Emblems of Power

by C L Patterson

  “You rob our caravans and you siege our cities! My men fight you in the day and night and you ask me how you live?” the Captain asked. His face reddened with anger. The nomad laughed softly.

  “The truth of the capital’s doings has not been revealed to you. Search inside your own walls. As mighty as the Capital is, why do people starve? Start there and you will find the true criminals. Until you find them, we will continue to hunt you and your caravans.” The nomad turned to walk back into the dunes with the others.

  “Nomad!” the Captain called. The nomad stopped and turned. “Who told you we would be here?” The nomad shook his head.

  “Look inside your own walls,” the Nomad said. He continued to walk with the others. The guards held their spears and shields steady until the group disappeared behind the collapsed dune. One of the guards approached the Captain.

  “Why did we let them go sir?” the guard asked.

  “We could have killed all of them, but I would still be without information and you all would be weakened.” The Captain turned and looked over the flat desert. “About how far are we from the place where Kosai was attacked?”

  “Not far sir, maybe a half hour,” the guard replied. The Captain nodded, picked up the spears that were buried in the sand and walked over to the lead wagon.

  “Driver, the threat has passed. How soon can we be moving again?”

  “Soon Captain,” the driver said. He turned back to the open desert, stuck his two small fingers in his mouth and whistled. The Captain covered his ears as the driver blew the note. Without stopping, he raised the pitch of his whistle a full octave and held it there for a time. As the whistle ended, the sound seemed to carry on the wind and out into the desert.

  On the horizon, the suon came lumbering back together. Their long black tongues flicked the air as sand slid down their scales. As they came close to the trail, each broke off from the group and lined up in front of their wagons. The drivers attached the harnesses and waited for the lead caravan driver’s signal. The lead driver looked back and whistled as he spun his finger above his head. The drivers whipped the reigns and slowly, the caravan continued into the desert.

  The Captain stood in one place and watched as each of his guards marched by him with the wagons. The last guard to walk by was Raemon, the one who was injured by an arrow in the upper left part of his chest. The driver that had tended to him seemed to have treated the wound with some skill and care. The bandages were tight and neat, with only a spot of blood leaking through the bandage.

  “Guard,” the Captain called. The guard stopped, turned towards the Captain and stood at attention. “Are you in much pain?”

  “As much as to be expected sir,” Raemon said. “The arrow was lodged in the joint. I’ll be fine.” The Captain walked up to him and placed his hand on his injured shoulder. The guard cringed slightly, obviously fighting to withhold a growl of pain.

  “The pain is good for you, it will make you stronger. Learn from this. You have taken an arrow, which I assume is your first.” Raemon nodded.

  “The pain immobilized me. It was terrible.”

  “Now you know what it feels like. The arrow is only wood and steel. If you can learn to fight through that pain, there will never be another arrow that can stop you. Tell me guard, how did that arrow hit you?”

  “I was backing up towards the wagon and I turned to see where it was. I must have lowered my shield slightly when the arrow struck me. Usually I would use the end of my spear to gauge distance to a wall, but you had requested it from me so I resorted to my arm.”

  “That was your mistake, turning away from your enemy. Can you carry a spear?” The Captain handed him his spear. The guard took the spear and fell into a guard position; crouched, shield up so that the rim of the shield was at eye level and the spear in the left hand, pointed outward and resting slightly on the shield.

  “Attack position!” the Captain ordered.

  The soldier shot up from a crouch and opened his shield slightly to the right. He shifted his spear to an overhand position, as if to throw, his arm began to shake and the spear fell from his hand. He tucked his arm close to his chest, crouched and covered his upper body with the shield just in time to block the blow. The Captain kicked the shield and the young guard groaned. “Good. You recovered quickly, but you are of no use for this trip. I will take you back to Noiknaer after I see the place where Kosai was attacked.” The guard picked up the spear and stood up straight.

  The Captain followed the tracks that the wagons made and marched towards the front of the caravan. Raemon stayed at the back of the group. When the Captain reached the lead wagon, the driver looked down at him curiously.

  “How is your student Captain?” the lead driver asked.

  “He is well. One of your drivers is talented as a healer.”

  “It is part of our curriculum. Healing the wounds of our guardsmen is one of the most important skills a caravan can have. Our lives are only as long as yours.”

  There was another stop for water shortly after the attack, during which the wagons were looked over. There were a few split boards and holes where the guards took cover, but the wagons themselves could easily be fixed, as long as the structural integrity wasn’t compromised. After the damage was recorded, the caravan continued.

  After twenty minutes, the caravan passed the last dune and entered into the open desert. The lead driver pointed off to the east.

  “About a hundred yards in that direction was where Kosai was attacked Captain.” The Captain stared out into the desert. “Not far beyond that was the sandstorm. You will be leaving us now I take it.”

  “Yes. I also wanted to see what information I could get out of the nomads. You will be in good hands. The guard that was injured will be useless to you. He cannot hold a spear properly. I will be escorting him back.”

  “And if there is another attack Captain?”

