Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey)

by Sandra Saidak

  Kalie paused and one by one, met the eyes of each of the kings, then raked her gaze across the audience. She was silent so long that the chiefs who sat nearest her began to offer her their own skulls of kumis. Kalie smiled and shook her head.

  “For each of those questions, the answer is another story. But the hour grows late, so I will tell you only how it ended.

  “Slowly and in secret, Alesaak built his father’s warriors into a mighty army. With wit and cunning, he devised a plan to take back what was his. And he might have succeeded, had not Rahaak’s youngest son, a scheming, and misshapen creature, discovered it. Knowing he could never convince his father to find any fault with his golden rival, the evil prince instead sought to capture one of Alesaak’s loyal men, for by now he had followers even within the Hyena’s own camp. Men who tired of serving a traitor, and longed for a noble warrior to restore honor to the land so blighted by Rahaak.

  “At last the prince was able to find such a man, and had him tortured in the most gruesome fashion. It is said that that Rahaak’s son vomited at the sight of what it took to break the man.

  “When Rahaak was brought to hear the dying man’s confession, he wailed and tore his clothes like a woman, so devastated was he by the betrayal of the man he had loved like a son—to whom he planned to make king after him—“

  Laughter and booing erupted all around her. “Well he got what he wanted, didn’t he?” shouted a voice from the crowd. “Alesaak’s going to be king, right?”

  “Got what he deserved his more like it!” chorused other voices. “Black hearted bastard!” “How dare he feel betrayed?” “Did he really think a hero would serve a traitor?”

  Kalie waited until the noise died down. “The king ordered Alesaak bound and brought before him. But when Alesaak learned of this from yet another man loyal to him, he did not flee, as everyone expected. Rather, he sent runners to call his men to attack Rahaak’s camp itself! Then he went, armed only with his father’s spear, to challenge the Hyena himself to single combat.

  “Rahaak only spat in the dirt, and turned his back on the man he had once called his son, and ordered his warriors to hang Alesaak upside down from the pole of his own tent, and cut off first his fingers, then his toes, then his legs, and then his man parts, and scatter them into the four winds, so that he might never be whole in the next life, and never admitted to paradise. His arms, Rahaak said, could be left attached, but broken, so they could never hold a spear again.”

  An angry hissing arose from the listening warriors, many of them shifting uncomfortably, trying to cover their crotches, yet remain inconspicuous.

  “But Alesaak surprised them all. With a single spear, he slew twenty of Rahaak’s warriors. He kept fighting, even with a dozen spears in his body. He kept fighting with wounds on him that would have killed any other man. He kept fighting until his small army fought its way through all of the warriors of the outlying camps and at last reached the heart of Haraak’s territory.

  “They were still outnumbered. But Alesaak had so depleted Rahaak’s forces, that an army who fought for more than just material gain might have a chance. And when Tolik’s warriors—now Alesaak’s—saw their ravaged king, that is what they became. So enraged were they to have lost two great kings at the hands of the Hyena, that they fought, not as men, but as gods.

  “In Alesaak’s final words to his victorious warriors he ordered them to swear loyalty to his son, too young to rule yet, but who would one day redeem both his father and grandfather in the eyes of men and gods. And so they did, and Alesaak died.

  “His funeral was the greatest ever held, while Rahaak, who it is said, died not in battle, but from a broken heart, was left for his own namesake, the hyenas to devour.”

  Then she bowed her head, signifying the end of the story.

  Chapter 34

  There was shouting and applause, and a buzz of discussion. Kalie surveyed the kings and chiefs beneath demurely lowered eyes. To her amazement, Nelek’s face was awash with tears.

  “Oh, to have such a son!” he cried.

  “Yes,” said Kariik. “Such loyalty and courage seem sorely lacking in the world today. But it does my heart good to hear of it, even if it exists only in stories.”

  “Perhaps in ancient times there were such men,” Malquor said sadly. “But not today.”

