Book of Kayal: Houses of Light

by S. Nileson

  “The Prince believes him to be alive. I cannot confirm it is so, Warchief. Not yet.”

  “Did Iolcus say why he let Salus go?”

  “He spoke of a journey, a pilgrimage of sorts, which the Demigod Emperor Servak wished him to undergo. He also told me to deliver this to you, an Unnamed Blade. The reason behind my delay.” Khatar offered the wrapped blade to Starkad, approaching only after receiving an approving nod and gently letting go of the blade once Starkad’s firm grip held it fast.

  The Warchief unwrapped it and unsheathed it, resting its scabbard on his throne where he would sit and holding the blade with reverence. It was a sacred object. “This is no Unnamed Blade, Khatar. It has gotten its name.”

  “Warchief?”

  “I do not know what name it bears, but it does indeed have one.” He lifted the blade high at eye level, holding it with his right hand by the hilt and resting its pointed edge on the open palm of his left hand. Behind the blade, when he focused at Khatar, the Warchief saw that the Varangian was left confused. “It is said that an Unnamed Blade is one fashioned in such a way to house the spirit of its wielder when he dies. I have never seen one, but I was told many stories about Eos, the Named Blade Ganis befriended in Utyirth, and how it shined with an unusual hue at its center, where the spirit dwelt. I believe this blade shines in a similar way. I can feel the presence within.

  “Did Iolcus tell you anything else?” The Warchief lowered the blade and returned it to its scabbard, holding it firmly by his side when it was properly sheathed.

  “He said that you would know to whom it belongs. Nothing else.”

  “I believe I already know.”

  “May I ask who, Warchief?”

  “But Salus, of course.”

  2

  Kari sat on the steps by the entrance of the Warchief’s palace, watching the young Kolians train with sabers and lances while she waited for Khatar to finish his audience with the Warchief. She had grown bored from the idleness and impatient to know what was to become of her. Was she to be accepted by the Warchief and have a place in Kol, or was she simply to be paid and leave? The real intentions of Khatar - her continuing with him until Archer was found - never occurred to her.

  Kavis, on the other hand, was completely relaxed, lying flat on the ground and resting his head on Belua’s stomach, who also basked in the sun lazily. Kari glanced at the two and huffed in envy.

  “What?” Kavis asked, voice muffled under his leathery shirt which caved by the pressure forced upon it from his strange posture. He had discarded his furs as soon as the weather proved too hot for his usual outfit and replaced them with a leathery counterpart commonly worn by those who dwelt in the deserts.

  “Nothing,” Kari said sighing.

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing. Go on, spit it out, love.”

  “I wish Qella was here. She would tell you not to call me that.”

  “So you miss your friend, how sweet.” He made an effort to sound condescending, hoping to finally break her impervious mental defenses and get under her skin.

  “I’m just bored I guess. We’ve been waiting for hours.”

  He failed.

  “Nope,” Kavis said after looking at the sky and locating the sun. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet.”

  “Well, it feels like hours.”

  “To you, perhaps. Belua and I are more than happy with the reprieve.” The tiger chuffed once as if in agreement.

  “Have you no interest in the outcome of this meeting?”

  “What difference does it make? We haven’t fulfilled our contracts yet.”

  Kari smiled. “You still think like a mercenary. I see Blossom hasn’t softened you up yet.”

  “Perhaps not. Anyway, it’s pointless to waste your thought on what is going on in there while you can just ask Khatar in a short while.”

  She sighed.

  A short while later the large doors of the palace opened, cracking sounds emanating from them, and Khatar’s return was announced by the sound of his heavy footsteps.

  Kari stood up diligently, dusting herself while not really needing to do so, and smiled at the Varangian like a child welcoming a returned father. “So, what now?”

  “The Warchief believes that Archer is bound to make way to Kol. We can go out and search for him, together or each alone, or we can wait and keep a watchful eye. What say you?”

