by B A Vonsik
Chapter 22
Mighty Guardians
The five of them quietly sat among the thorny branches of the underbrush concealed from the road below waiting for the worst kind of luck yet hoping trouble to pass them by. All about them, the scent of chalky metal mingled with old flowers. Rogaan realized the metal smell came from the reddish dirt. A strange thing. Only a few little-dragons remained in the open blustering and fighting with each other over territory and mating rights. Silent were the featherwings. If not for the distant snorts, chiming, and creaking of the approaching caravan an eerie silence would have fallen over the place. Rogaan had his Sentii Blood Bow ready with a nocked arrow. Memories of his practice at the breaching water-dragons gave him confidence he could hit the small mark of anything within seventy to maybe eighty strides. Though, he had mixed feelings at planning the taking of Light before it was needed.
Trundiir motioned low with his empty left hand for everyone to be alert and to be still and quiet. His right hand clutched the haft of his spear tightly, sending Rogaan’s heart racing both with excitement and unease at what he might be asked to do. Through the thick thorns, Rogaan spied beyond and below movement passing from their left to right, but not much more. How far away…he could not make an accurate guess. The movement stopped slightly to their right as low undiscernible voices spoke for a moment. Then silence, except for the snorts, chiming of chains, and creaking still at a distance, but closer than before. Rogaan’s heart now loudly started beating in his ears as his chest tighten and his mouth went dry. After what felt a long time, Rogaan spied motion below moving off to their right. He breathed a sigh of relief. I will not be asked to do…that, today.
Pax, Suhd, and Aren also started breathing again as they looked at the ground and each other with smiles of relief. The snorts, chiming, and creaking grew louder. Another noise mixed within the rest came to his ears . . . off to their left, one Rogaan was so familiar with . . . the drawing of a bow. A tingling surge exploded through his body with his hairs everywhere standing painfully on end as the world nearly came to a stop. The greens and browns and grays of the trees touched with the reds and yellows of some of the turning leaves and the greens and cinnamon-browns of the bushes exploded vibrantly to Rogaan’s eyes, and so too the whites of the thorns, as did the reds and browns of the soil and rocks, and the blues and whites of the sky above. Standing out brightly, his companions sat with their colors boldly displayed, almost glowing to Rogaan’s eyes. That scent of chalky metal from the ground and rocks forced on Rogaan a memory of being in the smithy with his father when a youngling. And the flowers struck him as powerfully sweet. Looking left, Rogaan found a Baraan, dressed in gray-blue eur armor, thirty-seven strides away, his nocked arrow just released from its bow. Rogaan watched the arrow in vivid detail come directly at his head. He forced his upper half back and down, making the arrow pass a hand’s span beyond his nose. A vivid royal blue shaft on the arrow Rogaan clearly saw. Colors not of the Anubda’Ner and not of the Farratum region.
Looking back to the scout, the Baraan slowly displayed an expression of unbelieving surprise. From his back-leaning position, Rogaan raised and drew his bow so that the string just touched at the right of his lips. In the air coming from his right, a steel-tipped spear wobbled and flexed on its way toward the scout. The scout attempted to dodge the spear but was too slow. His chest took the full brunt of the steel tip and heavy wood haft, staggering the scout backward. Rogaan hesitated to release his arrow. Is it needed?
“Finish him!” came Trundiir’s words so slowly Rogaan almost did not understand them.
Looking back at the scout, he found the Baraan trying to rise to his feet. Rogaan did not have a clear kill shot and held his arrow’s release, again.
“Finish him or he will us!” came Trundiir’s words slowly again.
Rogaan watched the Baraan scout get to his feet on shaking legs before placing his hands on the spear haft trying to pull it free. Rogaan focused on the side of the scout’s chest under his arm, not where the spear struck and through which the front and back of the eur armor buckled together . . . its weakest place. He let loose his arrow. It flew slowly yet true, striking the scout in between the chest and back pieces of armor and passing completely through him. The scout staggered, then fell. The vivid colors and textures of Rogaan’s surroundings turned pale and less appealing as the slight breeze suddenly felt normal on his skin. Rogaan then felt a hand on his midsection shake him. It felt like a normal touch of a hand and not one of slow movement. Looking, it was Trundiir clutching Rogaan’s hide armor while grasping in his other hand Pax’s shirt. Trundiir let them both go as he prepared to sprint off toward the scout.
