Well, NK's in Massachusetts checking out his future college, (Amherst) so I wouldn't expect the update until this weekend at the earliest.
---
A Gathering of Men
Somewhere, there lives a perfect people. Their small, comfortable thatched houses are tucked into a mountain valley, which opens up into a lush grassland. They are content with their quiet lives, happy to grow plants and watch sunsets until the end of their days. And their only goal is to live life with a greater understanding of nature and the universe.
And somewhere, the Satarai are burning their homes and taking them as slaves.
Andelai, having led the rearguard, appointed himself as messenger to bring news of the victory to the conclave. Of course, the trails of smoke rising from the valley were visible for miles, but it wasn't apparent that they had taken five hundred seventeen slaves, killed eighty-four "warriors," if angry farmers could be called that, and lost two men. One was caught inside a burning barn (that he himself had lit) and roasted alive. The other fell from his horse during the charge into the valley and snapped his neck. Andelai had no doubt that their spirits were being reincarnated as minnows somewhere.
It was the last year of the Wheel, and so the Satarai gathered in conclave, as was their tradition. While they normally roved north, south or east of Rath Tephas according to their whim, it was rare for all of the tribes to be gathered this far to the north. The sun plunged down to the west, leaving an ominous arc of crimson, like a bloody slash cut across the torso of the darkening sky. Andelai was not one for skygazing, though like all he knew how to read the stars.
The trails of smoke from the campfires of the Gathered Seven Houses were far greater than those of the burning valley. The Gathering was as large as a city of stonedwellers, for after all, the entire living nation of the Satarai were here arranged. Set aside were the war camps, neatly lined with barriers of sharpened stakes, and well patrolled by dismounted sentries who stepped back after Andelai answered the challenge correctly. He made for his own tent, passing the reins of his horse to a groom, one wearing the low mask of the enslaved.
Other slaves helped remove his dented armor, and washed his face, stained with blood and sweat, before buckling on his ceremonial gear. The passages on the moon indicated that the Tenth Year of the Wheel (in the Eleventh Cycle, the seven hundred tenth year since the Founding) was drawing to a close. Soon came the eleventh year of the eleventh cycle...this would bring great things, for good or for ill.
Andelai was a warrior of the Satarai, so he was not a superstitious individual. Of course he believed in the Heavens, and the power of the Gods, but it was long held that power is given freely. Across the years, the Satarai, and in time Andelai, realized that obedience is what makes a king a king, and a slave a slave. A king is a king because men freely give him their power, out of fear or out of loyalty. A slave is a slave because he freely gives his power to another, usually out of fear. So too, the Satarai thought, were Gods made, and unmade, by the free will of men. Such supernatural power as the Gods of Great Heaven held was no more than the combined power of every Satarai warrior's fist, joined into one.
These were the thoughts of Andelai as he strode through the camp towards the Tent of the Princes. His personal slaves had made a remarkable transformation in his appearance. The dirty, battleworn warrior of that afternoon had been transformed into a mighty lord, his forehead bound with the circlet of an Heir, a blue cloak concealing bronze armor polished to a sheen. His sword was sheathed, but also he carried a great silver shield, covered in concentric circles of engraved runes, the verses and chants especially holy to the House of the Star.
The tent was great. Not as great as the vast golden pavilion in which the Grand Satrap of the Sesh had once met with his Princes, but still the largest structure to be found north and west of the Empire of the Sesh. The Seven Princes stood as he entered, each one holding the silver staff that marked his authority, their bodies covered in cloaks marking their House's color, and their faces covered by the silver mask of a Ruling Prince.
One, his silver mask marked by a single sapphire set in the forehead, was the first to speak. "Andelai. We have seen and smelled the smoke of battle on the wind. Tell us of your fortune."
Andelai bent to one knee, and covered his face with his left palm, the gesture of high respect. "My lords and masters." And he clearly outlined the details of the battle, parts of his mind rattling off the statistics of the engagement, while his heart was far elsewhere. As always, Andelai was respectful and brief.
The prince with a brown cloak, and a pure topaz embedded in his mask, held a silver rod of authority, capped with gold: The Ruling Staff. Of course it would never be spoken, but the High Prince was of the House of the Wheel...and would be, until the Ruling Staff was passed at the end of the cycle. It was the deep voice of Akaltas, his uncle, that came from behind the mask, but it had the cold weight of power and decision that marked the voice of the High Prince.
"Your voice and bearing are blank and composed, speaker. If we did not know you, we would see only a warrior with a strong arm and a quick mind, and not a man who hides his true feelings from the Seven."
Taleldil repressed a flush. "If I may speak freely..."
A shorter prince in a green cloak waved his hand impatiently. "Speak, your loyalty is known."
"Our presence in numbers this far north is unnecessary and strange. And the people we slaughtered, for it was a slaughter and not a battle, were not a threat to us, and had little of value to be taken. What was the purpose of our journey across the sands to this place?"
The High Prince chuckled softly, though he quickly repressed it after a sharp glance from the ruby-masked prince on his right. "We tell you to speak and the words gush out like a river. Prince of the Star, tell your so..ah, our speaker, why we have done these things."
The tallest Prince among them, with a white cloak and a clear diamond sparking from the pinnacle of his forehead, stepped silently forward. "Andelai, for years we have watched the lands around us. To the south and east, the Empire of the Sesh has grown in might. Their cities swarm like termite hives, and their soldiers are ordered and numerous, far better trained than at the death of Taleldil IV, and the end of the Satrapy."
The High Prince cleared his throat, making a sweeping gesture towards the flap of the tent. "Since the...hasty exit of our ancestors from the Sesh, we have restored our numbers, but little else. Rath Tephas is fair, but not as wide a land as we need. So, if the Sesh stretch their hands to the north, it would be far better if they found a barren land than one filled with Satarai, unprepared for the force of their enemy's revenge."
As the impact of his words sunk in, Andelai did finally flush, but this time from anger, not shame. "You would have us run, and Rath Tephas defiled by invaders."
The Prince of the Star, and Andelai's father, stepped forward. "If you have only rash words for us, perhaps I shall not do as I have planned. It was my will that at the turning of the moon, when the First Year of the Star began, that I lay down my mask, and let it pass, with the Staff of the High Prince, to my heir."
Andelai was shocked. His proud, silent father, give up the Ruling Cycle for the Star...to him? "Father, I..."
"Enough! You know your place in the gathering. The only ties within the conclave are the ties of loyalty. The ties of blood mean nothing here."
An ancient voice spoke from behind the mask of the Prince of the Scroll, which had a plain gray rock set into the silver. "The High Prince is a steward, not a despot. It was so decided when we returned to the north. But the House of the Star, and soon, the Ruling Staff itself, shall pass to you, Andelai. You could easily order the Satarai to sit in Rath Tephas, bordered only by enemies and our arrogance, until the inevitable doom came, from the Sesh or another!"
"But he will not," said the ruby-masked prince, "for even warriors know that some battles, even the greatest, are fought with an invisible enemy."
"We must have a new land," said the Prince with a green cloak and an emerald in his mask. "The Rath Phalen is wide, and unbound. If we go north and west beyond the mountains and the setting of the sun, we shall find new lands. Such a journey is a far greater battle than we could ever expect from the Sesh."
Andelai understood, though he did not completely agree with the will of the Seven. But he saw the merit in a journey beyond the sun...not even the Gods had attempted such a thing!
"Very well," he said loudly. "I shall take the Mask of the Star, if it is offered. And I shall lead the Satarai beyond the dying sun into new life."
"So shall it be written," intoned the quavering voice of the Prince of the Scroll, "so shall it be done."