by B A Vonsik
“Then, Shuruppak reduced the coin it paid to Anza. It dwindled again as the good folks left the corruption and dangers here, except for a few of the lesser Houses. This House is one of them. The Ebon Circle helps it and the others survive, hoping there will be a day Anza returns to the prosperous city it once was, a city without the given coin destroying it, the corruption, and keep all those that prey upon the rest from making their own law on the street.”
“We endured some of what you spoke of last night and this morning,” Rogaan interjected. “We saw less of it today.”
“The taverns now fill with the unsavory and others looking for pleasures even when those they wish it from do not want it. They all think the taverns and streets are theirs to govern . . . and they do, except when officials visit. Farratum’s Tusaa’Ner and the Seb’Ner, today. The trouble hides on such days. At least they’re smart enough in that way.”
“The temples . . .” Rogaan wanted to understand what they were to his place seeing several of them were now all but hunting them along with the corrupt others. His father taught him most of this about the true history of Shuruppak and Turil, so Rogaan understood.
“They have their own interests.” Daluu offered a less-than-blissful explanation. “Most have keen eyes on the Ancients, our gods of old, carrying out rituals to keep the Ancients appeased, so their wrath goes other places. We are in the season of the Dur’Anki, and the rituals of Roden’ar are about to begin. That gives some relief to usual lawlessness in the streets and from those preying on others. Seems even the wicked, corrupt, and depraved can behave righteously when they fear accounting for their deeds. Makes me wish for Roden’ar every cycle of the moon.”
“And the Ebon Circle?” Aren asked, looking Daluu directly in the eyes.
“We are evil in the land . . . haven’t you been told?” Daluu mocked the common word across Shuruppak.
“Did not the Ebon Circle cause the civil war and sufferings of many throughout Shuruppak before its ending?” Aren asked, seemingly genuinely curious of what this Kabiri of the Ebon Circle held as truth.
“We need to get both of you out of Anza.” Daluu changed the subject. Then, he thought a moment before speaking again. “I will leave you with this. Our Charge by the Ancients . . . keep all things of the Ancients from the hands and hearts of humanity. Knowledge and things Agni that seem to corrupt all but the best of hearts and, sometimes, even them. The masters of the featherwings aiding you are the two who were at the heart of events all those years back. They were young . . . like us, then. They fought the Crimson Cabal, House Lagash, and others seeking power and dominion over the people of the lands through lies to the peoples of their intentions. For their battles keeping the peoples free, the ‘Dark Ax’ was hunted by the Urmuda’Sa and had his Light taken from him in the Grand Arena of Ur. His execution commanded so by the emperor and his loyal Houses. Executed by cowards seeking a lie to live their lives on. The master ‘Dark Robe’ too was hunted by the best of the Urmuda’Sa and captured. He was taken before the blood-lusting crowd in the Grand Arena to be executed as was his Kiuri’Ner. He then killed his executioner and the emperor from the belly of that beast as they made to execute him. It was precise. Many of the people, even the ones enticed into wanting to see his blood, he left alive. He did it with the Power, then escaped with the ‘Dark Ax’s’ body and returned his Light to him. Since then, they have dedicated themselves to Our Charge and to protecting the weak and aiding those unable to fight well enough for themselves.”
“You expect us to believe all of your words?” Aren clearly did not believe everything Daluu had spoken.
“Judge the Ebon Circle on our deeds,” the Kabiri stood tall and resolute. “Not by the words others speak of us without merit.”
Aren appeared conflicted to Rogaan, the Evendiir standing in the middle of the chamber with his mind racing, thinking on all he had learned in his past and what he now was experiencing. Rogaan understood most of what Daluu revealed as his father taught him well much the same. All through his years, he had heard much the opposite on the streets and from friends and neighbors. He regretted even falling to fearing the Ebon Circle. Still, some of it I harbor.
“And that dark featherwing that has aided Rogaan and kept watch over even you, Aren,” Daluu, the Ebon Circle Kabiri spoke, not as a better, but as an attempted friend. “It is the hand of the ‘Dark Robe’ himself reaching out.”
