by Aderyn Wood
Heduanna reached for a pebble herself but threw it toward a tree, rather than the fire. The thunk as it hit the trunk provided scant release for her anger.
She shook her head. “How you’ve toyed with the hearts of men,” she muttered the famous line from one of her favourite epics. It told the tale of Princess Azzyria who had mesmerized every prince and intoxicated them completely with her love that a long and brutal war was begun over her hand.
“And you’re no better,” she told herself.
The fire died down and Heduanna stood to pick up another log and place it over the coals. Then she returned to her mat.
The others were all joining one fire now. The tribe took it in turns to host the communal fire every night – called the evenfire. They would eat their evening meal in their tight family groups, then come together in one large circle to share stories, gossip, and then to listen to Zamug and Enlil as they recited the stories of the land around them.
Heduanna had grown to enjoy the evenings with the Cassite people. Unlike Zraemians, they were a simple folk, who spoke honestly, there were no games of war and politics amongst them.
Heduanna had even made some female friends. Jala, Urt, and Cassia were all about her age and they had taught her how to gather the sparse foods from the land, and they’d also helped her to hone her desert speech.
She longed to stand and walk over to the large fire and listen to the stories with everyone else, and pretend, as she did most nights, that she truly was a member of the Cassite tribe.
But she couldn’t. Not after Enlil had…
No. She would stay here and reflect on this lesson. That would be Zamug’s guidance. The topic of her many nightly indiscretions had been raised early on their journey into the desert. Zamug had told her she’d changed the course of her gifts by using the energy of love and lust for her power.
“No more love-making, princess,” he’d told her. “You must learn anew."
It was a difficult truth to swallow, but she had. And it wasn’t the only challenge she’d faced on this journey. She’d also been struck down with desert stroke during the early days and had to spend a number of days laying in the cool of her tent while Zamug did his best to treat her. But she’d recovered, and now felt healthier than ever.
Heduanna placed her legs in the relaxed position the seer had taught her and rested her hands on her knees. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.
Meditation was difficult at first. Her mind had wandered to things in Azzuri, and reflections of the goddess’s messages. But now she could drift on the waves of her consciousness, as a leaf does on the river, and she allowed her mind to follow the path, knowing the problem of Enlil would be accounted for in some way, and a solution would arise to help her.
But later, much later when she opened her eyes, the stars had changed their position so that now Zroaras’s Sword floated above and the moon had moved to the west. Her meditation had confirmed two truths. One, she was in love with Danael, and two, Zamug’s black stone, the so-called medicine, had called to her.
Rayna
Rayna paced back and forth, and Rhast seemed to be doing the same in the branches high above. His flutterings caused a constant distraction. It seemed every time she came close to a solution the damned bird would make a racket and her thoughts would be lost on the wind.
She looked up with hands on hips and gave the raven a glare. “Would you do that elsewhere, Rhast! I’m trying to think.”
Rhast flew off with a mournful caw.
“Be like that, then,” she snapped, and returned to her pacing.
She shook her head. Mook wasn’t here, and no amount of thinking was going to remedy that fact. Argut and Vargu had assured her he would be. When she’d stepped from the darkness of the mountain tunnel early that morning, it was a pleasure to feel the sun’s rays on her face after so much time with naught but the glow of mushrooms to guide her, but Mook was nowhere in sight. Her cheerfulness soon faded as panic threatened to rise.
“Where is he?” she whispered once more.
She stepped to the very edge of the mountain ledge and shielded her eyes to scan the surrounding valley once again. Below, the dark green canopies of cedar trees covered the mountain. Above, there was little more than rock and snow at the very peaks. She studied the shadows, but her old eyes detected nothing out of the ordinary. Her hand went to the familiar lump beneath her tunic. Perhaps she ought to taste the dragonshade once more. Argut and Vargu had replenished her stores, and there was more than enough for her to shave a slice now.
