Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity

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Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Page 27

by Stryker Nileson


  Drain took a sip from the spirit. “I just mean to say that we don’t know where he is yet. I have no evidence to suggest whether he is or isn’t here.”

  “He is here,” Ganis said, descending from the second tier. “He will stay here just because it will show how little he thinks of the Southern Alliance and its threat.” Ganis approached Drain and took the glass, tasting the drink and quickly returning it. “And I also believe that it is our destiny to face him here in Scyldur. There is nowhere else to go.”

  “You can’t know that. There is no evidence, Ganis,” Drain said. “I neither agree nor disagree with Thalus or Hephaestion. I simply mean to say that we don’t know, and we should operate accordingly.”

  “It’s the first rule of spying,” Percival added, “trust in your ability but verify your findings.”

  “This does not matter anymore,” Hephaestion said. He looked at Sigurd and asked, “Where will your new assignment take you?”

  “Away but still in Scyldur.” He paused for a moment. “So I have been told.”

  “You will be cut off from the Ona?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Then it will be entirely up to you how to act.”

  “Try not to keep all the fun to yourself,” Percival said. He stood up and held his now-ready bow, testing the string and aim of his new weapon. Ganis could have told him that it was not a match for Thalus’ craft, but it was decent enough to make it deadlier than any locally crafted bow.

  “Now we lose Sigurd and Monolos,” Hephaestion said. He withdrew in contemplation, reaching for his pipe pocket but hesitating. He decided that it was not the time.

  “Monolos?” Ganis asked.

  Hephaestion nodded. “Monolos has been sent to the Hinterland Patrol, but it will not be a hindrance with Glowleaf connecting us.”

  Sigurd stood up and retreated to his quarters, giving no excuse or indication of his withdrawal. Whenever his boots met the ground the wood creaked in agony. His presence alone in the dwelling called for constant maintenance, adding to Thalus’ responsibilities.

  “Can someone tell him not to wear the armor in here?” Thalus said as soon as he judged Sigurd to be far enough not to overhear him.

  “If it bothers you too much, you tell him,” Percival said.

  Thalus looked at Hephaestion, who purposefully avoided looking back to absolve himself from involvement.

  After thought of the conversation withered away, Drain declared, “I lost my transformation pills.”

  “How so?” Ninazu asked, with a hint of concern escaping the obstruction on his face.

  “Water.”

  Ninazu shook his head and reached out to Drain’s pill pouch. With no resistance, he undid it from Drain’s belt and examined its contents. Nothing remained but a grey mush which slid through his fingers when he tried holding it. He looked at Drain, examining his face closely, and said, “This is unrecoverable.”

  “This should not be a concern yet,” Thalus said. “We will share whatever we have left with Drain.”

  “What concerns me is not the destruction of these pills, but the consumption.” He tied the pouch together and discarded it on a table next to Percival, throwing it dexterously towards the wall, bouncing it off and landing it on the table. “I can’t say for certain, but it appears that the transformation is slowly becoming undone.”

  Drain reached to his beard, feeling its stubs and easing his arm back to his belt, clutching the buckle with his thumb.

  “We will need more pills, and I have a problem finding some ingredients here. It will be necessary to get them somehow from the south,” Ninazu said. He responded to Drain’s gesture by reaching out to his own braided beard and stroking it gently.

  “We send Glowleaf,” Ganis said. “He can slip in and out with little suspicion. It’s a perfect solution with Monolos sent to the Hinterland Patrol. Glowleaf could give him the ingredients needed and he to you.”

  Ninazu hummed. He then looked around for Glowleaf. “Where is the Watcher?”

  “He should be arriving within the next few moons,” Ganis said. “You can tell him about what you need then, but remember that they are colorblind. Your explanation would have to account for that.”

  “Very well,” Ninazu said. “Let us hope we have enough time. In the meanwhile, you will need to increase your dose to counter the reversion.”