  “Is there another portion of this journey that would easily facilitate an ambush?” The driver pulled a folded piece of paper out from his suit. He unfolded it and examined the route.

  “No. We will be able to see them coming long before they see us,” the driver said. “But what if we are followed? And why are we given so few guards?”

  “I want those answers as well. Travel well,” the Captain said.

  “Travel well,” the driver replied. He set the reigns down for a moment and disappeared into the wagon. When he returned, he had a sling and a flask of water. He handed them over to the Captain. “For your return journey,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  The Captain stepped off of the trail and waited until the second wagon passed by and called for his lieutenant.

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenant said.

  “I am placing you in charge of this caravan. I will be taking Raemon back to Noiknaer.”

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenant said with a salute before continuing on with his wagon. The Captain waited until the last wagon passed by and called for Raemon. He walked up to the Captain, grimacing with a hand on his shoulder.

  “What are you expecting to find out there?”

  “Answers,” the Captain said shortly. He turned away from the trail and walked out in the direction the lead driver had pointed. Raemon walked a short distance behind him.

  After the Captain had walked out about a hundred yards, he stopped and looked around. The desert lay out before them and the caravan evaporated in the distance. The windblown sand brushed against their faces. The Captain frowned and shook his head. Raemon walked up next to him.

  “Captain, do you see that?” Raemon said, pointing ahead of them. The Captain looked where the guard was pointing and saw a small reflection of light.

  “Yes, I do see it. Good eyes,” the Captain said, patting his student on the back. Hurriedly, he walked over to the glistening object. As they came closer to it, the Captain recognized it. It was one of Kosai’s swords. The curved blade with a red
tint was stabbed in the ground. Black sand dripped from the blade like coagulated blood, forming a pool of black dirt around the sword. The Captain pulled the sword from the ground and looked over the blade. As the sand fell off the blade, it left behind a thin, black stain that stretched the entire length of the blade edge. There were a few nicks in the blade and two sections that were dull. He held the sword out in front of him, the tip pointed at the horizon, and rotated the sword, checking to see if the blade had bent or warped. Seeing no other defects, he placed it into his belt.

  Cautiously, the Captain bent over and set his hand on the ground, feeling the tan colored sand that surrounded the black sand. He touched the black sand, but immediately pulled his hand away, shook it and groaned.

  “That burned,” he said surprised. “The normal, tan colored sand is hot to the touch, but this black sand felt like needles.”

  “I have never seen sand like that before,” Raemon said. The Captain nodded and opened the pouch that the caravan driver had given him. He put the rocks in his pocket, turned the bag inside out and scooped a handful of black sand with the bag. He snarled slightly as excess sand rolled off onto his hand. It left thin black trails of sticky fluid. He quickly wiped his hand on his pants. The black stuff turned into black sand and fell to the ground, red burn marks appearing where the sand had once been.

  “What do you think it is?” Raemon said, looking at the sand. “And how was the sword placed like that? It’s almost like someone wanted us to find it.”

  “Not sure,” the Captain responded as he tied the pouch to his belt. “But I intend to find out. It seems that this trip has opened more questions than answers. Quick now, let’s be back to Noiknaer before sun down.”

  “Yes sir,” the guard said.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Captain and Raemon returned to Noiknaer in the evening, just before sundown. He left Raemon at the barracks with instructions to admit himself to the medical wing for inspection. The wrappings and bandage looked clean enough, but a closer examination could show signs of infection. A field dressing only went so far. With one of Kosai’s swords and the pouch of hot black sand attached to his belt, the Captain went to the Forge.

  The Forge had a close relationship with the Barracks and caravans. Most people who visited the Forge were in need of small things like hinges and tools. The government caravans needed steel reinforcements for their wagons and special harnesses for the suon.

  The students of the Forge learned best from the projects that came from the Barracks. Repairs on weapons, shields, helms and other pieces of armor required both a firm hand and a delicate touch. If a sword needed sharpening, it was pressed against the wheel and moved side to side like a mother gently rocking her child to sleep. If a spear needed a new point, molten steel was cast into a mold and sharpened by hand with a whetstone as if it were a delicate sculpture. Round slabs of steel were heated, hammered, sanded and washed over and over again until they became shields. The hiss of hot steel in water, the pounding of hammers on metal, the billowing of the fires all combined in one chorus of craftsmanship.

  Like many of the other schools in Noiknaer, students came from all around Tessír and the southern countries to learn, but unlike many schools, the Forge had competition. The other blacksmith school in Noiknaer was funded by the Three Brothers syndicate, and offered its products and services to the public at a half the cost of the Forge. Even with the higher costs, the Captain always chose the Forge for its reputation of higher quality; that and the fact that the Head Smith was his sister.

  She was a short, small-framed woman with short blonde hair. What she lacked in statur she made up for in a ferocious temper and tongue. She had once lashed out at a student for leaving a blade in the heat too long and almost melting it. The student seemed to shrink with every word that came out of her mouth and never came back.

