by B A Vonsik
“It may cost you much,” warned Aren. And, it may cost me much . . . It has already.
“You are likely right, and there are obstacles . . .” Rogaan agreed but sounded resolved despite the hardships past and expected in the days ahead. “My father being prisoner is one of them. My family not being free from threat of blade and bars is another. My friends and their losses with no sight of freedom in their days ahead are another. Plans this Shunned and this Vassal have entangled us in and what it might mean to everyone . . . It cannot be a good thing. Your freedom has been lost by who chases after us and what you say is in your head.”
Silence is all Aren could offer Rogaan. He did feel trapped and somehow compelled by whispers in his mind. I do want this to end, he admitted to himself. “I offer we take advantage of the assembling crowd at the temple. I think they mean to go into the city. With your Seb’Ner colors and armor, we should be able to take advantage of the chaos enough to gain entrance.”
“Then we learn the city and find a spot where we can wait for the Tusaa’Ner and this Shunned.” Rogaan started to lay out a plan as the ground trembled under them. Waiting for it to calm, Rogaan stood silently. “We find and free Father from his bonds, and then, maybe, he can provide insight on all of this and the growing feeling I need to be in these mountains. Something is calling. A feeling I cannot explain.”
Aren stared at Rogaan for a long moment at his revelation of feeling as being called into the Blood Lands. It’s not just me. Relief spread through him that he was not alone in this calling. Then, concern at their lack of means to live in a city. “How will we live inside? We have no coin.”
Rogaan rolled, then reached into his carry pack. He pulled out two hide pouches bound up with hide cord. He tossed one to Aren. A pitched clatter sounded when it struck the ground. “I took these coin pouches from the Seb’Ner scouts. They have balkas, ingots, and a few gems, each.”
“Does Trundiir know of these?” Aren asked with a smile at the roguish act by the half Tellen.
“I think he encouraged me to follow this path,” Rogaan offered more of an explanation than answering the question as the first drops of rain started falling. “I cannot be certain, though I know he purposely gave me the opportunity to leave this morning.”
“Sly Tellens . . .” Aren didn’t realize Tellens had any capacity in being devious. Take heed of this, he noted for future times. “Let’s see to resolving these woes upon us.”
Chapter 25
Him
A light rain kept the dust of the road from kicking up by the boots, sandals, and feet of the column. He found relief in the dust’s absence and for the cooling clouds and rain. A welcome change in the weather, though dangerous for this time of year if the temperatures continued to drop. He noted the ground trembled more often here than north of the Ur. Does it mean something? Sitting upon his stout sarig, in his red-brown armor now adorned with the Farratum Tusaa’Ner red cape of command, he led at the front of what remained of the Tusaa’Ner and support provisioners; ninety-some survivors from over two hundred and fifty boarding the three ships in Farratum a day ago. The losses were a disappointment at best, though their survival was a wonder, crediting the commander and crew of the Khaaron with their makeshift riggings aided by winds from the Powers getting them on the Dukkha River and into port. It was there in the port of Haven they met with facilitators, sent ahead of the expedition, with prearranged supplies, wagons, and steeds. Immediately setting to the road the Tusaa’Ner and provisioner survivors, with steeds and wagons filled with water and supplies a-plenty . . . enough for double their numbers as planned, the guardsman column remained largely on foot as the steeds were meant for officers and not the ranks who were mostly unskilled at riding such beasts. What they were short on were weapons and guardsmen, having lost two of the expedition’s ships in battle on the Ur. So much for the Za’s personal guard being strong.
Now, tamed by their master and riding in a fume nearby on a smaller sarig, sat Dajil in blue-padded leather armor with red cape and red-plumbed helm bearing the new rank of seergal, first commander. A promotion borne of both her being next in the chain of command to the wrecked first commander, after his unsuccessful challenge to him, and for her being the daughter to the Za; now, a well-kept face to legitimize his authority. To his disappointment and frustration, Dajil sat slightly slumped over and with a rage burning in her eyes. He had to change that. “Sit tall, Seergal.”