  4

  It was a grim day to the Parthans when Monolos did not return from one of his patrols. The Scyld patrols have been getting dangerously close to the Southern Alliance fortification. On occasion, news of minor clashes reached the Parthans’ ears, and it would be nearly impossible for Monolos to avoid joining the Scylds against the Southern Alliance without jeopardizing the Parthans’ mission.

  “Flagrum claims that he knows nothing regarding Monolos’ fate,” Hephaestion said as he convened with the other Parthans in the common area of Pertinax Dwelling.

  There was no merriment or drinking, just an aura of concern plaguing the air.

  “I’m not concerned about Monolos,” Ninazu said. He had an empty vial in his hand which he was too rushed to stow in his vial rack upon hearing Hephaestion return. “He’s capable enough to survive, at the very least. What concerns me is Glowleaf’s mission. Without the herbs for the pills we will certainly be discovered.”

  “It is true,” Hephaestion said. “Monolos is undoubtedly well, but we are quickly running out of the transformation pills, and they seem to be losing their effect. In time Monolos will return, well and all.”

  Monolos entered, slamming the door behind him. He was bloodied - but most of it not his, Ganis judged from the condition he appeared to be in - and his armor was dented in several different places. Monolos has returned from a skirmish. “Those damn Enkashar have been trained too good.” He collapsed in the atrium, headfirst.

  Rein rushed to him, gently running his fingers down Monolos’ neck to check for swelling. When he was satisfied by Monolos’ condition, he proceeded to remove his red armor, starting with the chest plate. “He’s in no dire condition, just exhausted.”

  The others stood back as Rein tended to the beaten Parthan. He was awake, and feebly helped Rein remove his armor with some clumsy movements.

  “We got too close,” Monolos said. “The Enkashar ambushed us and killed most of the others in the patrol. I managed to escape them, but at the cost of several of their lives.” He looked around him and said, panicked, “Where is Screo?”

  The Parthans looked around at each other awaiting a response. When none came, Hephaestion said, “We have not seen him since your departure.”

  Monolos broke into a cry, eyes tearing vehemently, fingers clawing at the floor. The Parthans gave him the time and space for his grieving; Rein even paused for a moment and stepped back. It was the Parthan way to let one grieve in seclusion. Any show of support in such times was interpreted as an offence to the strength of character of whoever grieved, the greatest offence anyone could give to a Parthan.

  When Monolos’ weeping subsided, he forced himself to stand and withdrew his emotions entirely; only his eyes bore the scars of the great grief he had just experienced. “Screo was supposed to return here immediately if we were attacked.” He paused for a moment, wiping the drying tears from his face, “He must have been shot down by the Enkashar, a grim fate for a good friend.”

  “He’ll be missed, Monolos, by all of us,” Ganis said, invoking a surprised look from the others. She was not a Parthan and their ways were odd to her, no matter how closely attuned she became to the Ona.

  Ignoring her comment, Monolos said, “They came on us like flies on a rotting corpse. In mere moments they killed half of us and routed the rest. I was attacked by six of them and killed three, the rest were wounded, but I know not of their fate.”

  “How did you escape?” Hephaestion asked. During Monolos’ breakdown, the Parthan captain did not even bulge from his seat, patiently awaiting Monolos to grieve in peace, ridding himself of the pain within. />
  It was a strange moment for Ganis. He remembered how the Parthans responded to Pertinax’s death and how collective was their grief. They grieved differently then and it seemed to Ganis that their mourning was similar to the traditional Gallecian one. Ganis had many question, but they could wait for now.

  “I fought my way out,” Monolos said, “and ran towards the forest. They had no horses to run me down, but I was heavy with a Scyld I decided to rescue.”

  “Why?” Hephaestion asked in shock.

  “Because it would be easier for me to explain my escape if there was someone else with me.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Outside.” Monolos pointed to the main door.

  Rein rushed to find the Scyld, disappearing in the snow outside. He returned in a moment dragging an unconscious man into Pertinax Dwelling.

  “Ninazu,” Hephaestion gestured at the Turian.

