Even he shows me no respect.
Within hours after the battle at Munai, the march to Nubinya began. If one was to ride up on the long train shuffling its way across the lifeless landscape, Tobin was sure that person would be astonished. Five hundred surviving Kifzo, remarkable numbers when considering the odds leading into the confrontation, led approximately twelve hundred desert clansmen, tied and bound to each other.
For the most part, submission of so many came easily. Kaz personally eliminated any man who showed even the faintest hint of defiance toward his command. As a result, most others quickly fell in line. But that did not surprise Tobin.
Fear is the backbone of Kaz’s rule.
The surprise came when Tobin observed the utter awe in a desert warrior groveling at Nachun’s feet, muttering about the unnatural things he had witnessed from him. Such a scene unsettled many of the Kifzo who had already felt uncomfortable around the shaman. Kaz’s sword plunging through the man’s back was all the warning necessary to make others think twice before doing the same.
You’ve become another threat to him, Nachun, and Kaz made everyone aware of his feelings toward you then.
Those unnatural things muttered by the now-dead warrior, and the other stories Tobin overheard regarding the battle along the coast, had even raised an alarm in his mind. And he called me friend. Yet, am I? Can I trust him? After all, the shaman was said to have performed things that none had ever seen before, nor even heard of, except in the ancient songs and tales of their ancestors, from a time before the crossing of the Great Divide. He wouldn’t have believed half of those mutterings had he not ridden down to the coast to look upon the twenty foot gorge in the shore. They said the ground opened up, swallowing man and horse alike.
Nachun later admitted the act nearly finished him, leaving him just enough strength to defeat the last three shamans.
But I saw him dragging the bodies of those shamans. Other than a little sweat and grime, he looked no different than before. And if I know Kaz, that is what he likes least of all. Too many uncertainties, too much misdirection. I wonder how Father will react to such news.
The horse bit his leg, interrupting his thoughts. He jerked the reins and whipped his mount’s head forward, cursing it for its stubbornness. Looking up, he gazed upon Nubinya, the heart of an otherwise dead land, the capital of the Orange Desert Clan.
The city had come into view some time ago. Maybe he was used to the grandeur of Juanoq, having watched his home grow in size and majesty with each passing year, but from outside Nubinya’s walls, the view disappointed him. Said to be the first city established by settlers after crossing the Great Divide, it was also the oldest known city in all of Hesh.
And it looks that way. Black walls, made from the desert’s charcoaled stone, looked gnarled from centuries of windstorms. Piles of sand against the exterior walls, lessened their height to barely six feet, negating the need for siege ladders.
There is no excuse for such laziness. It’s as if they never fathomed anyone would assault them here. Tobin looked around at the barren landscape. But then who but my father would want any of this?
Following the columns through Nubinya’s narrow entrance, Tobin noticed crude towers to either side of the opening and at the corners of each wall. Their size and positioning appeared to offer little defense from would-be invaders. Considering Father’s success, they were ineffective.
The first few buildings, just inside the city’s walls, reminded Tobin of a larger version of the huts at Munai. Granted, the quality of their construction was an improvement over the fisherman’s dwellings, but something about their simplicity left him unimpressed.
However, his opinion of Nubinya changed as he ventured farther away from the outer walls. Traveling the main thoroughfare, buildings grew in size and craftsmanship improved. Stone walls were etched with designs similar to the markings on the desert clansmen’s armor, each building becoming its own unique piece of artwork. In some instances, blocks of orange clay were worked between the black stones, forming intricate patterns within the structure itself. Tobin appreciated such skill. These structures have stood hundreds of years. Perhaps thousands. He wondered if someone would be able to make the same observations of his own home. Of his people.
Prisoners shuffled their tired feet down the long road, heads hung low in shame as the columns moved closer to the capital’s center.
Assigned rear guard as usual, Tobin remained isolated from many of the other Kifzo during the long journey into the city. As a result, he was the last to witness the majesty that gave Nubinya, Paradise in the old tongue, its name. A massive oasis rested at the city’s center. A large fountain of clear water flowed from underground, cascading over several levels of rock and rippling down into a large pool. Groves of date, olive, and acacia trees surrounded by various bushes and wildflowers, encircled the water.
Tobin’s first reaction to such a sight was an open mouth, surprised to see such beauty and life standing defiant against the Burnt Sands Desert.
His second reaction twisted his mouth and he spat. With a real wall, these fools could have held out for months. We would have starved or died of thirst while they drank away at their hearts content.
Blue Island Clan warriors, formidable but less skilled than the Kifzo, corralled the prisoners into smaller groups. The captives joined the sullen faces of others that Bazraki had isolated.
Tobin dismounted and tied his horse to a post nearby. In the process, the animal whipped his head around one last time and nipped at Tobin’s leg. He started to raise a hand against the beast but resigned to let the animal get in the last strike.
I’ll walk home before I ride that beast again, bad ankle or not.
He moved toward a group of Blue Island Clan soldiers, doing his best to hide the limp in his gait. The men noticed his approach and lowered their eyes. Although warriors themselves, neither were Kifzo, who by Bazraki’s law were regarded the highest among the Blue Island Clan army. They acknowledged his position. After a brief exchange with the men, Tobin learned that his father had set up his base in Nubinya’s council chambers. One of the warriors pointed Tobin in the direction of a building less than a hundred paces away.