  “The will of a blacksmith needs to be harder than iron and steel. Else the metal will not move under his hammer,” she would say the day after a student left, which was quite often. “If you cannot take the lashings of a woman’s mouth, you are not worthy to wield the flame of any forge. It takes discipline, focus and a hide as thick as a leather apron to survive here. In the Forge, we temper and purify metals with heat, we pound out the flaws and we drown out imperfections in water. We do this over and over again until the metal becomes exactly what we want it to be. I will do the same thing to you. I will burn you, pound you, drown you with my temper and you will become exactly what I intend you to become; the best blacksmiths that anyone has ever seen. Take it or leave it.”

  The forge was a one story building with a high peaked roof. A metal chimney crowned the building and plume after plume of black smoke billowed out into the desert air. The Forge was on South Interior road and right across the street from the Three Brothers Blacksmith. An awning stretched out from the front of the building. Beneath the awning was a long wooden trading table. Customers would approach the table and purchase an assortment of goods. On the wall, behind the trading table, hung buckets of nails, hinges, horseshoes in different varieties, axe heads, hammers, pliers and scissors. Each bucket had a metal plaque above it, labeling the item with a price per pound.

  A balance scale was bolted into the middle of the table with counterweights next to it. On a busy day there were four to five students tending to customers, jotting down quotes on custom orders while another, more senior student, ran the balance and took the money. This late in the evening, there was always only one student left at the forge. His name was Paerek but everyone called him Paer.

  When he first tried to introduce himself, due to his guttural voice and impaired speech, all that anyone understood was Paer. It took a couple years before the Captain was able to completely understand what he was saying. He was a head and a half taller than the Captain and looked as though he had never seen a decent meal. His arms were the same thickness from wrist to shoulder. He looked up as the Captain approached the counter.

  “Hey,” Paer said in a slow, rising tone. “Be with you in a second.” Paer had a long, thin metal rod in one hand and was cutting it into short sections with a pair of clippers he held in the other. After cutting the rod six times, he set the tools down and stood… very slowly. He placed his hands on his back and arched upward like a slow and majestic sunrise. “What can I do for you Captain?” The Captain took Kosai’s sword out from his belt and laid it on the table.

  “I need this sharpened and I need to speak with Ellene. Is she around?” Paer looked down at the sword, over at the bed of coals, at the Captain and then down again at the sword before he nodded and went through the wooden double doors and into the forge. Each door had a metal disk in its center. A forge hammer engulfed in flames was etched into each disk.

  “How many times have I told you Paer,” Ellene said fiercely. “No new customers this late at night … I don’t care if it is Councilor Steran! No new customers… Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Ellene came through the doors. Paer was right behind her. When Ellene saw the Captain, she threw her arms around the Captain’s neck, squeezing him tightly. The Captain returned the embrace. “Brother it’s good to see you. What happened to Kosai? I heard he was in pretty bad shape,” she said still hugging him.

  “It’s good to see you too sister.” They ended their embrace and smiled at each other. “I have two projects for you.” The Captain removed his silver four pronged amulet from his neck and placed it on the table. “I need a replica of this made, minus one prong and I also need a box made for this sword.” Ellene picked up the blade and looked at the blood stains and nicks in the metal.

  “I’ll have this repaired as well,” she said slowly as she continued to examine the weapon, cautiously drawing her thumb across the flat, black stained portion of the blade.

  “That won’t be nessesary.” The Captain straightened his shoulders and leaned forward slightly, staring firmly into Ellen’s eyes. Ellene nodded.

  “Paer, fetch me a q
uill, inkwell, paper and my measuring tape please.” Paer nodded and went into the forge. “What happened out there?” Ellene whispered.

  “Do you remember the night Kosai came into my care? Do you remember what I told you about what happened in the tower?” Ellene gasped and placed her hand on her chest.

  “You don’t mean…”

  “That same figure, known only as the Dark One, has come back, and tried to kill Kosai. I still remember how he told me that he had a need of me and my guard. Yesterday I learned that our routes are planned by the Seer from the School of the Faye. Supposedly, Kosai’s encounter with the Dark One was planned and it was Seen that Kosai would be able to kill him, but the school is unsure how.”

  Ellene held up a finger for silence, and then turned towards the Forge.

  “And don’t forget the drying sand,” she called to Paer, then to the Captain, she whispered in an undertone, “That should buy us more time. Something else is bothering you though, I can see it.”

  “My gut tells me that there is much more to this, more to this sword, more to everything that has happened recently, and some voice in my mind tells me that Kosai is at its epicenter. I need to talk to a few more people about the condition of this sword before anything happens to it. The facts surrounding the incident are so fantastic, and there is so much to take in, it will take some time to make sense of it all. Could you do me a favor and keep your ears open and if you hear anything about Kosai, let me know.”

  “Of course,” Ellene said with a somber nod. Just then, Paer came out of the forge with the quill, paper, inkwell, drying sand and measuring tape. After placing the amulet on the paper, she traced it with the quill, and then measured each section on the amulet, marking the widths and lengths of each section. When she finished, she laid the quill on the table, spread the drying sand over the paper, and looked up at the Captain.