  Kalie raised her eyes boldly and met the gaze of each of the kings. “But Great Ones, the story I have told is true, and did not happen in ancient times, but only this very year.”

  Everyone seemed to be puzzling out her meaning, for the magic of the story still lingered.

  “Tell us,” ordered Kariik.

  “I will,” said Kalie. “But first tell me, oh my kings, why was Alesaak a hero, and not a traitor, in your exalted eyes? Did he not betray the man who raised him up? Did he not plot in secret, and steal that which Rahaak had rightfully won in battle?”

  “He avenged his murdered father!” Nelek shouted as though that was the end of the matter.

  “He made himself king as the son of Tolik,” said Malquor. “Not as some hyena’s bastard! Did the fool think Alesaak would forget his father and accept his own rightful kingship as a bone from the hand that slew his kin?”

  “To fight on as he did, while dying,” Kariik mused, staring morosely into his skull of kumis. “To die for his family and tribe, rather than fleeing when he had the chance. Do any really live who would do such things?”

  “Yes,” said Kalie, over the pounding of her heart. “And I shall tell you where. But first tell me, each of you, how would you reward a warrior such as Alesaak?”

  “I would make him chief of all my warriors,” said Malquor. “I would allow him to ride beside me into battle.”

  “I would give such a warrior horses from my own herds and concubines from my own tent,” said Nelek.

  “I would grant such a hero whatever he might ask, for I think it would do me good to discover what a hero most desires,” said Kariik.

  Kalie rose and stood before the seated kings. “And will each of you swear to that before your gods?”

  They all nodded, if a bit impatiently. Kalie took a deep breath, knowing full well it might be her last.

  “Then I shall tell you now that the hero I spoke of is right here.” She walked a few steps closer to the prisoners, and pointed to Alessa, who smiled back at her.

  The faces of all three king’s grew dark with rage, but none more so than Nelek. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  Kalie whirled on the kings and their chiefs, the rage in her own face matching Nelek’s. “Did this woman not come here, as a slave, a pet, through the same act of treachery as my story described? Rahaak greeted Tolik under a banner of truce when he meant to kill him. Haraak took Alessa as a slave when by your own laws, she already owned the blood-debt of Kariik and at least six of his warriors after she, a Healer of Riverford, saved their lives!”

  Kalie could feel the rage boil around her, but on the faces of the assembled warriors was the same spellbound look she often saw when telling a story. She felt the voice of the Goddess rise up inside her and knew that, for this moment at least, they would listen.

  “Did not King Nelek take a noble priestess, destined for power and status in her own right, and seek to make her his slave, expecting her to feel honored to serve him for the rest of her life? That she would forget her murdered family and her own great destiny, as Rahaak expected of Alesaak?

  “Did he not expect her gratitude and loyalty every time he forced his body into hers, or threw her to his men for a night’s pleasure? And did he not offer her gifts that any slave girl should love, as Rahaak offered Alesaak horses and women? Both kings should have known such acts would engender hatred and bring about just retribution, yet when justice arrived, both felt betrayed by people whom—they thought—should have loved them!”

  She turned from the kings to the vast gathering of common warriors and shouted their own words back at them. “’Got what he deserved�
� you said. ‘Would a hero ever serve a traitor?’ ‘How dare he feel betrayed?’”

  She turned back to the kings. “Your warriors demand to know how a man who murders his own cousin and steals all that he owns dare feel betrayed by an honest warrior seeking revenge. They want to know how any man can expect loyalty and gratitude from one who must surely seek revenge!

  “Well I have wondered that since the day I arrived in this accursed place, so I am asking you: How did any of you expect loyalty and gratitude from Alessa after you murdered her people and made her a slave! I want you to explain how she is any less of a hero for using the tools at her disposal to avenge her family and protect those still left in her homeland! And I want to know how you, Kariik, dare to call her a faithless slave, when it was by your own treachery and ingratitude to her people— who saved your life— that she became a slave in the first place!”

