by Brett Vonsik
“Keep extra guards on this one,” the Sake zigaar ordered. The Baraan looked more inconvenienced than anything else as he made it a drawn out point to stare down both Rogaan and Pax before commanding the broken spear Tusaa’Ner leader to fetch another lock for their jail cell. “I can see trouble from these two. If they choose to cause anymore . . . take the female youngling from the other cell and do what you want with her, then kill her.”
Rogaan could not believe what the Sake zigaar just ordered the Tusaa’Ner to do . . . commit unspeakable acts on Suhd, then murder her for acts of another. Almost as bad were the looks from the soldiers surrounding them seeming to want him and Pax to cause more trouble. Pax said nothing when Rogaan looked to him to confirm he heard the Sake zigaar right. His friend just ground his teeth.
The Sake zigaar turned and strode with unquestioned confidence to his kyda to remount, his red cape and helmet plume fluttering in the breeze as he made unhurried movements that his steed matched when they rode to the front of the caravan. The Tusaa’Ner leader Rogaan had disarmed stared at him maliciously while wearing the ill look of a Baraan plotting revenge. A shiver took Rogaan. What have I done?
Chapter 6
Road to Farratum
As the sun declined from its midday height in a cloud-speckled sky, the caravan creaked, and snaked, and rattled along the hard-packed dirt road connecting Farratum to the Wilds, Brigum, and the Tellen nation Turil far to the west. An ordered throng of dark blue uniforms with burnished metal chest plates and gleaming silver helms, some swaying red plumes, rode mature sarigs at the front of the jailer and supply wagons. A crest-bearer rode with the lead group, displaying pennant flags of sky-blue and gray background with moon atop a lightning bolt crest of Shuruppak and just below that a red background with crossed spears between a pair of towers, crest of Farratum. Just behind the lead group, that Baraan woman, the Tusaa’Ner sakal that ordered his taking and arrest, rode with a Baraan dressed in a dark tunic and rimless square hat. Behind them, the Sake zigaar rode alongside Kardul. Rogaan stared dumbfounded at that each time he laid his eyes on them, wondering what business Kardul had with the Farratum Tusaa’Ner and the Sakes. Kardul’s Sharur were nowhere to be seen. Possibly, they were off into the forest providing protection to the caravan. The Tusaa’Ner soldiers did offer a degree of protection in Rogaan’s mind, flanking on foot his rolling jail cell, watching him and the other prisoners just as leapers might look at prey. They would be the first meal for any fanged terrors striking out from the forest darkness. A shiver ripped through Rogaan that he took no joy in feeling.
Traffic on the road was light at first, a couple of lightly protected small caravans with covered and open-top wagons carrying goods behind worn-out sarigs looking to have seen better days. By midafternoon, more numerous and larger wagon trains carrying supplies and weapons westward passed them. Each of these were accompanied by shiners, mercenaries on foot with spears and armor of various types. They were known to only hold allegiances to the coin of their service. Rogaan found himself looking down on the lot of them, not only from his slightly elevated position in the jailer’s cage, but also for their reputed ruthless, selfish motives.
As the jailer wagon rolled on, Rogaan settled into a melancholy matching Pax and the others in their cage. He started to doubt and second-guess his choices . . . Choices that had led to him and his friends’ capture. Reflecting on each in turn, most, he concluded were rash; a headstrong charge to save his father, reckless, and disobedient. Had he heeded his father’s wishes, things would be better. Not like this. Not that he could have kept Pax from making impulsive decisions that he was so legendary for doing. Rogaan’s cheeks heated at the thought of him starting to act like Pax—the very reason his parents were so guarded concerning their friendship. Normally, Rogaan resisted Pax’s impetuous nature, acting as the voice of caution, but with events unfolding as they had, swirling events to the point of being out of control, and Suhd’s insistence to be helped, begging him to help rescue her parents, Rogaan realized he had tossed reason away in the hopes of gaining trust and love from her . . . in addition to his wanting to see his father free. A heavy price to pay his father would counsel him in that even, thought-filled tone he had. Still, he felt torn between chastising himself as foolish and that all this being worth it for her affections. He found himself longing to hold her and for her to hold him back. He settled in with his longing misery as the wagons rolled along.
