by A R R Ash
Shayala nodded. She continued to scan the crowd, ensuring no one posed a threat. Some began to approach Sar-Kyul, hoping to ingratiate themselves to the new chieftain. To Walyr, said she, “Keep them away, or I will.”
Walyr’s body stiffened at having a woman speak to him in such a way, but he chose to overlook the affront, turning to reassure the Silver Blades the challenge had lawfully occurred and all customs and traditions would be obeyed.
Sar-Kyul managed to stand, though his face was wan and contorted in pain. His breath was heavy, his shoulders sagged, and blood leaked from beneath his bandage. Without a word, he began hobbling away, making his way for Rel’gor’s—for his—cabin.
Shayala fell into step beside him, a silent, protective shadow. The few humans they passed only stared, trying to reconcile what they had seen. Upon attaining the cabin, the single guard rocked backward on his feet at his surprise to see them approach; he understood Sar-Kyul’s presence could mean only one thing: Rel’gor was dead.
“Bring a nurse,” Sar-Kyul grumbled to the guard, who did not try to bar his entry into the cabin.
The guard was still a moment in obeying, though he set off before Sar-Kyul repeated the order.
Within the cabin, Sar-Kyul went straight to the bedroom at the left and collapsed upon the pile of skins. Shayala heard sounds of scrubbing and faint humming in the kitchen, where she found one of the serving girls—they all looked the same to her—from Sar-Kyul’s meal with Rel’gor. Occupied with cleaning the crockery, the girl was unaware of the other’s approach until Shayala rushed her from behind. The dethroned queen placed a hand over the girl’s mouth and fed. Shayala drank to surfeit, then casually snapped the girl’s neck, carried the body through the rear door, and tossed it over the seven-foot-high palisade. She leapt over the wall and carried the broken body far into the forest, where she tore away the head and left the remains for the animals.
Day 27: Night
Shayala, her wound from the silver-headed arrow now healed, sat in seiza within the large entry room of the cabin, not far from where Sar-Kyul at last slept soundly after hours of fitful, uneasy rest. The shutters of the cabin were closed, and only a flickering candle lit the large room. An attendant had again seen to Sar-Kyul’s injuries, and another now watched over his sleep. Times as this, when she could but wait, gave Shayala too much time to think, which, in even the most disciplined of minds, could lead to doubt. And doubt could defeat one faster and more easily than any adversary.
Even this deep into the night, there was activity, especially discernible to one of her sensitive perception: the chirping of insects, the howling of wolves, the rustling of leaves in the blowing wind. Sar-Kyul’s steady breathing; the breathing and movement of the attendant; the creaking of the cabin’s wooden walls and roof; the creaking of the wooden landing as the guard outside shuffled his feet to stand more comfortably.
Shayala had allowed her mind to wander and nearly did not notice when the sound of those activities ceased: the landing no longer creaked, as the guard stood poised rather than shifting his weight from one foot to the other; and the attendant’s breathing had stopped, as if she held her breath.
With an intuition that had helped her come to rule a Court in which conspiracy and betrayal were the rule, she leapt from her kneeling position, drawing her longswords in the same action, and moved to the room where Sar-Kyul slept.
There, the attendant hovered over Sar-Kyul; her shaky hand leveled a slender dagger near his neck, though she had not yet summoned the courage to plunge it in. She turned to face Shayala, her eyes drawn to the blades. The woman let go a yelp, and the shaking engulfed her entire body. The dagger tilted, ready to fall from her limp hand.
“I-I-They made…” was all the woman could stammer before Shayala crossed the room and impaled her. Without waiting for the body to hit the floor, Shayala retreated to the main room, where the front door burst open and six warriors, including the guard, rushed in. Five were armored in hardened leather and wielded swords, though one wore a hauberk and fought with a double-bladed axe.
The warriors, Dagroth among them, paused at the sight of Shayala. Seeing her armed but alone, they thought the battle’s conclusion beyond question. None noticed the blood dripping from her right-hand blade.