The building, unique in almost every way, stood out from the other structures in the city. Rather than walls of right angles and sharp edges, the cylindrical building appeared seamless, as if made from one solid piece of stone. A dome enclosed the structure. Even the designs decorating the outer walls were far more elaborate than those he had passed earlier. Much more than just a family crest, the carvings displayed the entire Orange Desert Clan’s past. These people prided themselves in their history.
And now that history belongs to my father.
As Tobin rounded the building, he came upon several Kifzo guarding a great arched entrance. He nodded to them as he passed through, but each failed to return the gesture.
No surprise there.
He spotted his father standing in the great room, talking amidst his advisors. Kaz had already joined the discussion and stood at their father’s right hand.
Despite the gray in his hair, Bazraki dominated the room. He may have lacked the bulk that Tobin and Kaz possessed, but his muscled frame stood out nonetheless. He wore an open leather vest, striped in blue, with lean arms jutting through the sleeveless openings. His trousers were a solid brown as were his boots. The only elaborate item he wore was a large azurite stone, polished smooth, with a hollowed center. The necklace hung from his neck and stood out sharply against the black skin of his barrel chest.
Better to get this over with.
Tobin slipped in amid the group of men as Bazraki issued commands. If his father noticed his son’s presence, he made no effort to acknowledge him. Kaz on the other hand offered a brief scowl. Tobin stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back, not daring to interrupt while Bazraki sent each man among them off on some task, one by one.
Only after the last man left, did Bazraki turn to acknowle
dge Tobin, his voice absent of any warmth. “Have the prisoners been segregated?”
“Yes, Father,” said Tobin with a slight bow.
“Good. Then let us get to the heart of things. Your brother has filled me in on the details of Munai.” Bazraki paused, looking to gauge Tobin’s reaction, but he had learned long ago to keep such things hidden. “There is one area of particular interest that I would discuss with you.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Your brother arrived ahead of the train with several men, one of whom was this shaman you ran across at Munai. As I understand it, you and he have spoken at length on several occasions. This is so?” Bazraki asked the question, but his tone hinted that he already knew the answer.
“Yes, Father. His name is Nachun.”
“You are aware of his intentions then? To join our clan?”
“I am.”
“And what do you think about his…proposal?”
Tobin was taken aback. What is he doing? Never has he sought my opinion. He must be baiting me. Did Kaz set this up? He glanced to his brother but saw nothing that would give him insight into his father’s questions. Best to play this safe.
“It is not my duty to think about such things, Father. The decision is yours and as always, I will support it.”
“I did not question your loyalty. I have spoken to the man in private and have done the same with several Kifzo, including your brother. I would listen to your view of the man now as I have theirs. Then I will make my decision,” said Bazraki, growing impatient.
Tobin nodded, pausing for a moment to choose his words. This can be used against me just as easily as it can be used against Nachun. “Nachun seems sincere and he has been open with his reasons for wishing to join us. He’s proven himself in battle. Not only did he save my life on more than one occasion, but also the lives of other Kifzo.” A hiss came from Kaz but Tobin ignored it. “He is a clever man, educated, and as a shaman we have no equal among us.”
“You sound as if you are ready to embrace him then?” said Bazraki, folding his arms across his chest.
Careful, Tobin. “Not without caution. There is ample reason for doubt. He is more powerful than he lets on which makes me wonder why another clan would not have accepted his family, if not just to make use of his skill. And despite helping our cause, there is still much to learn about him.”
“I see.” Bazraki paused; weighing Tobin’s words as he bobbed his head. “So, you would have him join us if you were in my place. Your brother…” He gestured toward Kaz. “holds a different belief.”
“And the other Kifzo?” asked Tobin.
“Mixed overall but the majority seems to reluctantly share your view. Based on what I have heard and my own discussions with the shaman, I am inclined to allow the man to join us as well.”
“Father, you must not allow this man to become one of us. He cannot be trusted,” said Kaz, voice rising. “Do not listen to my brother. He only wishes to have this shaman around to cover his own failings.”
Bazraki shook his head. “He will join our clan and from here on be included as an advisor to me. We have already spoken on some of his ideas I would hear more about.”
“Father, this is a mistake. The man should be killed now before….” said Kaz, clenching his fists.
“Enough,” said Bazraki. “The matter is closed and will not be discussed further. Leave us now.”
Before leaving, Kaz turned to face Tobin with eyes burning like two hot coals. Tobin cast his gaze downward in shame though he knew there was little reason to feel such a thing. Kaz grunted in disgust and left, brushing past one of the guards near the doorway.
Now alone, Bazraki spoke to Tobin in a hushed manner. “Although Nachun will join our clan, I do not trust him. You will be his shadow, and you will report to me all his doings. I want to know who he talks with, what is said, where he goes. Everything. No one is to know that you are doing this for me, not even Kaz. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You know, he has taken a liking to you. In fact, he spoke quite highly of you. He contradicted Kaz’s account of your deeds at Munai. He said that without your bow, he would have been unable to handle so many shamans.”