She frowned as she recognised the physical reactions of her body the mere thought of the black stone caused. Her physical self wanted that rush, and in truth so did her mind and spirit, but she had not survived so long without developing the sturdy tolerance necessary to deny its call.
In any case, it would take time to build a fire, and prepare the dragonshade safely.
“Where is he!” she asked the valley again.
As the day wore on, Rayna sought to control her emotions. She spent the afternoon meditating, and when she opened her eyes her panic had subsided. It was possible she’d made the journey in quicker time than she’d thought. She’d taken a hefty dose of dragonshade at her cave, and she’d travelled in her Other form for longer than usual. Yes, Mook would appear, she just had to wait.
“Rhast!” she called to the valley.
The raven came into view quickly, landing on a boulder by Rayna’s side. She held out her arm to him. “Sorry, old friend. I was in a panic.”
In the remaining daylight, Rayna set about collecting sticks and dead cedar branches and made a fire at the tunnel’s entrance. That evening, she enjoyed a steaming bowl of stew made with mushrooms and mountain herbs for her supper and she slept like the mountain itself.
It was after dawn when a soft tap to her foot woke her, and she sat up with a start. Mook stood in the light of the tunnel’s entrance and smiled down her. “We’ve no time for sleeping, my friend.”
“Mook!” She stood and embraced her oldest friend.
“I travelled as quickly as I could,” Mook said. “These weary bones are no longer as spritely as they once were, even with the black stone.”
Rayna nodded as she stood back and studied him. “You look good, Zamug, not a day over two hundred and three.”
Mook raised a finger to his lips. “You know that’s our secret, Rayna dear.”
Rayna shrugged. “Of course, but no one’s here to hear it.”
“What about that bird of yours?”
Rayna grinned. “Gone to his breakfast. Come,” she pointed to the fallen trunk of a tree. “Sit, I will make us breakfast and then we must begin. There is much to discuss. Namely a recent visit from the king of your country to Drakia.”
“Yes,” Zamug nodded. “That and more.”
Rayna stoked the fire while Mook collected more wood. She cooked them a meal of mushrooms with cedar tea and they sat on the fallen trunk to enjoy it.
“And how is my granddaughter?” Rayna asked, keeping her eyes planted on the fire. Just thinking of her Yana stirred a sickness in her stomach, but she took a breath and forced her nerves to calm.
Mook placed his dark, wrinkled hand on hers. “Yana is strong and well. She is the very last person you need concern yourself over.” He smiled and Rayna noted the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were deeper and more plentiful than before. “She has quite a knack for languages, did you know that?”
Rayna stared “My Yana? Are you sure we speak of the same person?”
Mook nodded. “When I last saw her she was rather fluent in the basics of desert speech, and she was learning several other languages too.”
“That’s passing strange, Zamug,” Rayna switched to mountain speech. “T’wasn’t that long ago alls she could speak was mountain speech. Even her native Drakian eluded her.”
Zamug’s eyes narrowed. “What of Argut and Vargu? What did they reveal to you about Yana’s path?”
&n
bsp; Rayna took another slow breath. “You were right, my friend. You said she would be linked to them. I’m torn in two over it but she’s the one they’ve been waiting for.”
Mook’s eyes widened. “They admitted it?”
“Yes. They want me to bring her to the Dragonshade Mountains, a place called Vulcan Strom. That’s why they contacted you. You’re to help me bring her back.”
Mook swallowed his tea. “That won’t be easy.”
“Why?”
“King Amar-Sin has become rather taken with her. He believes she will help him win the Great War to Come.”
Rayna nodded. “He’d be right.”
“Yes, but he thinks he needs her by his side.”
“What of his daughter? Wasn’t she gift-born?”
Zamug squirmed a little. “Indeed, the princess Heduanna is a natural born seer, one who is deeply connected with the gods of old. But something’s wrong. I wasn’t permitted to train her when she was still a child, and now Heduanna’s talents have taken a false course. She needs guidance, and a lot of it.”
“Two gift-born at once. What are the gods thinking?”
Mook scoffed. “The god’s don’t think the way we do, friend.”