Dagroth, who stood at the fore, gave the beginnings of a smile. He opened his mouth to call off the others, “I will…”
Shayala did not pause but crossed the space in a fraction of a second. Dagroth fell first, before he could finish speaking. Shayala was a blur, each swing or stab of a longsword scoring a hit or intercepting an enemy’s blade. The attackers had no time to register their surprise before being cut down or impaled. The entire battle lasted less than the span of several heartbeats.
Shayala returned to Sar-Kyul’s room, where he continued in his restful sleep, untroubled by the nearness of his death. The sheet covering his chest rose and fell steadily. She took the body of the dead attendant and threw it among the corpses in the main room. Shayala thought to punish the others of the tribe for this outrage, though she knew such revenge would be counterproductive to her ultimate goal. Instead, she resumed her watch over this man who had become indispensable to her own future.
I have become guardian to a human. Still, she would ensure that he faced no other threat while he slept and would wait for him to wake on his own.
Day 27: Light
Sar-Kyul was spent, more so than he could ever remember being. His shoulders were bowed under the weight of injuries, inadequate sleep, the knowledge of Shenla’s true nature, and, now, the burden of leadership of an unfamiliar tribe that resented his presence. Despite his exhaustion, he forced himself to sit square and set his jaw in grim determination; he could not show weakness. Now was the time to solidify his control of the Silver Blades, before anyone else thought to challenge him, whether openly or through assassination. To that end, the bodies of the six warriors scattered about him did much to reinforce his authority and his reputation.
When he had awoken, Shenla showed him the bodies, including that of the attendant who had held a blade to his throat. He felt as if he had been stricken a blow at the knowledge of how near he had been to death while he slept. Overcoming his initial shock and rage, he began to simmer with the subdued yet steady warmth of wrath and indignation, which he would use to cow these warriors. They all saw me defeat Rel’gor and now believe I was yet able to overcome these six warriors; they’d never consider Shenla had been the one to defeat them.
Sar-Kyul sat in the main room of the cabin; he wore his khopeshes upon his hips, and his thick forearms rested upon the table beside several argent vials. His expression was impassive, though his eyes blazed with intensity. Shayala stood, armed, behind him like a guardian statue.
Upon settling into his smoldering state, the first action of the newly inducted chieftain had been to summon Walyr and the other principals of the tribe. They stood before him now: Vartan, strategist, tactician, and sometime ambassador of the Silver Blades; Toth, captain of the cavalry; Sigryf, captain of the pikemen and infantry; and Sho’voth, captain of the archers.
His eyes strayed to the arsenal carried by these warriors: swords—curved and straight, long and short—a strung flat bow and quiver, and an assortment of daggers strapped to every other available space. Despite his weakened condition, he felt strangely reassured by Shenla’s implacable presence.
Sar-Kyul was pleased to see the hard, grim faces before him look sufficiently stricken and dismayed at the scene. Perhaps the attempted assassination would prove advantageous to his leadership, for it would reinforce his strength and position of power. He held his words, letting the silence speak for him.
Finally, with a glance toward Shayala, Sigryf said, “The woman canno’ be armed an’ canno’ be ’ere.” His voice was deep and gravely; his face pitted, with a scar that ran vertically over his milky right eye.
Sar-Kyul stood, placing his palms upon the table, and leaned forward. “I am chieftain and I
decide what is acceptable.” His voice was low and threatening, though the condition of his body did not match the strength of his tone. He swept his hand toward the corpses. “I was attacked by these honorless cowards, who would use a woman as an assassin rather than do battle as warriors.”
Although the Silver Blades tensed and growled at the accusation, the sight of the bodies lain out around them stilled their tongues.
Sigryf said in a clearly challenging tone, “Chieftain you be, aye, but our ways you must respect.” He punctuated his statement with a crack of his knuckles.
Sar-Kyul met Sigryf’s gaze. “If you wish to challenge me for leadership once the required month has passed, that is your right. You see what happens to those who would challenge me out of turn. Until I see the Silver Blades live up to their reputation for honor and respect for the law, Shenla will remain at my side. She is as fine a warrior as any and has earned my trust and respect.”
Sar-Kyul found himself considering his own statement: never did he believe “trust” and “respect” were words he would use in connection to a monster, let alone apply them to a monster over other humans. Doubtless, he did respect her, though he could not honestly say he trusted her. Still, he trusted in her self-interest and knew, in this time, he was safer beside her than among the hostile Silver Blades.
