Rise of Serpents

by B A Vonsik

  “I demand again, who asks for entrance to the guardian city, Anza?” a voice from atop the ramparts almost yelled.

  Ezerus blinked, finally seeing the guardsman above dressed in a combination of hide chest and metal shoulder armor and metal helm. A scarlet sash hung from his belt matching larger versions hanging from each of the towers left and right. Ezerus felt many eyes staring at him and looked about. Everywhere he looked, he found eyes waiting for him to answer the guardsman. Embarrassed at being caught up in his thoughts . . . and everyone seeing it, Ezerus growled at himself before answering. “This is the Tusaa’Ner guard of the Za Irzal. You should have word of our travels to your city.”

  “You’re expected . . . enter,” the guardsman announced, then waved his right arm.

  The sound of heavy metal clasps and a bolt preceded both doors slowly swinging open to the inside. Ezerus raised his hand to signal for the column to move forward. Shouts from Dajil and the kunza echoed his signal announcing for their Tusaa’Ner and provisioners to enter the city. Ezerus noted the construction of the gate’s stonework, well fitted large blocks of granite with no gaps in between. Open slots on both walls of the inner sides of the towers showed a metal portcullis that could be slid or rolled on a stone trench they passed over. The design had the metal bars on the outer side of the timber doors when everything was closed, making the gate extremely difficult to breach. This has to be the work of Tellens, and by the look, very ancient, Ezerus took note. Inside, he noted the rest of the walls surrounding the city were not of stone, but larger, three-banded timbers, like the doors, set in massive stone platforms. At evenly spaced intervals . . . about one hundred strides, block stone towers rose to the height and some of the timbers providing stout lookout posts that would be hard to take down. At intervals in between the towers, additional timbers were set as braces to the walls. Strong . . . simple . . . able to absorb tanniyn assaults. Ezerus found himself admiring the work and design.

  Half-filled stables with fenced animal yards lined the left of the stone-paved road to the timbered wall. To the right, another paved road went off that appeared to follow the timbered perimeter wall as far as his eyes could see in the darkness. Past the perimeter road and at the right side of the road, more stables, and in between them, several large, stone-walled inns with slate roofs and chimney smoke . . . from hopefully cooking fires. Standing at the right side of the road, in front of the fenced pen, were a rabble of thirty-some citizens waving lit torches and red flags, some being no more than rags. Their chant sounded like street noise to Ezerus as he could not make out their words. As the Tusaa’Ner column passed the rabble, he noted they were all Baraans, mostly males . . . and young, except for a couple of elders in their midst. At seeing Ezerus, one of the elders, dressed in red and yellow temple robes, stepped forward, silencing the rabble. In the torch glow and with a purposeful gaze focused on Ezerus, he spoke in a deep voice filled with pride and conviction. “He has risen! His names are fifty! Behold our new protector and savior!”

  Confused at the elder’s gleeful proclamation, Ezerus proceeded onward with the Tusaa’Ner column as a sense of urgency welled up inside of him. What in Kur is this? he asked himself. On the road ahead at a spot where a packed dirt path leading right off to the inns met the paved stones, stood what appeared to be two groups of sarig-mounted officials flanked by torchbearers. On the right, three Baraan males dressed in hide body with gleaming metal shoulder armor and helm and scarlet sashes were what Ezerus assumed to be Anza Tusaa’Ner. On the left, five mounted officials on stout sarigs, each in dark-padded eur armor with bronze chest plates and helms, and royal blue sashes. Their standard of the moon atop a lightning bolt on a royal blue flag was held tall by a young soldier sitting upon his sarig next to a more stoutly built and older Baraan who wore a helm with the royal blue feathered crest and a red cape of command. No Anubda’Ner . . . and what in Kur is the Seb’Ner doing here? Ezerus asked himself with alarm that things were not going to plan. Then, he reflected as well as reminded himself . . . Nothing has gone to plan, now that I think on things.

  He raised his right fist high when he was within a rock throwing distance to the eight on the road ahead. Shouts from the seergal and kunza brought the Tusaa’Ner to a halt. Ezerus urged his sarig on with his steed obeying in even steps forward. Sarig footfalls and a snort from another steed behind him told Ezerus Dajil fell in trail and would accompany him with the parlay in greeting from the eight. He and Dajil brought their steeds to a halt in front of and in between the two groups with her to his right. Ezerus realized the kunza also accompanied them on foot, on his left, bearing a lit touch.

