by B A Vonsik
“She is my lower rank,” Ezerus stated the obvious, emphasizing “lower” in his words.
“Ar’seergal, she is the daughter of—” the kunza started pleading.
“Prepare the rack, kunza, or you’ll also find yourself on one,” promised Ezerus. “I won’t speak this command again.”
Ezerus lowered his gaze to his subordinate still lying on her back rubbing her throat. His face now felt impassive as he regained his usual composure. Yet, that sense of urgency grew hotter in the back of his mind telling him there was not time for this, but he had to set the order of things within the Tusaa’Ner and with this seergal, now, before they entered the Blood Land. Besides, he needed to give Darvaar time to collect the detailed information on the Seb’Ner while he looked for himself the state of things concerning their supplies, wagons, steeds, and the Guardians of the Empire. He needed a distraction. Never let a predicament be squandered. Dajil tried to rise, but Ezerus’s boot on her chest kept her on her back. “Either this fixes you, or you bleed lightless before your Tusaa’Ner.”
Chapter 28
Temples and Spears
The air felt cold as a chill rippled through him, his breath almost forming a mist when he exhaled. Gray clouds dominating the dawn bestowed a patchy pattern while moving low over the city on a light breeze. Entwined in the ghostly patchwork was the blue-gray sky above. The dim morning light on the wet north-south running cobblestones made the street seem as flowing water as it grazed the wood steps nearest him as he stood. A sign in front of the tavern-inn identified it as the Ringing Bell. The morning sun, not yet high enough to shine through the cloud deck, gave light enough for his eyes to make out the street’s stonework and shadowy forms on it, the few merchants up early moving their goods with niisku and kyda-drawn carts. A mix of smells, both pleasant and not so much, played with his nose, making it difficult for him to decide if he liked the place where he stood.
“This is uncomfortable,” Aren complained.
“Just put it out of your thoughts.” Rogaan dismissed his complaint.
“Maybe you can . . .” Aren continued complaining. “I don’t have muscle as you do. Evendiir are built for warmer places.”
Rogaan assessed Aren’s outfitting. His black, soft-soled boots looked warm enough. The green woven pants and brown tunic with sleeves to the elbows also seemed warm enough. That wide snapjaw hide belt kept everything in place and the wind out. The forest-green hide carry pack Aren would not let leave his grasp was slung over his right shoulder. Rogaan thought strange the Evendiir’s platinum-brown hair. He was lean and wiry in body and face with a hairless chin and green eyes, Rogaan saw him truly for the first time. And Rogaan agreed, Aren was not built to keep his warmth. “You are true on that.”
“Why are you seeing me like that?” Aren sounded accusatory.
“Like what?” asked Rogaan, not understanding the question.
“As you look at me now,” Aren clarified, but still with an accusatory tone.
“Just considering your words against your appearance,” explained Rogaan.
“Well . . . Don’t keep your eyes on me that way,” Aren demanded. He shivered noticeably. “I suffered enough of that last evening with all those in the tavern. Too many leering eyes. And . . . I didn’t care for the groping I saw on you.”
“Do you have to speak of it?” Rogaan felt unclean at the recall of last night’s time in the tavern. All he wanted was a meal and to be left alone. Instead, an incessant clique of Baraan males asking if they could sit with him was uncomfortable enough. Then, the touching started with attempts by friendly “accidents,” then to the outright grabbing of his parts. Not wanting to draw attention to himself or Aren . . . who sat by himself at a corner table, Rogaan thought only to give foul glares at his accosters. It mostly worked, but several were insistent on pestering him until he removed himself to his room . . . with his room chair propped against the door it to keep out the unwanted. So . . . Aren had noticed. This is embarrassing. “It was . . . unsettling. It would have been acceptable, even flattering from the few serving maids. From the young Baraans . . . males . . . unwanted.”
“Were they taken by your sway?” Aren asked, curious about that aspect of the Baraans.
“My sway?” Rogaan asked incredulously, then added with indignant denial. “I have no sway. That is a female thing. And a cruel thing . . . for me . . . for males.”
