Digging trenches and setting up palisades with the midday sun high overhead, men and women worked in a silent rhythm. The silence did not last long.
“I’m too old for this, you know. Liable to catch a stroke or something,” mumbled Hag in a raspy voice. The squat woman paused for a moment, waiting for acknowledgement. With no response, she spoke again, this time louder. “I said I’m liable to catch a stroke with all this work.” The old woman threw a spade of dirt on Jonrell’s leg, punctuating the remark.
The commander stopped and knocked the soil away, though he didn’t know why. I haven’t seen a bath in weeks. He met her eye. “Funny how you’ve got the energy for that young stud of yours, but when it comes to actually doing your job you start to gripe about being old.” He motioned to Wiqua, a man young enough to be Hag’s son, but old enough to be Jonrell’s father. The Byzernian was busy sharpening stakes. “You don’t hear him complaining.”
“Yeah well, that’s why I like him. He doesn’t say much. If I wanted a bunch of useless conversation, I’d come looking for you.”
“You ever thought he doesn’t say much because he can’t get a word in edgewise?” Jonrell looked to Wiqua and swore he saw the smallest of grins creep across his face.
The short woman threw another spade of dirt on Jonrell’s leg. “Keep it up. I’ve never seen such ungratefulness after all I’ve done, taking care of them animals for all these years now.”
“Aye, you know your way around a mule when the urge strikes you. Speaking of that, you’ve been growing lax on those duties as well.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. Just doesn’t make sense to waste my time on all the ones we picked up from Melchizan if we’re going to turn around and sell them. I still mind your mount and the others I know that’ll be coming with us.”
“Good. Since you are up on your other duties, then you have plenty enough time to help here like everyone else.”
The old woman just grunted and grumbled again, flicking one last spade of dirt before returning to her task. Jonrell knew digging a third trench was over-doing it, but he wasn’t taking any chances as he expected Cassus back some time yesterday. Besides, it always helps to keep a soldier busy.
Upon arrival, he sent Cassus and a small group of men into the city. They were to secure passage across the ocean based on what Melchizan’s goods fetched on the open market. Jonrell sent Krytien with the group for added protection, but he was also glad to have him out of his hair. The old mage had been acting strange since finding out Cadonia’s king had died, and stranger still since the skirmish in the valley. Krytien had said that he had never seen anyone heal with greater ease or knowledge as Wiqua had.
Impressed over a bunch of horses. He shook his head.
Hag remained quiet far longer than Jonrell would have thought possible before she started back up again. This time she directed her wrath elsewhere, taking her aggression out on the Byzernian women who cooked. She didn’t seem to care that most of them couldn’t understand a word she said. It only enticed her further. Before long, she began flinging dirt into the path of women as they carried firewood for the cook fires. Eventually, even those peaceful women showed irritation and sent icy stares in Hag’s direction.
She hasn’t lost that magic touch. Jonrell grinned.
A shout from Yanasi, signaling that Cassus and the others were returning, put an end to the strife. It’s about time. Jonrell jumped at the chance to send Hag to care for their animals and climbed out of the trench. He told Yanasi to have Cassus and Krytien join him in the command tent.
* * *
Glacar had been cursing under his breath for almost an hour. Kroke knew that was a record somewhere. He sure couldn’t imagine spending that much time talking, especially repeating the same four or five words. After an hour of hearing Glacar go on and on, he reckoned it was about time he at least asked what bothered him.
Kroke threw his spade into the dirt and pulled out a dirk. He began picking at his nails, noticing a few specks of grime that had accumulated. “You gonna keep that up the whole day, Glacar?”
The wild man from Thurum turned around, sweat soaked his hair and beard. He spat, most of it dribbling down into the thick tangled mess on his chin. “What are you jawing about?”
“You ain’t shut up since we moved to this part of camp. What’s got you all worked up?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Huh?”