  “Greetings the great city, Anza,” spoke the center official on the right.

  “Greetings from the guardians of Za Irzal,” responded Ezerus.

  Ezerus’s gaze shifted to the five on the left. They remained silent. This is not going well, he thought. He decided to push on the silence as he moved his right hand to allow the torchlights to touch his signet ring. “Greetings to the Seb’Ner.”

  The Seb’Ner with the blue feather-crested helm and red cape simply nodded in acknowledgment. A moment of awkward silence filled their space until the Tusaa’Ner broke it.

  “I am Darvaar . . .” The Tusaa’Ner removed his helm, revealing shoulder-length black hair and a scarred face under a scruffy dark beard. His helm tucked under arm, a gesture of friendly greetings. “You will have these inns and the pens surrounding them for your stay.”

  “I am Ezerus . . . ar’seergal of this Tusaa’Ner troop of guardians,” announced Ezerus in polite tones as he removed his helm, then tucked it under his arm in a way that his right hand and Subar signet ring sat high for the torchlight to dance on it. “Your offer is generous. We accept.”

  “When you have settled, there is much to discuss and plan for the travel into these mountains.” Darvaar spoke with a nervous tone as he glanced toward the Seb’Ner commander. “Send word by one of my guardians when you are ready.”

  Ezerus looked to the Seb’Ner commander who remained silent. Nothing . . . Something is off, Ezerus noted to himself. Tipping his head to the Tusaa’Ner, he placed his helm on, then urged his sarig, turning it back to the column. Dajil and the kunza followed.

  “That went well . . .” Dajil cynically commented with a hint of satisfaction in her high-pitched voice.

  “Take care, daughter of Irzal,” cautioned Ezerus with a menacing grimace. “Push on me no more or you will be put to discipline and the Question. See to your Tusaa’Ner.”

  Dajil held her tongue and kept her face passive at Ezerus’s unveiled threats. After a long moment of reflection or lacking something snappy to say, she urged her sarig forward, shouting orders for the kunza and the guardsmen to follow. Ezerus watched them herd what remained of the Tusaa’Ner and provisioners into the space and pens around the inns. As the wagon carrying Irzal and him passed, Ezerus felt that sense of urgency flare powerfully, causing him a ripple of discomfort climbing his spine. I’m missing something, Ezerus thought to himself. What is it?

  Chapter 27

  Discipline

  Yawing deeply, he tried again to shake off the drowsiness that seemed to cling to him. Sleep was evasive most of the night, despite the respectable bed he had been provided by the innkeeper. What am I missing? he asked himself for the countless time. When he did manage to sleep, his dreams were filled of him and his thoughts, though Ezerus remembered few of the details. That frustrated him as much as he felt relieved. Yet, that sense of urgency lurking in the back of his mind . . . He was uncertain where it came from and what the urgency was about. Still, he acted on it before sitting for his meal by sending off one of the Anza Tusaa’Ner guardsmen assigned to their inn. Now, he waited.

  “Another drink?” asked the attractive, dark-haired Baraan barmaid.

  Ezerus looked down at his plate and mug that was his morning meal. Remaining, a half-eaten leg of tanniyn, of what he didn’t know, though it ate well, a few berries, and some pieces of f
latbread. His mug of ale almost empty. “Another . . . yes.”

  Transfixed on the barmaid swaying her way back to the bar with her knee-length green dress flowing to her movements, Ezerus watched. Stepping into his line of sight and spoiling his view of the barmaid approached Darvaar in his Tusaa’Ner armor uniform with its scarlet sash. Annoyed, Ezerus did his usual best at controlling his outer demeanor, putting a smile on his face. He made a mock attempt to rise from his chair in a show of respect that Darvaar waved him off from completing.

  “Enjoying our fresh mountain tanniyn?” Darvaar asked, breaking the silence.

  “It’s some of the best tasting I’ve had,” Ezerus replied politely. The scars under the Anza Tusaa’Ner’s shoulder-length black hair and scruffy dark beard were deeper and more pronounced in the light of the day.

  “A chair?” Darvaar held his open hand pointing at the unused chair at Ezerus’s table.