“Chase down the other, both of you, and end him before he can signal his companions,” Trundiir spoke quick and direct as he ran off. “I will finish this one.” Trundiir drew his long knife as he sprinted off uphill, not allowing Rogaan a word of questioning or answers of reassurance.
Pax exchanged questioning glances with Rogaan before putting on a resolved face, then went sprinting off after the other scout. A loud grumble from Rogaan’s stomach announced his sudden sense of intense hunger. Not now! He argued with his own body, not wanting to be slowed or distracted. Worried they would be found out, Rogaan quickly rose and chased after Pax with bow in hand. Going downhill over loose rocks so fast caused Rogaan to trip often and fight not to fall with just about every step. Pax quickly outdistanced him as they ran after the scout who had already made it down the hilly slope before turning left back toward his caravan. The scout was swift footed—too fast for Pax to catch him.
Rogaan stopped and set his feet as he pulled an arrow from its quiver. He nocked the arrow and drew the bow as he raised it, so the bowstring and his fingers touched just to the right of his lips. He focused on the running scout, his target. Sixty strides, sixty-two strides, sixty-four strides. Rogaan let out half of his breath as he focused on the scout’s hips. Seventy-two strides, seventy-four . . . Rogaan let loose his Blood Bow’s arrow. It arched up slightly in the air, then down, striking the scout in his left thigh, sending him tumbling to the rocky ground. Rogaan nocked another arrow and drew. Pax, still running, was closing the distance to the scout. Rising from the ground, covered in reddish dirt, the scout continued limping off toward his approaching caravan. Rogaan focused again. This time on the left side of the scout’s chest. Eight-three strides, eighty-four . . . Another arrow went arching through the air. It struck the scout in his back, but the Baraan went down so quickly Rogaan was unsure if the arrow hit in between the eur armor pieces.
Rogaan set off running down the hilly slope of red rocks directly to the scout. Pax reached the downed Baraan first as Rogaan made his way as fast as he could over the loose red rocks. Looking up from the treacherous terrain, he watched Pax raise one of his blades to strike the fallen scout. Pax held his strike. When Rogaan caught up with them, Pax still held his blade high looking down at the bleeding scout now struggling to breathe. He looked young. They were some thirty strides off the road and thankfully, still in the trees and thorny underbrush.
“He be only as old as us, Rogaan.” Pax sounded distraught with indecision. He lowered his blade, then put a hand on the scout’s chest. “He still be breathin’.”
Looking up, Rogaan caught sight of the caravan’s lead warriors in gleaning bronze sitting atop their sarigs as they approached. He spied them through the trees far down the road. More than half a march away. Another unwanted grumble came from his stomach as he felt the ground tremble through his boots. He did his best to ignore both and hoping his midsection would stop making the uncomfortable rumblings.
“We cannot leave him here.” Rogaan spoke the obvious as he fought with himself. He knew the scout was a danger to them, but he was so young and innocent. “I will carry him. You, cover dirt over his blood and our footsteps.”
Rogaan did not wait for Pax to agree. He grabbed the wounded scout and hefted him over his left shoulder, then took off up the hilly sl
ope of rocks holding the scout in place with one arm while using his Blood Bow in his right hand to give him a third point of balance. Rogaan relentlessly climbed the rocky and thorn-thick slope, fighting to keep his balance while making his way upward. Halfway up the slope, Rogaan felt the scout reaching for his long knife, trying to pull it free of its sheath. He squeezed down hard on the Baraan with his arm to give him a warning. “Enough of that.”
The scout went limp as Rogaan went on climbing the slope. Pax caught up as they neared their bushy hiding spot. Trundiir met them just in front of the thorn-rich bushes that still concealed the rest of their companions. He guided Rogaan and Pax to where the other scout lay motionless, his bloodstained throat cut and his eyes still open. It looked that the scout’s eyes no longer held his Light. Rogaan noticed a sorrow on Trundiir’s face as he lay the younger scout down next to the older. Rogaan took in a deep breath of mixed, unsettled relief after carrying the Baraan uphill so far as Trundiir felt the young scout’s chest and neck for life and his mouth for breath.
“This one is lightless as well,” announced Trundiir with both satisfaction and melancholy in his voice.
