UW02. Plains of Sand and Steel

by Alisha Klapheke

  A gust of wind lifted his hair off his forehead, and she felt a little lighter seeing the calm obedience in his face. She wondered if maybe her father had looked like Cansu when he was a young man before age tinged his hair with white and silver.

  Erol scowled like he always scowled and squinted his brown eyes, pointing at the sun dial. A sliver of shadow approached the hour mark as a young hawk screeched overhead. “Perhaps he will be here at the hour, my lady.”

  Heat pricked at Seren’s cheeks. She’d forgotten that she’d set the tenth hour of the morning as the time for Ona and Lucca’s demonstration. “Of course.”

  “Did the kyros not receive my message, Pearl of the Desert?” Adem said behind her.

  Jumping, Seren turned to see him bow and hold his palm up. His tone of voice didn’t match his respectful movements.

  “He-he did, General,” Seren said, hating herself for stuttering.

  Adem made a noise under his breath. “It’s quite warm, my lady. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the shade of your tent? Or perhaps you haven’t had the chance to practice your archery in a while, what with the ceremony preparations. I can easily oversee the demonstration and organize the strategy if you wish to leave.”

  “I don’t wish to leave.” Her legs were shaking again. She rolled the end of the wool piece tucked into her sash and tried to steady her voice. “Two ideas came to me concerning the Invaders,” she said quietly. They hadn’t announced the scouts’ report yet so not even her guard knew the danger riding toward them.

  “Surely your ideas can wait until later, Pearl of the Desert.”

  She took a breath. “We don’t need to wait until some later meeting time. It’s only us here, with my men and yours. A perfect moment for discussing strategy.” She spoke as quickly as she could. If she stopped, her voice might refuse to work altogether. Adem was just so intimidating. “The sun dial says we have ten minutes before the mercenaries arrive. Firstly, I’ll ride into Kenar with the force you select for the attack. We will—”

  “You must not, Pearl of the Desert. The kyros would never want you in that kind of danger.”

  “I rode with him when we faced the Invaders at the last clan Gathering.”

  “That was a small contingent of brigands, broken from their brethren. Not an organized force like this will be, my lady.”

  “Nonetheless, I killed a man,” Seren said.

  “With an arrow. From a distance,” Adem argued. “We will be head on this time with the clash coming on in a small area. It will be very different, my lady.”

  “Yes. It will. And I have another idea concerning that.”

  “Leave the strategy to me and my kaptans, Pearl of the Desert.”

  Her body tensed. He’d given her an order. Without Meric at her side, he would run right over her.

  Hossam must’ve noticed her sudden stillness, her uncomfortable stance, because he put a hand on the hilt of his yatagan. She shook her head slightly. What if he’d pulled his weapon? Adem would’ve killed him or maimed him at least. Seren swallowed. It was nerve-wrecking to be in charge of so many lives.

  Adem bowed shallowly. “If it pleases you, Pearl of the Desert,” he said, correcting his tone.

  Heat burning her cheeks, she glanced at the gate leading to the city. Her feet tingled, wanting to hurry away to safety. But there wasn’t any safety. Not anywhere. But before she talked strategy, she needed to at least give this boar of a man a chance to prove Barir wrong. Surely he would agree the mourning must wait until after they’d dealt with the Invaders.

  Clearing her throat, she tried to meet Adem’s eyes. She settled for his forehead. “Kyros Meric is no better this morning.”

  Adem’s head dropped and he rubbed his chin.

  “What if,” she whispered, “he doesn’t pull through this?”

  Adem’s head snapped up. He stared into the distance. “It would be a horrible tragedy. We would of course mourn.” He looked at her, eyes narrowing. “You know the custom…”

  “But we’re about to be attacked. Wouldn’t mourning put us at further risk? No eating or sleeping? Doesn’t seem like the way to prepare for an enemy.”

  “We won’t allow them to frighten us into giving up the very traditions that have given us this life. Do you think you know better than centuries of leaders? Than those with the oasis blood, the Fire-blessed, royal blood?”

  A drop of spittle marred his tidy beard. He looked over her face and took a breath.

