Path of Kings

by James Dale

  "Find Captain Haadan and have him recall the search parties," Hamman said as he dismounted and gave his mount's reigns to one of the warriors. "We have found Manar. Maud'da," he said, turning to one of the Kadinar. "Take him to the healer, he has injured his arm."

  Jack passed the boy down to a waiting warrior and dismounted to find himself confronted a score of drawn blades.

  "Agina bahar!" Hamman said quickly, restraining the warrior nearest him. "Hear me Jhen! This man has been granted the protection of Ahala bid! He saved Manar's life! So long as he does no harm, he is to have free reign of the camp." The men slowly sheathed their weapons, but their hard looks remained.

  "Come Doridanian," the Khan said to Jack. "There will be less chance of a...misunderstanding if you stay in my tent. There we will also find shade and wine."

  One of the Kadinar reached to take Eaudreuil's reigns and lead him away, but the stallion snapped at his hand and he quickly retreated.

  "Qif!" Hamman laughed. "Do you not recognize a Val'anna when you see one Kabal? Bring your mount also Jack Braedan, I would prefer my men keep all their fingers."

  "Come on boy," Jack said, patting the roan's broad neck. Eaudreuil snorted disdainfully at Kabal, then fell in beside Braedan. The Kadinar warriors parted quickly before their Khan as he led them through the camp to the large pavilion in the center of the enclave. Two burly guards, each easily a head taller than Braedan and carrying wickedly curved scimitars, stood at its entrance. Both snapped to attention as the Khan approached, then one quickly drew aside the tent flap for them to enter.

  "After you," Hamman bowed.

  "Stay here," Jack instructed Eaudreuil. "And try not to cause any trouble. I don't know how far this Blood Debt applies to you."

  "There will be no trouble," the roan beamed. "So long as these two-legs keep their distance."

  "Just stamp around a bit and snort once in a while." Jack laughed. "They'll get the message."

  "He is a beautiful animal," Hamman remarked as they passed into the interior of the tent. It was well lit by hanging lamps, with a large divan in the center of the room, surrounded by many colorful pillows. "I have a large herd at my estate outside Kazin-Achbor. They are all fine Kadinar stallions. Though none are his match. I do not suppose would you consider selling the Val'anna? I will give you a fair price and the pick of any steed in the camp to replace him."

  "Thanks, but no," Jack replied. "Eaudreuil is my friend. He was also a gift from someone dear to me."

  "What was her name?" Hamman queried, motioning for Jack to take a seat at the foot of the divan.

  "What makes you think it was a woman?" he asked, removing his cloak as he eased himself down onto a pile of soft cushions.

  "No man would give away such a fine Val'anna," Hamman Khan laughed. "Not willingly. But a woman? If she sought to gain a warrior's favor? That is a different matter entirely."

  "It was nothing of the sort."

  "No?" the Khan asked. "I think you may discover differently when you return to Dorshev."

  "If I may change the subject Hamman Khan," Jack smiled. "Was that the River Whesguard I saw as we entered your camp?"

  "It is," he nodded. "Another few minutes and you would have been beyond the land of the Jhen."

  "If I remember my maps correctly, Kazin-Achbor lies some hundred leagues to the east. What...if I may ask Hamman Khan, are you doing on the banks of the River Whesguard? Is there... some trouble with Brydium?"

  The Kadinar eyed Jack suspiciously.

  "Forgive me," he said quickly. "I am merely seeking to avoid any...misunderstandings?"

  "There is always trouble with Brydium," Hamman sighed bitterly. "More so of late than usual. But you will not encounter any...misunderstandings unless the legions of the Dragonslayer cause it. Enough questions Doridanian," he said abruptly. "You are pressing the limits of Ahala bid. That I have let you keep your sword strains the bounds of tradition already."

  "I mean the Kadda'Jhen no harm," Jack assured him again. To emphasize his words, he unbuckled his sword belt and offered the Talon of the Hawk to the Kadinar. “You may have it. Return it to me when you decide. I am under your protection Hamman Khan.”

  "And I have no personal enmity with the Dora'dai," Hamman assured him. "You may keep your sword."

  "Then what do you say we stop this fencing and have some of the wine you mentioned?" Jack suggested. "I don't know about you, but I could sure use a stiff drink. It's been a bloody long winter.”