  Her words were finally lost in a roar of angry shouting as the glamour that held the crowd silent wore off. They surged forward, seeming ready to tear her to pieces. Yet when the first men reached her, they stopped just short of actually touching her, growing confused and looking to their leaders for direction.

  Perhaps the Goddess had lent Kalie more than just a voice.

  “Kill her!” Nelek shouted.

  Kariik probably wanted to do exactly that, but perhaps angered that another king should usurp his authority, he held up his hand, freezing those who would have killed her.

  Into the momentary silence, Kalie spoke. “I remind you each of your oaths before your gods. You promised this hero horses, women and her heart’s desire.”

  “We promised ‘him’ those things, not her,” said Kariik in a voice Kalie had never heard from him. For the first time, she could see a king inside the puppet. “A slave girl can never be a warrior.”

  “And yet you have proof of the opposite. By herself, without even a spear, Alessa nearly succeeded in breaking apart the alliance that seeks to destroy her world. With her knowledge of herbs, she might have poisoned her enemy and escaped alone, yet like Alesaak, she remained to carry out her duty—though it meant her certain death. And she endured torture more bravely than most, for she never named an accomplice. Did she?” Kalie’s gaze bore deep into Nelek’s eyes.

  “She named my son!” he shouted.

  “Are you sure?” Kalie had pondered that part all day. She took a chance. “I’ll wager she tried to warn you that your son plotted to betray you—on his own! You preferred to blame her instead. Isn’t it interesting how you people believe that a slave has no power and no free will—except when you need to shift blame away from someone who clearly has both?”

  From the expressions of some of Nelek’s men, Kalie could see she’d hit the mark.

  “She used deceit and subterfuge,” Kariik insisted.

  “She used the weapons she had,” Kalie countered.

  How long this stalemate might have lasted, Kalie would never know, for at that moment, a lathered horse came crashing into the gathering, a badly wounded man slumped over its back. What happened to the sentries? Kalie wondered, then saw them running behind the horse, belatedly trying to clear a path.

  Guards caught the rider as he slid to the ground. “Attack!” he wheezed. “They come…”

  “Who?” Nelek demanded, pushing his way through the guards, for the dying warrior was his.

  “The Wolf tribe; led by your son!”

  “They shall be swiftly dealt with,” Kariik said easily. “They are few to our many.”

  “Hansi rides with them and the Axe men as well…”

  “The outcast band?” Malquor demanded.

  “They have become large and strong…” The messenger began to cough. Blood leaked from his mouth.

  “How many?” That from Haraak, pushing his way to stand beside Kariik.

  “More than six hundred…” The man coughed once more and died.

  Everyone looked east, the direction of the Wolf Tribe. The direction from which the messenger had ridden. The dust raised by a fast riding horde could be seen on the horizon. The distant thunder of the hoofs could be felt, if not yet heard.

  “To arms!” Kariik shouted. The scene around Kalie dissolved into chaos as men raced for horses and weapons. Each king gave hurried directions to his chiefs, who gave orders to their men—except for Nelek, who had only the twenty who rode with him.

  A final order from Kariik was of great importance to Kalie. “Pulik!” he called to a brawny, much scarred warrior—one of the few of his personal guards to have gray hair. “Take three men and remain behind to dispatch the traitors. I want no ugly surprises when we return.”

  “I will obey, my king,” said Pulik, although it was clear from his expression that he preferred to ride into battle beside his king than remain behind to execute traitors.

  “Join us when the job is finished,” said Kariik. With that, he leapt forward to the head of his army and rode out of camp.

  Chapter 35

  Kalie had never been present for a full scale battle; one which was fought away from the camp, and in which every warrior was called to fight. What she would remember most was the deafening silence, as the pounding hooves of the departing army gradually died away, and over a thousand humans beings remained behind like statues in the dust.

  Then the women began a high-pitched wailing. Some remained standing where they were, covering their faces and tearing the hems of the garments. Others hurried inside their tents, where their keening became eerily muffled.