A sadness rolled over Rogaan at the results . . . not his intentions to make lightless this young Baraan. He hoped the scout to live so his troop folks might find him later when Rogaan and the rest of his companions were far away. Rogaan looked to Pax who did not share sadness on his light brown face or in his tired slate-blue eyes. Instead, his friend’s eyes were sizing up the scout’s belongings for looting.
“Anything good on dem?” Pax asked with a bit of excitement and anticipation in his voice. “Anything we maybe can use?”
“Not the colors or equipment of the Anubda’Ner of Farratum’s region or of Anza,” Trundiir announced with a nervousness in his voice as he held in his hand a sash from the older scout. “The younger scout looks too young for the Seb’Ner. Likely a local guide. One who came to be in the wrong place today. The older one . . . royal blue, his sash and arrow shafts. He is Seb’Ner . . . from the Royal Guard of Ur.”
“Not the Guardians of the Empire?” asked Rogaan with both disbelief and a growing unease.
“Da Mighty Guardians of Shuruppak?” Pax asked with a nervous cracking in his voice.
“That be them,” replied Trundiir in a manner mocking Pax.
“I not be touchin’ or takin’ anythin’ from dem,” declared Pax as if touching them was poison. “Findin’ guardian stuff on us be our Lights.”
“Yes, it will be.” Trundiir agreed. “But what is done is done. Their armor, weapons, and stuffs can mean the Light of Life or the Darkness of Death out here in the Blood Lands. We take everything of use and hope their bodies are not found soon.”
“The caravan of . . . Seb’Ner is almost here.” Rogaan was hoping for an answer of what to do.
“We keep watch for more scouts as we take what we need from these two . . . while the caravan passes,” declared Trundiir. “Pax, keep with your sister to make sure she is safe and an eye on that Evendiir.”
“Ya no trust him?” Pax asked suspiciously.
“I do not know him,” grumbled Trundiir as he started to drag the younger scout’s body and things to another thorny tangle of bushes above where Suhd and Aren sat quietly talking. “And he complains too much.”
“Ya got dis?” Pax asked Rogaan pointing to the body of the older and larger scout.
“Yes,” answered Rogaan with an increasing realization that they would never be going home, at least not as they knew it.
“Keep them quiet and still,” Trundiir ordered of Pax just before he disappeared behind a thorny tangle of bushes. He then spoke from behind the thorns. “More scouts are likely to be about, but hopefully, not this high up the hill.”
Rogaan and Pax parted, Pax returning to Suhd and Aren to inform them of the plan and likely of their new danger. Rogaan carried the scout’s body and equipment to Trundiir’s second hiding spot, setting down the body next to his lightless companion.
“There was enough room to do this with the others?” asked Rogaan.
“I do not know how strong your Baraan woman is,” Trundiir replied matter-of-factly.
“She is strong and has kept up with us,” Rogaan defended Suhd.
“I mean of stomach,” Trundiir continued. “Has she ever dealt with the lightless before this?”
“Not like this that I know of.” Flashes of memory of the underground arena and him taking Light from one of the guards came to Rogaan. Despite him saving Suhd from their taking her against her will, it is what sealed his fate forever as a lawbreaker in the eyes of Shuruppak. Yet, Rogaan felt no regret at the happening. He saved Suhd . . . at least, then.
Trundiir motioned for Rogaan to strip armor and items from the other scout. Rogaan complied, working in silence for a time until the lead warriors and their stout sarigs of the Seb’Ner caravan started passing on the road below. Rogaan then sat watching them through holes in the thorns, hoping Pax covered signs of their fight well enough for the Mighty Guardians not to notice. The ground vibrated with their passing. He could feel it through his hands, boots, and backside when he closed his eyes. A light smack on his left arm by Trundiir startled Rogaan out his intense focus on the ground and the forces below. Exhaling, Rogaan realized he had been holding his breath.
“So, her sway on you only happens when in her presence or in trail of her,” Trundiir stated in his matter-of-fact deep grumbling manner.
“What . . . What are you speaking of?” Rogaan asked, not certain where Trundiir was going with this.
“Tellens are more strongly influenced by Baraan sway than the others,” explained Trundiir. “Your swooning is a danger to everyone, including Suhd.”
“I care for Suhd . . .” declared Rogaan louder than he intended.
