of Eso Kotuu, but also was literate and studied the history of his and other lands. That may not seem like much now that all but the most rustic noblemen of the Empire learn reading, writing, geography and history alongside swordfighting, archery, tactics, hunting and manners, but in those distant days First-Frei was a miracle in and of himself. It is even said that he was advised by Prophet Kleo himself, or at least by one of his pupils. Certainly he knew of the Good God and the Evil God, and of the pernicious and ever-present influence of the latter, as he devised new, clever ways to counter it.

In any case, First-Frei’s learning had allowed him to understand the problems that haunted his people, and to figure out how they may be redressed. While he could not fully fix them, as the time had not yet come for the founding of the Empire and the City, he still could take important steps in that direction. He stopped the wars between the families, rallying them against barbaric foreign enemies. He worked out the arrangements by which some weaker, smaller families could be adapted and taken under the wing of stronger, larger ones. In this way, he acknowledged the rights of the strong, while also protecting the lives and welfare of the weak, like a just ruler should. Some had tried to defy his justice, and in a broken world indeed even a wise and just ruler could make some misjudgements, as when he gave the wrong lesser families to be adopted by the Pigs and Lions, leading to further rebellions and infighting. But in the end, he did as much as could be done at that time.

Ever since those days, the surviving families were each divided into two parts – the noble and the common. Those who rebelled against First-Frei’s justice had claimed that while commoners were human and so loyal servants of the Moti Great Family (does that not remind you of some people today, especially among the heirs of Evanri’s wolf-pack?), the nobles were beasts and so thought only of themselves. Conversely, we had always said that our animal traits made us closer to the ancestors, or as we called them then, the gods (therefore we were called godlikes, and it is not heretical to use that term even today); while the lesser families under our protection were merely human, their ties to their animal-headed ancestors having been sundered. They were too poor to care after the sacred herds or to offer the proper sacrifices, and in any case their filial piety was found to be lacking. Still, they were and still are members of the Moti Great Family, and in some rare cases – such as with the Horse Family – could even recover their heritage. There is a difference between those human families and commoners or even nobles of different origins. This should not be forgotten. They are kin.

First-Frei’s laws are good and just, and are largely confirmed as being divinely inspired. We keep them to this day when it comes to relationships within our families and between them, within the Moti Great Family. Still, he could not foresee all of the things that had developed after his death. Trade, the Church, foreigners, cities and the Empire itself – all those things are subject to the laws made by his successors, and as few of them had his wisdom, those laws have undergone more changes since then. But you are not a lawyer, and do not need to know all of the details in that regard.

To be continued.
 
Exatai of the North Part 14


Part 1
Part 2
Part 3, Apparently was never posted, but I'm too lazy to renumber them
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13