  “My lady. I apologize. But surely you must see you are in the wrong.”

  She definitely saw something. But it wasn’t that she was wrong. It was that Barir was right. Adem would never hold up the mourning ritual. Unless…

  “Have you ever had a vision in the Fire, General?”

  “Of course not. I have no royal blood. Or not enough anyway. None but the kyros's direct line does. The sun is too much for you, Pearl of the Desert. Your mind is suffering.”

  She pushed the insult aside. “I’m fine. So no one outside the royal blood has ever had a vision?”

  “Of course not.” He paused. “I would like to see the kyros today. Regardless of what the physician says.”

  Seren’s heart knocked around inside her chest. What could she say? “If you contract the illness, we could lose both of you and then where would the Empire be against the Invaders?”

  Adem crossed his arms and watched a woman and a man spar with their bows, fine quivers set to the side. “True. I’ll give it another day and we will see what the physician says, my lady.”

  Seren did her best not to pass out with relief as she nodded. The feeling was brief though. She was still in the same awful place. Meric was dead. She’d seen the horror Akhayma would experience if Adem was allowed to lead the city in mourning. Adem would never believe she’d had a vision.

  For now, she would keep Meric’s death a secret. As for taking control, no. She couldn’t. She wasn’t of the royal blood. No one would support her. It’d never been done. At least to her knowledge. All she could do right now was give her ideas to Adem and hope she was doing what was best for Akhayma, the Empire, and the people she loved more than anything.

  She’d start with an idea she’d had over the Fire after reading a scroll about a battle in the mountain region eighty-five years ago.

  “I-I think we should evacuate Kenar,” she whispered.

  “We’ve already done that, my lady.”

  Oh. She locked her knees to stop their trembling. This whole situation was a nightmare. What would Father have done? Keep on. Push through your obstacles. Eyes open. Heart ready. She could almost hear his voice soaking through the hot air.

  “We can hide in the buildings before moonrise tomorrow night,” she said. “In the homes and shops. When the Invaders arrive, we’ll surprise them.”

  “Your timing is spot on,” Adem said quietly, “but with that strategy, we’ll be separated from one another, my lady. Our archers won’t be able to see their flag go up. They won’t know when to attack. The foot soldiers won’t be united when it comes time for a shield wall, Pearl of the Desert.”

  “The surprise will be worth it, General. I think.” She rubbed sweating palms on her kaftan. “Especially if our warriors do benefit from the mercenaries’ training,” she said, trying to turn the conversation and avoid his arguments. The sun glared down on them as she tried to imagine what Ona and Lucca’s chanting would look like.

  They walked closer to see the fighters and the guards came up beside them.

  “You truly believe they’ll learn anything in such a short time, my lady?” Adem’s tone mocked her.

  “What good is it to believe they won’t?” Seren said.

  Hossam snorted a laugh and quickly covered his mouth. Adem whipped around. Hossam stilled, looking as though he’d never moved in his life. It should’ve been entertaining, but everything was too much, too heavy, too hot for Seren and the air filled with black spots.

  Her head swam in the heat waves.


  Hossam shouted for Meekra, who was several steps back, talking to the stable keep about Seren’s horse, Fig.

  Meekra appeared at Seren’s side and held out her arm. “Are you all right, Pearl of the Desert?”

  Seren leaned against her until the spots faded and she could breathe again.

  “It’s very hot,” Meekra said. “Hossam, would you mind getting a damp cloth for our lady?”

  “Of course not,” he said, his eyes sincere.

  “You locked your knees, didn’t you, Pearl of the Desert?” Adem’s tone reminded Seren of her old history tutor.

  She wanted to argue, but he was right. Her cheeks grew warm again. “Yes, I think so, General.”

  Hossam handed Meekra the damp cloth, and she arranged it at the back of Seren’s neck. The cool wet fabric on her skin cleared her vision, and she straightened up.

  Ona and Lucca broke from the wall’s shade and marched into the growing sunlight. Though they were far away, it was easy to tell them apart from anyone else. Ona’s walk was springy, but also predatory, like a falcon on the ground, like she hunted an animal no one else could see. Lucca loped like a desert lion, his head shifting this way and that, always on the watch.