Sigryf inhaled as if to speak again, though Walyr interrupted, “Enough. Sar-Kyul is chieftain.”
Sigryf gave a low grumble but said nothing more.
Sar-Kyul shifted his gaze to the glossator. “I must be sure such mutiny is at an end. I will tolerate no defiance.”
“I knew nothing of their plans, nor would I have sanctioned them,” Walyr said with no defensiveness in his tone. “I will investigate, but such methods are not our way, and I am certain they acted alone.”
Sar-Kyul let his gaze linger upon Walyr for a moment before nodding his acceptance.
Sar-Kyul sat, already feeling fatigued from the exertion, and allowed the tension to drain from his voice before saying, “The original reason for my journey here concerns the future of all the free tribes, including the Silver Blades and the Moroi Hunters. We have an unprecedented opportunity to strike a blow against the monsters. With these.” He lifted two of the silver vials.
That, at least, seems to have gotten their attention, Sar-Kyul thought as the others seemed to unconsciously sit straighter or lean forward.
“The potion that woman used ’gainst Oalin?” Toth asked, nodding his head toward Shayala. The slim-but-muscled captain of the cavalry was the quintessential image of a horseman in his gray jodhpurs, black jodhpur boots, and jerkin.
“Yes,” Sar-Kyul answered.
“Females may no’ fight,” Sigryf said.
Sar-Kyul exhaled loudly in growing frustration. With a forced steadiness to his voice, and in the indulgent tone in which one would speak to an idiot child, said he, “The women of the Silver Blades need not fight. In truth, it is better they stay behind. Shenla’s use of the potion was meant only to demonstrate its effects. The potion works equally well on men and women. If it can grant such strength to a woman, imagine what it can do for a man.”
While Sigryf’s eye glazed over, the thoughtful expressions of Walyr and Vartan gave Sar-Kyul some hope. Sar-Kyul knew not to underestimate the proficiency of any of these warriors, for they would not long hold their posts in the militaristic environment of Silver Blades if they were anything less than exemplary. Yet he did not believe they, with the exceptions of Vartan and Walyr, held a wider understanding of any other sphere. Especially in the case of Vartan, Sar-Kyul expected that, as ambassador of the Silver Blades, the man would have been exposed to other tribes, thus opening his mind and giving him a broader perspective.
“What do you propose?” Vartan asked. The youthfulness of his confident stance and light brown eyes was belied by the two gray streaks running vertically in his well-trimmed beard from the corners of his mouth to his chin.
“An alliance of the free tribes to strike against the heart of the monsters.”
Sigryf gave a gravelly guffaw. Toth scoffed. Sho’voth sneered. Vartan uttered a sound of thoughtful surprise. Walyr made no sound, though his eyebrows rose upon his furrowed brow.
“Ye think to start a war ’gainst the monsters?” Sho’voth asked, incredulous. The tall and lanky master archer ran a gloved hand over his stubbly scalp.
“We are all at war with the monsters,” Sar-Kyul replied. “Rather than remain on the defensive, we possess the means to deliver them a decisive blow.”
Sho’voth asked, “An’ what did Rel’gor have t’ say ’bout this plan?”
“Rel’gor is dead!” Sar-Kyul shouted, standing once again, and the vehemence of his response took Sho’voth by surprise. “If you wish to talk to the dead, I can arrange that.”
Sho’voth tensed at the threat, and Sar-Kyul could easily read the archer’s expression. The subtle movement of Shenla behind him, preparing to intercept any threat, caught his ear. He hoped it did not come to that. If she interceded, it would only weaken his position, possibly irrevocably.
To Sar-Kyul’s relief, Walyr intervened. “Sho’voth, Rel’gor is gone. What he would have done is irrelevant.”
Sho’voth relaxed, and Sar-Kyul thought the man seemed relieved at the glossator’s intervention. He had little doubt Sho’voth had felt honor-bound to answer the threat, despite the archer’s uncertainty if he would have survived the encounter.
Toth asked, “And ye wish t’ discuss this plan or t’ simply command?”
