by Aaron Dennis
“The snout is the best part,” one Kulshedran claimed.
“That’s disgusting, Pater,” a sword maiden squawked.
“Why, what’s wrong with the snout?” Rauls asked. “Personally, I like the tongue.”
“J-j-just be norm-ormal,” Tarvin stuttered. “And, and, and, eat the b-back ssstrap.” His speech impediment sent everyone into a roaring laughter to which he replied, “up-up yours.”
Poland almost lost his balance he was laughing so hard. Marlayne was clapping and in tears. Lortho rode by his friend and patted him on the back, although he was also laughing. The archer shook his head and shrugged.
“Well, if you’ve all finished tomfooling,” Scar started. He had to stop and chuckle for a second then continued. “I’d like to know where we’re headed next. We won’t reach Alduheim today, will we?”
“No,” Poland answered in the midst of a coughing laughter. “We make for an outpost near the Malababwen border, rest there a moment, and then proceed into the Malababwen countryside. We’ll try to find somewhere safe to spend the night and then reach Alduheim tomorrow morning.” Scar rolled his shoulders to loosen his neck. He frowned to himself. “Something troubling you?”
A smile flickered across the mercenary’s face, and he said, “No, just didn’t sleep well.”
“Have some of this venison. It is truly quite delicious,” Poland remarked. “Leera, sweetheart, bring the King a haunch.”
“Not, your sweetheart, old man,” she joked in mock offense.
She rode up to Scar, her dark brown locks gallivanting in the wind, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in large banana leaves. Unlike most Kulshedrans, her hair was not black, but still dark. Her eyes were blue and seemed to smile as she playfully unwrapped the deer leg in a manner overly emphasizing extreme care. Once it was fully unwrapped, she held it across both open palms as though offering her sword.
She even bowed her head saying, “Please, my Liege, take my haunch to use as you see fit.”
“Careful what you say, Leera,” Scar quipped. “I might just take both of your haunches.”
That comment was sufficient to send the group into another fit of roaring laughter. Leera looked away coyly with a smiling but slacked jaw. Scar took the deer leg, sneered, and shook his head before joining in the laughter. Leera had not laughed, and wondered if the future king might really take her haunches. She searched his gray eyes for a sign that he was only kidding, but in the end remained uncertain. The lady archer made to say something, but Marlayne tugged the sleeve of her shirt, which protruded from her studded armor. The two women whispered and giggled.
While they trotted on, the horses kicking up leafy debris that showed in the rays of sun, the scent of moist dirt rose to their nostrils. Several ruts in the ground indicated hogs had feasted on roots during the night or predawn hours. The horses marched carefully. A light gust of wind passed around the riders, and from the rustling foliage came the fall of brown leaves. They slowly spiraled and landed indistinguishably onto the ground.
Scar squinted his eyes and took a deep breath. He did not recall having ever seen such a wondrous sight; rows and rows of trees created something like a cavern of leaves; gold, red, brown, and green specks far as he was able to see. A smile worked over his face. He listened to the orchestra of wind, leaves, warbling birds, and stamping hooves.
“Are we still in Satrone?” he asked with a mouthful of venison.
“Yes,” Poland replied. “And we will be until after we rest at the outpost.”
“Yes, of course,” Scar apologized. “Silly of me to ask such a question.”
“No, not at all,” the strategist comforted. “It definitely does not look the same as the southern border, much rockier there, and close to Eltanrof, too. Of course, it gets sandy by Sudai.”
“Yes, I spent time in Eresh,” Scar interrupted.
“Oh,” Poland smiled. “Bit of a stiff town, but full of good men.”
“Does Satrone border other countries?”
“Zetsuru, Eltanrof, Usaj, and Nabalhi, but the Nabalhian border is really Alduheim and does not really reflect the landscape of Nabalhi.”
“Yes it does,” one of the riders interrupted. “Doesn’t rain as much and it’s a bit rockier, but that’s just from the actual castle rubble.”
“Well, I’m not a geologist,” Poland grumbled.
