Rise of Serpents

by B A Vonsik

  They ran south back on the winding pathway that circled around the temple rise, the garden shrubs turning to small trees on their right as they went. On their left, a drop-off of some four and more strides to uneven dirt and rocks below. After they turned a bend with still heavy greenery for this late season, they slid to a halt. Before them, at the first crossroads they came to on the path . . . a three-way intersection seven strides ahead, stood two handfuls of spear-carrying guardsmen . . . these dressed in scale armor and feathered plumed helms and as covers blue tunics bearing a scroll held in a fist mark.

  “Halt in the name of Nunamnir!” a big, burly guardsman demanded as he stamped the butt of his spear on the ground.

  Rogaan looked to Aren with questioning eyes. The Evendiir glanced to the left side of the pathway where the drop-off offered them a dangerous escape. Rogaan glanced, assessing it. Over five strides here. He shook his head “No” to Aren as the drop was high enough, they would almost certainly injure themselves.

  “Surrender or what?” Aren asked Rogaan. “We can’t run, and fighting isn’t my thing.”

  “Can’t you do that . . . stone thing?” Rogaan asked Aren, hoping his new friend had abilities not yet shown.

  “Stone thing?” Aren looked at Rogaan with incredulous, insulted eyes.

  “Yes . . .” Rogaan returned Aren’s eyes. “Use that large one you carry with you.”

  Aren’s eyes and face turned alarmed, surprising Rogaan at the intensity of the Evendiir’s reaction. Aren then just straightened his back and stood tall with an odd, calm expression that seemed to imply he accepted Rogaan finding him out on something he kept secret. “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t have control—”

  “Are ya two just going ta keep with ya private talk?” the burly guardsman sarcastically asked, then demanded in a harsher tone, “Or are ya ta surrender ya weapons?”

  “Would you give us a moment?” Aren asked the guardsman with a hand wave.

  The entire troop of guardsmen dropped into an aggressive crouch with spears raised at Aren’s wave. Revealed behind the crouched guardsmen was an average height Baraan dressed in blue robes with a circlet of gems on his head. Aren froze not completing his wave. He stood for a moment assessing what just happened.

  “This isn’t good,” Aren commented as he felt the unfamiliar vibrations of a manifestation in the making. “The temple’s Kunsag.”

  “We have a manifester!” The Kunsag announced before barking. “Guardians . . . advance!”

  “What now . . . manifester?” Rogaan sincerely asked.

  “Run back down the path and look for a place to jump down,” Aren offered.

  “Agreed,” Rogaan replied as he turned, then stopped. Behind them some eight strides were more of those in blue tunics and armor acting in the name of Nunamnir with spears pointed at them. Both groups of guardsmen now deliberately advanced on them. “Have anything else?”

  “Nothing helpful,” replied Aren with a hint of resignation in his voice.

  A screech from above brought everyone to a stop. Circling high was that dark featherwing. A second screech from somewhere over the southern temple came another featherwing, a brown and white one, flying directly at them. The brown and white predator swooped low over the head of the Kunsag, forcing the Baraan to duck. The featherwing then turned and landed in the pathway separating the guardsmen with the burly commander and Rogaan and Aren. The featherwing fluffed up its feathers while spreading its wings wide, then squawked as it stamped its talons. The guardsmen paused their advance at the aggressive display by the brown-and-white-one-stride-tall featherwing.

  “Kill it!” ordered the Kunsag.

  “Not an act that will go well for you,” an unknown male voice announced from somewhere on the unexplored pathway near the Kunsag.

  Everyone hesitated with most looking to the pathway branching south down the temple rise. Rogaan spotted in between the trees two figures approaching at a measured pace. Emerging on the cobblestones from the garden trees came two darkly dressed Baraans. The bigger of the two stood a guardsman dressed in layered leather eur armor with leather helm, a sheathed short sword, a long knife on his belt, and dark metal spear in hand. The second, almost a head shorter, seemed familiar to Rogaan with sand-colored hair, a lean build, black leather armor, loose dark pants, and leather boots. A short sword and sling on his belt appeared to be his only weapons. Prominently on display was his dark metallic pendant hanging from a dark metal chain about his neck. It was a symbol that sent a shiver rolling through Rogaan. A circle enclosing a staff with entwined serpents. Atop was set a smoldering black gem. Rogaan’s hair stood on end as his skin prickled. They must be using that Stone Power.

