Under a Warrior's Moon

by C. L. Scheel

  Assur awaited the return of Brekk, Del, and Kuurus, having been sent in his place. And now, they were long overdue.

  "My lord," Jarad asked hesitantly, "shall I send out someone to look for them?"

  Assur stopped pacing. "No. They will return soon. If they are not back by tomorrow, I will go myself."

  "My lord, what if they met up with marglims again?"

  He frowned Jarad. "They are Talesians. They will either be killed and Summoned by the Goddess, or they will be successful and return. I should not have to explain this to you, Jarad."

  "No, lord. I forget myself."

  Assur resumed his pacing. Marglims did not worry him. Kazan did. He chastised himself for not going personally. He and his men were too far from home to make any mistakes. If he lost those three, all would be for nothing.

  "My lord, I see them," Jarad announced.

  Three exhausted horses stumbled into the camp bearing the three warriors--their faces were gaunt with fatigue. They slid from their saddles, barely able to stand. Assur gestured for Jarad and the others to attend to the trembling horses before they too collapsed.

  "Well, Kuurus?" he demanded.

  "It is as you suspected, my lord. We found not less than four caches of arms and supplies along the river, all the way to Sherehn's ruin."

  Assur pressed his mouth into a line of grim satisfaction. So, Kazan's little secret was true.

  "Did anyone see you?"

  "None, my lord. However, it was too risky to try and destroy any of the weapons--they are well guarded with at least twenty warriors for each encampment."

  "What kind of weapons?"

  "Everything, my lord," Del interjected. "And they have Maretstani cross-bows--the double bows. I have never seen the like of it--fodder for the horses, even horseshoes. Salt, dried meat and casks of ale. It is enough for thousands, tens-of-thousands--enough to last nearly a full turn."

  "Or for a siege," Assur said grimly.

  The three warriors glanced at each other uneasily. If Assur was correct, Riehl did not stand a chance, especially against the combined forces of Gorendt and Maretstan. Gorendtian warriors were hardy and disciplined--Maretstanis were utterly fearless and used their famous double cross-bows with ruthless accuracy.

  Assur placed a hand on Kuurus' shoulder.

  "You have done well, my old friend. Go. Eat and rest."

  "There is something else, my lord," Brekk said, stepping forward. He passed a tired hand over his eyes and then began to unbuckle the top two fastenings of his jerkin to find something held inside it.

  "On our way back, we took a shorter path and we found this." He removed a long, white silk cord, twisted and braided in an intricate pattern with thick tassels at each end.

  Assur took the cord and ran his hands over it. There were flecks of blood in the fine weave and on one of the tasseled ends.

  "We found it tied around Reddess' body. It was hanging from a tree, upside down my lord, and headless."

  Assur went pale as the cord. He nearly dropped it as if he were handling a poisonous snake. White Sisters! He would rather face a dozen marglims, barehanded, than a White Sister. He looked severely at both Brekk and Kuurus.

  "What would the White Sisters want with a worthless thief like Reddess? They are only interested in their dead lady."

  Kuurus and Brekk eyed each other nervously.

  "We are not sure, my lord. We saw no one and no sign of Reddess' head. Maybe it is their way, my lord, to take the head for their own rites," Kuurus offered.

  Brekk hesitated again. "And we found this..." he said softly, indicating the previously unseen bundle he had set on the ground.

  "What is it?"

  Brekk flipped back the ragged cloth to reveal the face of a boy about twelve. Dirty hair, once the color of summer wheat nearly covered his bruised and bloodied face. His clothes, mostly of breok hide, were torn and filthy--one of his knee-high leggings was missing. Even in death, it was impossible not to notice that the boy had died in terror and unbearable pain.

  "Is he Qualani?" Brekk asked.

  "Yes, I believe so," Assur answered while studying the lifeless body.

  "We found him just near Sherehn Keep, south of the Rift Cut. He was still alive, but barely."

  "And out of his mind," Kuurus added.

  "How so?" Assur asked.

  "We found him not far from where we camped. His legs were broken and he was crawling on his hands."

  "Did he say anything?"