  "I like you Jack Braedan!" Hamman laughed, slapping his knees with delight. "You ride into an enemy camp, ask dangerous questions, then calmly offer your sword and ask the Khan of Kazin-Achbor for a drink. I could almost believe there is Jhen blood somewhere in your line."

  "There may be," Jack smiled in reply. "From what I've learned about my ancestry in the last year, I wouldn't be surprised."

  Laughing uproariously, Hamman clapped his hands, summoning a mail-clad warrior. "Wine Akeem! And quickly! Our Dori'dai guest is thirsty."

  The Kadinar bowed crisply and vanished through a partition in the tent, returning minutes later with a large skin and a pair of wooden cups. Pouring a good measure in each, he handed Hamman a cup, then Jack. "That will be all Akeem. Leave us please," the Khan waved, dismissing him.

  The warrior gave Jack a meaningful look which promised swift retribution should any harm befall his leader, then with a "As my Khan commands," he bowed and departed the tent.

  "I think your men are uncomfortable with my presence here," Jack observed, sampling the wine. It had a rich, full flavor, sweet but not overly so, with a hint of oak perhaps that lingered on the tongue.

  "I cannot blame them," Hamman sighed wearily. "We have been here most of the winter patrolling this side of the river, each day expecting a fight with the Dragonslayer. Now suddenly their Khan is drinking wine with a Knight of the White Horse like he is a long-lost friend."

  "I understand," Jack smiled. "If I may be frank, from what I have heard of the Kadinar, I am also somewhat surprised by your hospitality."

  "And what have you heard of the Kadinar?" Hamman asked. "We have not crossed the River Whesguard in thirty years."

  "No?" Jack asked hesitantly. "And what about the…incident last spring with the Countess of Brythond?"

  "Yes...an unfortunate business," Hamman admitted sadly, "No honorable Kadinar took part in it I can assure you. Only a personal letter from the Great Khan to the Dragonslayer pleading innocence and a promise to bring the perpetrators to justice prevented a war between Brydium and Kadin. And the fact that the lass somehow escaped and made her home."

  "I had the pleasure of rescuing the countess from Norgarth." Jack smiled. "I am afraid she doesn't recall her time with your people fondly."

  "You were in Norgarth?" the Kadinar sputtered, nearly choking on his wine. “When?”

  “When the Free Brothers of the Sea put it to the torch,” Jack replied.

  "The few reports which reached Kadin say it was…a hot time,” Hamman said thoughtfully. “Pardon the pun."

  "It was...interesting." Jack agreed.

  "Interesting?" Hamman laughed. "You have a gift for understatement. Are you sure you do not have Jhen blood in you veins?"

  The two men spent the next hour polishing off the skin of wine while Jack recounted for the Khan blow by blow, the Brotherhood's attack on Norgarth. To Jack's surprise, Hamman took great pleasure in hearing about the death of one Graith's sorcerers, calling the priests of Gol’gar bloody handed child killers. To hear the Khan tell it, the eastern kingdoms would be well rid of their ilk and only suffered their continued presence out of fear.

  "If I had one wish," Hamman whispered, "It would be to spit entire the stinking lot on a stout lance, burn their temples and salt the ground they were built upon. Of course, this is just the wine talking." the Khan said quickly, looking around fearfully as if he might suddenly discover one lurking in a dark corner of the tent. "Might as well wish the moon was made of cheese and the Riev was full of
brown ale."

  Jack simply nodded. Any sane man would chaff under their heel. Why should someone from east of the Whesguard River be any different? It was certainly something to remember when war with Graith finally came.

  "Just the wine," Hamman sighed again. "And missing Fala."

  "Fala?" Jack asked.

  "My wife," the Khan smiled. "A delicate flower; hair like silk and lips as soft as rose petals. Much too young and beautiful to be married to an old warrior like me. Take my advice Jack Braedan, when you return to Dorshev, give up your questing and wandering about in places you shouldn't be and marry the girl who gave you the Val'anna before someone else catches her eye."

  "It is a thought which has crossed my mind," Jack nodded. "But I'm afraid she's already engaged to another.

  "Then you should steal her away from him," Hamman suggested.

  "That thought has also crossed my mind," Jack confessed with a grin.

