by S. Nileson
It was from that man’s seed, the notorious mercenary once scourging the east with his band of coin-seekers, that Kavis, the beast tamer and mercenary, was sprung into existence, even though he had never known his ancestry or the cause behind being drawn to the little town of Blossom, the town of honey and mead.
4
On the calm road to Blossom, where the forests faded into the fields of colored flowers teeming with the joyous life of small animals and insects, Khatar and Kari walked. Their hoods covered their heads and their pacing was unhurried. The sound of galloping echoed from a distance behind them, altering them to the approach of what Khatar had judged to be roughly a dozen riders.
Qella led her dozen Silver Stags well past the Parthan border and towards Blossom. By some stroke of luck their courier had returned bearing news to follow the Varangian should he appear to them. To the spiritual Qella the news bore the weight of divine intervention and she could not tarry in her calling.
It was not Khatar’s intention to have the Silver Stags join him, in fact he preferred them to stay as far away from him as possible to avoid his early detection by Archer. He knew not if Archer and his mysterious companion were expecting a Varangian Guard, but he was certain that they knew of the Silver Stags following them, for they might have been known with an arsenal of good qualities, but ironically, for wardens and seekers of outlaws, subtlety was not among them.
Khatar turned to face the riders, standing slightly by the side of the road to avoid being in their way should their intention not be him, and waited patiently and calmly until their arrival. Kari, not as confident as him made certain to hide her unsheathed weapon well under her brown cloak dusty with travel.
“Hail, Lord Varangian!” Qella said after raising her hand and bringing her troop to a halt. “We’ve been instructed to accompany you on this search and you are to assume command from this moment forth.”
Khatar’s piercing eyes stared at Qella, his mind wandering to the many possibilities unlocked to him and bringing him to consider his next course of action. Kari looked at him intently, awaiting his decision, and eased her grip on the covered blade.
“I have little trust in your superiors,” Khatar said. “Have you any hint of their motives?”
“None, Lord Varangian. We are yours to command.”
“This will not settle well with Partha,” Kari said. “While not Gallecian per say, the Silver Stags do serve the Emperor and are no longer welcomed in Parthan lands.”
Khatar’s skepticism was fed by Kari’s and he could not stop thinking about the fabricated assault on Stonerift that further complicated political relation between Kol and Partha. While he was not an ambassador or a political figure, Khatar knew that his actions could bear grave consequences if miscalculated, and he had little faith that Malus’ intentions were aligned with that of his Warchief.
“Tell me, Qella,” Khatar said, “what does your Silver Code say on transparency with your superiors?”
“It’s to be absolute.” Qella dismounted and offered the reins of her steed to Khatar. When the Varangian ignored her she simply held to them idly.
“Tell me what you know of the attack on Stonerift?”
Qella, being a good soldier, was always comfortable applying the Silver Code whenever she was faced with a dilemma in both her personal and professional life. She was, like many of her sisters, entirely dedicated to the Silver Stags and held nothing in higher regards than her instructions. “It was a Gallecian troop leading a small mercenary contingent.” After a brief pause she added, “Those were the rumors.”
“Indeed,” Kari said, I heard a few whispers in Salvation about the attack on Stonerift. There’s little doubt about the Gallecians’ involvement. Of their intention I can’t speculate.”
“I know the intention,” Khatar said and spoke no more of Stonerift. “Does your order often venture to Blossom?”
“I haven’t heard of anyone doing so since the breakdown of Parthan-Gallecian relations. Even though one of our most wanted resides there.”
“Kavis?” Karis said eagerly.
“You know of him?” Khatar asked.
“I’ve heard of him. We would do well to stay on good terms with the man. He’s not too fond of Stags.” She waved her hand around indicating the thirteen Silver Stags. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked of Khatar and continued when no response was made, a usual indication of his acquiescence, “The Silver Stags are too conspicuous. If you intend to make use of them they can’t be walking around in their uniforms.”