*cause Starlife said so

~~~

Aelona
Edrim, 542 SR

This was a different land, she knew, a land of warmth and riches. The host of King Katu of Nech marched the road to Edrim, south from Tarena by way of age old paths. Four thousand men from the north armed with spear, sword and shield, scale and leather and helms of dull bronze.

The golden sun glazed the land in oranges and reds that morning. Thousands of farms stretched to the horizon in all directions, fields lush with grain and greens of all kinds. There were patches of pale melons that stunk of hot spices, and women working the vines passed them as gifts to the men on horseback.

Hopes could not be higher.

The laughter of her cousin, Katu the Younger, heir to Nech, kept her happy through the heat. She had been gifted a red-dyed silken cloak to shield her fair skin from the summer sun, though the discomfort she felt was not abated.

Her cousin rode up and down the lines and played the princely role with the low women in the fields along the crushed stone road. He told jokes in his tongue, and they laughed though they did not understand. He has the charisma of a king, she thought, but the foolishness of a boy. He seemed to have grown a foot higher on the five month march south. His body toned by riding, training and worst of all, the heat. She loved his golden hair.

He kept up his advances the entire journey, yet she pushed him away. She had grown herself, and had become a woman on the march, though that was not unexpected.

“Be my queen,” he would tell her every day. “I shall love you more than any man.”

She could not call him a liar at that, but her mother had fallen to the traps of marriage at a young age, as her kingly uncle would remind her. “She died for your father,” he said. “She died for an heir. She died too young.”

And that she had.

The dark skinned Voice of Khatai, Tanesai, rode alongside her for much of the journey. She had taught him the Satar game of Kalis, but he lacked the natural talent to win. She never grew bored of the game, but she wished someone would beat her, just once, so she could feel challenged.

Tanesai grew fat on the journey, using his position to get fine wines and treats from the Tarenan cities as they passed. A favorite of the emperor had been named king, he told her, so all was well.

Her guards, particularly the hulking Thryar, suffered in the march as the sun burned hotter. They cursed the gods of the Satar, they cursed the Faith and all gods that they knew of. They would always remain loyal, beside her; they were blood of the north as much as she. They saw her as their sister, their mother and their first and truest love all the same as they saw her a princess. They were as much family as Cuskar or Katu, or Fulwarc on Sarkanda. They had rough patches along the way, scuffles with the locals and men of Tarena in the streets, but her twenty-five remained whole and hers.

Her uncle Katu had shaved his blond beard when the warm spring came to them. He now sported a mustache as thick as a baby’s arm that curled beside his mouth sharply. He rarely wore his helm after they passed Pamala. The metal was too uncomfortable on his sweat-soaked hair. He had left his wife with child once more before they left, hoping for another son.

Aelona rode atop an ashen horse, the gray a stark contrast to the fine red silks of her cloak. She stood out amongst the others, all in their dulled armor, but felt stranded. She was blood of a Satar Prince, in the lands of Aitahists at the front of an army of Maninists. She was vulnerable.

“Peel back your hood, sweet princess,” said Katu the Younger as he rode up beside her. His brown steed walked with the same pomp as its master. “We are within sight of the great city.”

Great to whom?, she wondered. Great to the Rosh that lost it, perhaps, or great to the two men that lead armies to hold it? It was not great to her, but Lexevh was, and she intended to return there on the good graces of the Dual Thrones.

The stone walls of Edrim were bright, yet stained, in the rising morning sun. She had never seen walls like that. They were tall, solid, but failing with age and grown with grasses and vines in some places. They were still miles out, but the city sat like a hill of its own, above the farms and small towns of the surrounding lands.

It was now that she saw the banners of the emperor, black moon and mountain on a field of white. They flew by the thousands to the north of the city, in great camps of tents just in the distance. Thousands of horses and ten times as many men could be seen scurrying to life after a night of rest.

In awe, she said, “What powers could I hope to hold here? His host is larger than my kingdom.”

“You see now what Her Light brings us, eh,” said Tanesai in response.

“My cousin, Lord of Lemdeh, told me of his might. A hundred thousand horses under his banner,” she said. “I did not truly believe him. How could I? I am humbled.”

“Such a host finally leaves you without wit,” he said, laughing. “I have seen it all now, Aelona cuCyve. The princess so stern and wise, with words like daggers, is awe-struck by the Bearer of Her Flame, having not met the man. You see, this is what my master brings to the table. A wise alliance was struck, eh? Is Tanesai wrong in this?”

“Four thousand Nechekt men are but a drop in this sea of spears,” said Katu the Older, wiping his brow of sweat.

“Four thousand he still needs,” she said, pulling back her hood. She raised her hand to block the sun’s glare. She saw where the road ended and the gate began. Dozens of men stood watch on the battlements and a great, reinforced gate sat closed below them. Behind she could see buildings of the same quarried stone, a few taller than the rest.

They reached the gate and halted. The large wooden doors banded and reinforced completely with iron, opened outward enough for three riders to come through. One led on a black stallion, the others on brown mares. They wore cloths upon their heads, shielding them from the sun, and finely crafted shirts of ring steel, backed by bronze plate and decorated with fine engravings. They wore petite, curved blades on their waists in gilded scabbards.

Their leader spoke in elegant words, with occasional sounds of choking that Aelona found concerning. Tanesai spoke back to them. She noticed that his voice in Nechekt differed from the one he used now. The riders pointed to the men of Katu’s army, and barked more orders. They looked at Aelona in silence for a moment, and then reentered the gates, which remained partially opened.