  "Life is too short to spend your nights sleeping on the ground out in the wilds, wondering if each day might be your last," the Kadinar sighed. "When you return home, put a foot of steel in the bugger. It is how a Jhen would dispose of his rival."

  "As my Khan commands," Jack saluted, and drained his cup.

  "You may rest here," Hamman said, finishing off the last of his cup. "I am going to check on my nephew. I will have food sent to you."

  "Thank you, Hamman Khan." Jack said graciously, rising with the Kadinar chief.

  Hamman bowed crisply and departed the tent, leaving Jack alone. Left by himself, he itched to have a look around the pavilion, but he reasoned anyone except the Khan would not take it too kindly if they came in and found him poking around where he shouldn't. Suppressing the urge to explore, he settled back down on the soft pillows at the foot of the divan, snuggling deeper into his comfortable resting place and waited for his food to arrive.

  He was not forced to wait long. Akeem soon returned bearing a wooden bowl of white beans swimming in a thick sauce and a tray of brown bread and hard yellow cheese. Jack recognized field rations when he saw them, but after living off sweet cakes for a week, however delicious, he accepted the simple fare gratefully.

  "Thank you, Akeem," Jack nodded.

  The Kadinar muttered an unintelligible reply Braedan diplomatically chose to interpret as "Your welcome." Akeem then made a great show of inspecting the pavilion's contents to ensure everything was still in its proper place. Satisfied nothing seemed amiss, the warrior bowed stiffly, then gave the westerner a hard look that plainly said, "I've got my eye on you."

  Jack returned the glare with the most innocent smile he could muster and Akeem muttered something under his breath in Kadinar, then quickly exited the tent.

  With no utensils at hand, Jack began to scoop up the beans with his bread. But the food was hot and filling and he didn't mind. Finishing quickly, he placed the empty bowl and tray on a nearby table then went outside to check on Eaudreuil. The two guards were still there, but neither of them even so much as glanced his way when he appeared. The Val'anna was where he'd left him, though someone had brought a bucket of grain and a wooden pail of water. No doubt under thoughtful instruction from Hamman.

  "I see they brought you food," Jack said, scratching the stallion between the ears.

  "Food?" the roan snorted. "No wonder their horses are so skinny." His displeasure didn't slow his eating however.

  "Be thankful they've fed us at all," Jack replied. "We could just as easily be dead. Well...I could at any rate. You would probably be staked out and getting ready for a quick trip to Khazin-Achbor. The Khan seems to think highly of you for some reason. Thinks you'd make a good addition to his herd. As a stud I suppose."

  "You don't say?" Eaudreuil asked, ears perking up.

  "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Jack muttered.

  "I have not seen a Val'anna in decades," a voice behind Jack said admiringly. He turned to a find a grizzled veteran of late-middle age, with a shaved head and a fierce red scar running along his square jaw. "That must make you the...guest which has the camp in an uproar."

  "Jack Braedan at you service," he bowed. "And you are?"

  "Captain Jhmaal Haadan," the Kadinar replied, bowing in return. "Honor on the house of Braedan."

  "Honor on the house of Haadan."

  "You do not look like a Dora’dai," the captain said bluntly, giving him an appraising eye. "Green Ailfara eyes. Your face I cannot place. Immerman perhaps? You also have an...unusual name. But the heart of a Jhen. So, says the Khan. A deadly mix."

  "What can I do for you captain?"

  "The Khan thought you might like a tour of our camp," Haadan said. "I volunteered to be your escort."

  "A gracious offer," Jack smiled. "But I think I will respectfully decline. Blood Debt or not, I would not want to accidentally see something which might...jeopardize my freedom to leave tomorrow."

  "As you wish," the Kadinar shrugged. "We shall talk instead. I have never had the opportunity to speak with a Dora’dai. Not with words," he finished with a humorless grin, reaching up to finger the scar on his chin.

  "Compliments of a Knight of the White Horse?" Jack asked.

  "Nearly thirty years ago," Haadan nodded. "We were raiding into Brydium. The exact reason I can no longer recall. For horses or cattle most likely. I was young and new to the sword and it was a chance to face our old enemies. As fate would have it, a company of Doridanian horsemen were riding with the Dragonslayer's legions that day. A small contingent, but they fought well. I learned much in the brief encounter."