“Yes, Ar’seergal,” Dajil reflexively replied to his authority over her as defined by Shuruppak law. Her words were high-pitched, bringing a grimace from the ar’seergal. She set her back stiff with her chin a bit high.
“Remain silent when we stand before Anza’s North Gate, and then when we’re within,” he instructed his second in command. To my utterance and no more will she follow my commands, he noted and cautioned himself. “Do so in matters where I speak and ensure the ranks comply.”
“Yes . . . Ar’seergal,” she replied with heat in her high-pitched voice.
That will have to do, he told himself as he reluctantly accepted her defiant compliance. Looking down to his right hand, the red-jeweled signet ring of his legal authority seemed to glow. Not my true authority, but enough for all else to understand. “You shall address me with the title of my greater station . . . not that of a lowly ar’seergal.”
“Yes, Ar’s . . . Subar,” Dajil more submissively replied, her words in a pitch a little lower.
Ezerus felt a curled smile come to his face with the seergal’s improved obedience. She and her mother didn’t yield to his legal authority when they were in Farratum, as Shuruppak law affords such authority to the Zas inside civilization walls. In the wilds and away from the Zas’ elected city, the Subars carried greater authority over both the Zas’ militias and the Zas themselves. Yet, this Za Irzal knew well Shuruppak law did not hold sovereignty here. Something more held it out here. Ezerus felt it in the back of his mind . . . always there. Always watching.
Scanning the countryside with its abundant low-flying featherwings and thick forests of thorny trees and underbrush brought memories of his previous visit to Anza. Not yet a Subar but in the service of Shuruppak, he learned of this place of treachery. In these unhallowed lands, he learned the unrestrained use of authority. The road they slowly traveled followed the river’s western banks rising from the docks some marches ago and toward Anza. Anza, the gateway city to the Blood Lands or more appropriately named “Gateway to the Ancients.” Ezerus thought then and even more so now that Anza was more accurately a gateway to the lands of the forbidden . . . the Sentii and death. Am I truly going into these lands? he asked himself. Yes, answered another voice with absolute conviction. A sense of unease grew in Ezerus at the intrusion into his mind. I don’t think I’ll ever become used to this. I don’t want to become used to it. Silence gave him a sense of hope the presence in his head would be gone someday.
The light rain made the packed dirt road slick and messy for the Tusaa’Ner column, slowing them even more than just being on foot; yet, they pressed on knowing safety after the sun went down was always best inside of walls, the larger, the better. Their midday departure at the docks and the twelve-march journey to Anza would put them at the city near nightfall . . . without the slick road. Ezerus grew more concerned as the afternoon dragged on with their slow pace that the night would engulf them before they could meet up with the Anubda’Ner at Anza. The Za had arranged for the Anubda’Ner to join this expedition as their main militia under her authority. They were to bring experienced Kiuri’Ner and Sharur to lead the way into the Blood Land mountains and to the City of the Dead . . . the Throne of the Ancients, Vaikuntaars. Three dangerous encounters so far with shieldbacks, longwalkers, and a pack of small leapers found Ezerus wanting those Kiuri’Ner and Sharur with them—now. Disdain filled his thoughts for some reason he didn’t understand. The thoughts remained in his head for a short time before disappearing. He looked around nervously to the covered wagons with the extra sari
g steeds in trail, eight wagons in total with the leading one at the center of the column where the Za, Ganzer, and he rode.
In the late afternoon, it became obvious to the ranks they would still be out in the wilds after sunset. A stir rose through the Tusaa’Ner such that Ezerus grew concerned of panic and desertion. Looking to his brooding second in command, he ordered, “Stop to the column.”
Dajil gave him an “I told you so much” look before giving orders to the flag-bearers to raise red flags as she yelled in her high pitch the command, “Column, halt!”
In uneven fits, the column of city-experienced Tusaa’Ner stopped their movement. With a grimace of irritation from her screeching, Ezerus urged his sarig to the side of the column where he planned to address the ranks but still wasn’t certain what he would say to bolster their confidence. The ground shook a few moments, then stopped. Ignoring the repeating trembling, he sat up tall before filling his lungs to project his words, when Ezerus spotted through the drizzle a pair of large blue and black leapers running up on the rear of the column. It took him several blinks of his eyes to grasp the horror of the moment, then pointed to the pair as he yelled as loud as he could, “Leapers!”