  “Well, I suppose it would be wiser to stay where we are since we have no clue of where he could be,” Kari responded, satisfied that the contract was still ongoing. Her concerns washed away like a fresh stain.

  “And you, Kavis?”

  Without moving or opening his eyes, the mercenary said, “I have to agree with Kari on this one. Besides, it’s nice here in the sun. I’d rather just wait.”

  “You cannot wait here.” Khatar descended the few steps elevating the entrance and walked with a determined destination in mind. “Come.”

  “Where to?” Kavis asked as he was getting up, signaling to Belua it was time to leave.

  “My home.”

  Kari and Kavis exchanged curious looks, smiled and shrugged. Everything else was driven to the backmost part of their minds. Each started wondering in silence at how odd a Varangian’s home must be, a place none of them expected any Varangian to have.

  3

  Kolians often spent their leisure time at home, as did most other martial peoples. They did not have much leisure time and so their homes were mostly used for sleep and to stow away the few things they had. They were simple things. Khatar had spent far fewer nights in his bed than he had in the wild. His home, rather house, always felt foreign to him, perhaps even more so than to Kari and Kavis.

  Upon entering, Kavis found himself a comfortable corner and grabbed the closest chair towards it, resting it on the two back legs as he balanced it on the wall, sitting lazily and covering his head with a piece of black cloth he produced from within his shirt. Belua lay by the chair and secured it from tilting the other way with his powerful back blocking the two raised legs from lowering. Khatar did not object.

  The Varangian went to a wooden table nearby with a steel cup, a pitcher and a small barrel tilted on a piece of wood specifically carved for the purpose. He poured himself some quench from the barrel, sat on a chair by the table and took a sip every few minutes. To Kari it seemed that he was more literal by saying that they will be waiting than she thought anyone ought to be.

  Kari joined him, sitting on the table and pouring herself some quench in the pitcher, using it as a cup since there was no indication there were any other cups. When she had tolerated as much idle waiting as she could, she decided it was time for conversation.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “We wait,” Khatar answered monotonously, almost reflexively.

  “I’m bored.”

  He took a moment to think, sipping once as he thought, and said, “I’ve seen a lot of Parthans in Salvation. They always seem to be praying when there is nothing to do. So, pray.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “Where would I start? I’ve tried Pax, Rostam and even some of the minor gods I don’t care to remember. They all have one thing in common. They all don’t answer.” She took a gulp from the pitcher, larger than she intended to.

  “Rostam answers.”

  “Did he ever answer one of your prayers?”

  “I never asked for anything. It is not the Kolian way.”

  “Then how can you be so sure he answers?”

  “Go bother Kavis.” Khatar stood up and entered the only other room in his house, where a bed and nothing else furnished it. He closed the door behind him with a thump.

  “Kavis!” Kari called, almost shouting.

  “Hmm?” He did not move.

  “Who do you pray to?”

  “Gold,” he said decisively.

  “Who’s that?”

  He put his hand in his shirt, which to Kari seemed to be endless, and produced a single gold coin, tossing it over
to her without bothering to see where she was. He was impressively accurate for she caught the coin with a single fling of her empty hand.

  She looked at the coin and saw nothing unusual in it. It was only an Oboi, the most common currency used in Nosgard, and had the image of a leaf on one side and that of the wolf on the other, indicating that it was minted during the rule of the Demigod Emperor Servak. “What’s this?”

  “My god,” he said. “Once a mercenary you learn to value the real things that you can touch and feel. Isn’t that what you risk your life for?”

  “It is, but that doesn’t answer my question. Who do you think is most powerful of all the gods? Who do you think deserves the most prayer?”

  “Will it make you live your life any differently?”

  “No.”

  “Then why does it matter?”

  “I’m just curious. Those who pray to Pax believe that eventually they will go to his Golden Halls when they die and earn his reward for spreading peace. On the other hand those who pray to Rostam believe that they will go to the glorious Battlefields of Blood to spend eternity basking in the joys of battle. Each deity has its own afterlife. I’m just curious to know which you think is best.”

