by A R R Ash
“Please,” Aya urged, gesturing for the woman to sit.
Looking at Shayala, Volara said, “Your display was not just impressive but persuasive.” Shifting her attention to Aya, she continued, “More than half the tribes have sanctioned war on the condition the Silver Blades participate. Second Father is confident the others will be shamed or emboldened into consenting as well, once the alliance is more secure.”
Aya nodded.
Volara continued, “Their willingness also rests upon the fulfillment of the promise to arm them with silver and supply them with the potion.” She looked at Shayala, who nodded. “Of the three vials you gave him, he distributed them to Grolin of the Scaled Daggers, Dyanth of our own Bloodied Paw, and Yurin of the Night Hunters. After your own, these are the most influential tribes in attendance. They will help spread the word of its effectiveness.
“The other concern is the organization and leadership of the alliance.”
Aya knew this would be a source of discord. “We will reconvene the Moot to address these issues once the sun’s lower edge has risen above the horizon. Volara, please convey our deepest thanks and respect to your second father.”
“I will,” Volara confirmed and left the tent.
Aya stuck her head without the tent. “Inform the other tribes the Moot continues when the sun clears the horizon.”
“Aye,” came the response, followed by the sound of retreating steps.
*
Aya and Shayala again stood before the assembled tribes. Volar was not present, though Volara was. Aya also spotted the foppish Grolin and the scarred Yurin among the throng.
Aya began. “Let me put to rest one concern: As soon as we return to our camp, our riders will begin delivering the promised supplies to all the tribes who have agreed to this alliance.”
The few grumblings heard were from the tribes who had not yet pledged their support. They will come around, Aya thought.
Aya continued, “As for concerns over the leadership of the alliance, each tribe will select and lead its own warriors. The overall strategy and the distribution of our forces will not be known until shortly before the attack, as determined by the intelligence from Shenla’s contacts within the Court.”
This time, Aya knew the dissension expressed a reluctance to trust Shenla, someone they did not know. Aya pressed on, portraying confidence. “During the next full moon, the monsters will be occupied by the crowning of their new king, and we will slaughter them in their own home.”
A shout from the crowd: “That’s not enough time.”
Aya responded in a set tone. “It is time enough if you do not create cause for delay. It is an opportune occasion, and nothing will be gained by postponing further.”
Although some mumbled protests remained, they had quieted as she spoke.
“Lastly, though I am certain of our victory, we would be foolish not to plan for every outcome. In the event that incursion fails, all those left behind should relocate, northward or eastward, across the sea.”
Although that last statement engendered muted debate among the crowd, it did not inspire the expected outbursts. When no further objection was offered, Aya said with conviction, “Soon, the monstrous scourge will be no more.”
*
As they decamped, Shayala asked, “We now travel to the encampment of the Silver Blades?”
Aya paused in packing a saddlebag. “No. First, we return to the Moroi Hunters. Sar-Kyul must know what transpired here, and he is better suited to negotiating with Rel’gor, the chieftain of the Silver Blades.”
Shayala nodded acceptance. Although displeased by the delay, she did not believe it would significantly hamper her plan. When she approached the horse she had ridden to the Moot, her soothing influence upon it had faded, and it again reacted with fear and stress to her presence. Conscious of the perception of its reaction among the others, Shayala moved quickly to again calm the beast.
The Moroi Hunters embarked upon their return journey, pushing the horses to make the camp while the slanted rays of the sun still bathed the sky in ruddy light, as if some wayward deity had scattered rubies among the cloudland. Although sore and weary from two days of traveling and a long night betwixt, Aya, accompanied by Shayala, lost no time in searching out Sar-Kyul.
Day 24: Night
The sun had abdicated to the crescent moon, and stars shone as beacons upon a celestial sea. While he gnawed upon a meaty bone and gulped a fragrant mead from a treen goblet, the burly leader of the Moroi Hunters was mediating a dispute, which ended physically, over some missing fowl. Aya and Shayala heard the commotion as they approached the small throng gathered around the spectacle. They pushed themselves through the crowd as the two disputants resumed their argument.
“Ah, the wayward warriors return,” Sar-Kyul announced, noticing the two.
The argument soon escalated again, and both ended on the ground, rolling and grappling. Sar-Kyul shook his head with an exasperated sigh, threw the denuded bone to the side, and ushered Aya and Shayala away.
“Every other day, it’s the same complaint. One is missing a flagon of ale, the other a fowl, or a tool disappears, then a rug. Either they will soon be property-less, or they will run out of the other’s property and begin to steal back their own things. As long as they don’t kill one another, the problem will solve itself.” He chuckled.
“Any further trouble from the monsters? How fares the camp?” Aya asked.
“None, and recovering. As you saw, tempers are short, but we will survive, as always.”
They reached Sar-Kyul’s pavilion. He set his goblet on the table. “Ah, I nearly forgot. These arrived with the last shipment. Shenla, I must thank you for these blades.” He drew his khopeshes and brandished them casually, their argent blades reflecting the light from two iron braziers. “They are perfectly weighted, and the edges are much keener.”
“And I assume these are for Aya.” He indicated two kopides on the table beside his goblet. Shayala nodded.