“Jonrell’s lost it, Kroke. Sticking our necks out for these brown devils ain’t what the Hell Patrol’s about. And yet, we’ve been dragging them around for weeks. On top of that we’re going to buy them passage home. That’s money that could be in our pocket.”
“You ain’t seemed to mind them Byzernians when they were Melchizan’s. I believe you visited a few of their women pretty regularly?”
“Yeah, that’s about all they’re good for, too. But now, they act like they’re suddenly too good for that.”
“And there it is,” said Kroke, clicking his tongue. “Since they ain’t slaves any longer, they won’t let you have your fun anymore.”
Glacar spat. “Ain’t no woman gonna tell me what I can or can’t do. Especially not any of them brown-skinned dogs.”
“But Jonrell did, didn’t he?”
“You know he’s always been too soft. That background of his and his high and mighty standards.”
“Ain’t nothing soft about showing some respect to women.”
“That’s funny coming from a killer like you.”
Kroke shrugged.“Killing and raping ain’t really the same thing.”
Glacar laughed. “Sure they are. They both get your heart racing and when I’m done, I’m the only one who’s happy.”
Glacar went back to shoveling. Kroke sheathed the blade and followed suit. And that’s why you ain’t the one leading us.
* * *
Jonrell had just enough time to splash some cool water on his face and neck, washing off the day’s grime, when the two men strolled into his tent, looking ragged. Jonrell took a sip of tea and gestured for them to have a seat. “I was beginning to grow worried.”
“No doubt,” said Krytien easing into a chair. “You’ve got a stronger camp here than I’ve seen in some time.”
Jonrell shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Was there any trouble? I expected you a day ago.”
“Some, but nothing major. We scared off a few men looking to rob us as we left the city. Cassus thought it best to take a different route back. We covered our tracks in case they returned with more.”
“Good. Do we have ships secured?”
“Two. One for us and one for the Byzernians. The ships are owned by the same man. The price is reasonable and best of all he’ll organize the sale to pay for the ships after inspecting the goods we hauled with us.”
Jonrell looked over at Cassus who had yet to sit down. “What kind of shape are the ships in?”
Krytien answered though Jonrell had directed the question at Cassus. “Although they’re traders, both ships are strong and in fair enough shape.” The old mage glanced nervously about. “Given that we may have to improvise in open water if pirates attack, we spoke with the captains as well. Both are well-seasoned men.”
“Can we trust them?” asked Jonrell, as he watched Cassus pace the room.
The old mage gave a tense chuckle and fidgeted in his seat. “I learned a long time ago not to trust anyone, Jonrell. You know that.”
Cassus’s face held a far-away stare. The commander set his cup down. “Cassus, you haven’t said a word. What’s bugging you? Do we need to be wary about the captains?”
“The captains are fine.” He looked up and cleared his throat after a long pause. “I’ve decided to go on with the Byzernians.”
Jonrell felt like the chair was taken from under him. He looked to Krytien. “Is he serious?” Silence. Jonrell turned back to Cassus. “I don’t believe this.”
“They’ll need help,” said Cassus. “The ships we procured
are going in opposite directions. You’ll be heading north while the other is entering a southern port near one of their islands. They won’t have any protection on their journey home.”
“Protection? You’re one man,” said Jonrell.
“One is better than none.”
“This is crazy. Do you have any idea how long it will take you to secure a ship from there back to Cadonia to meet up with us.”
“I’m not going to Cadonia.”
Jonrell’s mouth hung open. I’ve lost my mind. That’s the only thing that could explain what I’m hearing. I’ve gone mad.
Cassus cut in. “Look, I know this is a surprise.”
“A surprise?! I’d call it more of a slap in the face. We’re going home. I need you with me.”
Cassus laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve never needed me. I was the one who needed you. And you made sure to look out for me. Now I have the chance to do the same thing for these people as well as others.”
“What do you mean others?”
“There are slaves all over Mytarcis, most are from the Byzernia Islands. I want to stay and help them.”