Khatar hummed. “She makes a valid argument. While in Parthan lands you are to discard your armor and any indication of belonging to your order. You would do well to hide the sigil marking your arms.”
The Silver Stags exchanged concerned looks amongst one another and proceeded to discard their silver armor and issued gear at Qella’s commanding nod. The gesture impressed Khatar, for he had not expected them to adhere so strictly to their chain of command. While Qella was no longer their commander, she was still their captain and any of Khatar’s commands had to be issued through her. In mere moments each was dressed in her own under-armor, padded cloth and hardened leather bearing no particular make, and wore only their black belts carrying a dagger, hatchet, or whatever personal weapon of choice they were allowed. Their hooded cloaks were dismissed, giving them the appearance of women peasants awkwardly dressed in a man’s image.
“That should do,” Kari said humorously, her tone not settling well amongst the sisters.
“Now we go to Blossom. If any are to ask you’re all mercenaries.” Khatar resumed his journey on the paved path leading to Blossom, with a contingent of fourteen fighting women following him.
Chapter 9: With Man and Beast
‘The most dangerous of men are not those with weapons, but those with big dreams.’ Lessons from Kayda on Governance.
1
Blossom was a quiet small town. Few of its folk left their warm wooden houses after sunset, even to go the small tavern that almost tended solely to travelers. To the villagers, it was considered ill manners to drink excessively or be seen in a drunken stagger or stupor, so many avoided the mead Blossom was so famous for and preferred a more conservative life.
Yet Khatar appreciated the odd habit, for it always bothered him to have to restrain himself from beating a rude drunken patron offering insult. He was a Varangian. That meant he held others to higher, and often unreasonable, standards of conduct.
The fifteen travelers came to Blossom at night, when there were none to greet them. A full moon kept a watchful eye on them as they passed by the wooden arch greeting visitors. In large letters the words ‘Welcome to Blossom’ were written on it. A small sign led Khatar to a tavern with a single oil lamp hanging by its front door. Khatar tried the door and found it shut, even unresponsive to his sudden jerk.
Kari tapped on his armored shoulder and said, “May I?” She was allowed access to the door on which she knocked thrice. When a few moments passed with no response she repeated the gesture and shortly heard the stomping of feet on wood inside.
The door opened and a frail old man appeared. He wore a long white sleeping robe and a pointy white hat to keep his old head warm. “Who be here?” the old man asked, squinting as he attempted to see his visitors.
“We are travelers from Gallecia,” Kari said. “Is this not an inn, kind sir?”
“Tis an inn. Tis an inn,” the man said. The cloudiness of his dreams dissipated and he saw, with some effortful squinting, that there were over a dozen waiting outside. “You can call me Senex. I am the keeper of this establishment.” The man’s accent disappeared once he had identified his visitors. He spoke like a true Parthan with only the occasional slip of accent. “Please come in.”
The travelers were allowed inside the warm tavern split into two tiers, the second on which Senex and his family resided. It was a simple place with no rugs or curtains decorating it, just wooden shutters build on the inside of the windows to
keep the sun out whenever it was unwanted.
Only a single oil lamp, which Senex had gotten with him from above, stood on the wooden counter. The old man rushed with his hunched gait and lit three other lamps, leaving two hanging on the wall behind him and giving one to Kari, who arranged their accommodation.
After agreeing on a price, Senex led the travelers to the rooms and gave them a brief explanation of where to find running water, by a small shared space at the very end of the tavern’s first tier. Once Senex had explained all there was to explain, he excused himself and retired. The rest was managed by the guests who split themselves evenly amongst the five available rooms, Khatar sharing his with Kari and Qella. The Varangian, being accustomed to the Kolian way of separating the men’s accommodation from that of the women’s, found it unsettling and decided that he would take a brief walk around the town. While Qella did not understand the true motive behind his decision, Kari was well aware.
When Khatar left she told the Silver Stag, “You don’t know much about Kolians.”
“We have many Kolians amongst us.”