  "Who won?"

  "Who can say?" Haadan shrugged. "They lost men. We lost men. I survived with my honor intact and my first scar and I gained knowledge of how the enemy fought."

  "Is that what you're doing now?" Jack asked. "Gaining knowledge about the enemy?"

  "Perhaps," Haadan replied. "At least what manner of men now wear the white and gold."

  "And what have you learned so far?"

  "They are still fearless. Riding alone through Jhen lands wearing grim'Hiru spoil? Yes. You are still fearless."

  "Don't confuse fearlessness with desperation," Jack advised the Kadinar.

  "Killing a Ghomari with single arrow also tells me the Dori’dai have not grown soft over the last thirty years."

  "I was lucky." Jack shrugged.

  "You also have wit," Haadan smiled, this time with something close to genuine warmth. "And are not boastful of your skills. Yes, the White Horse of Dora’dai still appear to be worthy foes. I look forward to the day when I can judge just how formidable they remain on the battle field."

  "I hope I do not offend you by praying such a day is a long time coming." Jack replied.

  "Ah...but you are young yet," the Kadinar laughed. "My time grows short. I'm afraid there are not many good years left in this old warrior. It is not accounted honorable among the Jhen to die abed in your dotage."

  "I do not think you need worry Captain Haadan."

  "No," the Kadinar said sobering. "A war breeze is stirring. I can feel it in my bones. This one blows with a heat that will scorch the world."

  "Are you a prophet as well as a warrior, captain?" Jack asked.

  "One does not have to be a prophet to read the times," Haadan replied. "The signs are there for those with vision. Renewed tension with the Dragonslayer. Old warriors replaced by new blood easily stirred by songs of past battles. No. One does not have to be a prophet to read the signs. There is a war coming. Sooner than later I would gage."

  "No you don't," Jack sighed sadly. Not when your life adds to those signs daily.

  "But that does not concern you or I," the captain smiled. "Not today. Ahala bid has seen to it."

  "What shall we talk of then?" Jack asked. "The weather?"

  "Nothing so mundane!" the Kadinar laughed. "Since you have refused the Khan's offer to view our camp, we shall swap tales of home. I shall tell you a little of Kadin. Of the Veil Dancers of Kadda'Temar, with skin as smooth as silk and smoky eyes that quic
ken an old warrior's blood. Of the way the sun rises like molten fire over the Riev in the heat of summer. In return, you shall tell me of the Horsemaidens of the Dora’dai with their streaming yellow hair and what it is like to hear a thousand Val'anna thundering across grassy plains."

  "Would you settle for the thrill of battling a gale on Aeralnen Widewater and autumn sunsets in the Amarian hills?"

  "Are there women in these tales?" Haadan inquired hopefully.

  "I seem to recall a few," Jack smiled.

  "Done!" the captain laughed, settling on the hard ground at Braedan's feet. "Have you ever heard of Ashail Cabari? The Dance of a Hundred Veils?"

  "No," Jack grinned, taking a seat.

  "Then envision if you can, twenty nubile virgins all under the age of twenty," the Kadinar began, "each one the daughter of a powerful khan. Each seeking a husband. The beginning of the dance is quite tame, ah...but the end my friend, the end!"

  The two men sat cross legged on the ground, exchanging stories for the next three hours as the sun slowly sank in the west. It was hard for Jack to imagine without the protection of his Blood Debt, the man seated across from him would have been just as happy to trade blows with a sword instead of stories of beautiful women and beautiful sunsets. He was no different than Tarsus. Both men had the same savage zest for life. Nor was Hamman ad'Jhen much different than Duke Morgan Ellgereth. The only thing separating them was an allegiance to different stones, one the color of starlight and the other of blood, sworn by ancestors so long dead their bones were dust.

  Sadly, the one small fact made all the difference in the world. Tomorrow he would cross the River Whesguard and Ahala bid would be satisfied. The next time they met, and Jack knew somehow in his heart of hearts they surely would, he and Captain Haadan would try with their last breath to pound the life from the other. The memory of this day would simply be another story, told by the survivor to another comrade, another day, under another cloudless sky. "There was this one time when I was in the March of Peril..." it would begin, "swapping tales with a man I would later have to kill. Except for one small thing we could have been friends." Except for one small thing.