No one in the moving cage spoke of what was to come once they reached Farratum. Pax seemed none too happy with him. To make matters worse, Rogaan managed to spot his father in the other jailer wagon ahead of them as the caravan negotiated a slight turn allowing them to exchange eye contact. Rogaan could see that his father was not pleased with him by the scowl and intense stare he received. Regretfully, Rogaan realized he could not have made things much worse as he fought back a swelling of tears and the urge to burst out with a howl . . . for a lot of things done wrong, but mostly at his father’s disappointment in him. Rogaan slumped against the hard, cold bars feeling more the fool the longer he reflected on his choices and actions since his return from the hunt.
In the midafternoon, what sounded like ravers closing on the caravan spurred the Kiuri’Ner and Sharurs into action, assuming command over the placement and readiness of the guardsmen. The Tusaa’Ner commanders deferred to the Kiuri’Ner without argument, as if practiced until all became reflex. Kardul and Trundiir then disappeared into the forest as the caravan continued on at an increased pace with the Sharurs protecting their flanks. Roaring protests from beasts unseen in the forest turned to silence except for the featherwings above and the biters below pestering those in the caravan, with the biters paying Pax more attention than the others. A short time passed before the Kiuri’Ner and his Sharur companion emerged from the forest shadows to announce that the ravers were no longer a danger. After that, the Kiuri’Ner and guardsmen went back to following orders from the Tusaa’Ner commanders as the column assumed a looser formation for the march forward.
As the midafternoon turned to late day, some started to trudge along. Fatigue had taken hold of those marching without the benefit of steeds. Mounted guardsmen changed positions with some of the foot soldiers as orders and information passed up and down the lines of Tusaa’Ner. All appeared to be on edge, diligently keeping a sharp watch on the forest for more dangers. As long shadows started falling on everything, they came upon several large columns of troops heading west. Rogaan thought that odd, traveling so late and away from protective walls. The first column flew the colors of Farratum’s Tusaa’Ner, the second the colors green and red that Rogaan recalled from his father’s teachings as the Anubda’Ner, the regional guard. The Tusaa’Ner column was smaller, no more than sixty strong with heavily burdened sarigs and several trailing supply wagons. They looked to be heading some place with urgency and planned to be there awhile. The Tusaa’Ner column reluctantly gave way to their jailer wagons, showing practiced, if not ritualistic restraint at the side of the road while Rogaan’s captors and their prisoners passed.
The Anubda’Ner column could not have been more different, with hundreds of soldiers, all dressed in stout green eur armor and armed with spear, ax, and sword. Their muscular sarigs and kydas looked just as intimidating with bristling spines protruding from plated hide armor added to the steeds. To a Baraan, the Anubda’Ner demonstrated complete disdain for everyone not part of their company, forcing the jailer wagons and Tusaa’Ner guardsmen into the softer dirt at the side of the road, but only after the two groups of commanding sakals engaged in an aggressive stare down with growling shouts. The Tusaa’Ner gave way to the higher-order soldiers. The Anubda’Ner, winning the challenge, passed, riding on the packed dirt road atop their powerful steeds, striding with puffed out chests, uppity chins, and openly hostile glares. Their unbridled arrogance and contempt was something his father never described or warned him of. Not all was in harmony in the land, Rogaan realized
.
Pax had on a hopeful expression of rescue until the Anubda’Ner passed without the slightest hint they intended in intervening to free them. With that glimmer of hope gone from his eyes, Pax plunged back into his gloomy mood with arms crossed and legs tucked close. Rogaan followed his friend’s example, into his own deep gloom, resigning himself to what the fates intended to do with him. The caravan continued on.