“It was exciting the battle we had with those leapers,” Aren recalled looking at Rogaan with immense satisfaction.
“Exciting . . . Speak for yourself,” Rogaan interrupted as he walked by with his carry pack full. “I am still cleaning stuff out of my pants from that one.”
“You may have need of these before the day is out.” The guardsman held out a quiver of arrows and a short bow in Rogaan’s path. Rogaan stopped short and stared at them for a few moments before he pulled from his back the half-stride-long black and tan hide case he had been carrying since he retrieved it from Trundiir on the Khaaron. He opened it and began assembling his shunir’ra, his masterwork . . . blue steel bow. He fit together the nisi’barzil, metal-blue limbs to the blue metallic handle section. The recurved limbs fit snuggly into their mounts where Rogaan then tightened them with a turn of a threaded screw and knob with his fingers and a grunt. Locked. He locked the second mounted limb in the same way. The handle grip wrapped in the best black and red raver hide available made the bow an attractive weapon. He pulled a blue metal cable out of the case and strung it to the bottom limb notch, then wrapped his leg around the lower limb. He took a breath, then grunted as he bent the bow limbs enough to attach the cable to the notch in the upper limb, then let the cable hold the straining power. A few drops of sweat dripped from his brow, though he did not know if it was from his straining or his prideful excitement. He looked at his bow with regrets for not having completed his Zagdu-i-Kuzu ceremony . . . his coming of age in the Tellen Clan. Turning the bow, he looked at the embedded gems he had put in the handle, five of them the size of his thumbnail. Four of the gems sparkled as light struck them . . . a red ruby, a blue sapphire, a yellow topaz, and a green emerald. Alone, they would make the bow worth a king’s ransom. A gift from his mother’s family, the House of Isin. Yet, the blue metal was priceless beyond the stones. A gift from his father he insisted was leftovers from a temple project that Rogaan now guessed was a gift from the Ebon Circle. It could not have originated from any other. And then the center gemstone, Rogaan now knew as a black Agni Stone, from his father’s imur’gisa . . . the rod-shaped talisman of his father’s Tellen Clan. Useless as one of the keys now. Holding his bow, Rogaan understood. This is the fourth key, and . . . evidently, so is my blood.
“If we are to face trouble like no other . . .” pondered Rogaan, “then let it be with a weapon like no other.”
“I’ve only heard of this bow and started to think it just a false tale.” Daluu looked at it in wonder. He stopped when he gazed at the black Agni Stone. “Should you have revealed it? Should it not stay concealed?”
“The best wood bow made . . . by the Sentii just broke in my hands against those Kunsag.” Rogaan put rational thoughts to his actions. “I will not have it happen again.
“I do not even know your name.” Rogaan looked to the guardsman.
“Esizila,” answered the big Baraan guardsman.
“Esizila, hold this for me.” Rogaan offered him his blue metal bow. “Take it. Hold it for me.”
Esizila’s face appeared drained of life as he looked to his Kabiri for guidance. Daluu simply nodded to his guardsman with his eyes pointing to the blue bow, the most prized bow in known existence sought after by Shunned and Ancient Vassal alike. Esizila reached out with slightly shaking hands taking the bow from Rogaan, then held it with a fear it would break—or take his Light.
Rogaan pulled out one of several small cases inside his larger case. He then pulled from his large case two steel reinforced wood shafts with fletching. Taking a blue metal broadh
ead from the small case, he mated it with the shaft. They locked together with a very carefully done twist. He did the same with a second arrow, then placed both arrows in special slots on the outside of his black and tan case where the broadheads were protected from unintentional contact. Replacing everything into the larger case, he slung it back on himself. Then, Rogaan held out his hand to Esizila. The guardsman handed Rogaan back his shunir’ra, then exhaled with great relief before starting to breathe again.