  Brekk shook his head at the memory. "He was terrified of us at first--begging for mercy. Then, he seemed to know we would not harm him--"

  "Or, he knew he was already dead to really care," Kuurus interrupted.

  "All he would say was, `I must do what they want! Do what they want!' And then: `They take everything. You can't fight. She...she,' was the last thing he said," Brekk finished.

  Assur stood and turned away from the pitiful body.

  "Why would a Qualani boy be this far south?" he asked to no one.

  "Maybe he was being punished as an outcast?" Brekk offered.

  "The Qualani are crazy, but they do not do this to a boy!" Assur snapped.

  He coiled the cord in neat loops. "Hide this," he said handing it back to Brekk. "Keep it until I give the word to burn it. Until then, the three of you get something to eat and rest. I will get Jarad to bury the body."

  Both Kuurus and Brekk blanched.

  "The Qualani do not send their dead to Verlian by funeral pyre--they bury them. It is an abomination, but we will abide by their custom."

  Jarad nodded obediently and moved to pick up the lifeless body of the Qualani boy.

  Assur nodded to Kuurus. "Send for Courronus. I have a task for him--and you, Kuurus, will make yourself presentable tomorrow. We will pay a visit to this scheming prince."

  ASSUR'S GREAT gray horse, Adzra, had been trained to stand absolutely still until permitted to move, but today, like on the hill above Sherehn Keep, the big animal could not keep from tossing his head and jigged in nervous little steps. As Assur swung onto his back, the horse felt his master's underlying anger. Adzra shook his head making the heavy black and red tassels on his bridle dance and flutter in the cold morning breeze.

  Assur was in no mood for handling difficult horses and curbed him sharply. Adzra responded by settling into a tense, choppy walk, making Assur all the more irritable.

  "Adzra feels your temper, my lord," Kuurus observed, riding at his right and having troubles handling his own horse who had picked up Adzra's nervousness.

  "The beast will be marglim fodder if he does not quit his foolishness soon."

  Assur was not looking forward to a confrontation with Kazan. He knew the Gorendtian prince would not welcome him so warmly on this second meeting. No matter. The purpose of his visit was not meant to be cordial.

  He made certain he dressed with care, wearing the gold and black web-like harness as on the night of Kazan's great feast and the heavy fur cloak which Courronus had spent half the night brushing, picking out the slightest bit of debris and dirt. There must be no doubt in Kazan's mind as to the formality of his visit, nor the seriousness of his request.

  Even the idiot, fidgeting horse, dancing underneath him had been meticulously groomed and every inch of his saddle, harness, and bridle had been polished till they shone. Kuurus himself had managed to look a bit less menacing.

  The two guards at the inner gate to Gorendt Keep halted them with crossed spears and harsh demands as to their purpose within the walls of the keep.

  "We have business with Prince Kazan," Assur answered in a voice that clearly would not tolerate any argument from either of them.

  The guards moved warily as they struggled with their inbred distrust of Talesians and their fear of Prince Kazan's wrath. Uncertainty flicked over their hardened faces. They eyed the silver-hilted swords sprouting from behind Assur's back and decided to risk Kazan's temper. Both Assur and Kuurus were granted entrance to Gorendt Keep.

 
Assur strode into Kazan's smaller, private audience chamber and noted the Gorendtian prince was not present, but instead had chosen the tactic of making him wait. The bald attempt to put him on the defensive would not work.

  Five chairs, the council members' chairs, stood in a neat row to the left and adjacent to a kind of throne at the head of the room--Kazan's chair, Assur presumed. Braziers, set on high tripods and placed at each corner of the room, glowed and softly hissed their fragrant warmth.

  Directly in front of Kazan's chair was a long blackwood table, polished to a high gleam, and on it, a handsome branched candlestick cast soft flickering light into its flawless surface.

  There was little else in the room of note. Its spareness and hardness only added to Kazan's image of cold simplicity.

  A door opened and the slight form of Mangerin slipped into room carrying a thick bundle of papers under one arm. Hesitantly he approached the table. Assur's very presence made the scribe uneasy as he cast quick glances at the bristling swords and his dark scowl. Mangerin sketched a bow to him.

