Warrior on the Edge of Memory (The Tale of Azaran Book 1)

by Zackery Arbela

  Nightfall. The runaways lit no fires after dark, but there was no need at the moment. The Mansion filled the sky, its great blue and green face reflecting a soft light that turned the black night into a soft gray, one that extended every shadow and seemed to dampen sound in the forest. People crawled into their huts for rest, some taking a moment to thank whatever gods they worshiped that they lived another day free of chains. Sentries took their posts as well, perched on tall rocks, some climbing into trees, anywhere they might find a vantage point.

  Tavarus was among them. He couldn't sleep, choosing instead to sit atop a large boulder on the western edge of the bowl. His sword lay to the right, within easy reach of his hand. He held a handful of dried fish, chewing on it while his eyes watched the woods.

  He raised his hand to his mouth for another bite. Then he grabbed the sword and turned about.

  Azaran raised his hands. "I'm coming the wrong way for an enemy."

  Tavarus lowered the blade. "Sorry. On edge at the moment."

  "Understandable." Azaran looked around. "Do you always stand watch alone?"

  "Only time of the day when I can think in peace."

  "Dangerous though. If trouble comes along..."

  Tavarus raised the blade again. "Trouble like you?"

  "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't take the time to talk. You would be dead."

  Tavarus nodded slowly. "Aye, I probably would be. From what Segovac says, you're a master in the art of murder."

  "Is that meant to be an insult?” Azaran asked, an edge entering his voice. He wasn't a...well, he was a killer, but a murderer...no, he wasn't that.

  "All killing is murder, when you get down to it," said Tavarus. "Stab a man in his bed, stab him on the battlefield, what's the difference?"

  "Honor."

  "Just a word." Tavarus shook his head. "One more reason for men to get themselves killed."

  "Yet you rescued us," said Azaran. "You could have let those pirates take Segovac and I."

  "Segovac is a friend. And you...well, I'm thinking on that. But honor hasn't kept us alive in these woods."

  "But it has given you a reason to keep living. But if you head north, you won't be among the living for long. Enkilash is coming. And you will die."

  Tavarus frowned. "You heard me speak with Segovac."

  "I have very good ears."

  "I won't have spies in my camp."

  Azaran saw the grip on his sword tighten. "I am not your enemy,' he said. "In fact, we can help each other. And by the looks of it, you need all the help you can get."

  "And what do you want in return?"

  "That you help me."

  Tavarus considered this. He lowered the sword. "Blades away then. You first. Did you really lose your memories, or is that just a story you told Segovac?"

  "It's the truth, I'll swear by any god you care to name. I do not remember anything before the day the Corsairs pulled me from the sea. And most of what I have seen since is not worthy of remembrance."

  "You fight as man trained for battle. And those marks on your chest..."

  "What do you know of them?"

  Tavarus lay the sword back down on the rock. "What did Segovac tell you about me?"

  That you were a slave," Azaran said. "He helped you escape because you are countrymen."

  "He left out certain details. I am Eburrean, though of a different clan than our friend. I was born of a noble family and trained in arms from the moment I could hold a sword. In time I became a man of respect and renown. But things were changing among our people. The days when clan fought clan are coming to an end. A high king declared himself and all clans were called upon to submit. Our chieftain refused, he kept to the old ways. He died and his sons quarreled over the succession. The eldest swore allegiance to the king, the younger vowed to protect our ancient liberties. It came to violence and the younger son died. Those of us who supported him were given the choice of swearing their allegiance alongside the new chieftain or going into exile. Most chose to bend the knee. I chose to leave."

  "A man of principle."

  "At the time. Could I do it over, the choice would have been different." Tavarus grimaced, as though a foul taste was in his mouth. "I came to Tereg. Word had gone out that Enkilash ruled now and he was paying good coin for fighting men."

  "You served him?"