  Adem took off and Seren hurried to follow, their path colliding with the mercenaries. Lucca and Ona stopped and bowed.

  “Good day, Pearl of the Desert, General Adem,” Lucca said. Ona just grinned.

  The sun shone off Lucca’s high cheekbones. He looked different from anyone she’d ever seen.

  “We’re ready to see what you can do,” Seren said.

  Ona rubbed her hands together. “And we’re ready to show you.”

  Adem’s hands fisted. He started toward the units, motioning to a warrior carrying something in his hand. The man strode over to a stand holding six small flags. He withdrew one and replaced it with the one he’d been carrying. Seren was fairly sure each unit and training activity had their own color. The units on the far left, nearest the slope that led to the prisons, sheathed their swords and gathered in front of them like rows of silver coins. The men stood straight and still, their helmets blinding in the sun.

  The sound of the iron ore mines floated over the walls. Donkeys’ brays, picks’ cracking, and machinery’s squeaks trickled into the air.

  Adem introduced Lucca and Ona to the other soldiers, using their vicious mercenary titles.

  To Seren’s side, Ona and Lucca whispered in Silvanian. Ona pointed at Erol’s yatagan and raised her eyebrows hopefully.

  “You want a yatagan?” Seren asked.

  “Um, yes. Yes, I do,” Ona said.

  Seren nodded. “We can arrange that. If you are all you say you are.”

  Lucca’s gaze snapped to Seren’s face. Dark hair swept over his forehead and his eyes burned with truth. He looked completely different. So foreign. Why did she feel like she could trust him already? Like that mouth could never lie? That was a foolish thought. All people lied. The real question, Father would’ve said, was whether or not he would lie for her or against her. Wait. That wasn’t right. That sounded…suddenly Seren imagined this Silvanian mercenary pressing her against a lotus tower, his lips on her jawline. Lie against her. She was an idiot! She wiped the fantasy away with a quick swipe of the wet cloth across her neck. Father would’ve said the real question was would he lie to bring her goal to light or to drag it into the sand?

  “We are exactly what we say we are, Pearl of the Desert,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

  Her heart bumped oddly in her chest. “I hope so.”

  The general stepped back and held a hand toward Lucca as an invitation to begin.

  Ona stepped forward instead. A smile pulled at Seren’s mouth and almost turned the corners of her lips up. The mercenary pulled her wide yatagan—her sword—from her belt, along with a stone. A flint, maybe? Lucca said something to her. She looked to the skies in irritation but stepped back, allowing him to take the warriors’ attention.

  Spreading his arms wide, Lucca addressed the units. He obviously thought the troops could do with an explanation before Ona’s demonstration. Lucca’s features were dark slants of purpose and drive as he paced the dirt in his tall boots.

  “We’re so pleased you’re open to learning what we have to teach.” Under the rims of helmets, eyes narrowed. Meric had ordered it; being open had nothing to do with it. “And we look forward to learning from you as well. That overhand sweep to a two-step strike especially.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Plus, we’d love to work on your style of using the bow on horseback. I’ve heard you can shoot at the wildest angles.”

  The fighters grinned and murmured, elbowing one another.

  “We may be from vastly different places, but we have one thing in common. We all want to be prepared when the Invaders strike. The small bands of them never stay away for long and all of us have lost someone we know. Who knows when they might come in full force.” He paused, his face darkening like a coming storm.

  Seren’s chest tightened. The Invaders’ land was ravaged by drought off and on, so they kept coming. Why didn’t they try to negotiate? Why didn't anyone try to negotiate with them? And the way they killed…that haunting shriek. It was almost like they’d been possessed by some evil spirit. Like they were tortured and had to take their pain out on the world.

  A hidden memory suddenly surfaced in Seren’s mind.

  She was closing the shutters of the house in the mountains, right before the attack. An Invader at the front of a group had spotted Cyren, a neighbor boy, and pushed him into a haystack before the rest of the unit made it to the top of the rise. To hide him. To keep him alive.