“Solid name,” Rogaan looked at Esizila. Looking to the guardsman’s weapons: a short sword, long knife, and metal spear. “I hope you are good with those.”
“Indeed, I am,” Esizila confidently answered.
“We all good to go forward?” Rogaan looked at Daluu and Aren.
“I can’t top that,” Aren replied having been slightly humbled by the bow.
“Neither can I,” Daluu replied. “Let’s depart this unwelcoming city.”
Chapter 33
The Wrong Side
Under a partly cloudy sky void of all but two featherwings, the Farratum Tusaa’Ner column closed on Anza’s Blood Bridge as reports from his scouts about disturbances around the city came to him. Sorting through what was important to consider and what wasn’t was less a discipline and more a guess. Of his guesses, several close to Blood Bridge interested him most and seemed likely to be what he and his . . . master sought.
Riding next to him on her sarig was his seergal, Dajil. In her blue armor the pain she endured with each shift in her saddle was obvious by her numerous grimaces and breathless exhales she managed. Let her suffer. Maybe her mouth will be more respectful. Still, Dajil succeeded in giving Ezerus a lazy eye roll timed with another painful breathless moan. If only I can get those rolling eyes to be respectful. Behind her, riding a sarig, Farratum’s Za of ambition and failure, Dajil’s mother. Behind her mother, in the niisku-drawn wagon sitting next to the driver, was Ganzer trying his best not to be noticed. Next to Dajil, and behind himself, rode the . . . master. Ezerus felt the Power swirling about him and through himself. Difficult to feel and even more difficult to understand and yet much more difficult to control, the Power felt as if it was always there. Where the kunza was, Ezerus didn’t know. He . . . the Shunned, directly tasked the kunza and a small group of their hardiest and off they went on the perimeter road. Their independent tasking didn’t sit well with Ezerus as he didn’t like being left out of things he was to have command and control of. Rules get remade.
Having just passed the Halls of Anza, large block stone constructions said to have been in existence since the Ancients walked the world, where city affairs were now conducted, Ezerus wondered how many of the Anza Tusaa’Ner would “escort” his column to make certain it didn’t pose a threat to the city or its schemes. As the Farratum Tusaa’Ner column made its way down the main street, Ezerus noted the closed storefronts and those still on the cobblestones and plank walkways seeking to disappear at the column’s approach. Fearful people, he concluded. Passing an empty cross road leading left to the middle of three bridges spanning the central ravine of Anza and right to the temples to the Ancients of Anza, Ezerus started preparing himself for what he would say to the antaal’sahkal. The commander of a Seb’Ner force was a high official and someone with knowledge of Shuruppak and her laws. He must have been sent here in place of the arranged Anubda’Ner. Likely to stop us. Maybe to destroy us. Ezerus held no illusions about the reason the Seb’Ner was sent. He thought making the attempt invoking his station as Shuruppak Subar superseding the antaal’sahkal’s command and hope the commander would not fully understand that by the laws he could only do such a thing outside the walls of Shuruppak cities. More vacated streets told Ezerus he was right in anticipating a block and a fight they dared challenge it. We’ll . . . He’ll challenge it.
At their approach to the southernmost city bridge . . . the only means of accessing Blood Bridge and the Blood Lands, Ezerus noted that many of the royal blue guardians were present either on the bridge or on the road leading to it. Glancing back, he saw no sign of the city’s Tusaa’Ner. A lost opportunity to place forces on opposite sides of their enemy, he thought darkly. More closed storefronts, inns, and taverns lined the street around the street intersection ahead as were no citizens outside here. Beyond the intersection lay South Gate and what Ezerus could see, many royal blue guardians. They truly don’t want us traveling south, Ezerus observed.
Sitting atop sarigs in the intersection was as if a memory from the previous night. Two groups of mounted officials flanked by foot-bound guards. On the right, three Baraan males dressed in hide body armor with gleaming metal shoulders, helms, and scarlet sashes were 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 held tall by that same young soldier sitting upon a sarig next to the more stoutly built and older Baraan who wore a helm with royal blue feathers and a red cape . . . the emblems of command.