“True enough.”
“And so we are left with studying the signs. In Zraemia, tensions are building.”
“So too in Drakia.” Rayna chased the worry of Ana from her mind. That wouldn’t help her now.
“It’s just as we foresaw.”
Rayna nodded. “Frighteningly so. Like a crab’s claw, the dark magic closes on the light. One pincer from the North and West, the other from the South and East.”
“You’ve seen it? The dark magic?”
Rayna thought of Sidmon, his use of blood and other questionable resources to feed his lackluster power. His influence was everywhere. And the altars built by the Halkans left little wonder as to how they’re powers had also grown. “Yes, I’ve seen the evidence of it. And Zraemia?”
Mook gave her a short nod. “In Zyrria, certainly. They call their seers, Ichorseers, meaning ‘power of the blood’, they use blood and other dangerous sources to fuel their call. Such practices have swept to Urul. The king there employs an Ichorseer named Xan. He grows more influential with every new day.”
They finished their tea, both looking at the fire.
Finally Mook stood. “Come, we shall talk more on the way, but for now our path seems clear does it not?”
Rayna nodded. “Let’s make our way to Azzuri. After all this time, I will finally lay eyes on your famed Blue City."
Part XXII
Bablim
Sommer
Forty-Second year of King Tutah’s reign
5,846 years ago…
Danael
A khopesh blade blocked the sun and time seemed to pause as Danael glanced upwards. A shadow loomed in the sky, like some kind of hazy curtain. He blinked to cleanse his eyes from the sweat, dust and blood of battle. When he focused again he saw the shadow for what it was and froze.
He filled his lungs and bellowed, “Drakians! Shields!”
Danael dodged the enemy’s Khopesh and crouched under his shield. In another heartbeat, the arrows thrummed down. Hundreds of them. An endless swoosh and thunk mingled with the screams of Drakian and Zraemian alike. Danael clenched his teeth, and gripped the shield until his hand burned with pain. Arrows hit and bounded off the metal centrespiece, but two stuck and smashed the wood, and it took all his strength to stop the remnants of his shield wrenching from his grip.
The rain of arrows ceased, but the screams remained. Danael threw his broken shield to the side and scrambled to his feet. Slaughtered men filled the field now slick with blood. It was impossible to tell friend from foe. Some moved, slowly. He recognised those of his warriors, their braids and leather breeches set them apart from the enemy. “Drakians, stand to me!”
A steady line of warriors moved to follow his order.
“They use arrows on their own men,” Oryn snarled as he moved toward him. “What kind of people are these Urulans?”
“Demons,” someone else replied.
More warriors moved among the fallen. The Drakians’ shields had protected them, more so then the Urulans, though now and then an enemy soldier stood, staggering, and a nearby Drakian survivor would make short work of them.
“Drakians! Stand with me!” Danael wanted as many of his own behind him. The Zraemians, so used to playing by the rules had seemingly changed them mid-battle. He’d never heard of firing arrows on one’s own warriors. It was a sickening and confusing turn of events.
“Danael.” A shout came from behind and Danael turned to see a bloodied Azzurian soldier racing toward him. A small group followed at a slower pace and Sargan was among them. Danael clenched his jaw. The battlefield was no place for the prince. He should be back on the galley.
Danael turned his attention back to the soldier. His face and front were covered in red, but the light step and the dagger mid-calf gave away his identity.
“Ru,” Danael shouted. “Over here.”
The soldier veered over and pulled up right in front of him, panting.
“Where are the other commanders? And what in Phadite’s name is Sargan doing out here?” Danael asked him.
Ru shook his head as he caught his breath. “All commanders have disappeared among the dead. Only Prince Sargan and Admiral Dannu remain.”
Danael frowned. “Hadanash?”
“Missing.”
Fear gripped tight in Danael’s throat as Sargan approached. There was blood on the prince’s tunic and dirt on his face. “Sargan, are you hurt?”
