by Kai Kazi
CHAPTER iX
The lands further from the coast, even those up to the Kings Keep in Archibald were untouched by the foreign skirmishers, and yet there was an air of fear in them. The people did not smile to see Aiden, though a few bowed and waved; the memory of the demons who had ravaged the kingdoms of Europia was fresh, and this new invader inspired only dread. Dreams of glory in war were far behind them all. As they passed the Keep where he had grown up Aiden felt a pang of longing; the night of their honeymoon, Avondale’s happiness, burned in his head like an accusation.
He should have done something. Should have… what? His knuckles tightened on the reins. Now she was with child, heavy with child, and angry at him and finding solace in Sonja, that brash bitch, and Fiona, and that damnable, plain, dull guard that never left her side. The rift had opened so that he felt he couldn’t reach her if he tried. That stupid, sword-swinging brute had heard him turn her down… now the barracks would be laughing at him as if he were some kind of eunuch. But how could he? While she was so… with that monsters child?
Aiden swallowed and let his eyes fall to his hands. They were smooth, tanned, the nails even and clean; when he awoke after the battle it was Avondale who was by his bedside, and her hands were still torn and dirty. She had not washed, had not slept, the blood and dirt on her hands had dried into flakes and her nails were torn and dirty. How unprepared was he for this when even his wife was more battle-ready?
They settled for the night in lands half a day or so from his father’s camp on horseback; these lands had felt the touch of the invaders in the first wave. Now that they had been pushed back the lands were silent, but they felt alien to him now. The messenger, a young man called Timon, had left him as they passed the first Burgh, replaced by a contingent of soldiers headed for the front. Their number made him anonymous, almost, which was both a blessing and a curse for he could not join with their cheer. He sighed and opened the letter a messenger had brought to him; Avondale wished him well, begged him to be careful, told him that she loved him, and prayed for his safe return and the salvation of his kingdom. It was sweet, loving, and stilted. She was hurt, he knew, and he couldn’t blame her. Not really.
In the distance shouts rang out, sending ripples through the camp. As they turned to yells and screams the men all around him sprang to their feet, seeking their armaments.
“What’s happening?” Aiden called, but no-one answered him. The first figures came racing from the night, and he understood. “They’re too close,” he said,
“Highness we have to move,” a soldier shouted,
“They’re not supposed to be here.” He called back as an older soldier slid to his side,
“Well they fucking are, so we better be ready.”
His words were cold water, a slap in the face, but they brought the world into focus. Aiden drew his sword and faced the oncoming men. When the first come screaming into reach he pivoted smoothly, marvelling at how his body excelled where his mind could not; war was not supposed to be this way. As the taste and smell of blood filled his mouth and nose Aiden bared his teeth, vomit creeping up his throat again and again. A man fell to his left, screaming, clutching his guts; there was no glory in this. The stories, those tales, had they all been lies? Fighting the demons had been different; no one expected honor and glory, no one wanted that war, but this should have been different. Mud filled his mouth when he hit the ground, scrabbling away from a brute of a soldier swinging a heavy, brutal looking mace. Each time it hit the ground he felt the thump, felt the shiver of earth, each time it swung he waited for pain that never came. One of his men took the soldiers head and dragged him to his feet,
“You have to go to the forward camp, highness,” he said in Aiden’s ear, and he curled in shame at the relief, “your father will need you.” He turned; the man who had been chasing him lay on the ground, rent almost in two, his blood soaking into the mud. Aiden shuddered and made for his horse. The men rallied, some joining him, others blocking their exit as they circled the small band of enemies and made for the treeline. The coastal camp, his father, these were the thoughts that spurred him on as the low-lying branches began to whip at his face and shoulders, and all the time the sense of guilty joy and being free of the fight.
CHAPTER X
“She has been of great help to us, brother,” Temejun said, Shaitani cast her eyes demurely to the floor, “it was she who told me where we should land.” Batu frowned, running his fingers across the shining hair on his face; he was not so overwhelmed by the powder as she had hoped,
“A witch cannot be suffered to live, nonetheless,” he said,
“Brother-”
“Silence!” Batu leaned forward, gazing at her, “but because of her… helpful nature she will not face the fire. An honourable death by the sword.” He said. Temejun shook his head as guards gripped each of her arms,
“Batu, you cannot be serious, she can help us!” He said, but Shaitani knew it was useless. She suppressed a smile as Temejun’s face darkened,
“Tomorrow at dawn. I have spoken.” Batu said. Shaitani stared at Temejun as they dragged her away, pleading with her eyes, pushing panic into her expression while her heart beat slow and steady. They threw her into the storeroom of an inn they were using as a forward camp of sorts and locked the door. The guards’ feet threw shadows across the light filtering from the bottom of the door. Shaitani smirked and made herself a comfortable space in a gloomy corner, listened to the rats scuttle as they adjusted to her presence. She had overplayed her hand by pushing Temejun to reveal her presence so soon… and yet she was in the perfect position, now, to exact the first price from him. Blood, useful blood, would be spilled soon. She closed her eyes and took deep breath, letting the silence fill her. He would not want to do this, but he had no choice. No one ever did; the price that life demanded was often too high to bear, or so it seemed. Everyone made sacrifices; the ones she demanded were only more literal.