  A nod from Ezerus found the local Tusaa’Ner sitting across from him. Ezerus expected to be summoned and escorted to Darvaar’s defender hall. Instead, the Tusaa’Ner was alone, sitting with him in the tavern. In the spirit of his usual tactics dealing with others, Ezerus kept silent waiting for Darvaar to reveal the purpose of his visit.

  “Are you getting all needed to prepare for your journey?” Darvaar asked.

  “Your people are helpful,” Ezerus replied. “I am told we will be ready to depart tomorrow morning.”

  “Blankets are being added to the supplies with the air turning cold . . .” said Darvaar with a hint of something more needing talked of. He looked a Baraan in a dilemma, and an uncomfortable one at that, struggling to speak, but only after a few attempts before managing to overcome that keeping him silent. “I was paid well to see all of you quickly prepared for travel into the Blood Lands despite protests by the local guilds and by the privileged.”

  Ezerus knew of the local resistance against anyone traveling into the forbidden lands and of the payments made by Irzal in balkas and gems . . . and his recent discovery, younglings, all bypassing both the local Ensi and citizens and into this one’s secret chests or chambers. Noting the unsettled manner of the Baraan, Ezerus’s curiosity climbed as he nodded to his “fellow” Tusaa’Ner, hoping he would continue.

  “I was told the Anubda’Ner would be providing final payment,” Darvaar continued. “Yet, these Seb’Ner appeared . . . and no Anubda’Ner . . . and not knowing anything of our agreement. Worse, how do you know of them and their antaal’sagkal?”

  “The Seb’Ner?” Ezerus asked, wanting to be clear of which group Darvaar was talking.

  “Of course,” Darvaar shot back with a hint of frustration. “Their antaal’seergal means not to let you pass into the wilds beyond. He’s already placed some of his guardsmen on the bridge.”

  An uncomfortable flash of urgency swept through Ezerus. This isn’t the missing, though is not planned for. He needed as much information as this Darvaar would give up and that was best possible if he wasn’t on edge. Ezerus decided to give him assurances with a mix of truths and lies. “Your final payment is safe in my hands. The Anubda’Ner is no longer part of this, though I didn’t expect such a large contingent of Seb’Ner. I need details of where they are and how many. And what of my supplies?”

  “I will tell of their places,” agreed Darvaar. “Yet, I must have payment—”

  “Payment will be provided when my Tusaa’Ner are beyond the bridge,” Ezerus interrupted with his unnegotiable position. “The supplies?”

  Darvaar looked a Baraan who had eaten dung. He struggled with not getting what he wanted but eventually agreed after looking into Ezerus’s unyielding eyes. “Your supplies are split up. Half are in the outer storehouse of the home behind the Anza Halls. There are niisku with wagons and sarigs there for you, as well.”

  Darvaar fell silent, appearing to consider the merit of holding back on all information about their supplies. Ezerus simply stared at the Baraan. The silence became uncomfortable, then deafening to the scarlet Tusaa’Ner. Ezerus then shifted slightly in his chair leaning forward with his right hand resting atop his left hand on the table. “I will see you put to the Question if you keep anything to bargain with.”

  Darvaar looked to Ezerus’s unblinking eyes, then to his tapping finger. It took a few moments before the Tusaa’Ner authority of Anza recognized the signet ring of the Subar. The Baraan’s eyes shot wide as sweat began pouring from his brow. He swallowed . . . hard.

  “Forgiveness . . . Subar . . .” Darvaar’s demeanor turned fearful in a blink.

  “The supplies?” Ezerus repeated.

  “At an old mine not more than several marches into the Blood Lands,” Darvaar spoke rapidly trying to get everything out in one breath. “A trusted patrol keeps it guarded. It can be found in the east foothills. I put a few more sarigs there with the supplies.”

  “What else?” Ezerus asked while fingering his signet ring. That sense of urgency remained, though Ezerus sensed a feeling of satisfaction that wasn’t his own.

  “Nothing more except those followers of Marduk entering the city just before you arrived and marching on one of the other temples chanting something about rising to fifty,” Darvaar offered.

  A flash of fear rippled through Ezerus, then was gone. What in Kur was that? Unsettled and not wanting to show it, Ezerus made to get up from the table.

  “Your ale,” smiled the dark-haired barmaid as she presented a fresh mug to Ezerus.