  “Ebon Circle!” Several of the guardsmen spoke in unison as an alarm.

  “Kabiri . . .” the Kunsag recognized. “Why have you trespassed?”

  “To give warning . . .” the Kabiri spoke with confidence. “These two are wanted by the Circle.”

  “They have trespassed against Nunamnir and will suffer their fate,” the Kunsag declared.

  “Only if you wish to suffer my master . . .” the Kabiri looked up to the sky to the featherwing. Then, he looked to the brown and white featherwing in fierce display. “And his ax.”

  The Kunsag turned visibly nervous as he scanned the sky then looked at the featherwing in hostile display between him and his trespassers. He appeared to be uncertain and with fear, struggling to choose between what he was commanded to do and what the Ebon Circle Kabiri demanded. In that moment, Rogaan saw on the Kunsag’s face a change in his demeaner and a decision of a new path. “Guardsmen! Reform!”

  The blue tunic-clothed guardsmen stood, then gathered in orderly formations in front of Rogaan and Aren as well as behind. When in formation, they held their spears pointed up by their sides. Relief swept over Rogaan. No fighting or jumping from high places trying to escape.

  “Take them, Kabiri, and never return.” The Kunsag announced his chosen path.

  “This way . . .” the dark clad Kabiri motioned with his hand at Rogaan and Aren. Without waiting for them to comply, he and his armed escort turned and started walking down the pathway they arrived on. “I encourage you to follow.”

  Rogaan gave an asking look to Aren who shrugged his shoulders. The featherwing in front of them gave an ear-piercing screech before taking off in a loud flutter. Rogaan thought he spotted a harness on the creature. Aren first moved with Rogaan quickly following. As they went by the guardsmen, Rogaan kept his eyes fixed on them. The burly guardsman and the Kunsag both stared back at him with eyes filled with frustration and anger. They quickened their steps to catch up to the two from the Ebon Circle. I cannot believe I am doing this . . . the Ebon Circle, of all places and peoples.

  The Kabiri and his guardsman quickly led them down the cobblestone pathway and out of the garden just short of an east-west running road of cobblestones with crop fields to their right and storefronts lining the road on both sides to their left. Across the road ahead of them, on another rise surrounded by crop fields, stood a large block stone temple that appeared to be changing its colors. It had a mix of flags, silver with gold scepters being lowered and red with golden solar disks being raised. Circling above in wide arcs under the low gray clouds remained the dark and brown featherwings. Their presence started growing on Rogaan a sense of safekeeping when he viewed them. The Kabiri stopped just short and behind the merchant houses waiting for Aren and Rogaan to catch up while the Kabiri’s guardsman looked about the rear of the merchant house ensuring all was safe.

  “I must get you safe in the Temple of Sinn before the city sets upon you,” the Kabiri explained. “There, we wait out all those seeking you until we can steal you out of Anza and back to Brigum.”

  “No!” protested Rogaan. “Father must be freed.”

  “Mithraam doesn’t need saving,” the Kabiri stated.

  “What . . . maybe not by your hands but . . .” Rogaan further protested as he noticed the Kabiri looki
ng as much Evendiir with his slender build and fingers and slightly slanted eyes as he did Baraan with a shadow of facial hair and hair to his shoulders.

  “This was always the plan . . . Rogaan,” the Kabiri revealed, obviously trying to get the half Tellen to follow him to this Temple of Sinn. “You were never to be here. In Brigum or on eKur’Idagu, yes, but not here where you put everyone in danger.”

  “What . . . no.” Rogaan felt confused and growing angry.

  “And, you . . . Aren . . .” the Kabiri put stern eyes on the Evendiir. “You have something you shouldn’t and need safe haven in a secret place, so He can’t find you.”

  “I have no idea what you speak of—” Aren denied the Kabiri’s words.

  “The ax and flame,” the Kabiri stated. “You carry it.”

  Aren suddenly appeared to suffer pain with a visible grimace. Concern filled Rogaan as his Evendiir friend seemed in more pain than any he had seen before. Looking to the Kabiri for help, he saw the Ebon Circle envoy intently studying Aren.