Sargan shook his head as he brought a hand to his ribs and bent over to catch his breath. Danael allowed himself a deep breath of relief. But the prince’s eyes were wide with fear, and his head turned continuously to look over the field.
“What are you doing here, my Prince?” Danael asked.
“Sargan has a plan,” Ru answered for him as he tapped his temple. “Genius if you ask me. Those scum—”
“There’s more of them,” Sargan interrupted as he flung a hand eastwards. “Hundreds of thousands it would seem. They’ve defeated the others, or will soon and will turn on your Drakians – our last standing force. Eshu must have half of all Zraemia for him.” He shook his head. His eyes burned with sadness and disbelief. “We’re done for if we keep fighting like this.”
Danael squinted through the hot noon haze. In the distance, more enemy lines stood in perfect Zraemian formation. “What’s your plan?”
“Admiral Dannu has ordered us to retreat.” Varashti came up beside Sargan looking just as worse for wear as the prince. “He readies the galleys as we speak. Get the Drakians on board, Danael. A swift return to Azzuri is our only option. The enemy will come for our city next, we must prepare to protect it.”
“Danael! Look!” Someone shouted and pointed to the enemy line.
A fresh cloud of dust rose in the distance. Danael shielded his eyes with a bloodied hand and squinted. A group of the enemy sat astride creatures, neither camel nor donkey, but something in between. One of the soldiers wore something tall, feathers perhaps, that plumed from his helm and flew over his mount as he rode the beast back and forth across the enemy line. Danael swallowed. “Who is—”
“It’s Eshu. The enemy king himself,” Sargan said, his eyes burning with some new emotion, strength. “You can defeat him, Danael.”
Danael narrowed his eyes. “Tell me.”
Sargan told Danael of his plan before being led from the field by Ru and his small guard, to wait in relative safety on the galley. The plan was a good one and would send the vast army back, but only if it worked. If it didn’t, Sargan had to get back to Azzuri, fast, while Danael would be sure to feast in the endless longhus with his mother and Petar, and the rest of the Drakian dead.
Danael walked to the back of the line where he found the group of spearwives, and spied the tall khanalla among them. “Ilyag.”
“I want to try something, but it’s risky, I wouldn’t ask if—”
“Tell me and I’ll do all I can.”
Danael nodded. “I want you and the other spearwives to form a line, and when they ride for us aim for their beasts. We need those soldiers dismounted. Especially the one with the head thing.”
Ilyag looked at the enemy. “You’re sure they’ll ride this way?”
“I’d wager my left testicle on it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Another time, Khanal, and I might have taken you up on that wager.” She gave him a lopsided smile, before turning to shout at the others to follow her forward. Danael stepped with them to the front.
“Drakians! Listen up!” Danael shouted his commands. The spearwives were to attack first, and then the swordsmen. He explained what he had in mind, and the nods of agreement gave him the belief that it just might work. They’d risk facing Vulkar and his hairy arse trying. “And one more thing,” he said. “Anyone is free to board the galley and make safe passage back to Azzuri. But if you do, know this army will follow us there. We have a chance, Drakians! Let’s use it! May Raemona bless us with her fury!”
“Aye!” the warriors shouted.
“May Vishtna grant us vengeance!”
“Aye!”
“May Aresja win us this battle!”
“Aye! Aye!”
The warriors were ready.
“Danael! They come!”
Danael turned back to the enemy line. Sure enough the row of mounted soldiers surged forward. Their swords brandished high, and a war cry already cut through the dust.
“Ilyag,” Danael commanded. “Ready your spears.”
“Drakians!” Ilyag shouted. “With me!” She held her arm out and the other spearwives stepped to her mark. “Find your targets and await my call.”
Danael clenched and unclenched his hands. The mounted enemy drew ever closer, at impossible speeds. King Amar-Eshu rode front and centre. His plume of feathers sailed back from his helm. Still they yelled their warcries, and now the Drakians were responding with their own battlecries, banging their swords on their shields, and screaming Vulkar’s name. The thunder of hooves shook the very ground.