Jonrell looked up and mumbled to himself. “One Above, what have I done to deserve this?” He snorted. “Cassus, Hero of Slaves. What about your parents?”
“What about them? Don’t pretend that they ever cared for me. I doubt they even remember they had a son.”
“I can command you to stay,” said Jonrell, trying a different approach.
“Not if I quit.”
“I can command to have you restrained and loaded on the ship to Cadonia.”
Cassus smiled and stepped forward, placing a hand on Jonrell’s shoulder. “You can. But you won’t.”
Jonrell felt the fight leave him. He knew his friend well enough to know there was no changing his mind this time.
Chapter 4
Tobin stared across the bleak landscape atop the highest ridge in the hills rimming the settlement. His back was to Munai, the village’s name discovered by Kaz’s cruel questioning of the prisoners. Even in daylight, the terrain varied little, mostly orange rock, dirt, and sand with the occasional patches of sparse vegetation. Having memorized the land around him, he reflected on the events surrounding the last few days.
Two days after Munai’s capture, another eight hundred Kifzo had landed by boat along the weathered coast, adding their number to the surviving warriors occupying the settlement. The reinforcements reported that Tobin’s father, Bazraki, was in position to move against Nubinya once the city’s forces were drawn away.
With that in mind, Kaz allowed several of the prisoners to flee under the guise that within a week an even larger group of warriors would land at Munai. Kaz led them to believe that the warriors in Munai would then launch an assault against Nubinya. The orchestrated escape forced villagers to pass through every small settlement the Kifzo previously destroyed. Coupled with the destruction those people witnessed firsthand, their tales of horror would force the Orange Desert Clan’s Warchiefs into swift action, hoping to retake Munai before the Blue Island Clan’s army swelled in number.
After weakening Nubinya’s defenses, Bazraki and his main army intended to pounce on the desert capital, bringing it under his rule.
Then it will be up to us to defeat whatever armies are sent against us, regardless of the odds. If all went as planned, the surviving Kifzo would then move south and join Bazraki.
Tobin sighed as he scanned the horizon, checking for anything unusual. His eyes moved first to landmarks he had previously scouted as the most probable areas of advance. His vision shifted to the rest of the landscape, making sure he didn’t overlook even the least ideal approaches. Satisfied, he removed the large camel skin he used to protect himself against the sun and stood, stretching his legs and shaking the stiffness from his limbs. He removed the top from his water skin and drank deeply.
Weeks had passed since first arriving in the Burnt Sands desert, and still he was not completely acclimated to the high temperatures and scorching heat of the day. The climate was much different than what he was used to in the Blue Islands. At home, a tropical thickness to the air hampered one’s breathing, but at least the frequent rains relieved that discomfort. Here the dry warmth could deceive you, slowly sucking the moisture from your skin as it surfaced. Breathing was never a problem, but if not careful, the heat could weaken even the healthiest of men, causing fits of dizziness.
He replaced the top after another long pull from his skin, ready to return to his miserable position. His ears pricked. Footsteps sounded from behind in the loose gravel and sand that lined the hill’s side. His hands dropped to the throwing axes at his waist, but then relaxed as he saw the source of the careless footfalls. A tall man made his way up the steep incline. The man reached out with spindly hands sticking out of tattered sleeves. He clutched at protruding rocks as he pulled himself upward. The man looked up with calm eyes and a friendly smile.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” said Tobin, unaccustomed to the friendly expression.
The shaman took a few more steps and stopped near Tobin. “Your brother gave me leave to move about and Walor pointed me in your direction,” said Nachun, breathing deep. He unslung a water skin of his own and took a drink.
“I’m surprised Kaz allowed someone he’s unfamiliar with to roam about without restraint.”
“I think he’s satisfied with my story. But in the end, it was your fellow warriors who fought near the oasis that tipped the scales in my favor.” He paused for a moment. “I came to thank you for stepping in that night and encouraging them to speak up. Kindness is something I have seen very little of as of late.”