“I’m not sure you mean geologist, old man,” Rauls chimed in. “I think you mean climatologist.”
“No, that’s not right,” the other shieldman stated. “Climatologists study the climate, not the lay of the land…I think he means cartographer.”
“They make maps, Delton,” Johan sighed.
“And how are you going to make a map if you don’t know what the land looks like?” Delton countered.
“I, just, forget it,” the archer laughed.
“It w-would beee a n-naturologist,” Tarvin joked.
“Ya, I don’t think that’s a thing,” Leera huffed.
“I d-don’t hear you heh-heh-hehlll…p-p-providing a sssuggestion!”
Once more the crowd of riders roared with laughter. The slow but steady journey persisted until they came upon a well-traveled path in the woods. Poland oriented himself and veered left on the hard packed trail claiming it would lead them northwest and directly to the outpost.
“This is the road adjoining all the battlements?” Scar asked.
“That’s right,” the old man said. “You know at least one of many supply carts is always running goods between the outposts.”
“You don’t say,” Scar smiled.
Poland smiled back, but Scar knew the old man wasn’t privy to what he was smiling about. It was less than an hour later that the Kulshedran tower became visible through the canopy. The road snaked by a handful of large trees, and a few miles down, they spotted the large base of the entryway.
“Ho!” a group of Kulshedran soldiers called out. One of them squinted and made an exaggerated notion of disbelief. “Why, I think it’s old man Poland!”
“Don’t you old man, me!” Poland grumbled and laughed.
The soldier motioned to his comrades to assist everyone, and the group of Kulshedrans started off to take the horses by the reins when they noticed Scar.
“Hey, now! What the Hell is the Ghost of Zmaj doing here?” one howled.
“Watch your mouth!” Lortho barked.
“Who are you supposed to be?” another Kulshedran soldier demanded. “Just what in blazes is going on here?”
“Poland,” the man who had initiated contact began, “What is all this?”
“Now calm down, everyone, just calm down,” Poland sighed with a bobbing of both palms down toward the ground. “Enis, have us inside to rest a moment, and I’ll explain.”
“Sure thing, Uncle Poland,” the young Kulshedran replied, but his brethren took their spears and used them to pull their compatriot back.
The soldiers then pointed sharp weapons and fierce gazes at Scar and his group. Enis looked to his uncle with a silent plea. Poland returned a soft smile, but Lortho hopped from his mount, took his tower shield from the side of his saddle, and squarely took a battle stance. As the Kulshedran soldiers cried out and charged, the ground started to vibrate beneath their feet, and the whole form of Lortho turned blurry. A sudden burst of energy that rippled through the air, like waves of heat off a fire, shot from his shield, and bowled the men over.
“Now listen up, meatheads!” Lortho started. “I am Lortho Comish the third and have been named shieldman to our Lord Gilgamesh. I say this to you only once: this is not the Ghost of Zmaj, this is King Brandt of Alduheim and a personal friend to your liege. Now, welcome us as guests or so help me, I will lay you out again!”
Scar glanced at everyone; Poland, Lortho, the soldiers, his crew. He was in shock over the entire display.
“Lortho,” he called out. “Isn’t all that a bit much?”
The shieldman turned to look at Scar then relaxed his stance before
looking back at his brethren. Some of them were still on the ground, not injured, but frightened and awestruck.
“Sorry, sorry, got a little bored during our trip,” he claimed. “I tend to get carried away. Sorry, everyone. Sorry.”
“Good God, man,” Delton laughed while Lortho sauntered back to his horse.
“Unc-Uncle Poland,” Enis pleaded.
The old man chuckled saying, “My apologies for all this, really. Some of these men are…overly, eh, um, bah! Some of them are crazy, but we are all here for the moment to rest before riding into Malababwe to meet with Jagongo’s men. So, please, have us inside, won’t you?”
After having been so rattled, they were all a bit leery of the riders, yet they still managed to take the horses’ reins and lead them all into the tower’s base.
