* * * * * * * * *
It was now a war of ashes, a war for the cinders of a throne – this did not mean it would be less hard-fought. The War of the Ashen Throne; the War of the Fifth Aitah; it had begun with a great crusade, from the depths of Stetin woods and field, plunging a knife into the heart of old Gallat. Gallasa had burned, the flames taking with them the High Ward and the last of the old line of kings, and if truth be told, it was starting to look like the old script of the Empty Throne story. The Accans would swoop in to the rescue, and the Savirai would be beaten back, and Gallatene children would die.
But even the same script will read differently if placed in the hands of new actors.
Altaro Javan was not the old Lightbearer of Gallat. He was, in fact, simply an army captain – well-respected among his peers, but hardly in a position to change the war. Until, of course, he crafted a subtle conspiracy that would root out the old order by mutiny, and force the wards and cities to accept him in their stead. Naturally, they behaved much like they had before – as frightened children, too convinced the world was ending to say their peace.
Javan and his religious counterpart, the Ward Risadri, set to their tasks with almost manic intensity. The old structure had nearly collapsed in on itself, but it couldn't be replaced in one day. The first thing they would need – to really restore the Gallasene League – would be political capital. And in the present situation, there was only one place to gain that capital from.
Immediately, Javan braced his soldiers, hoping against hope that they might be able to hold Sirasona against a presumed all-out assault. They sent for aid from every quarter, but by the time the Airani horse arrived (looking quite dramatic and ready to act the part of the Cavalry) it had become quite obvious that the enemey was not attacking. Further reinforced by Accan pikes, the army, now over a hundred thousand strong, began to make its way eastward, hoping to liberate Gallat.
The Brunnekt troops, it transpired, had already left. The Savirai always stayed near enough to threaten, but never close enough to catch. Apparently, the Aitahists had conceded the Karapeshai armies would be unbeatable in the field, and so long as the Gallasenes had their help, they would not give battle. It left the Gallasenes off-balance, to be sure, but they still took the chance while they still had it, securing their old fortifications, and trying to retake the old cities of the north. Alas, the enemy had taken a liking to the flames – almost the entirety of the infrastructure of northern Gallat was in ruins. The enemy couldn't disassemble the old blockhouses and fortified lines in time to make it a wholly wasted effort, but it was quite demoralizing to see the utter ruin of the country.
Everything from Gallasa to Gesta had been burnt to cinders. A counter-attack razed Edrim and Halen, but the damage was more than psychological. Refugees, numbering quite possibly in the tens of thousands, scattered in all directions, many seeking safe havens in southern Gallat, but they strained budgets and grain fields. Competent administration kept the situation from exploding – and even got a little labor out of the displaced population – but it still had to worry a Gallasene military that had not seen much reward for its victories.
While the Gallasenes contemplated what to do next, the other prong of the Satar attack had struck. Fulwarc III, the heir of the cuCyve dynasty and a willing partner in their attacks, led a massive Cyvekt contingent alongside the forces of Sianai. A force of some twenty thousand – minor by Satar standards, but considerable in this part of the world – landed in the old kingdom of Nech, and proclaimed its liberation by its rightful heirs – the cuCyves. Moreover, they pointed to the murders of the High Ward to rally true Maninists to their cause, and to curse the Aitahists plaguging the region.
What started as a liberation, or an invasion, depending on your point of view, devolved incredibly quickly into a complete mess. The Nechekt were hardly a unified people even before all this had happened, and the religious controversy soon broke into an all-out civil war, with neighbors attacking neighbors, farmers burning and pillaging nearby fields. Cities and towns and even little villages broke into orgies of violence almost unequaled in fury, and the Cyvekt army and nearby Brunnekt forces did not so much dance as rampage over it all.
Even that was a feint.
A third Satar army, this one the largest of all, launched from Lexevh. Landing briefly to resupply in the terrified city of Llendel, it continued along the northern coast, by a land where its only companions were the gulls and the waves. By the time it reached Kurchen, the city had gotten some alarm – riders from down the coast. But even a prepared garrison could not withstand the fury of this army, led as it was by the Redeemer Taexi itself.
Setting fire to the city of Kurchen, Taexi utterly massacred the local defenders. His hatred for Aitahists had finally found a land full of Aitahists – a worrying pairing.
The Brunnekt had time to react, of course, but what were they to do? The vast bulk of their army defended Seehlt, or the lands south of it, from Gallasene attacks. Even though they sent for the garrison at Flamstadt, the latter could not hope to arrive before Taexi's fast-moving force, which barreled down toward the city of Brunn itself.