  “Hmm,” Kavis said, Belua breathing heavily beneath his feet, “the Golden Halls of Pax seem awfully boring, especially if I’ll end us stuck with his annoying believers. And Rostam’s Battlefields of Blood will be too exhausting. I don’t understand how some of us enjoy fighting. It’s just too much work. When I die I just want to sleep. No Golden Halls, no Battlefields and no need for anything. I just want to sleep.”

  “Doesn’t sound too exciting.” She had had the last of her quench and found herself full of the heavy substance. She carefully slid the pitcher to the middle of the table.

  “Death shouldn’t be exciting. It just is.” He crossed his arms and eased himself into his chair, resting a little more comfortably on it. “Besides, we’ve got no proof that the gods exist.”

  “They have to. Even if some of us don’t pray to them.”

  “I thought someone so strong doesn’t have to do anything. I wonder if this applies to existence.”

  “Tell me then,” Kari hopped off the table and planted her feet firmly to the ground momentarily before she eased onto the table and crossed her feet in a half standing position, “What purpose would our lives have without the gods?”

  “Whatever we wish it to have. Now, Kari, why can’t you just leave things as they are, without bothering Belua and myself?”

  Kari left her two companions to sleep as she wandered alone through the empty streets of Kol, thinking about her conversation with Kavis and the purpose of life.

  4

  Kari rushed back to Khatar’s place, well before she intended to return. Stumbling across the streets of Kol, her agility preventing several falls that would have proven costly to anyone even slightly clumsier. She entered rather violently, bringing her companions to an immediate readiness which nearly cost Kari her life; Kavis having thrown a dagger a mere inch away from her head.

  “Good aim,” Kari said.

  “I missed.” He looked at the Varangian who stood tall and strong, a small axe hanging loosely from his hand in a grip typical of the Kolian battle stance.

  “You won’t believe what I’ve found,” she said excitedly, catching her breath. “Archer’s here. He came with four other companions on kamools. I managed to hear them speak to a guard asking where to find the Warchief.”

  “Let’s go,” Khatar commanded, stowing his axe away and not bothering to arm himself with another weapon. A Varangian needed to carry no weapon in Kol, for there was nothing more abundant in the streets of the warrior city.

  When Khatar arrived he saw that the Warchief had already received Archer and his three companions. He looked at Kari before entering, slowing his gait just by a few steps, and whispered, “I thought you said he had four companions.”

  “He did.”

  “Khatar, your timing is impeccable,” Starkad said. He held his hand out to rest his palm on Archer’s back and said, with an awe-striking voice, “This is the man you have been seeking. This is the man you must protect.”

  At Starkad’s words the Varangian held fast, his two companions halted too. “Protect? I thought I’ve been assigned to protect the Emperor.”

  Starkad smiled. “And you still are.”

  5

  “What is the meaning of this?” Archer asked.

  “No deception can make me forget your face, Salus, son of the Demigod Emperor Servak. I have been waiting for a very long time to confirm my suspicions of your livelihood.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Archer said convincingly. “I’m not this Salus you speak of. I’m just a simple lumberjack.”

  “Tell me, do you remember your past, anything from before three years ago?”

  Archer was silent. He looked at Balta and found him to be equally shocked.

  “I thought so. Well, Salus, I remember your past. Your brother and you used to call me ‘uncle’ when you were younger, Malus still does.” He paused for a moment, reflecting on many things that suddenly began to make sense to him, events that seemed once random no longer bore the same mysticism. “It is clear to me that Servak had taken things into his own hands, fooling Fate once again.”

  “Balta, Ascilla, Keteus, do you believe this madness?” Archer asked worriedly.

  They remained silent.

  “The Warchief never lies,” Khatar said. “If you’re indeed Salus, then so be it. If you’re not, then you better become him.” The Varangian approached violently, forcing Archer back and Ascilla’s hand to drop to her blade. Then with a feat that shocked them all – save for Starkad – he took a knee and pledged, “Salus, son of the Demigod Emperor Servak and Rostam’s Razul, I pledge my hand and life in your service.”