Tanesai turned his horse to Katu the Older and said, “The emperor wishes your army to join his camp, and have their fill of wine and food. But,” he warned, “remain civil. Respect their creed, and they shall respect yours. Her wisdom runs in our veins, you see, and free men respect one another for their freedoms, eh? We are all free men here, Katu, King of Nech. Brothers and allies,” he added.

“Will his grace not see us?” asked Aelona. “We’ve come far on the promise of wealth, but only so much has reached my uncle’s coffers. It would be a rude host to deny his guests entry to his court after such a long journey. Don’t you think, Tanesai?”

“I do, and so too does my master, you see, but I cannot for sure say the whereabouts of him. War is ravaging the lands, eh, he may be in his camp dining with his men, or he may remain in bed until the sun is at its highest, you see. Even great men need rest, princess. My master is gracious to provide the keep of Bhari Rosh as residence for your family, guards and servants alike, but your army mustn’t enter the city. Soldiers of greater privilege rouse dissent, you see. Do you understand, King of Nech?”

“I do. We will see your master, or emperor, whomever it may be that wishes to see us. Great men need rest, indeed,” he said, turning to Aelona, “but the greater the man the heavier his burdens. They must be put to rest, soon, before we agree to battle plans.”

Tanesai tilted his head in agreement.

The army of Nechekt rode north, following the lead of Tulec, son of Tulec, Master of Helt. Aelona, Katu the Older and his son, and Tanesai remained behind. Her twenty-five stayed, reinforced by twenty more of Katu’s finest. To trust a foreign king was foolish, she knew.

They rode through the great iron gate, the opening no larger than two men wide. Behind they saw the true extent of the walls. Large wooden scaffolding hung to the ancient stone like the vines. The Emperor of Gold and Sand was rebuilding, Tanesai told her, to prepare for the siege train of the Redeemer. The thought of actual war coming so close to her was frightening. She had ridden with soldiers for months. She knew many of them by name and more by their faces. It was real now.

Old buildings near the walls were being torn down, the stone recycled in the weak points of the walls. The streets were paved in the same stone, kept clean of grasses by the constant patter of feet by the thousands of citizens within. Raw sewage lay on the streets, and the smell overwhelmed her for the first time. The city was compact, and smelled of all the things she hated most. It lacked the freedom of the Birthstone, or the wildness of the Longhouse in Lutan.

The streets were lined by stone buildings, houses or shops or warehouses, from the center to the walls with only tight alleys between them off the main road. She could see the keep of the old Bhari Rosh, as Tanesai pointed it out. The tall stone building looked worn as all the rest, but was magnificent in its own way.

They entered the tower that was the court away from court of the Emperor of Gold and Sand. The bottom floor was spacious, with a hall for dining and dozens of rooms. There was a barracks for her guards on the bottom floor. “We will not sleep,” they told her in Cyvekt. They gave her courage when hers was failing.

She felt strange, but could not and dared not explain it. Was she nervous? No, that couldn’t be it. A princess of the north could not be nervous, she reminded herself. She was just anxious. That had to be it. She was anxious to meet the man that could fund her ambitions at the flick of his wrist.

They walked up a white stone stair. She smiled. “Like home,” she said. She removed her leather footwear to feel the coolness of the stone beneath her. She opened the red silk cloak for the first time, revealing the white dress beneath – a gift from the court in Pamala. She was relieved that the fabrics were so thin, for the breeze to flow over her body beneath, but the thinness was revealing of her chest and skin beneath. She stepped up the stairs, listening intently to the sound of her own steps, remembering fondly her childhood at the Palace on the Rock.

Katu the Younger stepped up beside her. Thryar covered her front, standing next to Tanesai and the king. Behind them were a dozen other guards, some hers and some her uncles.

“We’ll sleep in a southern bed tonight,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulder. “Who could have dreamed of such a city? The men who built it were gods in their own right.”

“The city is in ruin, cousin,” she said, shrugging off his arm. “If you noticed the construction, and the fresh forged iron on the gate, you’d know that the Emperor of Gold and Sand is the only thing keeping the walls around us standing. The streets run with filth, and not a single man shoveling it away. This city is great, yes, a great war camp, but not a great city.”

He shrugged in return. “Better than sleeping in the heat,” he said, jerking his head to throw his blond hair from his eyes.

But at what price? Does he not know that he has promised to fight a war, a real war, not raiding? She looked in his blue eyes, and smiled. This could be the end of us, she wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to spoil his high spirits.

They reached the next floor of the keep, where court was held in a large hall. No tables filled it, only the tiled stone floor with open air balconies running down either side. The warm breeze entered the hall, fluttering the purple, green and red drapes that hanged about from the ceiling. Large bronze candle holders stood every few feet near the stone walls. In the rear sat a single, small throne of deep cherry wood, with a fine cushion on it. It sat on a slightly higher level than the rest of the floor, and looked mostly unused. She saw balustrades for halls that ran along the sides of the high ceiling of the room, for more people to hear the words of the Old Rosh, she imagined.

But on this day there was only one man waiting for them, in long white robes, accented by reds and gold. He held a wooden plank, on which sat many papers. In his other hand a quill scratched quickly.