  So the Invaders did have hearts. They’d spared Cyren.

  Why then did they kill when they could simply injure? Why did they annihilate when they could negotiate? Seren pushed the puzzle out of her mind and focused on Lucca’s words.

  “As Silvanian fighters,” Lucca said, “we learn to chant.” His voice was deep, strong, as he walked a line in front of the warriors, not a drop of sweat on him. “Not all can do it. Seems it’s like most skills—some are born to it, others can pick it up with practice, others never do learn. A chant is a phrase spoken loudly. While said chant is being shouted, the fighter strikes their steel with a flint to make a spark.”

  There was a flash of movement, then Ona was dragging a flint over her weapon. Sparks danced away from her hands.

  “Desperta Ferro!”

  Her voice echoed across the plain, against the stables, along the city walls. She drew a spark again and yelled foreign words into the air. Her arms moved like lightning, blurred in their speed. The steel she wielded was an arc of silver, a spray of shining power in her hands. No one would be able to touch her.

  Seren’s throat knotted. Seren had trouble speaking up to her own general, but this woman, this Onaratta Paints with Blood, had Seren’s father’s confidence, Mother’s too.

  “Pearl of the Desert, are you all right?” Meekra asked.

  Below, Ona called out, “Nuh! Haris!” She held her sword poised and ready.

  Two warriors sprang past the rest, Adem urging them on.

  “Draw your steel and face me!” Ona said in heavily accented trade tongue.

  The warriors stalked, then struck, one high, one low. She slipped three steps back, her boots a blur of darkness, until she had them stacked. They swung at her, but Ona’s sword flipped and cut the air twice as quickly as the men’s. Nuh almost sliced through her thigh, but she spun, flicked the tip of her steel toward their hands, and had them unarmed and on their knees before Seren’s heart beat ten times.

  The unit remained silent as they stared at Ona and their fellows on their knees, defeated. The only sounds came from the iron mines, everyone’s breathing, and the grit under Lucca’s boots as he faced Seren, watching for a response.

  Seren’s breath rushed out like she’d been hit in the stomach. “Amazing. It’s…amazing.”

  Adem began stomping his feet in praise.

&nb
sp; The unit joined in, raising shouts of “Victory! Victory!” It was Meric’s war cry.

  Erol took two steps forward. “I can’t believe what I just saw.” He turned, remembered Seren was there, and added, “Pearl of the Desert. I’m sorry. It’s…”

  “It’s something we need to learn,” Hossam said to Seren and Erol, “that’s what it is, Pearl of the Desert, war brother.” He nodded politely to each in turn.

  Ona sheathed her sword and spoke to the units, including the two warriors it seemed she’d already befriended. “You have to feel the words inside you.”

  Lucca interrupted, “Most chants begin with Wake iron, wake!” The men nodded at the translation of what Ona had shouted.

  Nodding, Ona continued, “You must believe the words. Know they work to make you faster, stronger, and they turn your weapon into another limb. Everything gets…the world falls behind and away from you when a chant is working. You move like, like the lightning before the thunder.”

  “It’s a miracle.” Adem studied her and Lucca. “We may actually benefit from this.”

  Seren wanted to praise them, but a hand had closed around her stomach. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Having these mercenaries on their side, training her warriors, was a true blessing. But something scratched at her, under her skin.

  She wanted their power.

  Not necessarily the physical ability, but the raw confidence they oozed. The people fed on it, drawn to these two, already their disciples. To help her people defeat the Invaders, she needed that confidence. Confidence that her own father and mother had possessed, but she failed to exhibit.

  Seren swallowed, her throat still tight. Barir was mad. There was no way Seren was chosen. She had none of Ona’s type of leadership skills or power.

  Lucca and Ona divided the unit into two groups and they separated on the field, the mercenaries explaining and laughing and looking generally very hopeful.

  “We should return to the city,” Seren said to Meekra.

  Meekra took the damp cloth from Seren’s neck as they made their way toward the back gate. “The Silvanian woman is a force, that is for sure, my lady.”