The old capital of the northern state had been in the sole hands of Martuska, the aptly named Fowl Queen, for several decades now. But where the Queen had been a terrifying manipulator and brilliantly savvy politician, she had never honed her skills in actual war, and moreover had a force of only a few thousand to face one of thirty thousand. Taexi's attack could not be withstood; she recognized it immediately, and left the court in the dead of the night. It would be only mere hours later that the Satar burst down the doors to the throne room, finding only the ear-splitting noise of a hall given over entirely to the birds the Queen had loved so well.
It was said a dozen men died in that minute.
Taexi was not deterred. Kintyra lurked nearby – no one really doubted that. Individual villages tried to hide her, for she was much beloved by the people, who remembered her healing deeds and those of her mother. Taexi didn't even bother to discriminate, burning every village that stood in his path, regardless of whether he thought they contained the Fifth Aitah. Thousands and thousands would be purged, one by one, until finally, on the lakeside that had been the home of the first Stetin, he caught up with the Goddess.
* * * * * * * * *
The men lay dead outside the tent, seven of them, killed in seven ways. Taexi paid them no mind. Corpses had always been this way to him – “Footnotes,” Avetas called them – supremely ignorable. No one would remember their names, as no one would remember this day to be bright and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Karal had already ducked through the entrance, studying the woman before him, though he made room for Taexi and his attendants, living and dead.
“Taexi.”
“Girl. You speak Satar, then?”
Kintyra paid the question no heed. “Well done, Redeemer.”
The eyes beneath the mask blinked. “Oh?” His Oracle had warned him that the woman might try to play mind games with him, that it was a standard tactic of the Aitahs, but he had not worried.
“You have taken the earth. Three points to you. Well done.”
Beside him, Karal rolled his eyes. “Seriously, does everyone in this shivering wetland speak in kalis metaphors? They must play the game ten times as – ”
“I have taken more than a simple land,” Taexi said, his face annoyed under the mask. “I have the fifth – and last – Aitah.”
Kintyra smiled at this, her bound hands playing with one another behind her back. “How does victory taste?”
The Redeemer shrugged. “I have tasted victory before, girl, and I shall many times again.”
“Liar,” said Avetas.
“Liar,” said Kintyra. “We both know of your illness. Indeed, it strikes me that it is not too dissimilar to my m – ”
“Do not speak to me of that woman.”
“A death here,” the Oracle Eshat cut across both of them, “is no shameful thing. Many years of his life and mine have been given in service of Taleldil, pursuing his opponents across the quarters of the world. It would be only fitting if we should both die on campaign, extinguishing the last of your flame.”
Taexi nodded. “Today, I will have killed the Aitah.”
Kintyra appeared to consider this for a moment before replying. “At least someone recognizes me.”
“This is pointless, Redeemer. Let us get one with it.”
Kintyra laughed. “I'm surprised that even you don't see it, Eshat. Are you not a Goddess, too?”
“I am an Oracle.”
“But neither of you have seen nightfall? No vision? No dream?”
“You are the enemy we dream of, Aitah.”
“Then your dreams are wrong,” said Kintyra, flatly. “Even in
my visions, the sun set in the south.”
Beside him, Karal and Avetas were silent, the former looking as though he were thinking very hard, the latter pacing agitatedly. Even as the silence stretched on for a moment, neither of them offered comment. Kintyra knelt before them all, apparently satisfied with her last statement, and she almost looked as though she were... humming. Even Taexi's brows knitted at this. He exchanged a brief glance with Eshat.
“What do you mean?” Eshat asked carefully.
“Isn't it obvious? You ran across the north, moving every piece to take the Goddess. And here you have her. Taken. But the earth is only three points, and I am a piece, not the player – and only one piece of many, at that. How's the poem go again?
“
All shall tremble, peace is lost –
For the River Sesh is crossed.”
“You know, old friend,” Karal said, conversationally. “I realize you wanted to have a good gloat at the enemy, but I think she's getting the better of you here.”
“Lying witch,” Taexi snapped, and backhanded the heathen.
“Maybe I am,” Kintyra said. “But perhaps you should return to Kurchen. I wonder, what news awaits y – ”
“Enough.” Taexi looked to the Oracle. “We have accomplished all we needed to here. The Aitah will die tomorrow in Brunn. We will make it quite public. Then we shall return to Kurchen. I am sick to death of the mist and cold.” He coughed through the last word. “You,” he pointed to a soldier nearby, “Gag her. I've enough of her words.” He strode from the tent, so that the shades and the Oracle had to hurry to follow.
“And what now, Redeemer?” asked Avetas.
“Now? It all burns.”
* * * * * * * * *
Taexi had made it as far as Kurchen, the body of the Aitah finally being cast into the sea, when the news reached them. Many things Kintyra had been on that day, but she had not lied – the River Sesh
was crossed. A thousand miles away, it transpired, First-Lerai had forded the ancient stream, marching with an army of over a hundred thousand to destroy the old Exatai.
It was almost well that Taexi died a few days later, the fever finally overtaking him.