“Come no farther, Tusaa’Ner of Farratum!” shouted the Anza Tusaa’Ner commander.
“So, this is where you choose to be, Darvaar?” Ezerus taunted.
“One must know which facing success lies,” Darvaar replied pragmatically with much confidence.
“Seergal . . .” Ezerus issued his command.
“Tusaa’Ner . . . Column, halt!” Dajil screeched with a groan ending the issued command.
Ezerus saw his grimace reflected in those facing him atop their sarigs five strides away. The Farratum Tusaa’Ner column came to a halt. Ezerus surveyed the guardsmen in the intersections and along the road on the left to the bridge. We’re outnumbered, he concluded.
“Za . . .” Ezerus offered his introduction for Irzal.
An awkward silence followed until Ezerus felt the anger flash. Not his, but he felt it all the same. Irzal spurred her sarig into moving in between Ezerus and her daughter. She looked all the part of a Za with her bright white robe, gold collar necklace, and gem-inlaid gold and silver tiara arched atop her dirty-blond hair. Ezerus made note of the wind . . . swirling, but generally from their back. It will have to do.
“By order of the Zas and sanctioned by the Shuruppak Grand Council, you are commanded to stand aside, then take up position as escort to the ancient city of Vaikuntaars.” Za Irzal spoke in her best Za mannerisms, full of arrogance and condescension.
Nothing. No guardsman moved a booted or sandaled foot. Ezerus felt the heavy, awkward silence and the heat building up in Irzal. So, there she is . . . He wondered when she would show that side of her again.
“I said—” Za Irzal was cut off by the stoutly built Baraan in eur armor wearing the royal blue-feathered helm and red cape.
“I am antaal’sahkal of the Shuruppak Seb’Ner,” the commander of the Seb’Ner spoke loudly and with absolute conviction. “You are ordered by the Grand Council to return to Farratum where you will face discipline for actions against The Peoples.”
“How dare you—” Za Irzal spoke with vexed rage at the insubordination of the antaal’sahkal but was again cut off by him.
“I am ordered . . . by the Shuruppak Grand Council to take you, Za Irzal, into custody if you refuse.” Again, the antaal’sahkal spoke with absolute confidence and certainty.
No. The Subar trickery won’t work on this one, Ezerus concluded. He’s a formidable leader, and by the looks of him, will be difficult to defeat with a blade.
“A mistake has been made,” Za Irzal started glancing nervously to Ezerus and Dajil. “Send word to the Grand Council to have them confirm our permissions. It must be quick.”
“A mistake has been made . . . Za Irzal,” the antaal’sahkal, harsh and unbending, offered an explanation. “You have been lied to. No permission has been given for you or your . . . horde to anger the Ancients or the Sentii.”
“This cannot be . . .” A shocked and desperate expression contorted Irzal’s face as she loo
ked around. Finding her aide, she paused. “Ganzer, what is this about?”
“I must defer to Lucufaar, my Za . . .” Ganzer spoke loud enough for Irzal to hear, then went back to trying not to be seen.
Ezerus felt the Power growing, surging. He lowered his hand to his sword attached to his saddle. Looking and assessing, he saw the Tusaa’Ner were completely unaware of the danger they were in, but the Seb’Ner commander and his guardsmen sensed it. Lucufaar reigned in his sarig next to Ezerus. Dressed in a new set of black and lavender tunic, pants, and black leather boots, the “aide’s” lean, wiry build did not diminish his dangerous aura. Ezerus was a little surprised at how well his lean, clean-shaven face and silver-streaked gray hair looked . . . almost completely healed. Sensing the surging of the Power in the aide, Ezerus looked at Darvaar. “My fellow Tusaa’Ner . . . you chose the wrong side.”
“If I may . . . I might be able to clear up this misunderstanding,” Lucufaar offered to the group before them. “It is by my authority we shall enter the ancient lands, and you shall do as I will it.”