“So, you are not the Ghost of Zmaj,” one man whispered to Scar.
Scar leaned in, locked eyes, and said, “I was.”
“Well…what are you doing here?”
Once introductions were made, they all ate, drank, joked, and relayed trivial bits of information between one another. An hour or so passed by with ease. As conversations died down, the Kulshedran guards returned to their duties. Only Poland and Enis remained chatting.
“Tell me, Enis, what news do you have of the battle in Alduheim?”
The young man wiped his mouth of greasy meat, saying, “Often the skirmishes spill into the nearby woods, and scattered groups of Khmerans or some of our own soldiers end up here. We helped slay a few Khmerans just the other day.”
“Then we should be careful while we ride,” Poland addressed Scar’s riders. “We’ve little time for fighting…I think it will be best to move northeast off the road from here and only travel back to the north while in Malababwe.”
“You’ll probably see some action there, too,” Enis interrupted.
“Mmm…the Khmerans are moving into Jagongo’s territory?”
“I don’t know for sure, but the battles in Alduheim have been going on for a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if either group has tried to retreat into the jungle.”
“I see. Well, on a lighter note, how is your mother?”
“I just received a letter,” Enis smiled. “Mother is doing fine. She is proud that my brother has enrolled in the university in Tironis.”
“Oh, that is splendid news,” Poland clapped his nephew on the back. “Anis was terrible with a sword. Remember the time he nearly cut off his own foot?”
The old man laughed uproariously and nearly choked. Enis shook his head at the histrionics. Scar observed them for a moment with a smile. He wondered what having family was like, but his concern over hidden secrets at Alduheim was prevalent. He patted Poland’s shoulder. The strategist nodded effusively. Soon after, Poland and his nephew finished catching up. They bid each other good luck, and Scar’s troop hurriedly got back on their horses to ride out into the cooling evening.
“Well that was too bad, really,” Marlayne said.
“What was?” one of the swordsmen asked.
“It would have been nice to stay and chat a bit longer. All this riding is beginning to give me headaches.”
They were mostly in accordance, but such was the way of travel on horseback. Besides, there was still a great deal of ground to cover, and everyone was just as excited to search Alduheim for secrets as they were to stay off their horses.
Chapter Sixteen- Tribal tensions
The journey from the Kulshedran outpost into Malababwe was a quiet one. At that point, every man and woman kept their eyes and ears open for a sign of battle. The news that skirmishes spilled so far from Alduheim was unsettling, and no one wanted to be caught with their pants down. For hours, they rode on in silence with only the sound of leaves and twigs cracking underneath hooves.
As they continued downhill and through stagnant ponds with mosquitoes pricking their exposed skin, the land turned soft and muddy. Leaving the hardwoods behind them, the Malababwen countryside was filled with fruit trees or other softer woods. An abundance of vines entwined leafy branches. The riders often had to stop in order to cut their way forward. The evening soon turned into night, and traveling by torchlight became quite a stressful feat.
“Enemies will spot us for sure,” Johan griped.
“It isn’t like there’s any way to prevent that now,” Marlayne chastised.
“Still,” Johan complained.
Bats squeaked overhead. The occasional night bird chirped then took flight. Under the glow of torches they continued hacking away at vines. Some of them bore water. Ezlo, one of the swordsmen, held his canteen under the severed portion to fill it.
“It is consumable?” Scar asked.
“Aye, this is just water,” the squat Kulshedran replied.
“How much of this terrain must we cover, Poland?” Scar asked.
“At this rate, we’ll still make the outskirts of Alduheim before daybreak.”
The old man then puffed a bit while working himself painfully from his horse. The riders found themselves thwarted by the growth. Scar shook his head in dismay before cutting down a group of banana trees. They continued by foot while leading their mounts by the reins for another hour.
“Wouldn’t be so bad if these bugs weren’t everywhere,” Marlayne said and slapped her arm. “We don’t have anything like this in Closicus.”
“Nor Satrone,” Gelrim, a gaunt swordsman added.
“Nor Usaj,” Scar chimed in.