A moment of shocked silence descended upon the Tusaa’Ner. Moments later, yelling and screaming erupted from the rear of the column as chaos consumed the once-orderly ranks. The rest of the Tusaa’Ner started to break ranks when hollering from the columns’ kunza gave them pause. Spears met the two leapers at the rear of the column, but with little success, as Ezerus watched with fearful disappointment concern two provisioners now in the jaws and claws of the beasts. In the corner of his eye, Ezerus caught more movement. Three more huge leapers jumping from the tree line high into the air now descended on the center of the column. A tingling sensation started in his right hand, then spread throughout his body in the time needed to take a long blink of his eyes. The three leapers landed on Tusaa’Ner at the side of the column, scattering those reaming ranks nearby. Smoke puffed upward from the canvas hide at the side of the wagon just before three bolts of lightning from the kyda-drawn carriage struck each of the leapers, illuminating the beasts while burning their feathers and skin. Stunned silence fell over all, allowing Ezerus to hear the drizzle piddling on his head. Another prickling tingle and a glow from the wagon told Ezerus he was going to strike again. Before more lightning could be unleashed, the three leapers retreated into the trees, screeching as they ran. Ezerus looked to the rear of the column where the remaining two leapers were also running, but in their jaws and claws dragging off the two flailing provisioners. Relief washed over Ezerus at his powerful intervention and the limited loss of lives. Dajil started yelling commands to retrieve the provisioners as she made to break ranks on her sarig.
“Hold, Seergal!” Ezerus commanded with a raised voice.
Dajil pulled up reins, bringing her sarig to a halt. Those making to follow her also stopped in their places when they saw her unmoving. Ezerus observed she was again in a fume now with eyes straining in danger of popping from her head. She screeched. “Those provisioners need to be rescued.”
“They’re lightless,” stated Ezerus.
“They’re alive!” hissed Dajil as she snapped reins spurring her steed. Her steed made to burst into a run but went nowhere as it snorted with frustration.
Tingling filled Ezerus as he watched the sarig restrained in place by an unseen hand much as Dajil had been in the Za’s cabin on the Khaaron. Ezerus knew what was happening and expected she would provoke harsh wrath. Dajil let out a growling scream of frustration as she turned her attention to the first wagon. Ezerus followed her gaze. On the wagon the driver sat motionless with eyes wide with fear. Standing just behind the driver’s seat he stood in dark colors that mingled with the shadows of the hide canvas cover making it difficult to see him clearly. Next to him, he held a terrified Irzal as he waggled a finger at Dajil and himself.
“Seergal!” Ezerus spoke in a harsh voice.
She completely ignored Ezerus with her eyes fixed on her mother and captor. Ezerus feared she was about to commit to actions that would see many lightless. He softened his tone, “Dajil . . .”
“What?” she snapped at Ezerus in her high-pitched voice, bringing a grimace to her ar’seergal.
“Take your place,” Ezerus ordered in an even tone.
She glared at him for a long moment, then screamed in frustration as she returned her sarig into her position before the attack. Ezerus quietly joined her as a cloak of silence fell over the Tusaa’Ner column. Ezerus held up his right hand, then waited for his seergal to follow protocol. It took a few moments, but Dajil relented, shouting commands to move the Tusaa’Ner column again forward.
Chapter 26
Nothing as Planned
Night engulfed the Tusaa’Ner sooner than Ezerus wanted as drizzling gray clouds continued to hang low over the foothills of the Anza region. The clouds and wet continued to keep the temperature low though everyone’s relief, but just above getting cold and uncomfortable all day. Now, with the early nightfall, a chill filled the still air as it started feeling uncomfortable. Ezerus wondered if this was normal for these mountains, and, if it were to get colder, meant they would need more clothing and blankets for the days ahead. Those ground tremblings occurred less often now, with the sun down, though they seemed to cause a stir among some with each happening. Everyone is edgy.