Testing their balance, Aya swung them. “These are of superior workmanship. Thank you.”
Shayala nodded in acknowledgement.
“Now, what of the Moot?”
They sat, and Aya related the events, including the invaluable support from Volar, who helped to convince many of the tribes, and the necessity that they enlist the Silver Blades to ratify the alliance.
Sar-Kyul listened quietly throughout, nodding occasionally, and smiling at Volar’s description of Grolin. When Aya finished, Sar-Kyul said, “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“And I with you,” said Shayala, who had heretofore been silent.
“Whether I wish it or not, I know you will,” Sar-Kyul commented with a wry smile. “However, know the Silver Blades are extremely distrustful of strangers, even by the standards of the free tribes, and they do not afford women equal standing with men.”
Shayala made no response but thought, Then they will gain an education.
“I will speak for us,” Sar-Kyul added. “If asked, and only if asked, you can supply any details.”
Such primitive creatures! Although Shayala remained mute, her temper raged and fought for expression, seeking freedom as if it were a living entity. Her anger was not aided by the fact that she had fed last night upon lower animals and was again feeling the onset of hunger.
Noting her hard expression, Sar-Kyul said, “I know it is counter to your nature, but it is imperative.”
Shayala gave a reluctant nod.
Sar-Kyul knew he would have to be satisfied with that. “We leave at first light. Now, I must inform the tribe of my absence.”
Sar-Kyul rose and advised the two guards of the impending gathering. One stepped away to spread word throughout the camp.
With the moon still early in its circuit, though its paltry light was barely seen through pregnant clouds, the scene was reminiscent of one nearly a dennight earlier. Sar-Kyul stood before a small throng gathered at the empty western verge of the camp. The distant
howl of wolves and the more proximate call of nocturnal insects filled the surrounding forest.
Sar-Kyul began, “I know this gathering comes with little warning, and I will not be long-winded. But events are pressing forward, and my words could not wait until morning. Aya represented us well at the Great Moot and garnered the support of many tribes. However, the Silver Blades have yet to join the alliance. Tomorrow, I will journey north to visit our cousins and persuade them of our cause. Aya will serve in my absence.”
Rain began to fall in large drops; Sar-Kyul concluded his address by saying, “I believe the Silver Blades will come to see the wisdom of our cause. And by the next fullness of the moon, the monsters will learn to fear us!”
Although some cheering ensued, the rain dampened the crowd’s enthusiasm, and the throng immediately began to disperse.
Day 24: Light
The morning air was cool and fresh, though was already beginning to warm. The rain had continued into the early morning but abated by the time Shayala joined Sar-Kyul and an escort of twenty mounted warriors, males all, as women would not be well accepted among the Silver Blades. Pack horses carried sacks of weapons and envialed blood that would be gifted to the Silver Blades. Since the delivery of supplies through Shayala’s agents had become more common, warriors of the tribe had also taken to carrying a vial of the blood at all times.
“Sun’s embrace,” Sar-Kyul greeted Shayala in unrecognized irony. He was garbed in his customary trousers, vest, and boots; although he wore his swords, his cestuses hung upon a thong from his mount’s saddle.
Shayala approached a saddled mount, whose reaction to her mirrored that of the last beast that she had ridden. Before the animal’s anxiety could spread to the others, Shayala moved quickly to appease it through her innate power and leapt to ascend the mount.
Sar-Kyul spared only a moment to observe the display before saying, “The journey north is a long one, and we will not likely reach the camp until nightfall.”
The band rode northward, paralleling a stream, whose flow ran higher and faster from the overnight rain. Although a greater distance, they nonetheless made swifter progress without having to push through tangles of thick foliage. The hoofbeats were muffled upon the fallen leaves and soggy ground. Water from the night’s rain dripped from leafage above, and branches that sprung back into place in the wake of a passing rider would fling water onto those trailing. The smell of dewy, fresh vegetation was disagreeable to strigoiic sensibilities; Shayala carefully kept her expression neutral against the putrid odor. In due time, Shayala estimated they passed roughly east of the hillock she had inherited from the ursine moroi.
To pass the time, Sar-Kyul explained to her the Silver Blades were the most militaristic of the free tribes and the only one that maintained a permanent cantonment. The tribe respected martial prowess above all else; women were of lower standing than men, having no voice in governance and relegated to domestic roles and birthing children. The chieftain of the Silver Blades was Rel’gor, a coarse, pugnacious, savage of a man, who believed the Silver Blades should rule over all the free tribes. Although she made no comment, Shayala foresaw conflict. This negotiation would not be had without bloodshed.
They paused at a small stream for the horses to drink, while the humans used the opportunity for a midday meal. Shayala used the same deceptions as her travel with Aya to give the appearance of being human.
The journey progressed unremarkably.
Day 25: Night
The space beneath the living canopy of the forest darkened faster than the sky above. While the clouds still blazed with a purple-orange brilliance, Sar-Kyul evaluated their position and the distance they had yet to travel.
“We will push through and reach the Silver Blades this night,” he said.