  “Our worst fears . . .” the Kabiri told his guardsman with a measure of alarm. “He’s bonded, and the Agni fights us.”

  “What does that mean?” Rogaan felt the growing angst in his gut. “And what did you mean of my father not needing saving?”

  “To keep the world safe . . .” the Kabiri appeared to struggle with what he would reveal. “Your father is the trick fooling this mad Kabir. You and your bow can’t go to Vaikuntaars.”

  “He’s not just a Kabir . . .” Aren spoke distracted with pain.

  “Then, who is he?” the Kabiri skeptically asked.

  “He’s Luntanus Alum . . .” answered Rogaan. “The worst of the ancient Shunned.”

  The Kabiri stood stunned with disbelief. He had no reaction other than to stand motionless staring off at nothing. Rogaan grew more concerned as the moments passed. He looked at Aren. His Evendiir friend seemed to be shaking off the pain he suffered but was still not focused on the present. Rogaan looked at the big Baraan guardsman. They met eyes causing the guardsman to accept he needed to act, though it would seem reluctantly.

  “Kabiri . . .” the guardsman tried to gain the half Evendiir’s attention. “Kabiri. Daluu!”

  The half Evendiir blinked once, then a couple more times several moments later. He looked around with a nervousness he did not have before he heard the name Shunned. He blinked again, then looked at Aren and Rogaan. “How certain are you of this?”

  “I heard him, and others admit it,” answered Aren. If still in pain, he no longer showed it. “He tortured me and played with my fears as Lucufaar. The things he’s done with Agnis convinces me.”

  “The Vassal knows much of him and harbors a hatred for this Shunned,” added Rogaan.

  “Who is this . . . Vassal?” asked Daluu as disbelief grew on his face and in his eyes.

  “I know you now.” Rogaan stared at Daluu with new recognition. “You fought him in the forest plains with the Dark Ax. You had control of the ravers for a short time. I wish you could have kept that control. He knows everything about this Shunned, about me, and much about your plan with my father. He also hinted that my father would have his Light taken once this Shunned learns my father is not the ‘blood key’ he thinks he is.”

  “This explains and changes . . . much.” Daluu, Kabiri of the Ebon Circle, wore great concern and a growing fear on his face. He raised his left arm in the air and held it there unmoving. He gave an order to the guardsman. “Scribe this message to the master. ‘Mad Kabir is Shunned, Luntanus Alum. Warrior-Kabir battled on fields with ravers is more than thought. Names himself Vassal.’”

  The guardsman scribed on a small piece of parchment with a wood stick that left dark gray marks. Rogaan used one of those sticks once when young after he had taken it from his father’s desk. He recalled getting in trouble for doing it. Loud flapping drew Rogaan’s attention to the Kabiri. Now perched on his left arm was the dark featherwing. A large animal almost half a stride tall, with black feathers, twin tail feathers that trailed it in flight, and a solid dark beak with teeth. Its eyes showed intelligence and an alertness of its surrounds unlike any animal Rogaan ever came across. Buried in its chest and back feathers was a leather harness that stoutly held a smoldering black gemstone. Is it one of those Agni Stones? Rogaan asked himself.

  The guardsman placed the parchment into a scroll message carrier on the featherwings right leg while Daluu talked to the animal as if he talked to an intelligent other, explaining their situation. As quickly as it came, the featherwing was gone, flying off to the north.

  “This Vassal . . .” Daluu asked of Aren and Rogaan, “where is he?”

  “He had command of the Makara’s crew,” Rogaan answered. “The ship was damaged, and he was wounded in his battle with the Shunned on the other ship.”

  “The Khaaron,” Aren added.

  “Was the Makara sailable?” Daluu asked.

  “Yes,” answered Aren with an almost bored tone. “And . . . yes, he could be here, by now.”

  “Changes . . . everything.” Daluu seemed genuinely in angst, and a bit of panic showed in his eyes.

  “What now . . .” Rogaan started to ask.

  A reverberating horn sounded from the temples behind them. Long and deep, Rogaan felt it almost as much as he heard it. A second blast of the horn sounded after a moment’s pause after the first. Then, a third blast, just as deep and reverberating. Then silence. No talking. No street din. Not even featherwings’ chirping or squawking.