“Well, I think it was your sway.” Aren sounded as if he was teasing. “Strong from the way they pursued you.”
“Would you stop this?” Rogaan half-demanded, half-pleaded. When he looked to Aren, the Evendiir wore a friendly smile and had good-humored eyes but said nothing. “I did not like their . . . groping.”
“Is that why you hit him?” Aren asked about the young Baraan this morning that Rogaan upended over a table just before they departed.
“Yes,” answered Rogaan. “He asked me to stay the day, then grabbed me where he should not have.”
“I thought leering eyes were uncomfortable enough . . . but those hands.” A smile grew on Aren’s face with his teasing tone.
“Enough of this, friend,” Rogaan forcefully pleaded. “This inn will not see my coin another night. Besides, the coins they demanded for meal and bed were robbery.”
“I wouldn’t worry about them allowing you back in,” Aren mused. “I thought you shouldn’t have hit him so hard. Now . . . His feet in the air seems fitting.”
“We should go before more of them wake,” Rogaan recommended.
“Agreed.” Aren fell in stride with Rogaan as he stepped down to the street and set off toward the North Gate. “I think we should seek a high place to see the city and watch for the Tusaa’Ner.”
“Agreed,” Rogaan concurred as he pointed to a pair of stone block temples sitting atop a rise to their right. “Maybe on the other side of that hill?”
“It could work,” agreed Aren, looking up at the cloudy sky as they made their way up a well-kept stone pathway lined by trees and shrubs with leaves browning. “No sign of the featherwing. Do you know who it serves?”
“No,” answered Rogaan honestly as the pathway started serpentining right and left as the hill became steeper. “I wondered at it, but no face behind the wings comes to me.”
They both stopped when they heard arguing ahead and above on the pathway. Spotting them was easy through the trees from the ruckus they made exchanging words. One group in blue robes with feather adornments and the other in red and yellow robes like the followers of . . . Marduk, they saw last night on the streets. Rogaan and Aren quietly waited for the arguing to get resolved. It did quickly with the blue robes ushering off to the south the red and yellow robes. Down the hill they went following another pathway through crop fields that had already been harvested, across a cobblestone road winding east into the heart of Anza. The red and yellow robes then took another pathway through more crop fields working their way up to a grand stone temple siting alone on its rise. Red and yellow flags bearing the golden solar disk fluttering slightly all around that temple.
“I thought that temple had different colors yesterday when we arrived,” Rogaan asked after noticing it this morning.
“Gold, silver, and white were its colors yesterday.” Aren commented from the image in his mind of what the temple looked like just before dusk yesterday. Returning his gaze to the temple above them, “The blue robes are no longer in our path. Let’s find a place to do your watching.”
As the ground trembled for the first time today that he recalled, they quickly made their way up the stone pathway under cover of groomed foliage while keeping sharp eyes out for the blue-robed temple Kunsag. A sense of dread grew in Rogaan the closer they approached the stone temple and its fluttering blue flags. Flashes of the intimidating dark robes’ temple lit with the torches of Kur came to his mind, causing his skin to prickle and his neck hairs to stand painfully. Shaking off the eerie feeling, Rogaan found a pathway circling around the temple. They set off to the right
, then left following the hillside back to the north where they found themselves overlooking crop fields below, some harvested and others being harvested by bare-chested Baraan younglings, a number of homesteads, and a set of inns surrounded by pen-yards and stables, now filled with the sky-blue colors and the crossed spears and towers of the Farratum Tusaa’Ner. The place looked bustling.
Rogaan and Aren found a secluded spot below the temple with a set of stone benches surrounded by more groomed trees and shrubs. At least these things do not have long, sharp thorns pricking me every time I get close. Rogaan pulled a seeing-glass from his carry pack, something the Seb’Ner scout gave up when he lost his Light. Rogaan searched the inn, stables, and the Tusaa’Ner for any sign of his father. At under two hundred strides distant to the inn, he could make out many faces through the seeing-glass and the equipment each face carried. Nothing, Disappointment filled him. He continued searching, systematically looking at each building and wagon. While doing so, he and Aren started bickering a little at the Evendiir’s paranoia about being caught by the temple Kunsag, or worse, their Kabiris. The subject went unresolved.