Tobin was taken aback by such candidness. “You’ve no need to thank me; without your aid I’d be dead.”
“I helped you and in return you helped me. It is as it should be,” said the shaman with a soft smile.
“Perhaps, but I should warn you about saying such things amongst the others. They are not as…” Tobin shuffled his stance while trying to find the right word, “understanding.”
“I gathered as much when talking to your brother. However, I thought you might be different than the others,” he added, more of a question than statement.
Tobin shrugged. “You’re free to speak as you wish. In fact, I’m curious to hear this story you told Kaz.”
“And your duty?” said Nachun, shading his eyes with a free hand and scanning the empty horizon.
“Even if Nubinya were to send forces immediately, it would be another two days at the earliest before they would reach us.” Tobin gestured to a boulder a few paces down and to the right. With the time of day, it provided a ring of shade from the afternoon sun. “I can spare a few moments.”
The two men settled down with their backs against the cool rock face. Nachun unwrapped a small bundle he had hidden beneath his clothing, revealing some fresh dates and dried fish.
“I thought you might be hungry,” said the shaman, laying the food between them.
Tobin snatched up a date, not realizing how hungry he had grown. He took a bite and wiped away the juices dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand, grunting in appreciation. “So, tell me how you came to the Burnt Sands? You’re not native to these lands.”
“Is it that obvious?” Nachun asked, taking a more conscientious bite from a piece of fish.
Tobin nodded. “Very. Your accent is different. And your clothes don’t match those of the Desert Clan.”
The shaman smiled again. “You are quite observant. And as clever as your brother. He made the same points.” He sat thoughtfully for a moment; his cheerful expression fading, and when he spoke again his voice took on a more somber tone. “I was born amongst the Red Mountain Clan.”
“The Red Mountains?” Tobin asked, coughing on a date.
Nachun sighed, his shoulders sagging as if under the weight of a great burden. “Yes. Until a year ago, my family lived in Guaronope. A man named Charu became Warchief of a powerful t
ribe within our clan. His power grew very quickly even though he was younger than the other Warchiefs that sat upon our council. My family was part of another large, well respected tribe and my father was our Warchief. He became outspoken against Charu as he felt the sudden rise was unwarranted, and the ideas he championed not consistent with our people’s past. In response, Charu began manipulating the tribes in his favor, turning them against my father in an effort to oust him from the council. My father confronted Charu hoping to come to some agreement that would end their quarrel, but Charu said he would only make peace with our tribe if given my sister’s hand in marriage.” Nachun paused, taking a swig of water from his skin.
“My father was outraged as my sister was already betrothed to another tribe’s son, a weaker tribe according to Charu. When my father refused to nullify her engagement, Charu rallied the Warchiefs in his favor and denounced our family as a lesser tribe, taking away our seat from the council. But that wasn’t enough for Charu.” Nachun’s mouth twisted into a frown, then a scowl, unable to hide his contempt for the man.
“He murdered the man my sister was betrothed to and took her as his own, defiling her. My father held back his anger and instead pleaded with the council for retribution but they did nothing. With all others against us, we could not risk retaliation for the odds were too great. So my father did what he felt was best and our tribe left the Red Mountains, the only home we ever knew. But before leaving, we stole my sister from under Charu’s nose.” Nachun grew quiet, shoveling several bites of fish into his mouth.
“Then why come to the Burnt Sands? Was there no other place between here and the Red Mountains for your family to settle?” asked Tobin.
Nachun chuckled and held up his hands. He gestured at the dusty and withered landscape. “Is this not an ideal place to live?” He laughed. “No. This was not our first choice. We could have become nomadic like many of the small tribes; however, that was never an option after we took my sister. Charu would not forget such a thing nor would he ever let us live in peace. So, we sought to align ourselves with one of the other large clans, to try to gain their protection.” Nachun paused again, biting into a date. The faraway look in his eyes told Tobin the shaman was reliving those memories, searching for the right words to describe them.
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 7