The other news would have hit harder.
Taexi's last decree was for the ship bearing word of his death – the fastest in the fleet – to arrive in Nech as quickly as possible. There, he hoped, his old friend Sianai would hear, and return to Atracta and Sartasion before any other claimants could make their way forward. Behind this ship, the rest of the fleet would follow, slowly. Its mission in Brunn was done: Kurchen and the capital lay in glowing coals, and the Satar would withdraw before anyone could even take revenge.
But the Accans in the force had eyes and ears everywhere, and they heard of this death wish. Immediately, arrangements were made to inform the new Letoratta, Arteras, of the events that had transpired there – that he might take up the mask instead. And still more plots lurked behind those, as agents whose purpose read even more inscrutably informed the last of the great claimants – Talephas, recently masked Prince of the Shield, and youngest son of the late, great Elikas-ta-Tisatar.
Even as these three scrambled to move to claim the mask, still more bad news came from the south. Whether Kintyra had been the Fifth Aitah was a matter of some debate among the learned, but she would certainly not be the last Aitah. Another girl, whose provenance seemed rather more legitimate than Kintyra, emerged on the River Peko, preaching to the soldiers who defended these lands from renewed Airani raids (for the Nahsjad had been just as incensed by the Immolation as any other good Maninists). Though her exhortations won her many admirers, far more important were the signs attached to her birth and early life.
Here, the many priests and scholars agreed, was the true Fifth Aitah.
But the importance of the birth of another religious figure would have to wait a while, as the many cogs that turned inevitably towards a third eschaton clamored for attention.
Even as Mahid fell under siege from Airani soldiers, the city bustled with activity, as did the port of Aldina. Huge fleets from the Farubaid swarmed the coastline, looking for the Karapeshai fleets, hoping to give battle here. But the majority of the Exatai's fleets lingered far from the theater of war. Many in the upper echelons of the command urged them to take advantage of the situation, but cooler heads prevailed. No one knew exactly where the Gallasene fleet had gone (it would later transpire that Accan nuccia had purchased it wholesale), but it would not do to launch another Accan Expedition while the war's first punches hadn't yet landed.
So while a large garrison force was left at the ports, ready to fend off any Karapeshai attacks, the remainder of the fleet moved to support the Farubaida's coastal attacks. Marching up the west of the Kern Sea, alongside tens of thousands from the Holy Moti Empire, a Carohan army under Maeraedan Aramsayafa found itself almost unopposed, with a few Satar raiders at their flanks – the rest were tied up in defending against the far larger force led by First-Lerai himself even further to the west. Indeed, they would take Onesca and even reach Sacossa, making exploratory raids into Oscadia before enemy resistance even became a consideration.
As for First-Lerai, his grand assault on the Vithanama had been only a somewhat expensive ruse. With Birun back by his side, he crashed north from Magha. One force took Katdhi in a stunning stroke, and engaging the raiders in the region on a level footing – over the years, the Moti had acquired great numbers of light cavalry, and seemed almost as adept at their use as the Satar themselves. This advantage played true in First-Lerai's own campaign, aimed directly north, at Siaxis.
The holiest site of Ardavan might have been the scene of a bloodbath, but First-Lerai had proved a hundred times during his reign that he wasn't even all that unsympathetic to the Ardavani. Engaging directly with the monks at the enormous temple-complex, he informed them that he had no ill designs on the settlement, and that he only wanted to seize it to draw out Taexi to a battle-challenge. Uggor soldiers would not even set foot inside the monastery if they did not allow it, instead, he would maintain a garrison of “Tamed Satar” – or the inhabitants of Satara who he had made a prominent piece in his army and rule.
Otherwise, of course, he would raze it.
Though there were of course a thousand objections, the monastery chose to surrender. First-Lerai had already proved some exatas by virtue of his having pushed through the screening force of thousands of steppe horse and levies that protected the vast frontier. His military talents had been considerable, to organize such an expedition across these lands – even the logistical problems involved required the works of genius to surmount.
Much less peaceable, of course, was Arastephaion, which had stood as a Satar citadel for hundreds of years now. Though its fortifications were sorely tested by the Uggor, it managed to stand firm against the initial assaults by the smaller western army, and eventually the Moti force had to pull up in order to let its supply lines catch up.
Nevertheless, with Onesca and Siaxis well in hand, and Arastephaion in grave danger as well, the battle-challenge had been issued. Despite fears of a falling out between the two, the Holy Emprie and the Carohans had set aside the religious differences that had flared between the two, and had set the stage for the rematch for the War of the Three Gods.
The only question that remained was who the actors would be.