“Quiet,” Trundiir demanded. “I am certain you do. I mean you no ill will where she is concerned. She is beautiful, strong in will, and pure of heart. It is simple. When you scent her sway, you become drunk of her. You do not think right and become easy to surprise and make poor choices. You are a big bag of uselessness for the rest to carry along and protect—or worse, a ball of flame spreading like wildfire seeking to protect her. You cannot let that happen out here. Animals in these lands are not so . . . tame as around Shuruppak. We will have all our Lights taken from us.”
Rogaan made no reply; instead, sitting in silence thinking while watching the Seb’Ner caravan pass. Royal blue and gray flags, pennants, and covers numerous with the moon atop a winged sword everywhere. Powerful niisku were pulling heavily loaded wagons that creaked in strain of what they carried. Rogaan was surprised at how many of them passed. He lost count. Kydas carrying all sorts of large, crated equipment were also used as steeds by the larger warriors while the rest of the troops used sarigs. He lost count of them too. And sarigs carrying bronze-chested eur-armored warriors, over two hundred of them when Rogaan lost count. They kept on for a time and some, walking and wheels rolling by, making Rogaan wonder if these troops and steeds were endless. When the final sarigs bringing up the rear of the caravan passed, it was midday under a cloudy sky. The clouds keeping the sun from baking the lands and all traveling it.
The cloudy day made him think of family for some reason. Then, another random thought . . . Father. I thought I had saved him from the Tusaa’Ner. That Im’Kas would see him freed after the arena, Rogaan recalled with frustration and angst. Then, he remembered his father’s resolve in remaining in the jails as a prisoner of Farratum when the Dark Ax offered to get them free. So strange Father’s doings. Rogaan pondered his father’s behavior and his words while they were captive in the Farratum jails. “. . . I need you to keep strong your trust in me and what I am to tell you. You will be tested, and harm will likely find you . . . You will need to endure . . . because of what I cannot give them.” What can you not give them, Father . . . and who? Rogaan still did not understand all of his father’s part in these affairs. His father’s words kept reverberating in his hea
d of when the Shuruppak civil war ended, and he and the Ebon Circle battled the Houses against their keeping rule over the peoples. Helped by the Tellen Nation, they were victorious in defeating the Houses and then in forming an alliance with the smaller Houses. The smaller Houses then taking up the cause for the peoples who fought with the Ebon Circle . . . and Father . . . against a cabal of the Great Houses. In the end, distrust and lack of cooperation between the Great Houses were as much a cause of their defeat as was the Ebon Circle’s-led opposition.
A negotiated peace was agreed upon between the Houses, the Ebon Circle, the Tellen Nation, and the leaders of the commoners throughout the lands. All would be governed by laws, made by the Makers of Laws, the Ksatra’Za in Ur and the Anubda’Zas throughout the city-regions of new Shuruppak, along with the Chosen of the Peoples . . . called Bartam’Eadda, the Noble Houses . . . the Niral’Eadda, and the guilds . . . the Dagas. Some thirty seasons of Roden’ars this system of governing, in a style used in the Tellen Nation, succeeded.
An unsettled peace took hold throughout Shuruppak with the Councils of each city, town, and village choosing those to represent them in the law making as Zas. By the new laws, protectors, Servants of the People, were formally organized . . . the Kiuri’Ner, Tusaa’Ner, and Sakes. They were limited in numbers and duty-bound to serve and protect the people . . . no more. Lawmakers and Servants of the Law, the courts, were independent and to watch and thwart any attempt at consolidating power. They were beholden to the people and received their coin from the people. All worked as designed until the last handful of Roden’ars passed when a corruption crept into the fabric of their ways, the Servants of the People and the Lawmakers. They started growing their own authorities and no longer steadfastly served the people. Instead, they sought to rule by picking and choosing the laws they enforced . . . a justice of social causes that found the peoples whipped up into mobs, to rally behind. The repeating cycle of governance brought about by the failings of people, his father instructed him of long ago. Father was a central figure in the shaping of the Shuruppak I knew, Rogaan came to realize at this moment. Rogaan further recalled his father warning him of the growing corruption in the western regions of the Shuruppak, then spreading out into the rest of the nation. I did not take his words and warnings seriously. Rogaan regretted his lack of understanding of his father’s words then and not thinking of things other than himself.