“Ral and Ufer….”
Bazraki cut him off. “I care little about the details and I know well enough what happened from your brother. Nubinya is mine and that is all that matters.”
Tobin fell quiet.
“Now, leave me. I have much to do. Go and inform Nachun of the good news.”
Tobin bowed. “As you say, Father.”
Chapter 5
High Priest Burgeone had done his best to honor King Aurnon the Eighth with a funeral unlike any other Elyse had witnessed. The cathedral burst at the seams with lush flowers, dark greens for the floors, light blues hanging across the high ceiling, and in the middle every other color imaginable. The High Priest’s sermon referenced the décor, saying it was representative of the beautiful life their King had given the land. Elyse thought she heard a few snickers at that. If the High Priest heard them, he ignored them, delivering a sermon so passionate she thought the man would break into tears. Yet for all his efforts, the service would be remembered for all the wrong reasons. The building sat half empty, and those that had bothered to pay their respects seemed to be present only out of duty rather than desire.
Well over a month had passed since the king’s death, enough time for those in the far reaches of Cadonia to make the trip to Lyrosene. Yet for many, duty was not enough to compel them to make the journey.
Nor was it enough for them to show me their support.
Elyse wore black, befitting the occasion. Long hair pulled tight into a bun, a veil matching the pattern of her gown covered her head. Outside of the simple crown she chose to wear, her only spark of color was a silver necklace; hung with a pale green stone, mirroring the color of her eyes. She had never taken off the piece since receiving the gift as a child. It was the sign of a promise made to her long ago, and she had prayed to the One Above each night since her father’s passing that the words of that promise would come true.
“Your Majesty, the Great Hall is ready for your arrival,” said a servant, bowing.
“Thank you, Lobella.”
Elyse slowly descended the staircase into the Great Hall. It was much different than she had remembered it, newer in fact. Tables, benches, chairs, and banners—all replaced. Floors, walls, and even ceilings, scrubbed clean. Like many other places in the castle that haunted her nightmares, it was the first time she had set foot in the space since her father’s passing. Instead of eating with others, she had grown accustomed to taking meals in her room, doing her best to avoid anything that reminded her of that awful day.
Yet all the new faces are reminder enough. Those slain can never be replaced.
Looking around at the sparkling hall, she imagined that it resembled what it must have looked like when Aurnon the First built the castle after settling Cadonia. Her mood lightened as she thought of such storied times, giving her a respite from the present.
A hush went over the Great Hall at the announcement of her name and all rose from their seats. Elyse felt their eyes turn to her as she walked toward the head table. Her mood changed, growing dimmer, as she passed several guests. Their uncaring faces reminded her that the glorious days of Aurnon the First had ended long ago. Several times she paused to receive condolences, though their words did little to comfort her. She reached the dais where the head table sat. A welcome hand assisted her as she stepped up.
Gauge had been on her father’s council for as far back as she could remember, though the king had diminished his role as the years passed, ignoring any council that opposed his own. He was the first person she sought out when her father died, not knowing where else to turn. Without him, she would not have made it through those first few days. Before long, Gauge had become her most trusted advisor.
His thinly cropped hair was offset by a well trimmed beard of bl
ack and gray. His eyes were full of care when he smiled. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
As they parted, she moved to stand by her seat at the table’s center. Gauge sat to her right, a place of honor she happily bestowed.
Elyse took a deep breath. “I would like to thank you all for being here today. Your support means a great deal to me after such a tragedy. I would not speak ill of my father on a day like this, but I will freely admit he was a man like any other, with fault. However, like those who reigned before him, he loved his people and would not want us to ruin a wonderful meal in mourning.” One Above, forgive me for the small lie. “Please enjoy yourselves today and think of him kindly. Pray that the One Above watch over him. Let us celebrate Cadonia’s bright future.” She finished to a half-hearted round of applause.
They question how bright that future will be. And who can blame them? She motioned to her guests to be seated and within moments, dishes began streaming out of the kitchen.
Gauge leaned in close, “You did well, Your Majesty. But the day is not over I’m afraid, the dukes will want to meet with you after the meal is served. Try to eat. The food will settle any nerves you may have.”
Elyse nodded as the first dishes appeared for her approval. There were cold and warm salads, one of fresh greens, the other of beans and peppers. The meal continued with soups and stews, followed by roast fowl, suckling pig, and baked fish. Elyse forced down a bite or two of each dish. The desserts came out next, but she dismissed them before they arrived at her table, allowing others to have first choice. Instead, she nibbled on bites of fresh bread, nervous.
The meal closed with little fanfare and conversations continued over wine and cheese. As Gauge predicted, Elyse noticed that each of the dukes stirred in his seat, wondering whether or not the time was appropriate to speak with her. She had reserved the chair to her left for their discussions as Gauge suggested earlier. Jeldor, who sat farthest from Elyse made a motion to rise and she thought he would be the first to approach. However, Olasi rose just a moment after, and reached the dais before Jeldor could climb around those blocking his path. With a look of agitation, Jeldor returned to his chair and drained his wine.
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