Across the Sea, the Accan troops already prepared for withdrawal. The homeland would be far more important, and though it might seem incredible that the Moti would even try to attack Acca, they had seen more incredible things in their time. The Gallasenes readied once more for battle without the Satar, but their efforts in the last few years had hardly been wasted. Captain Javan would be acclaimed by his soldiers in a strikingly Satar fashion as the Halyr, or Highest. Here was a supreme ruler – Gallat had not seen his like for centuries – who made valuable use of the intervening years. While the Aitahists burnt the land, his soldiers had drilled regularly with the Accan pikes, and received sound training despite their vast numbers. Though most of the old holdouts had been destroyed, Selessan, remained a durable redoubt, fending off Savirai raids with surprising pluck. Maninist recruits and goodwill had flocked to the state in continuing reaction to the Immolation, and even with the vast numbers arrayed against them, a faint hope remained for old Gallat.
In the far north, Fulwarc III had been left largely alone by Sianai in the latter's haste to return home, and he had made good use of it, burning his way across much of the remnants of Nech. A successor kingdom, perhaps wary of the unending razing of cities around them, coalesced around Helt, and fended off attacks from both sides. The Brunnekt monarchy barely held together under the strain, with the eastern nobility still cowed by Martuska's influence; the Fowl Queen managed to reunite with her husband in Flamstadt, but living in the former Seehltekt fortress made for a paranoid household.
Now, Taexi's death had only just reached the Ayasi, and the Satar had three claimants with astounding merits and great popularity. Sianai had the favor of the old Redeemer, but he had been put in a somewhat awkward position, and though he sailed across the Kern with haste, he arrived too late, and with too small a force, to make a real impact on the acclamation. Arteras had been the first to arrive in Atracta, where the heart of the bureaucratic apparatus of the Exatai lay, but Talephas came close behind. Both brought considerable forces to the negotiating table, and both knew the incredible urgency in selecting a leader that all could rally behind. But neither quite wanted to yield.
The decision, it seemed, was in Sianai's hands. The wily old Xieni eventually decided to throw his weight behind Talephas, thinking, perhaps, that the somewhat capricious youth might be easier to manipulate. All this didn't sit well with Arteras, but he knew better than to risk open war at this time, even if he could well have won. The decision had been made – unusually for a Satar succession – almost entirely behind closed doors, but when Talephas accepted the golden mask, he was showered with the adulation of the army nonetheless.
For Talephas was young, charismatic, and brave – an entirely fitting candidate to lead the Exatai in the Third Armageddon.
* * * * * * * * *
The city lay between the mountains, on the low and level earth. Fires burned in the watchtowers now, for as everyone knew, Yashidim lay in the path of many a would-be conqueror. The last of the year's storms had passed by (they braced for the slow death of the dry season), and all that remained was the smell of wet earth. Indeed, the clouds themselves had been washed away, the sky wiped clean, the stars shining with barely a twinkle; diamonds in black velvet. No moon obscured the vision, nor the Veil.
It was a beautiful night.
The candles burnt still in the little home by the market. On the wall there, a sword in its sheath hung – not gold, but leather. No breeze is stirring, but the sheets on the desk are weighed down nonetheless. Many, many columns of numbers and names, an endless list. And on top of that, in the topmost layer of sediment, a letter half-finished.
I'm not one for histrionics, so I will be brief. I have been called to serve the Ayasi, and I will of course answer. As we discussed before, I am leaving Talessa in your care. She is a bright girl, a cheerful girl, and she must know that I –
Above the letter, a hand, holding a pen, the last drops of ink on its point long since dried. Slowly, as if every muscle is a conscious thought, the hand pushes the pen to one side on the desk, and stretches out. Attached to the hand, an arm, to the arm, a man, and to the man, a frown. How should he explain this to Talessa? Tell her that she was his world? Clearly untrue, if he would march to war and leave her behind. Tell her that, though she meant more to him than anything else, the call of duty could not be ignored? Perhaps, but that thought rang hollow in his own head. Tell her that he was being coerced, or that sometimes one must set aside personal desires for the sake of the Ayasi?
If his motion had been less economical, perhaps he would have gotten up and paced, but instead, Covo merely looked to the window, watching with steady eye the garrison's fires. He had been a traveler once, when his trading duties had involved more than sitting behind a desk. He remembered the route he would take tomorrow quite well: he might reach Magha in under two weeks, if he was lucky.
“Father?” came a soft voice. He looked about.
Talessa was only 12, but she had taken to wearing her mother's mask around the house. Covo understood, of course, and would never have told her how much the sight of different eyes beneath the wood and lacquer hurt him. He almost hoped she'd never understand. Now, though, she pushed the mask up over her head.
“Father,” she spoke again, “What's wrong?”
He pulled his mouth into a smile, and took the girl in his arms. She felt so frail to him, like her shoulder-blades were folded paper. “Nothing, Talessa,” he lied quietly. “Go to sleep.”
* * * * * * * * *