Earlier, the Tusaa’Ner kunzas saw to placing torches in the hands of strategically located guardsmen throughout the column. Now lit with smoking trails, the torches did little in illuminating the road for their travel, but it felt strangely comforting to Ezerus having the fires to stay off the teeth and claws of the wilds.
“How much further?” Dajil asked in a high-pitched grump.
Ezerus wasn’t certain she meant her question for him. If she did, he would need to see her disciplined for continuing to display disrespect openly. Ezerus thought about when and where best to make the show of it. Now would be too dangerous with all the screaming she would do. Too many hungry creatures in the wilds would be drawn to her suffering. Waiting until they were beyond Anza and into the Blood Lands would be worse. That leaves . . . Anza, it is! he decided.
“Another couple of marches should be,” answered a grizzled, gray-bearded Baraan walking beside the sarigs, outfitted in Tusaa’Ner blue hide armor and armed with a long knife, cudgel, and whip. Ezerus recognized him as the senior most guardsman, the kunza, one who answers to the sakal, who then answers to the seergal. The sakal, a rival male of Dajil to Ezerus’s understanding, was wounded earlier by a leaper and now received tending in the healing wagon. So, for the present, the kunza answered to Dajil, who acted as both sakal and seergal.
“How are you so certain?” Dajil asked the gray-beard, her pitch low.
“Spent days here when young . . . before I took to the Tusaa’Ner,” he answered with an experienced, even tone. The kunza expression changed to one of uncertainty. “Do we have one of those Shunned with us like the rumors saying? I mean . . . the mess we cleaned in the hallway on the Khaaron and lightning fight on deck . . . and here on this road . . .”
Dajil appeared stunned and frozen atop her sarig with fear almost radiating from her forward stare. Ezerus noted her condition and what looked to be her realization of things. Good. I can use this to keep her and her moods in order.
“No, kunza.” Ezerus address the question. “He is Kabiri. A powerful one aiding the Za’s expedition.”
The kunza’s silence didn’t give Ezerus confirmation the gray-beard believed the explanation. He needed to put down rumors of a Shunned . . . the infamous Shunned of legends, at that, among them, or there would be desertions.
“I know of him from dealings in Ur and with the Supreme Zas,” offered Ezerus the kunza, trying to get the rumors put to rest. Silence fell upon the kunza and the seergal. Both were in deep thoughts, though Dajil’s near-horrified expression concerned Ezerus if he was to make the rumors go away. Before he could thi
nk of how to break his seergal out of her unresponsive state, the kunza spoke.
“Should be seeing city lights at the top of this hill climb,” he offered.
“Thank the Ancients,” Dajil grumbled with a sense of relief in her voice.
“The Ancients have no care for you or any but themselves,” Ezerus snarled. He didn’t know where that came from. He placed little faith in the Ancients or the many of stories about how they ruled humanity. Ezerus felt disdain for the ancient gods since a youngling, but never with the fierceness he now felt.
All fell silent as the column climbed the road in the slowing drizzle to the crest of the hill, where the torchlights atop a large block stone twin-tower gatehouse came into view less than a march ahead. With a new surge of vigor, the column, Tusaa’Ner, provisioners, and steeds, picked up their pace to get to Anza and safely within the walls of the city. Passing a side road on their right, they saw a red flag hanging almost limply with what looked to be a golden solar disk on it. Mark of the Ancient Marduk, Ezerus commented to himself. Another growing feeling of disdain flowed through him, though not as intensely as before. I can’t wait for the day these sensations cease.
The column was ordered to halt by Ezerus with a raised fist when in front of the gatehouse. All immediately complied with a rumble of murmurs from the Tusaa’Ner ranks. Double doors under a stone bridge spanning the two circular stone towers, were of stout timbers banded with metal top, middle, and bottom. Torches illuminated a trio of lightly hued flags bearing the scarlet winged-sword symbol high on the ramparts above. The symbol for Anza . . . and the Ancients of old. The latter came to him from knowledge not learned in his memories. What is happening to me?