After a time of several mild ground shakings and them switching using the seeing-glass to search for Rogaan’s father and studying the Tusaa’Ner, Aren started looking to the right at the greater Anza. While the Evendiir gazed away, Rogaan noticed a ruckus at the inn. Squinting to see more clearly, he saw that red-blond-haired sakal being pulled out of the inn against her wishes by two big, blue-clad guardsmen and tied to a set of stout poles in the courtyard. “What is happening down there?”
“What . . . What do you see?” Aren asked while trying to look around a tall shrub to see the inn.
“Remember that female sakal in Farratum with the reddish hair and screech of a voice?” Rogaan asked Aren, expecting him to know who he was talking of.
“Dajil?” Aren perked up as he tried to get a better view of the inn and Dajil. “She treated him fairly despite the disrespectful guardsmen she commanded and her mother’s atten . . .”
“That is the one . . .” Rogaan confirmed her name as he watched the Tusaa’Ner kunza, under the cold direction of that one who tried to take Suhd from him on the ship. The kunza prepare Dajil to be lashed. “They mean to whip on her.”
“What?” Aren sounded shocked and incredulous, now looking through the seeing-glass at the scene. He lowered the seeing-glass and stared unfocused off into the distance. “Dajil . . . no. That can’t be. Her mother protects her from those she oversees.”
“It looks that the kunza is being commanded by that red-armored fellow I struck on the ship to save Suhd.” Rogaan described the situation he was observing.
“This can’t happen,” Aren grumbled as he again set the seeing-glass to his eye, then fell into silence as he took in the scene. He winced.
Rogaan heard the distant crack of a whip followed by a painful scream. Then, another and another and another, each time Aren wincing before Rogaan heard the whip. Looking with his unaided eyes, Rogaan could make out the courtyard happenings. The whipping and her screaming were interrupted only by the red-armored fellow talking to Dajil. She shook her head in defiance six times before she could no longer lift her head because of the continuing lashes. At the end of the sixth set of lashings, she hung from her bound wrists on the poles with her head slumped to her bare chest. Aren started grumbling some more, then turned to rant in a language Rogaan did not understand. It was clear to Rogaan that Aren strangely cared about Dajil and held hatred for the red-armored fellow. Rogaan felt his neck hairs prickle, warning him as if someone was doing something with one of those stones. Looking about, Rogaan found the air around Aren’s hands glow different colors before returning to normal.
“Ezerus . . .” Aren’s tone grew heated as he watched through the seeing-glass Dajil being dragged to the eastern inn. “I don’t know how yet pay you will . . . Subar or no Subar.”
“Do you think her lightless?” Rogaan asked. He too felt an odd fondness for the sakal after she showed him a strange compassion when he was being sent to the pit under the arena.
“I don’t think she is . . .” Aren dropped the seeing-glass from his eye. He was visibly shaken and angry. “Things are strange that he had her disciplined . . . in front of her guardsmen. Tusaa’Ner rarely do such a thing as I’ve observed. This makes no sense.”
Aren raised the seeing-glass again. Now, surveying the Tusaa’Ner, he appeared to be tallying up their numbers and supplies with great quickness. Rogaan squinted at the brightness of several heaven rays breaking through the clouds as he tried to make his own counts and hoping to find his father, alive.
“What are they doing here?” Aren blurted out in surprise and frustration.
“Who?” Rogaan asked.
“Your Baraan friends and the Tellen . . .” Aren answered Rogaan while handing him the seeing-glass. “They’re on the road walking past the Tusaa’Ner.”
Through the seeing-glass, Rogaan soon found Pax and Suhd and Trundiir walking the road beyond the inns and Tusaa’Ner. No! They should not be here! Unbelievable! A wave of worry washed over Rogaan, not wanting his friends to suffer any more for him. “I left them in the cave to spare them more pain.”