  "My lord...sir. Prince Kazan begs your indulgence. A matter of importance has delayed him."

  Assur studied the nervous little man contemptuously. Were all the men in this city so easily cowed? Their unreasonable fears annoyed him. Perhaps Kuurus was right--they were a city of "whey-faced puling boys". Even the Gorendtian warriors' reputation for toughness and discipline was slowly being replaced by intimidation and cowardice, fostered by Kazan's callous indifference to his people. Only one among them, the captain called Mar'Kess, appeared to have any honor.

  "I will not leave until I see him," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  "Perhaps my lord would care for some refreshment while you wait?"

  "No. I will not wait long, Mangerin. If he does not appear soon, I shall hunt every corner of this keep myself until I find him. Go get your master."

  The little man flustered and fumbled with the armload of papers. He set the papers on the table and turned to face him.

  "My lord, Prince Kazan is occupied--"

  "Find him! I have no patience for court games, scribe. I will tell you once, I am under direct authority from the Ter-Rey. He will not be pleased when I inform him of your master's distinct lack of manners."

  Assur let each word fall upon the trembling Mangerin like a heavy weight. He was not used to having his own orders disobeyed, especially by a spineless worm of a court scribe.

  Thoroughly frightened, Mangerin scuttled out of the room. Assur then turned and strode to the farthest corner where he began warming his hands over the brazier. He was not above a little test of wills and decided to stand with his back turned when Kazan entered the room. There was only one way to deal with a man like Kazan--with unyielding directness. He had been prepared to come with polite entreaties. Now he would only make demands.

  He heard the door open again.

  "My scribe tells me my presence has been ordered by a barbarian. I am unaccustomed to being ordered about by anyone. However, I fear my scribe is nearly overcome with terror. It would seem my presence is needed to prevent his untimely death."

  Assur did not turn around, but turned only his head so Kazan would not miss hearing him.

  "Your scribe was merely doing his duty, as any good servant should, however, he was clearly hampered by conflicting instructions. You should not confuse servants, Kazan."

  Two could play the game of speaking in the slightly stilted manner of court speech.

  "Your servant was never in any danger, only constrained by the difficulty of the situation," Assur continued.

  "You speak very eloquently, for a barbarian," Kazan said slowly, unable to keep the astonishment from is voice.

  Assur smiled to himself--his over-embellished, courtly speech had surprised the Gorendtian prince.

  "The court at Daeamon Keep is not as primitive as you imagine. Most of us can even read," he added with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

  "I, of course, meant no offence," Kazan went on smoothly.

  Assur finally turned around, his face hardened by his disgust. From his furred sleeve, he pulled out a heavy piece of paper, folded and sealed in black wax and dark red ribbons.

  "But you have. When you insult me, you insult our High Prince." He handed the paper to Kazan.

  Kazan's chin went up defiantly, meeting his unwavering gaze. All pretense of manners and courteous speech dropped. Assur would no longer play the polite guest. Kazan expected a ruthless savage--he would get one.

  "What do you want, Talesian? Who are you?" he demanded.

  "I have come with a request--one I am prepared to honor with all oaths and bonds."

  "`Oaths and bonds', eh? I have no use for Talesian oaths and bonds."

  "You may not, but the princess Kitarisa will."

  Kazan's eyes narrowed. "The princess? What possible business could you have with my daughter?"

  Assur stepped around Kazan and moved across the room to the gleaming blackwood table. "Read the document, Lord Kazan. It is a letter of authority from the Ter-Rey."

  Kazan cracked open the brittle wax and scanned the document--a blunt directive, ordering the bearer to give all consideration and obedience to Assur and his men.

  "I have come to pay bride-price for Princess Kitarisa," Assur said firmly.

  The big man stepped to the other side of the table to face Assur, defiance stamped on his fleshy features. He shook the document at Assur.

  "This is an outrage. You cannot simply walk into my keep and demand my daughter, as if she were a sack of meal in a market! What are you? A...a savage cutthroat. A Talesian roadwild!"

  Again, Assur reached under the fur cloak and drew out a leather sack, heavy with gold. He tossed it onto the table, some of its contents spilling across the gleaming black surface.