  Ninazu responded by walking towards the man and administering to him a few drops of a clear liquid he had been carrying in his belt. When he completed the task, he looked at Hephaestion and nodded. Nothing but silence prevailed until Ninazu was finished.

  “Continue,” Hephaestion said.

  “The boy was hit on his head with the butt of a spear. I instinctively carried him with me to the forest after I dealt with the Enkashar trying for my life. They stopped following me shortly after my retreat. There was no one else other than the two of us alive.”

  “Why do you suppose they let you go?”

  “Perhaps to tell a tale.” Monolos looked at the others, pausing for a moment at each, and said, “The Southern Alliance fortified their position fairly well. No Scyld army will be passing through them, not with their current numbers.”

  “King Ragnar did his job well,” Ganis said. He suppressed a proud smile for a moment, thinking it would risk aggravating the others.

  “Indeed,” Monolos said. “Screo aside, things seem to be going well.”

  “Not too well,” Ninazu added, earning him a glance from the others, and a stare from Monolos. “We are running out of transformation pills and the necessary ingredients are beyond the Southern Alliance defense walls. We need Glowleaf to get them.”

  Monolos nodded. “I will let him know at once. Do you have a list?”

  Ninazu produced a small folded parchment from within his sleeve. He offered it to Monolos who took it and examined its contents.

  “I will tell Glowleaf the moment he is back.”

  “Where is he?” Hephaestion asked.

  “Somewhere between Scyldur and the Southern Alliance position.” Monolos folded the paper and tucked it in his belt.

  Rein approached Monolos and continued treating him, removing his armor and cleaning his wounds – rather scratches – with a cleansing potion Ninazu had given him. Monolos suppressed the stinging sensation the cleansing potion gave him whenever it made contact with his flesh, and only one grimace escaped him.

  5

  When Hephaestion was finally alone, sitting in the balcony smoking his pipe, Ganis joined him. It has been a long few moons, Ganis thought, with Monolos’ disappearance, Sigurd’s new assignment and Ninazu’s transformation pills running out, and the night was as good as any to enjoy a pipe.

  Ganis appeared next to Hephaestion, smiling and nodding at the man who acknowledged her presence once he was aware of it, and started preparing his pipe. It was a new mixture he was trying, one Ninazu made from local herbs. The smell was strong, but it burnt for longer, according to Ninazu.

  When Ganis had prepared the pipe, he gestured for matches from Hephaestion and was quickly rewarded. A thick column of smoke was released from Ganis’ lungs, disappearing into the night sky.

  “Tell me, captain, why is it that Monolos was left to grieve alone for Screo while we all shared Pertinax’s?”

  “Hephaestion inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and leaning back on his chair, another one of Thalus’ creation. “Screo was not as much our loss as Monolos’. We did not share the same relation to the hawk as Monolos did, and it would offend him if we tried to comfort him—”

  “The gesture would be interpreted as our doubt of his character,” Ganis interrupted, continuing Hephaestion’s response as he was taught by Asclepius about the Parthans.

  He nodded and continued, “But in Pertinax’s death, we all shared it. It was a common loss for all of us, the Ona, and that bound us to the same mourning.” He blew on his pipe, Ganis mirrored him. “Yet it would have been an offence to us if someone from outside our Ona tried to soften our grief.”

  Ganis breathed deeply, frustrated by his confusion about Parthan culture. “It makes little sense to me, the same behavior being interpreted differently.”

  Hephaestion chuckled. “Tradition, dear Ganis, makes little sense unless it is yours. We grew up surrounded by little gestures and big thoughts that influence us from childhood. They are meaningless to anyone without our past, and possibly inconceivable, but I am certain that you also have such nonsensical traditions in Gallecia.” He stressed the word ‘nonsensical’.

  “See, Hephaestion, these little things make me doubt I will ever be attuned to the Ona.”

  “A prime example of your own tradition, Ganis.” He took a short puff from his pipe. “An Ona is about understanding the core of the fighter beside you, not at a shallow knowledge of how he reacts. And tradition is a prime example of this shallow knowledge.” With his pipe he pointed at Ganis’ heart, poking the hard muscles of his breastless chest. “In here we are all the same, if we look deep enough, regardless of how we chose to act and are influenced.”