  Ignored again, Kalie knew she had to act, for lives depended on it. But for the life of her, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

  Then, slowly, people began to gather around her. Varena, Katya, Larren, Mavra, Basha and even old, bent Agafa, standing as straight and proud as Kalie had ever seen…. All looking to Kalie for direction.

  “Four men were sent to kill Riyik and the others,” she said. “Does anyone have a knife?”

  “For what?” asked Mavra. “Do you think you can kill four warriors by yourself?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Kalie demanded.

  “Killing one’s own is distasteful work,” said a powerful voice. “They will need much drink to make it palatable.”

  Danica stood, holding two skins of kumis.

  “Are those…?”

  Danica grinned, showing her strong yellowed teeth.

  “How did you get them? Kariik had them burned.” Kalie could still smell the foul odor.

  “One of the men who followed your husband is my nephew,” the chief’s mother explained. “The guards thought nothing strange of a wailing old woman begging to see her kinsmen. Of course, they refused me. So, like any old woman, I fell shrieking to the ground—right on top of their pile of drinking skins. They were so busy cursing and shouting when they dragged me away, they failed to notice the two I slipped in my robe.”

  “I always knew these awful clothes would be useful someday,” Kalie said, but she continued to stare suspiciously at Danica.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” the chief’s mother said. “I was being watched. If I had shown you any welcome…”

  “I understand,” Kalie said, hoping she did, but knowing she was out of time either way. “Varena! Katya!” Kalie gazed down at her lovely daughter and the frightened, slip of a girl who cowered behind her. She considered that Katya’s fear might be more attractive to the men of this land than Varena’s blossoming beauty. But both would be risking a lot.

  “I would not ask this of you if there were any other way…”

  “There’s no time for this, Mother,” snapped Varena, taking both skins and thrusting one of them into Katya’s hands.

  Kalie nodded. “Offer it to the warriors before they reach the prisoners. Show yourselves to them.” Varena cast aside her veil and outer robe and was shaking out her lustrous hair, but Katya dropped her kumis skin and fled, pulling her clothing tight around her as she ran.

  Mavra shook her head and recovered the skin.
“Never send a girl to do a woman’s job,” she told Kalie. Then she took Varena’s arm and the two of them hurried away. “Are you a virgin?” she asked the younger woman. Varena nodded. “All right. Here are some things you need to know…” The rest was lost as they hurried through the now silent camp.

  Kalie turned to the others. “I still need a knife,” she said. “More than one, if possible.”

  “Here,” said Basha, offering a small cooking knife. Danica gave her a better one.

  Kalie flung aside her veil and heavy outer robe, delighting in the sudden coolness she felt. Then she hitched up skirts that could impede her progress and raced off to where Riyik waited.

  Woman stared, their faces blurring as she ran past. What could possibly come of this crazy scheme, Kalie asked herself. Would four hardened warriors assigned to kill their own brothers actually stop to ogle young girls and drink drugged kumis just because Kalie wanted them to? It seemed ridiculous.

  Yet when she reached the tent where the prisoners still sat, that was precisely what was happening. Mavra had exposed her breasts and was now pouring kumis over them, brazenly inviting one of the warriors to have a drink, while Varena more discretely held the other skin for another warrior. He grabbed it from her and drank noisily, while the man beside him pounded his shoulders good-naturedly, demanding a turn.

  That took care of three of them. But Pulik was having none of it as he ordered the prisoners from the tent. He stopped in front of Riyik and raised his blade. Riyik stood motionless and stared at the man, daring him to strike.

  Kalie ran toward them, feeling herself move, slowly as in a nightmare, but then Varena saw what was happening and shook herself free of the two men who were now fondling her breasts and ran to Pulik. She snaked around in front of him, smiling an invitation. Pulik, angry at the interruption, shoved her aside. But he stopped and looked around when he realized his men were no longer behind him.