  "There is no shame in taking the mercenary's path. I fought with him for some years. In time he gave me rank of a sort and command of my own ship. We raided across the Middle Sea. Every town of note on Hadaraj was struck. I took my share of the plunder, I make no apologies for it, for that is the way of war. You have likely heard of the Wind Stones, those orbs he uses to control the wind, yes?"

  "I've seen them, but only from a distance."

  "No one knows where they come from or how Enkilash got his hands on the full set, only that they were already in his possession when he came to the Isle. But they are the key to his power, for he can sail his ships to any corner of the world in a fraction of the time it would take anyone else. He can calm the most raging storm, or pull one from a clear blue sky, can turn the winds against the fleets of his enemies, shredding their sails and driving their ships on rocks. They make the winds his servants, but that power comes with a cost, which I discovered one day.

  “Every year, around the midsummer solstice, it is the habit of Enkilash to visit the mountain in the center of the island. There are caves on the eastern slopes that go deep into the interior. He does not go there alone; along with his guards, he brings a mob of captives, bound and chained. A day later Enkilash and his men return. The slaves do not."

  "He is killing them?" Azaran asked.

  "That was the rumor. Sacrifices to some Hadaraji god of darkness, to which he had given his soul in exchange for worldly power, or some claimed. Others had even stranger stories - that he and his men murdered the prisoners and ate their corpses, that he bathed in the blood as part of some rite to gain immortality. No one ever had the stones to ask him and for my part I never gave it much thought. Then one day he summons me, says that I will lead the warriors hauling the slaves to the mountain. There were a hundred of them, men and women, poor starving wretches. I tried to beg off, but Enkilash insisted. So I took my men, we chained the slaves and marched them to the mountain.”

  His voice became more distant as he remembered, the events still as clear as though they happened the day before. "Two days on narrow forest tracks. Lost a few to bad falls, one woman picked some mushroom from a log and ate it. Poisoned herself...and I can't say she was wrong. We reach the mountain and take inside a cave on the western slope. It's hot inside and gets worse the further in we go. There are hot springs in the mountain.

  "Enkilash is there, and with him is another man I do not know. He is a Hadaraji...an odd sight, since Enkilash is known to hate the men of that land. The steam rises suddenly and Enkilash looks away. Then the Hadaraji is gone and in his place is someone else. I've never seen a man like him. He's pale, like a corpse, his head is shaved. He is bare to the waist, and I see on his chest lines of runes, circling about his torso. Runes like yours."

  "Are you sure?" Azaran asked.

  "Sure as I can be. I didn't get too close a look, but yours look the same as his, though you are different in all other ways. The steam cleared, Enkilash turned back, and the pale man was gone, and in his place stood the Hadaraji. Somehow he changed his appearance."

  "He could change his shape?"

  "Sorcery," said Tavarus. "Only explanation I could think of. Anyway, the fake Hadaraji stands before a large iron bowl that seems to be glowing along the rim. I see more runes cut into it. Behind him are some other...things, I don't know what to call them. They were strange in shape, had a glow that made my eyes swim and seemed to be made of both metal and crystal.

  “The slaves are lined up. One by one they are led to the bowl. He takes out a knife made from obsidian. Enkilash and another man hold each slave down over the bowl, the pale man then cuts the slave
's throat. They keep him there until all the blood is drained from his body, then toss the corpse into a nearby pool of boiling, stinking water. Soon enough it's choked with the dead and the place is slick with blood. By the time the last slave is killed, the bowl is full to the brim with blood. Enkilash then pulls out his Three Eyes and submerges them in the blood. The sorcerer does something with his toys. There is flashing light and I look away. When I finally turn back, the blood is gone from the bowl, every last drop. All three of the Eyes are glowing like small suns. The corpses floating in the pool are falling apart before my eyes, the flesh melting away like wax, the bones sinking to the bottom. I remember seeing the face of one man, staring at me with sorrow. I can never forget it, no matter how hard I try."