Rogaan watched his friends walk the lightly congested main road of cobblestones past the inn’s stables and half-filled pens, then past another block stone temple on the far side of the road sitting atop a small rise. Something about the temple felt familiar to Rogaan. His nape hairs prickled.
“Ah . . . we have . . . You need to look this way.” Aren fumbled with his words.
Odd . . . Aren stumbling with words, Rogaan mused. He pulled his attention away from the seeing-glass and turned around. Three bronze metal spear tips nearly poked his eyes. Focusing beyond the bronze blades, he found three leather armor-clad guardsmen with blue and tan tunics, all wearing the symbol of a storm cloud with lightning bolt, and headbands trailing with colored feathers. The three held their spears ready to plunge them into him and Aren. Temple guardsmen? Rogaan asked himself. More surrounded Aren with the same unfriendly ways of pointing their spears at the Evendiir.
“Surrender yourselves in the name of Kishar!” demanded a stout Baraan with a deep voice.
Chapter 29
Revealing
Surrounded by blue and tan tunics and spear tips in his face, Rogaan weighed his options . . . surrender or fight. If we surrender, they will take both our equipment and day. That cannot happen if Father is to be freed. Fighting could mean injury or worse . . . though we could get our day. Rogaan resigned himself to having to fight his way out of this. Looking to Aren, the Evendiir saw it in Rogaan’s eyes and shook his head “No” to a confrontation, as he too had spear tips at his face and belly.
“Friends . . .” Aren spoke in a tone unthreatening to the guardsmen, “we are peaceful travelers looking for guidance from the Ancients. I . . . We understand this place may be what we seek.”
“Quiet, Evendiir!” growled the stout guardsman.
“I mean no offense, kind guardian . . .” Aren attempted flattery while continuing in his nonthreatening tones. “We—”
“Why steal looks at the inns and dwellings?” asked the guardsman with an accusatory tone.
“There are new ones in the city, and we were curious about them,” Aren answered honestly, but still with his forced friendly tone. “They could be meaning harm and—”
“Silence from you!” again growled the stout guardsman who held his spear tip at Rogaan’s face. “You speak as if we’re fools.”
“When the sandal fits—” Aren kept his pleasant tone as he insulted the guardsman.
Trying to summon his Wild Spirit, Rogaan made straining grunts that caused the guardsmen to look at him with uncertain, worried eyes. Then, he recalled his moment with the Sentii companions when he fought them at their speed. He then was angry but had removed it from his mind while keeping it in his heart, replacing it with resolve as he did now, replacing his fear with resolve. Colors expl
oded with vivid details and vibrancy as the world and the guardsmen slowed and his nose suffered assault from the trees, shrubs, and incense from where he knew not, and the unwashed guardsmen standing in front of him. In a single move, Rogaan dropped his seeing-glass, then grabbed in his right hand the three spears pointed at his face just behind their bronze heads as he spun to his left, pulling the spears from the guardsmen. He continued his spin until facing the guardsmen where he stomped his foot to a halt and spears in hand and haft butts stamped to the ground. Rogaan stood looking at the shocked guardsmen as their colors faded and movements became normal. I am hungry, Rogaan’s stomach grumbled a little.
“We are not foes.” Rogaan made to calm the moment while hoping he could convince the temple guardsmen, they had nothing to fear from them.
“He’s one of the Quickened!” another guardsman fearfully blurted out. The rest stole nervous glances at each other, then started to back away. The stout guardsman was the last to follow.
“Do you want these returned?” Rogaan asked the guardsmen holding up their spears. They turned and scurried away a short distance in the direction of the north most of the nearest two temples, the step pyramid temple high on the rise to Rogaan’s right. Rogaan looked to Aren who held just as a confused expression as he felt.
Footfalls approaching from the other temple on the shared rise to their south alarmed the scurrying Kishar guardsmen who moved still closer to their temple as the footfalls grew louder. Aren looked to Rogaan with questioning eyes.
“I think we should disappear . . .” recommended the Evendiir.
“Agreed,” Rogaan replied as he and Aren jumped from their lookout left to the pathway they followed earlier. “Let us hurry.”