A short time later they came to a bridge, two wagons wide, made of thick timbers. A guard post, a small building no more than five or so strides long and topped with a gray slate gabled roof and the Shuruppak-Farratum flags flying above, was tended by five Tusaa’Ner guardsmen dressed and equipped as those escorting the caravan. They halted the caravan in an unassuming and nonthreatening manner before holding a short discussion with the Tusaa’Ner sakal. Soon enough, the caravan was moving across the bridge, passing the bridge’s guardsmen who stood at ease watching the entourage make its way until several Sakes, on their steeds at the rear of the formation, passed. With a bark and glare from one of the Sakes, the bridge guardsmen snapped to attention so hard Rogaan thought they might break their own backs.
The bridge spanned a slow-moving small river four wagons wide. Stout timber pylons rising out of the flowing water near each end of the bridge and another in the center of the river looked strong enough to allow heavy loads across the span. The caravan traveled in single file as it made its way slowly to the other side of the waterway. Despite its sturdy construction, the bridge creaked and groaned in protest at the passing of the caravan heavy with its burdened wagons and large-bodied draft animals. They traveled less than five strides above the shallow waters that supported a congregation of snapjaws. Narrow, sandy beaches dominating both riverbanks were thick with snapjaws basking in the late-day sun. Rogaan, in awe of the scene below, started counting the predators, but quickly gave up at the futile effort. Instead, he kneeled at the bars looking at a pool of certain death, if they were to fall. With a start, Rogaan realized Pax had joined him at the bars. He too appeared mesmerized by the scene below, with words of awe and wonder slipping from his lips. The sight of so many flesh eaters, so concentrated, gave Rogaan a chill at the thought of ever entering the water again. A strange sense of relief washed over him as his wagon rolled onto solid ground, high above and far away from the pool of teeth below. The caravan continued on with the last wagon, and then Tusaa’Ner clearing the bridge when yells commanding all to stop was given. The command and those responding in acknowledgments rippled down the column. Rogaan tried looking ahead to discover what was happening, but found his vision blocked by everyone else doing the same.
Chapter 7
Fouling the Light
A head on the north side of the road, a low-walled timber structure, maybe five strides high in the shape of a rectangle, had several Tusaa’Ner guardsmen standing high on what had to be small ramparts, such that only their sky-blue hide armor above their waists were visible. Here too flew the Shuruppak-Farratum flag pair on a tall pole. A large door made of thick timbers as tall as the supporting walls stood open, allowing a group of workers, dressed in clothing looking more like rags, to haul out large wood troughs, placing them on both sides of the road and timber structure. The workers ran from the structure to the troughs, filling them with buckets upon buckets of water. A murmur then passed through the troupes. Rogaan wondered what this was and what was happening, then quickly figured out this to be a watering waystation, built over a well.
A rush of more workers, male younglings with short-cropped hair and dressed in rags for tunics with brown skin toned so light they could almost be mistaken for Tellens, swarmed about the caravan guardsmen carrying buckets of water. At first it appeared that the column was being attacked, a wishful thought Rogaan had, before he realized they were being offered damp cloths and ladles of water. Suddenly, Rogaan’s thirst worsened to the point of distraction and his stomach protested with a growl at not eating or drinking water since . . . yesterday, he realized. Looking at Pax only made him suffer his pains more intensely as Pax stared after the younglings with their water buckets and ladles, all with his tongue hanging out.
The two older Baraans on the other side of Rogaan’s traveling cell made no effort to look at the stir. Instead, they both lay still in their own waste that started to waft around the cage. Rogaan wrinkled his nose at the smell. At least it stopped his stomach from grumbling.
“What be da smell?” Pax demanded an answer as he looked about. His eyes quickly fell on the two Baraans. With an overly dramatic sniff that brought a fierce wrinkle to his nose and a sour expression on his face, Pax launched into a fit of complaints. “Guards! Guards! Guards! Dese two be smellin’ like dead niisku. Folks no be meanin’ ta smell like dem . . . no beasts neither. Do somethin’ about dis.”