Sar-Kyul sighed inwardly and took a deep, silent breath. Even with his defeat of Rel’gor and the would-be assassins, he would not easily overcome the Silver Blades’ ingrained distrust of outsiders. And the longer he allowed them to question his authority, the more difficult it would be to regain their obedience. Still, he would rather have their agreement for such an ambitious undertaking, rather than lead demoralized and discontented warriors into battle.
Shenla remained silent throughout.
“I will show you the power I offer you,” Sar-Kyul said, sidestepping the question. Without waiting for a response, he gathered the vials, placing all but one in a waist-pouch, and proceeded outside. The five warriors followed; Shayala trailed last.
Once without the cabin, Sar-Kyul drank the blood; Shenla’s monstrous scent immediately stood out among that of the humans, and he again, briefly, considered his extraordinary predicament. Despite his fatigue, strength coursed through his body. Sar-Kyul counted out twenty-five paces, half the distance to the cantonment’s palisade, and turned.
“Sho’voth,” Sar-Kyul said, “you would have no difficulty striking a target at twenty-five paces.” He did not phrase it as a question to avoid insulting the archer.
Sho’voth scoffed.
“Then draw and fire,” Sar-Kyul instructed.
Sho’voth looked as if he had not heard correctly. Sar-Kyul was completely at ease, his honed senses and invigorated body allowing him to view a world normally inaccessible.
“In front of these witnesses, I say to draw and fire,” Sar-Kyul confirmed.
Sho’voth shrugged and unshouldered his bow; from his quiver, he drew and nocked an arrow. The other warriors looked at one another, but they all displayed the same confused expression. Sho’voth raised the bow, pulled back on the string, and sighted down the arrow.
Although having shown no fondness for his foreign chieftain, the archer, still unsure whether some trick was being played upon him, hesitated before loosing the arrow. At Sar-Kyul’s nod, he fired.
Sar-Kyul was poised, his senses focused upon the missile. He heard the twang of the bowstring, the thwack of the bow snapping back into place, the continuous buzz of the arrow piercing the air. He saw the spinning, chevron-like head bearing down and the trailing spiral of the three brown-banded turkey feathers. Sar-Kyul shifted his chest slightly, and the arrow shot past, striking the palisade behind him.
Sho’voth stood stunned, the bow tilting in his limp ha
nd. The other warriors were abuzz with astonishment and awe-inspired fear. Only Shayala remained unmoved.
“Again,” Sar-Kyul said. When Sho’voth did not immediately respond, he reiterated, louder, “Again!”
Sho’voth, seemingly jarred from his stupor, drew, nocked, and fired. This time when Sar-Kyul moved, his hand shot forth and snatched the shaft of the arrow in its flight. The onlookers’ excited outpouring, which had only partially subsided, ignited anew.
Sar-Kyul dropped the arrow. “Again.”
Sho’voth obliged. Sar-Kyul, in what seemed to the observers to be an instantaneous reaction, drew a khopesh and battered aside the missile. In a casual motion, as if his feat had been the most common of occurrences, he rescabbarded the blade and crossed the small space to stand before Shayala and the Silver Blades.
“You’ve witnessed the strength granted Shenla,” Sar-Kyul said. “You saw the speed gained by the potion. And these are not all its gifts. Half of the tribes have already pledged their support against the monsters, and the other half await only the example of the Silver Blades.”
“Even if we are allies in name, the Blades will never accept the leadership of another tribe,” Walyr cautioned. “Nor will we be absorbed into the Moroi Hunters.”
Sar-Kyul almost smiled. Although they may not yet be completely persuaded to visit war upon the monsters’ own country, he was encouraged, as they at least demonstrated an openness to the strategy. Once they experienced the power of the blood, he was certain they would embrace the venture.
“Never would I propose such a thing.” At that moment, Sar-Kyul reached a decision; he needed to speak to Shenla. “Walyr, see to the removal of the bodies from the cabin. We will reconvene once I have seen Shenla off. She returns to the Moroi Hunters.”
*
Through the mastery gained over the decades of her reign in a Court where secrets were wielded to more deadly effect than any blade, Shayala suppressed her reaction to Sar-Kyul’s declaration, though she had the sudden, fleeting notion that she was betrayed.