  Ezerus settled back down into his chair as she set the mug on the table. She was pleasant to the eyes and had a way about her that Ezerus found favorable. She quietly stood demurely waiting for something. At first, Ezerus was not knowing what she wanted, then realized payment was expected for the meal. “Ah. How much?”

  “A silver balka for the meal and mugs,” she replied.

  “A bit steep . . .” He thought to negotiate lower, but then thought better of it wanting to watch the barmaid sway about. He plucked a silver and several copper balkas from his belt pouch and gave it to the smiling woman. She nodded slightly before turning toward the bar. Transfixed on her swaying in that green dress, Ezerus forced himself to look down, then to the Anza Tusaa’Ner to break her charm. The urge to take one more peek at her found him glancing back to where he expected and wanted to see her again. His innards clenched. Approaching was the red-blond-haired Dajil with clenched fist and another fume on her slender face. Without looking at Darvaar, he spoke dismissively. “Get me details on the Seb’Ner. We’re done here.”

  Darvaar spotted the hostile Dajil, dressed in her blue armor and red cape, stamping toward them. He made sure to disappear before she arrived. Loosing what was left of this calm, even enjoyable moment, Ezerus became annoyed. Subduing his exasperation, he met Dajil’s green-eyed gaze as she closed the distance to him. She continues with her displeasure.

  “Why am I kept from Mother?” her radiant-green eyes in a fume, Dajil demanded in a huff. She stood with fists on hips before the ar’seergal’s corner table. She seemed not to care that many Tusaa’Ner sat in the tavern area of the inn, also eating and some heavily drinking their morning meals.

  Ezerus maintained his calm exterior despite his growing annoyance as he relaxed back into his chair, his eyes shifting from the angry seergal to his unfinished meal. A waste of food with all these troubled ones around, he thought.

  “My mother . . .” Dajil spoke impatiently in her irritating, high-pitched tones and anger-filled eyes. Ezerus raised his right hand, extending his index finger with the intent to get her controlled with his own dismissive display.

  “Correct your ways.” Ezerus controlled his growing anger, though his grimacing at her voice was not.

  “My ways?” Dajil indignantly replied in her irritating, high-pitched voice. “What’s he doing to her—”

  In a single move, Ezerus stood and grabbed Dajil by the throat, locking his fingers around her slender tan neck, her skin only a few shades lighter than his own. Her radiant-green eyes went wide in comple
te surprise. His action surprised himself as well. It was unlike anything he had done before. Ezerus preferred to manipulate minds and emotions. It took longer in achieving yet was more effective and more satisfying. This urge to strangle the seergal was something new that both shocked him as much as gave him satisfaction, especially if it made her not talk.

  “Your disrespect is at an end!” Ezerus growled, his anger on display for everyone to see. Dajil struck at his arm with her fist to no effect except for making the Subar angrier. Ezerus yanked at her violently, increasing the strain of his grip on her throat while dragging her along toward the front doors of the inn. Choking sounds replaced her words. Then, the sound of a blade sliding from its sheath alarmed as well as angered Ezerus. He stopped and yanked forward Dajil with more strength than he thought he had, lifting her boots off the wood planks and slamming her to the floor on her back. A painful gasp came out of her mouth. She let out another gasp when Ezerus closed his left hand around her arm stopping her from driving the blade of her long knife into his midsection.

  “Release her!” loudly demanded an experienced, even-toned voice.

  Ezerus looked up from the struggling Dajil to find the grizzled, gray-bearded Baraan standing tall in his armor in a ready-to-fight stance with hand on the pommel of his long knife. Several others of the Tusaa’Ner found the courage to stand with their kunza. Ezerus took his hand from Dajil’s throat and grabbed her long knife as she choked breath into her lungs. The kunza half-drew his blade, causing Ezerus to raise his eyebrows in an unintimidated manner. He then tossed Dajil’s blade to the floor so that it was out of her reach. Standing, Ezerus met the kunza’s challenging stare. “Prepare the rack, kunza. This insubordination by the seergal is to be addressed.”

  “Ar’seergal . . .” the kunza left incomplete his question as regulation called for a confirming of a “discipline” session. This was to be her fate. When he grasped the fullness of the situation, he fully sheathed his long knife, then tried not to carry out the command. “That discipline is only for the lower ranks. Never has a—”