Every fourth rider drew and lit a torch. The night assumed an ominous feel, subduing the mood of the warriors as they traveled in silence. After covering half of the remaining distance, Shayala became aware of a troubling spoor carried in the air. With a shift in the wind, the scent was unmistakable.
Shayala pulled her reins, bringing her horse to a halt, and said in a commanding whisper, “Arm yourselves.” She slid from her mount and drew her swords. “And consume the potion.”
Alarmed at Shayala’s puzzling reaction, the humans watched nervously among the trees. Although he was at a loss, Sar-Kyul’s instincts told him to trust Shenla.
“Do it,” Sar-Kyul ordered as he dismounted and reached into a saddlebag. The escort moved to comply.
“They come from the east,” Shayala said. At that moment, the horses, snorting frantically or whinnying nervously, began gathering to the west.
“Who? What’s happening?” Sar-Kyul asked sharply, once he gulped the contents of a silver vial. He drew his khopeshes.
His answer came in the form of an arrow thudding into the chest of a nearby warrior, who fell dead to the ground. Following the arrow, six unclad forms charged in a line. Moving silently and swiftly, they shouted no cry of war. The horses bolted. With weapons in hand, the strigoi engaged.
Three humans fell under that rush, and another a moment later with an arrow spanning his neck. Two attackers were met by the whirling khopeshes of Sar-Kyul and the dancing longswords of Shayala.
Shayala’s opponent fought with a staff sporting a blade, one curved and one straight, at either end. His gorget was engraved with the emblem of an owl gripping a bleeding moon—Munar’s insigne. She observed his intent scrutiny of her, his eyes quickly flashing from her human garb to study her eyes and hair and teeth. She understood that, while her appearance was superficially human, the underlying structure retained her semblance.
The guard must have reached the same conclusion, for he said, “It must be.” And those words, spoken to only himself, seemed to reinforce his confidence. Louder, he shouted, “It’s her! The imposter queen!”
Sar-Kyul hazarded a searching glance to Shayala and nearly took a blow to his head for his inattentiveness. Despite his heightened strength and speed, these creatures possessed the same.
The other attackers looked toward the shouted confirmation and began fighting their way in that direction.
Sar-Kyul found this scenario unfathomable. Shenla had apparently been aware of the monsters’ coming before anyone else in the company, and the attackers seemed to know of her, to be singularly intent upon her, perhaps even searching for her. Chiding himself for again allowing his concentration to waver, he pushed those thoughts away to focus upon his immediate concern—a snarling monster wielding a sword-breaker in one hand and, in the other, a double-edged sword, from which a small, sickle-like curve protruded just below the tip.
*
The strigoi executed a spin that leveled, in quick succession, four strikes, which Shayala parried or deflected in an equally blurred defense. Although her opponent was skilled, Shayala held little concern over her eventual victory. Of more import was defeating him before she was overrun by the others, who, she feared, would make short work of the humans.
With a force that cracked her clavicle, she was knocked backward a step when a silver-tipped arrow struck just below her neck. The attacker took advantage of her distraction and unbalancing to deliver a burning cut across her stomach, though she managed to bring her swords to bear before he could press the attack.
*
With wounds sizzling and smoking, Shayala stumbled and cried out. Sar-Kyul’s attention faltered and he took a blow to his bicep, though he too recovered before suffering another. What was happening? he wondered, his thoughts jumbled at these strange events.
Two more arrows came from among the trees, felling two more humans.
*
To deny the archer another opening, Shayala maneuvered to remain in line with her opponent, who sought to capitalize upon her injuries. He began to strike recklessly, without giving due thought to defense. Although wounded, Shayala was far from incapacitated, and she met the renewed attack with equal vigor. She thrust a blade, pier
cing his chest. She did not fail to exploit his momentary shock and, in a flurry of strikes, sent his head toppling to the duff.
Without even a sound to acknowledge the pain, she pulled the arrow from her collarbone and tossed it aside. Assessing the battle, she saw Sar-Kyul, after a successful parry, respond with a swift succession of strikes and end the strigoi with a coup de grâce. Looking past Sar-Kyul, she noted that two attackers remained, though only six humans yet stood.
“Help finish those two,” she said to Sar-Kyul, indicating the strigoi with a nod. “I will find the archer. None can escape.”
Shayala scabbarded her left blade and ran to retrieve a buckler fitted with a sharpened ring of silver around its outer edge, dropped during the battle. She ran toward whence the arrows had come.
Sar-Kyul delayed only a moment, glancing at the eight remaining combatants, none of whom were uninjured, before running in pursuit of Shayala. He had nagging questions to which she had answers, and he would know them.
*
Arrows streaked toward Shayala. One, aimed at her chest, thumped into the buckler; the other grazed her right forearm. Now, she was certain of the archer’s position and angled toward it without slowing. The reaction of her staff-wielding opponent confirmed Lyan’s assertion that Munar knew of her. She could not allow this archer to escape, as the duke’s suspicion at another lost patrol was preferable to the affirmation of her existence and location.
On the other hand, both her opponent’s uncertain scrutiny of her and the fact that the archer had not used a poisoned arrow spoke to the fact that Munar was not aware of her current appearance. Her enemies were searching, but searching in ignorance.