“I’ve seen the Stags who were once Kolian. Little of their heritage remains.” Kari gestured with her head towards the room beside theirs housing three once-Kolians that night – Kari judged by their appearance. “Let’s just say that it’s not typical of Kolians to share their living space with us.”
“I didn’t know that,” Qella said, showing Kari no attempt to hide her curiosity. She was undressing as she spoke with no shame or regard to any customs the mercenary had, sliding gracefully into one of the sleeping gowns offered with the room.
“Tell me, Qella, between us girls, am I targeted by any of your order?”
“If you are I have no knowledge of it. Have you committed any crime against the Emperor or his subjects?”
Kari looked at her, smiling, with eyes sparkling of mischief. “Most of my life is crimes against the Emperor or his subject.”
Qella hummed. She was now fully prepared for sleep and examined the bed she had chosen to sleep in, the one closest to the door. She felt out the soft cloth by which its covers were weaved and exhaled with satisfaction. It has been a while since she felt the luxury of such fine comforts. “We Silver Stags don’t concern ourselves with just any outlaw, Kari. If I was you I’d rest easy knowing that there was no enmity between us and leave it at that.” She got into her bed and asked, “Do you harbor any ill feeling towards me or those of my order?”
“None.”
“Then I bid you a very good night.” She leaned back and let her head sink into her bed’s feather pillow.
2
It was morning the next day and Senex had his daughter prepare fifteen portions of honey crisps and mead for the guests. Khatar entered just as the last of the portions was being laid down on the long wooden table. He was still wearing his Varangian golden armor and looked weary. He was up all night. The exhaustion of his journey finally caught up with the hardened man.
With her foot, Kari pushed the stool in front of her tucked under the side opposing her and gestured at Khatar to join, Qella sitting by his side. “I’ve seen to it that you would get a room by yourself,” Kari said, wolfing down a honey crisp with a loud crunch.
Khatar did not respond, instead he took a sip of the mead, finding it much to his liking, and prudently tasted the crisps. “Qella,” Khatar said, earning him the Silver Stag’s immediate attention, “tell me of what you know about the relationship between Malus and Gullveig.”
“Excuse me!” Qella nearly choked on her crisps. The other nearby Stags slowed their eating and drinking and threw an ear towards the three companions sitting by the edge of the table.
“He didn’t mean it that way,” Kari clarified. She found the misunderstanding greatly amusing and short laughs escaped her in the form of sudden heavy breaths while she averted her eyes.
After clearing her throat and washing whatever morsel was on its way to being stuck there, Qella calmly said, “Well, it’s nothing compared to how the Demigod Emperor Servak used to treat her, even before she was promoted.”
“Speak your mind. This stays between us.” Khatar shot a threatening glance at the other Silver Stags close to them and at his gesture they made themselves scarce, leaving their unfinished meals and drinks wherever they were at the time.
“Don’t worry, girls, I’ll let you know as soon as it’s done,” Kari loudly said. Some of the hungry Silver Stags sighed as they left.
When all of her sisters were out and the door shut behind them, Qella continued, “It is a dark and humiliating time to be a Silver Stag.” Her head dropped and her sight fell onto her bowl, a look of a broken woman. “Emperor Malus is robbing us of our pride and treats us like common recruits. He sends us off on silly missions, getting him some foreign spice or food from afar or escorting one of his many arrogant guests. Yet all of this doesn’t compare to how poorly he treats Commander Gullveig, how he publicly humiliates her, even in the presence of his Sky Wing ambassador he’s so fond of.”
“This assignment of yours, the one where you have been told to join my investigation, is no stroke of luck,” Khatar said, lifting Qella’s head up so that their eyes met. It was one of the few times the Varangian exposed his gentle side. “I think somewhere during her search Gullveig uncovered something that she wanted to keep hidden from Malus but not from the Warchief.”
“Could it be linked to Stonerift?” Qella asked. “I know that the attack was not sanctioned by my order and shortly afterwards some of my sisters received strange instructions.”