When Tanesai approached him with a cheerful greeting in their tongue, the man dropped his quill on the papers and sighed. His reply once again brought out those choking noises that were so interesting to her. She would have to try that, alone of course, not around civilized people.

They spoke for a moment. The hall had become somewhat filled by the guards that remained with them. Katu the Younger stood near her, making little quips under his breath about the sound of their language. She shushed him with a sour expression.

The man with quill seemed to think himself better than everyone else. His gestures lead him on to be angry with Tanesai, or perhaps angry with the world itself. Nothing he said pleased this man, she thought.

“There are some things we must address, you see,” said Tanesai as he turned. “My master, the Lord Chancellor, talks of the records and many things have happened. What remains of your payments will be delivered soon, eh, you are pleased with Tanesai?”

Katu the Older nodded.

Thryar and Tasmarc, her two favorite guards, were busying themselves by feeling of the fine fabrics of the drapes. Katu the Younger played with his sword belt, adjusting it to match his heroic attempts at looking important.

The man with quill spoke again, looking over Aelona. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands wildly about. He didn’t seem content with their arrival. What kind of Lord Chancellor is this man? Despite the language barriers, she could tell the man was frustrated. His tone came off as know it all, as if he was saying, “I told you so.”

Tanesai stumbled with his translation. Was he omitting the foul language of his master? “Eh, you see, the… hmm,” he muttered. “He tells that your grandfather, the Prince of Bone of the Exatai’s journey to Atracta.”

“Atracta?” she asked, concerned. She thought for a moment, planning her wording. “The House of the Redeemer? Why would the Prince of Bone sail south to the Satar capital? That is unbecoming of my grandfather.”

Tanesai translated her words before continuing.

“He was called, you see, to the war room by the Redeemer. Your kingly grandfather owns many ships, yes? He has many men at his call, many fierce men, you see, capable of much destruction, eh. The Terror is his name or Dead King, either caused great fear in the hearts of men, you see. The Tarenan king is concerned for his country should the Prince of Bone raid, as the Redeemer is wont to use him for. “

“I cannot speak for the Prince of Bone,” she said, bowing her head to the Lord Chancellor.

“No, I have told him this, and he understands your plea. He knows well of your journey and past, you see, do no worry in this house.”

The Lord Chancellor spoke again, caring himself most unpleasantly. He wouldn’t look at them when speaking. She began to catch on to the words he used when referring to them with his hand gestures. Rough sounding words.

“What does it mean?” she asked, adding the worst Savirai ever uttered, “Gurach? He speaks it as our name, I believe.”

“Gurach?” Tanesai asked, confused. “That word has not been spoken. Girach?” he said, emphasizing the choking noise. “It, you see, means Northerner. Men from the barbaric north, more literally,” he said, trying to smile.

“Uncivilized, you see,” she mocked him. He did not translate those words for her. Instead, he stood uneasy between the two parties.

“Princess-“ he began, but Katu the Older placed his hand on Tanesai’s shoulder. The weight of his arm caused Tanesai to bend.

“Is it true? You call us uncivilized?” said the King of Nech. His son stood watching from nearby.

“It is just the word we use, you see, we mean no harm by it. Our language barriers are too great, eh. Even Tanesai has trouble sometimes,” said Tanesai. “These are the problems we have, yes?”

“I think otherwise, Tanesai,” said Aelona. “I believe truly that the words your Lord Chancellor speaks are ones of his own careful choosing. I hope one does not speak on behalf of the Emperor of Gold and Sand with that tongue,” she snarled. “We have come a long way, with an army, to fight alongside the armies of the Moon. A little civility would go far. Tell him what I say.”

Tanesai spoke, and the Lord Chancellor was taken aback. He mouthed off a few more words, but Tanesai did not translate them. He seemed weary of the conversation.

She stepped away from Tanesai, to look into the eyes of the Lord Chancellor. Her face held an expression of anger, but of embarrassment too. She looked to Tanesai, to make sure he was ready.

“I fled my prison, by grace of my cousin, Cuskar of Lemdeh, Lord of the Birthstone on words from your emperor reaching my ears. ‘The Lord of Hunters is the one who chooses his own prey.’ These were the words of your emperor, Lord Chancellor. I am that hunter, the wolf at the edge of the pack, as Tanesai has said himself. I’ve waited for far too long, willingly, to be shunned and insulted by the messenger. I have come to see the Emperor of Gold and Sand, the man that spoke those true words.”

She waited for Tanesai to catch up. The Lord Chancellor’s eyes grew narrow, agitated.

“I sailed across the Gilbok, met my uncle, the Great King of Nech, on the shores of his kingdom. I spoke up when I shouldn’t have, bought peace for these insults and men to your city to be called barbarians. My uncle would turn his host north and leave this city to be burned by the Satar sooner than accept insults, I know him and his heart. There is no ounce of barbarian in his spirit. He is a kinder, more civilized king than you would make, Lord Chancellor. You should know that the game has changed, the realms have shifted. The board is in motion, and the Redeemer crosses the sea with a colossal sword of men to drive you through. Four thousands of these barbarians will make all the difference in the world, I see it so. When the Satar Princes crash down on you, those hardened northmen will not break.” She calmed her tone, pausing. “Whether we like it or not, Lord Chancellor, I am your shield, and you mine.”

A short laugh echoed over the hall. She looked up to the balustrades to see the man in black and white armor, the crescent and mountain sigil on his chest. His young face showed great pleasure in her words. He raised his hand, palm outward to his guests.

The Emperor, she realized. She fell to her knees in a bow, clumsily in her haste. She blushed in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn’t see.
 
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