  “And I would gladly grant you the freedom to,” Starkad continued, finally releasing his hand from Archer’s shoulder.

  “Brother,” Balta said, “stranger things have happened.”

  “I agree with Balta,” Ascilla added. “Your journey was far too unusual for someone in your position. Think about it, will you. Archer being sent to Katabasis to meet Countess Ganis, then to Fort Pax to meet Commander Chordus, not to mention the following audiences gained with Duke Constantine, Prince Iolcus and Commodore Habitus, this is absurd. But for Salus to be sent on such a journey—” she shrugged, “—well that would be perfectly normal.”

  “Young Ascilla speaks true,” Keteus added. “You are touched by Fate. I can sense it.”

  Starkad looked at Archer’s companions, taking note of Balta’s and Ascilla’s relevance, the former being a young man of close age to Archer who called him ‘brother’, and the latter visibly a Walkyrien of the Ichneumon Order, albeit one who concealed her identity well enough to nearly fool the Warchief. It was not strange for them both to be Archer’s companions, but for the one they called Keteus it was different. A man as old as Keteus had no place on the road. His presence alerted Starkad. “And who might you be?” he asked of Keteus.

  Archer and his two companions remained silent. The question had struck them by surprise and none had a reasonable explanation which did not entail the revelation of Keteus’ true identity, one they themselves knew little of.

  “I am Terketeus of the Sky Wing, and I bear no grudge against your kind.”

  In a blink of an eye three sharp blades and a silver arrow pointed at the humanoid dragon. Khatar, being unarmed at first, grabbed a weapon which rested on one of the sandstone columns in the hall. It was the blade he had procured from the Peacekeepers.

  “Lower your weapons,” Archer shouted in an unprecedented commanding voice. “If I am truly Salus, the Demigod Emperor Servak’s son, then you will all obey my command.”

  Starkad and Khatar did so, Kari followed Khatar’s command and Kavis reluctantly stowed away his bow when he found himself the only with a weapon still drawn.

  “They are the re
al enemy,” the Warchief said.

  “Not this one. He has had many opportunities to harm us and yet never did so. Without him it would have not been possible for us to be here today. He is as much part of Keshish’s will as any of us.” He swallowed dryly and corrected himself, “He is as much part of Servak’s will as I am.”

  Starkad stared threateningly at Terketeus and said, “Listen to me well, serpent. Salus seems to think you trustworthy, but till I see proof of your intentions my blade will always be pointing at your throat.” He looked at the Varangian and received a nod in response. “Salus, your brother has fallen prey to one of his kind. His ear has been turned away from all tongues save for his. Do not make the same mistake.”

  “I will not, uncle.” The word came naturally to him. “Yet I will have him by my side.”

  “A position I would gladly accept,” Terketeus humbly added.

  Starkad turned around and walked leisurely towards his throne, sitting on the most powerful seat in the entirety of Nosgard when he reached it, resting his elbows on it and holding his hands securely ahead of his face, squeezing them till the tips of his fingers turned white. “Now, Salus, I would have you tell me of your journey so far.”

  Chapter 17: The Truly Faithful

  ‘The only difference between faith and knowledge is the power it allows.’ Parthan proverb.

  1

  “I would have you tell me of yourself, Khatar,” Archer said to the Varangian who had become synonymous to his shadow ever since he pledged his blade to Archer; although Servak’s son suspected that much of his new companion’s vigilance was commanded by the Warchief.

  They walked in Kol’s streets, an activity Archer insisted on in spite of the Varangian’s recommendation against it, past the stalls manned by Kolian children not yet of age to be trained in the arts of war. Out of their grown party, only Ascilla joined.

  “There is little to say, Deliverer.” Khatar insisted on calling Archer by this name ever since his identity has been revealed to him. “I am a Varangian, sworn to the Warchief Starkad and intend to continue my duty towards Kol even after Starkad’s rule is over.”