  He stopped for a moment, spitting off to his left and making some symbol over his heart. Protection against bad fortune. "After that, serving Enkilash was not something I could do. A warrior earns his place in this world, through his strength and cunning. When he swings his sword, it's against a worthy opponent, not some mewling wretch led to the slaughter. Vile rites of that sort...Enkilash defiled himself and every man who served him. I thought about killing him, but chose instead to bide my time. A year went by, I pretended to be the loyal servant. When the next solstice came about, I learned where the next batch of prisoners was being held, killed the guards and let them flee into the forest. Enkilash was...well, you can imagine how he reacted. I tried to escape, but they caught me stealing a boat in the harbor. Enkilash beat me, was ready to kill me, but instead decided I should serve him better by dying slowly. They chained me to a rock in the harbor at low tide. I would have drowned, except Segovac came out during the night on a small boat and freed me. He got me through the town and into the woods, even found a pack of rations and some water. For that I owe him my life."

  He finished his take. Azaran said nothing for a while, trying to make sense of it. Another man with marks like his, runes of power branded into his flesh. But this man was no hero. Men and women led to the slaughter, bled out like cattle under the butcher's knife, just so Enkilash could have his toys, could continue his plundering, numbing his internal misery with the screams of his victims.

  Was I like that? A murderer? Those words were his own. And for a moment he did not want to remember. Wanted to run into the night, run into the sea and start swimming until he came to another shore. Go far away from this, far away from everything, become just one man among many, lost in the vastness of this world.

  You are a weapon. The voice from the past.

  The past is written. So declared his silent passenger. What will come is in your hands.

  "Why..." Azaran paused a moment, clearing his throat and finding his voice. "Why do you stay? A man with your talents could surely find a way off this island."

  "Where would I go?" came Tavaru's answer. "I am still an outlaw in my homeland. Life in Hadaraj, Gusannagar or any other foreign place is not to my taste. And I am needed here."

  "They accept you as their leader."

  "Despite their better judgment. It's an odd thing, being needed. It gives a man reason to keep going. I could flee, but what will happen to those left behind? They need me and I...I need to be needed."

  "Then you will die with them," said Azaran. "Enkilash is coming for me."

  "Are you that much of a thorn in his side?"

  "I set fire to Otossa."

  Tavarus stared at him. "That was you?"

  "Segovac didn't tell you?"

  "He neglected to mention it...you are serious? We saw the smoke two days ago..." He shook his head. "Azaran, you have some stones on you. But I was a fool to bring you here..."

  "What's done is done," Azaran said. "And whether or not you gave us shelter, the hard truth is this; Enkilash has his eyes fixed on this side of the island. He will know you pose a threat to him now, those men you killed a day ago will tell him this. After the solstice his fleet will take to the seas for whatever place they intend to plunder. And along the way they will come here and burn you out. With me or without me, he will come, but with me you might have a chance to survive."

  "What will you do," Tavarus shot back. "Boast them to death?"

  Azaran looked him in the eye. "I will help you kill Enkilash."

  "And I'll piss wine and shit gold dust."

  "I am serious."

  "So am I. It won't happen..."

  "Hear me out." And the tone of his voice stopped Tavarus in mid-scoff. "The solstice is two days from now. When it comes, Enkilash will be in those caves. Away from Otossa, his fleet and all his men save those he brings with him. He is vulnerable."

  "As a porcupine with it's quills out. Did you not hear me? He doesn't go into those caves alone."

  "How many guards were with him when you went there?"

  "I suppose..." Tavarus thought on this. "Perhaps two dozen. More than that and the cave wouldn't hold them and the slaves."

  "And when you were there," Azaran asked, "was there any fear that someone from the outside would attack?"

  "No, of course not. There was no one on the island who could have been a threat. The men were brought along to wrangle the captives."

  "And why would it be different this time around?" Azaran asked. "As far as he is concerned, you and yours are a bunch of starvelings hiding in the trees, afraid of your own shadows. He doesn't expect an attack from the outside and more importantly neither do his men. We have the element of surprise."