  “What was that?” Rogaan asked.

  “A warning of a kind . . .” Aren spoke with a worry of trouble. “Let me presume . . . that was for us?”

  The Kabiri nodded his head in confirmation, then exchanged nervous glances with his guardsman. “Hoping they wouldn’t do this . . . challenge the Ebon Circle. Horns alert the Tusaa’Ner something against the city has happened. Tusaa’Ner lock the gates at the horns. They’ll watch the bridges, patrol the streets, and learn from the temple it’s us to be hunted.”

  “They’ll search for us first at your temple,” Aren contemptuously spoke the obvious.

  “Hunt us they will.” The Kabiri resigned himself to their circumstance. “We must see you both out of Anza . . . quickly.”

  Chapter 30

  The Heat

  The third sounding of the horn gave warning something was wrong in the city and with the temples. Maybe those followers of Marduk speaking nonsense of fifty names were at hand. Reports from his scouts of the red and yellow robes taking over the temple of Anu had already reached him. That could be it. Still, more was happening. He felt it. The Tusaa’Ner prepared to be moving immediately.

  “Kunza.” He barked at the grizzled, gray-bearded Baraan in what was loosely named the courtyard of the inns. The Baraan snapped to almost attention at being addressed.

  “Yes, Ar’seergal!” the Tusaa’Ner kunza responded.

  “It’s time to leave,” Ezerus declared. “Prepare the troops.”

  “Yes . . . Ar’seergal,” hesitated the kunza. A hard glance from Ezerus removed any lingering hesitation in the Baraan.

  Ezerus’s Subar robes needed put away in exchange for his armor to travel . . . and for any trouble that would find them or get in their way. He entered the stone-walled tavern on his way to his room in the inn section. His orders were already being echoed to the guardsmen surrounding him at tables and leaning on walls, hoping to have a restful morning eating, drinking, and getting nothing done. Climbing the stairs at the back of the tavern, Ezerus saw the large room already half-emptied with the other half picking up their equipment and things preparing to leave. Most grumbling, filling the air with their complaints. Ezerus found he didn’t care about their discomfort. They were all . . . expendable. He paused and shook his head. Never had he felt so intense about so many being such. Dismissing the thought, he entered his spacious room from the upper level hallway where he found two female dark-haired Baraan servants dressed in clean gray tunics and low-stra
pped sandals. The room already immaculate, both were arranging his clothing and armor. Thoughts of enjoying them last night filled his head, though it didn’t bring a smile to his face. Images of the youngling’s face filled his mind’s eyes. A long moment of anger and frustration swept through him at memories of that half Tellen taking her from him. He did his best to put her out of his mind as the two females stripped him of his white robes and donned red armor upon him. While dressing, her face and body kept filling his thoughts.

  A tingling, like many biters crawling over his right arm, took him by surprise. It quickly spread over most of his body, leaving him weak and breathing heavy. What has grip of me? Since his dunking in the Ur River, this experience struck him several times, every time leaving him weak and ill. He feared whatever it was it not a good thing for him. That sense of urgency filled him again—this time, stronger than ever. Forcing himself to straighten and stand tall while dismissing the concerned looks on his attendants, he ordered them to finish and to have his belongings packed for travel. A light knock came from his room door.

  “Enter,” Ezerus spoke loudly.

  A woman of aged beauty in white Za robes entered his room. Her practiced impassive demeanor broke into anger after the calm closing of the door behind her. Ezerus anticipated this would not be a pleasant moment as she came alone instead of sending her lackey Ganzer. “What have you done to my daughter?”

  “What needed to be done,” he dismissively answered. “She has too much of you in her blood.”

  “Whip her . . . in front of . . . them . . .” Irzal sounded as if she was heatedly reprimanding a child.

  “Speak to me again in that manner, and I’ll have you whipped as well,” he promised. “I’m fairly certain he’ll agree to let it be done.”

  Silence filled the room as the servants were done dressing their master and had returned to organizing and packing his clothes and things. Irzal’s full figure under her still dirty-blond hair shifted several times as she worked to control the heat of her emotions. Regaining her practiced Za demeanor, “He wishes for you to move faster getting the Tusaa’Ner beyond Anza.”