  "I am the Ter-Rey's `roadwild', my lord prince. There are five thousand in gold crown-talins in that sack, precisely the same as what Reddess demanded as Alea's ransom. Surely that is enough to buy your `sack of meal?'"

  Hard dark eyes met unyielding blue. Kazan clenched his jaw in a rigid line, clearly fighting a desire to take a sword and run him through, regardless of the consequences he might have with the Ter-Rey.

  "I will not consent to it," Kazan said angrily, flinging the paper on the table. "Princess Kitarisa is not to marry until I permit it."

  Assur leaned over the table, arms spread, resting his weight on his hands. "It is the law, Lord Kazan. It is the High Prince's law. You cannot deny a legitimate offer of bride-price--only the lady can refuse. Or, do you wish to discuss the finer points of the law with the Ter-Rey himself?" He straightened and for the third time, reached under the fur to his waistband and pulled out a short, deadly-looking knife.

  Kazan blinked. Raw terror filled his eyes as he glanced at the gleaming blade, obviously convinced Assur would strike him. Instead, Assur rested the edge of the blade against his own arm, just above the leather armguard.

  "Send for Princess Kitarisa, Mangerin!" Assur called to the terrified scribe who had been huddling in the corner nearest the door.

  The little man wasted no time, but dropped his papers and fled the room.

  "Now, my Lord Kazan, we will see what the lady wishes."

  For long, tense moments Kazan glared at him, but uncertain as to the ultimate meaning of the knife blade against his arm--a gesture similar to what Kuurus had done in front of Kitarisa the day the Talesians had returned to Gorendt.

  There was a sudden sound of hurried footsteps and a feminine voice coming from beyond the door--Mangerin did not even bother to knock or announce their entrance, but simply burst into the audience chamber with a breathless Kitarisa close behind him.

  "My Lord Kazan...Highness...uh, my Lord Assur, the Princess Kitarisa!"

  KITARISA TOOK IN the strange scene before her--her father standing tense and angry behind the table, and Assur on the other side, magnificent in his long, heavy fur--the gleaming hilts of his swords thrusting up behind the da
rk flag of his hair. He held one of his saddle knives against his left arm in the same way Kuurus had done--to offer an Oath.

  Kitarisa managed to collect her wits and dropped a slight curtsey. "Father...my Lord Assur?"

  "Come in, Kitarisa," Kazan said loudly, "and see who has come to bargain for you." Kazan stepped away from the table and moved toward her. Roughly, he took her arm and dragged her back to where Assur stood. "It seems you have a suitor, a savage."

  Kazan thrust Kitarisa in front of him, still painfully gripping her arm, a gesture not missed by Assur. Kitarisa looked into those black-patterned eyes and saw the same look she had seen the night he had killed the man who had tried to rape her in Sherehn Keep.

  "Let her go," he said in a low threatening voice.

  Kazan saw the look, too, and wisely let go of her arm only to step back and rub his hands together briskly as if anticipating a handsome bargain for his efforts.

  "Well, Kitarisa, your barbarian savior has come again. Only this time with his `oaths and bonds' and gold. Perhaps we should tell him, he gets no blushing maiden in the bargain, but `soiled linen?'"

  Assur turned again to Kazan and this time the Gorendtian prince turned dead-white with fear. The knife blade flashed from Assur's arm to the proximity of Kazan's throat.

  "There will come a day, Lord Kazan, you will wish you had never spoken those words, particularly in front of me," he said through clenched teeth.

  Kitarisa swallowed, suddenly realizing how close her father had come to his own Summons.

  The Ter-Rey's terse orders were still on the table. Prudently, Kazan held up his hands as a sign of submission to Assur's implied threat and took a step back.

  "Perhaps, I was hasty..."

  Assur turned to focus his attention on Kitarisa. She clutched her hands together, trembling. She could barely look at him for fear he would say or do something that would send her fleeing from the room in terror. Never in her life had she known anyone who could inspire such abject fear, not even her father. Kazan's temper was the bellowing heat of a breok bull; Assur's was the cold, ruthlessness of an enraged viper--the deadliest kind, that stalked and killed without mercy.