  6

  The transformation pills were all but gone. The reversion process was accelerating and Glowleaf was nowhere to be seen. The Watcher was sent shortly after Monolos’ arrival, but his journey was long, too long to avoid worry of delay or accident.

  Ganis’ duties as a City Guard were simple, patrol Scyldur and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. Other than a few brawls and the occasional theft, there was nothing for him to do but worry about the dwindling transformation pills and Glowleaf’s delay. But this night, with the second full moon since their arrival and a few stars shying away, was different.

  While walking around alone at night, trying streets he had become too familiar with to remain interesting, he heard whispers. He followed the hushed sounds to a withered structure, a dwelling of sorts that seemed to have been abandoned for some time.

  At the side of this structure was a breach in the stone, just large enough for him to squeeze through. It would have been a generous opening, Ganis thought, if he remained in his original physique, but the thought was quickly forgotten once he was inside.

  Darkness prevailed, only the reflection of the moonlight on the shiny cobblestones outside allowed for sight, even for Ganis’ enhanced vision. Feeling his way around, following the loudening whispers, Ganis proceeded further into the structure.

  Twisting through the corridors and stairways leading underground, Ganis found his way to a flickering light reflected on spiraling walls. Candlelight, no doubt.

  The voices echoed louder and came to a sudden stop. “I think someone be coming,” a coarse voice whispered.

  Ganis stopped moving, remaining crouched and completely still.

  “You be imagining things,” another voice said. After a moment, Ganis continued to head towards the mysterious voices. He wanted to see who was there and what was their intention of such secrecy.

  “It be nothing. I tell you, Prodor, we have to find a way to bring these damned priests down. With their presence it be impossible for us to make any coin.”

  “Prosidor, I have nothing against our trade, but it cannot be done. How do we bring them down?”

  “Expose them. I already have three beautiful virgins with buyers ready and all. I just can’t find a way to complete this transaction. They have expressed their reluctance once news of the incident reached them.”

  Ganis heard a gasp preceding a brief pause in
the conversation between the two shady figures. He advanced slowly, carefully moving to avoid making even the slightest sound, once they continued.

  “How did the damn City Guard find about her anyway? I thought he kept her hidden in his estate.”

  “They be raiding dwellings now, with the war coming and all this nasty business. I hear it was only an accident, Prosidor, and that they intended to search for spies. I tell you, the priests have to go. It be now or never.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Extortion, my dear Prosidor. Extortion.” A laugh echoed and Ganis approached some more.

  Ganis hid behind some crates by the entrance, looking between them to see the two conspirators who spoke. Prodor was a plump man, too soft for manual work but his manner indicated his capacity for maliciousness.

  “I have a network of spies,” Prodor said. He wore a wicked smile which made way through the few thin strands of hair falling on his face, strands adamant on fighting his encroaching baldness. “And they tell me of a group of mercenaries who arrived not so long ago.”

  Can it be us?

  “The Midlanders?” Prosidor asked, a skinny man with more bones than flesh. His voice wheezed with suspicion and so did his breath. “I heard of them too. They seem to be on good terms with Flagrum.”

  “Do not say that name!” Prodor shouted - his breath grew heavy at the mention of the quartermaster. “That damn man be the reason we have all these problems. Ever since we refused paying him he be like a thorn in our backs, always interfering.”

  “Do you think he be connected to the spies?”

  “I have no doubt about it.” Prodor gestured violently with his hands, nearly felling an old glass bottle resting on one of the old crates near him. His outburst made Prosidor shy away in cowardice, reflexively raising his hands halfway to his face and quickly returning them to his side before Prodor noticed.

  “Oh, Prosidor, how I miss the old days before that damned Naa’tas came here and ruined our honest trade.”

  Honest trade! You trade in slaves, robbing someone else from their priceless freedom for your own personal gain of a few oboi.

 

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