  Tavarus wasn't convinced. "It would take a small army to attack those caves. I'd have to reach out to the other camps, convince them to go along. Then collect the men, arm them, train them...it would take weeks to put together. We don't have the time."

  "We don't need an army," said Azaran. "A small band of picked men, the best you can find. We approach the mountain at night and by stealth. Take them unawares. Cut our way into the cave before they know what what is happening. It's the last thing he would expect, his focus will be on the ritual."

  Tavarus thought on this. "Yes...I could see it working. Assuming we are spotting going on, we don't get lost in the dark, if he hasn't brought more guards this year and they don't put up too much of a fight..."

  "I didn't say it was a sure thing. But it's the only chance we have."

  "We?" Tavarus asked. "Are you part of our camp now?"

  "When Enkilash comes," Azaran said, "I am dead with the rest of you."

  Tavarus shook his head. "No, that's not it. You would escape. Segovac said you fight like a demon. I saw you cut down those men in the woods. Truth be told, I almost told my men not to shoot, to see what would have happened if you took on those fellows that came after."

  "I would have died. I am a man, not a god."

  "You would escape," Tavarus repeated. "Enkilash is nothing to you. But I can guess why you want to go in. You want to see the man with the knife. Is he kin to you? An enemy?"

  "I don't know," Azaran answered, somewhat irritated. "I can't remember."

  "Right, your lost memories..."

  "It's the truth!"

  Tavarus shrugged. "As you say...take no offense, Azaran. But it's not something a man finds easy to believe."

  Azaran held back his anger. "Believe what you want," he said. "Say my reasons are my own. The fact remains, my plan is the only chance you and yours have to survive. A slim chance, but better than nothing. What say you, Tavarus? Are you a warrior? Or has Enkilash beaten you into the shadows?"

  Tavarus reached for his sword. "I have killed men for lesser insults," he stated.

  "Then draw your blade...and die. And leave your people without their leader. Stay in your camp, wait for Enkilash to come and die with them. Or do as I suggest and maybe you will live. And prove yourself a man of honor."

  Tavarus' hand turned white as he clutched the hilt. And for a moment Azaran feared he would have to kill the man.

  Then Tavarus pulled his hand away. "As you say, we're dead if we stay. Better to go down swinging. How many men do you want?"

 
"No more than a dozen," Azaran said, relief filling him. He didn't want to kill Tavarus...truth be told he didn't want to kill anyone. "Speed is essential. More than that will slow us down. Pick only your best, men who won't flinch when it comes to a fight."

  "A dozen." Tavarus nodded. "I can find some stout fellows who will do the work."

  "Have them ready by noon tomorrow. We leave then. Tell the rest of your people to break camp and head north."

  "In case we fail?"

  "It won't happen," Azaran replied. "Enkilash is a dead man."

  "How can you be sure?” asked Tavarus. “I wouldn't go into this venture unless there was an army at my back."

  "You don't need an army," said Azaran with a confidence he didn't actually feel. "You have me."

  Chapter Eight

  "Sunrise and sunset are so close this time of year I have trouble telling them apart." Enkilash looked into the west, watching as the last glint of the sun disappeared below the horizon. From his vantage point halfway up the mountain, he could see the faint shimmering of the sea, as well as the glow of Otossa, lit by torches and cook fires. Beyond that the ships and the promise of violence that they brought.

  "Quite a sight, wouldn't you say?" He looked back at Ugallar. "Always gets me. Stirs the soul, brings the taste of inspiration."

  Ugallar shrugged. "All I see is open sky and trees."

  "You have no poetry in your soul, Ugallar." Enkilash turned back to the sight, something that quieted the demons, if only for a moment. "I was a poet. Back in the time before. I could draw inspiration from anything. The birds in the sky. The wind on my face. The sound she made when..." His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, the old edge returned, hungry for violent revenge on the world. "I was another man then. He is dead now."

  Ugallar took the words in stride. His lord and master got like this at times, maudlin like some old man whinging about how much better times were when he was young. Soon enough it would pass and they could get down to business.