“How strange?”
“We were asked to defend some towns. We are wardens, and have never been used for such a purpose before.”
Khatar hummed in contemplation, both Kari and Qella focused on him and waiting patiently for the few words expected of him, holding their breaths just briefly. “Whoever told you to follow me intended that you operate beyond the boundaries of Malus.”
“He wants Parthan attention shifted away from Gallecia and towards Kol,” Qella added, rubbing her chin. “He wants to break the unity between the Four Cities that his father engineered.”
“This isn’t Malus’ doing,” Kari added. “If we’re speaking our minds here with no regards to consequences then I’d like to point out that Malus isn’t exactly the calculating type.”
“How would you know about that?” Qella asked.
“Because we mercenaries frequent places where folk spread news. It’s almost daily that we encounter information even unknown to those closest to the Emperor. Trust me, that Teeban fellow is who we should try to understand, not Malus”
“I agree,” Khatar said. He looked outside through one of the windows with its shutters opened and said, effectively concluding the conversation, “Your sisters must be starving.”
3
“Old man,” Khatar called out to Senex when the last of the Silver Stags had had her full. Senex rushed towards them, now wearing a blue cloth shirt and white pants, balding head patched around the edges with a thin half circle of trimmed hair. The Varangian felt somewhat ashamed to have caused such a stir with one so old, “There is no cause for hurry.”
“I have to admit,” Kari said, “your reputation precedes you, Lord Varangian.”
Ignoring the pathfinder’s comment Khatar asked of Senex, “Where do I go to find someone who passed through these lands?”
“Oh that be Kavis for sure,” Senex said with a comforting smile on his face. His voice cracked with wisdom of age and the kindness of a lifetime spent away from danger and close to nature. For a brief moment Khatar envied the man for having such a pleasant life, one no Kolian would be privy to yet all would aspire for.
“Where can I find this Kavis?”
“You don’t. He finds you. Kavis owns a small house here in Blossom, one I helped built with these hands.” Senex raised his wrinkly thin hands and shook them. “But he’s one of those wandering folk, a ranger some say. He even has his pet tiger who follows him
everywhere he goes.”
“That’s our mark for sure,” Qella whispered into Kari’s ear.
“Consider yourself lucky that your order’s code is temporarily suspended,” Kari replied in an equally hushed voice.
“And how can I make him find me?” Khatar asked of Senex. He stood up and tucked his stool under the table, the others, save for Kari, mimicked him and stood at their respective places on the table.
Senex scratched his shiny head. “Well I suppose you wait. No one ever came asking me that question before.”
“Very well. We will be spending this night too.” Khatar produced a few coins equal in amount to those paid the night before and offered them to Senex who graciously took them, counting them quickly before they disappeared into his pocket echoing with the sound of colliding metal.
After having led the others outside, with Kari and Qella and all the other Stags, Khatar announced, “And now we track the tiger.”
4
Belua was first found by Kavis when he was sent on an assignment to the Orkstad Isles. The cub was frail and his mother had just been slain by some natives for her pelt. It was a sad sight for the lone mercenary, seeing the cub crying for its mother frantically, stumbling to and fro around a small clearing in the jungle.
Kavis always had an unusually soft heart for animals. In his youth his father got him a stray puppy to teach the boy responsibility and have him bound to a friend, being the lone child of the small desert community near Kol. A few short years later, when Kavis had grown to be a young man and the puppy a strong and loyal companion, the said community was raided by marauding mercenaries uncontracted for far too long. It was then that Kavis finally learnt of the value animal companions had, for the dog saved Kavis at the cost of his life from an arrow intended for him, allowing the youth to escape and lament his loss later.
After his first pet, Kavis named the tiger cub Belua and tended for him as best as he could, feeding him expensive horse or donkey milk and later meat hunted whenever wild prey was found. Since then the two have been inseparable. Where Kavis went, Belua followed; neither a master nor a slave.