“Nor Eltanrof,” Delton said.
“Nor Balroa,” Borta smiled.
“Idiots,” Rauls joked.
They chuckled. Making silly conversation eased the passage of time, but they soon grew weary of the thick growth and prevalent insects. Moments later, and after much grumbling, they came upon a tributary.
“This should be the southernmost leg of the Undalayan, a rushing river that tears through Malababwe,” Poland informed them. “We can cross it here where it is little more than a brook and follow it northeast.”
The terrain, though sloppy, was far freer of vines. So they continued walking, stopping only to water their horses a few times along the way. During that portion of the trek, the tributary grew wider and wider. The melody of water rushing over sediment was relaxing. A frog or two croaked before scampering into the water to avoid booted feet.
Eventually, they veered north, away from the river, and back into thicker growth. Before too long, they came across a clearing where tracks of men were blatant. The area had served at one time as campgrounds, but had long been left untouched. Only a gray mound of ashy dirt remained at the center of the clearing. Some of the stumps had likely functioned as rudimentary seats. The surrounding trees were notched with initials.
“Should we stop here to catch our wits?” Leera asked.
“No,” Poland sighed. “Best to push on. We can rest a moment when we reach the higher elevation.”
“And when will that be?” Illner, a sword maiden, demanded.
“Calm yourself, woman,” Rauls admonished. “Let’s just push forward.”
“And who put you in charge?” she fired back.
“He’s right,” Scar stated. “And Poland has already declared we move on.”
Illner winced in displeasure. The hard looking woman was a fiery warrior and had little patience to spare. She smacked her lips in disapproval, but said nothing else.
It took some doing, and more cutting through vines on foot before the ground slowly ascended. After a while longer, they were able to mount their horses, so long as they rode extra carefully. The bugs had not lessened. Sounds of open palms slapping skin echoed in the dim glow of smoldering torches.
Some of the riders yawned and stretched their weary limbs. Others relaxed forward to lay their heads on their folded fingers still trying to steer the horses. It was not an overly lengthy ride from that point to the outer edge of the thick jungle of Malababwe. The predawn twilight gleamed through a then sparse canopy; hardwoods like oaks were interspersed wi
th some of the softer trees that bore oranges, lemons, and grapefruits.
“We should be almost there,” Poland said. “See here, some of these old, gray rocks are an indication that we have crossed into Alduheim.”
Scar scrutinized the environment. Green grasses covered the soft ground. A handful of massive, aged oaks thick with moss loomed around them. This is my home? He was uncertain. A nagging visceral feeling told him otherwise. He frowned to himself. I thought somehow I’d feel it…I’d know that I was truly home, but this? Perhaps home is not where one is from, but where one settles down, yet I hunger for answers. His heart accelerated with anticipation. Scar wanted to lay eyes upon the castle before giving in to assumptions.
Once there was ample light from the morning sun, those who carried torches snuffed them out. A formation of big, gray rocks grew visible in the distance. Poland quickened his mount, so the others followed suit.
“What is it?” Marlayne asked.
“I think we have arrived. I was told the Tiamatish explorers found their passage into Alduheim while mapping an area of large boulders just outside the jungle. This would seem to be the spot,” Poland surmised.
“I thought we had time to rest before arriving at our destination,” Scar nagged.
They trotted onward quickly without coming to a full gallop when Poland answered, “Seems we made it early.”
Scar shrugged indifferently. The stones were in fact quite massive and covered the extensive landscape. After rounding one particularly huge boulder, they spotted wooden shacks. The figures of dark men appeared and disappeared behind the shacks before reappearing.
“Ho!” Poland yelled out.
The Tiamatish people froze on the spot and peered at the riders before hollering and scattering. By the time Scar and his riders were amidst the rudimentary settlement, they were greeted by angry warriors carrying javelins and long, oval, wooden shields. Bright green patterns graced chocolate skin and burning eyes glared over flared nostrils and bared teeth. Some of them had daggers and axes carved of bone laced up in their leather belts.