A young, square-chinned, brown-haired guardsman reluctantly broke away from a youngling and his water bucket. The youngling could not have been older than ten summers, yet he stood meekly, patiently, holding his bucket with unstained cloths the guardsman used to wipe his face and hands. As he approached, the guardsman grunted and put on a hostile glare at Pax while glancing at the two old Baraan. Casually, he drew his short sword and jabbed it at a surprised Pax, who barely dodged the blade, before prodding the two Baraan. One of them squeaked out a groan barely loud enough to hear. The other remained silent.
“Kunza!” The young guardsman called out loud enough to be heard over the talk of the throng. He then patiently held his tongue until a grizzled gray-bearded guardsman, marked by more scars than most would care to count, approached. “We have an eater. And that other isn’t too far from it from the smell of him.”
The grizzled guardsman gave a cursory inspection of the two, grunted as if clearing his throat, then spoke. “Douse ‘em both. If the kickin’ one shows no sign, carry ‘em both off.”
The young guardsman grabbed the water bucket from the young boy, then tossed its contents on the two old Baraans in the wagon cell, splashing water on Rogaan. One of the Baraans groaned, then rolled over and curled up. The other did not flinch.
“Have one of these two carry away the dead one,” the kunza ordered, pointing at Rogaan and Pax. “Toss him to the snapjaws. Don’t want him stinkin’ up the wagon and makin’ everythin’ within smellin’ distance think a meal is here.”
The young guardsman saluted the kunza with his right hand mimicking holding a sword hilt as he touched his chin. The grizzled guardsman grunted in disgust. “I told ya to hold such for the sakal; she likes it. I’m a workin’ warrior. Do it again and I’ll skin ya. Now get movin’ or you’ll be joinin’ this filth.”
Jumping to execute his orders, the young brown-haired guardsman called to a small band of Tusaa’Ner Rogaan had watched him associate with earlier. They paid him little heed until one of them caught the hard eyes of the kunza. After that, they too jumped to aid their comrade. The five guardsmen, including the young one with brown hair, all with hands on weapons, watched with unblinking eyes as a worker, dressed in a gray tunic, opened the iron-bar door to the cage holding Rogaan, Pax, and the two Baraans. The young guardsman gestured for Pax to drag the unmoving Baraan out and to wake the other. Rogaan looked at Pax, who shrugged his shoulders before grabbing the ankles of the unmoving body to take it from the cell.
“Dis one be what be stinkin’.” Pax made a horrible face as he dragged the Baraan. “He be lookin’ dead.”
Rogaan made to wake the other Baraan, but was called off by the young guardsman. Rogaan froze in place, surprised to be rejected for the manual labor task. He remained unmoving for a few moments in case the young Tusaa’Ner changed his mind. The young guardsman did not; instead, he urgently motioned for Rogaan to sit back down.
“Have that stoner pull the other one out,” ordered the tall Tusaa’Ner sakal that tussled with Rogaan earlier in the day.
Everyone looked at the officer with dumbfounded expressions, even Rogaan. Rogaan then shrugge
d his shoulders, just as Pax had, and tried to wake the remaining Baraan. He stirred, but ignored Rogaan otherwise. Rogaan tried to wake him again, but got swung at as the Baraan kept his eyes closed and in his curled up position. Frustrated at being swung at, Rogaan grabbed the Baraan by the leg and arm, then slung him out the cage door with a little grunt, his shackles and chains clinging as he made the toss. The Baraan hit the dirt in a sprawl, then came to a stop after rolling over sarig dung. Only a groan escaped the Baraan’s mouth. He lay still otherwise.
Rogaan immediately felt ashamed of himself for treating the Baraan so badly. The Baraan obviously did not feel well, body and likely much more. Rogaan did not know if he was to get run through for now helping the unmoving Baraan, but he made up his mind he was going to. He crawled out of the cage and planted both of his shackled, booted feet solidly on the ground as a statement to all he was free of his jail.