He would bend.
Or he would break.
Either way she would get what she needed.
“Let me in, I will speak to her!” Temejun’s voice rang out, and Shaitani smirked,
“The chief said-”
“I am the one here. Let me pass.” Silence, and then the rustle of fabric parting,
“Temejun,” she said, letting the tears fall, “you must save me.” Shaitani opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. He looked haunted, grey, his eyes darted around the room,
“I will set you free,” he said quietly, “and you must run.” She shook her head,
“I won’t leave you,” she said, heart speeding when he blinked and smiled,
“There is no other way,” he said,
“Yes, there is.” She blinked more tears on to her cheeks, “you can save me, and you can save our plan.” Temejun licked his bottom lip, looking over his shoulder at the door,
“How?” He said, kneeling in front of her, reaching out to touch her shoulder; she resisted the urge to pull away. Tenderness came too easily to men.
“You have to kill him,” She said, “but make it look like an accident. Then you would be king, and I could be free. It’s perfect we could be toget-”
“No.” He said, “I cannot.” Shaitani hugged herself,
“Of course not,” she whispered with lowered eyes, “he knows it, too.”
“What?”
She smirked briefly; every man had a nerve so exposed as to flinch at even a touch. She looked up, eyes wet and wide,
“No, I… I only meant that he knows you to be a better man than him. A good man.” She said, but his scowl deepened,
“He knows me to be weak,” he spat,
“No!”
“Yes,” he said,
“Turning your cheek to his disrespect is a sign of strength. It makes you a better man.” She pressed, stomach fluttering with excitement, “you are not weak, Temejun.” She said, and he shook his head, standing suddenly,
“No, I am not.” He said and pulle
d her to her feet. “Come with me.”
The guards protested his exit, but would not raise weapon to their leaders brother, it seemed, so their progress to the royal table was uninhibited, but noisy. They brought with them a crowd of guards, shouting war-leaders, and interested soldiers, setting the camp ablaze with noise as they went.
“Temejun, they will kill us!” She hissed, real fear slithering through her belly now, leaving an oily nausea in its wake.
“No, they won’t,” he said, and raised his voice as Batu stood to stare at them, “you are unfit to lead when you turn your head from a source of guidance and help.”
“Our laws are clear on witchcraft, brother.” Batu said,
“They are also clear on fornication with family, yet you married our cousin.” Temejun said, and a ripple went through the crowd, “you do not head the laws that bind you it seems.”
“How dar-”
“I dare.” Temejun said, dropping her arm as he stepped forward. Shaitani backed away, rubbing the aching flesh with one hand. They argued as they circled each other, puffing their chests and jutting their chins like children,
“You want to lead?” Batu snapped finally, and Shaitani suppressed a smile,
“I would be better than-”
“Do you wish to lead?” Batu said again,
“Maybe I do.” Temejun said, and Batu nodded as if something final had passed between them.
“The ring then,” Batu said, and a few of the men cheered, but his advisors looked less than pleased.
“There is no need for this,” Shaitani said, raising her hands, “the armies of your enemy are so close, fighting each other will do no good.”
“Neither will killing you!” Temejun said, “He cannot see the wisdom in utilising what the Gods bring.”
“The Gods did not send her, brother,” Batu said, and Shaitani smiled at him over his brothers shoulder. His eyes flashed, and she narrowed her own; she had chosen well. “Nothing good sent that into our midst. I will not pay her price.”
“No, you will send our men to die for no victory, for no glory, and with no chance, and you will do it by choice,” Temejun shook his head, “the Gods help those who help themselves.”
A silence fell; each man was considering the weight of their life against the purity of their soul and wondering how much she could possibly dirty them. How much? How quickly? Was she their Gods round about way of saving their lives and furthering their cause? She could taste the thoughts as they ran through each head,
“We could let the witch redeem herself,” A man said suddenly, “she cannot help how she was born, but her actions can bring her to the light. Let her help.” A susurrus of agreement ran through the gathered men, one of the advisors nodded,
“How do we know she has no goal of her own? Perhaps we are being used?” A stern looking war-leader asked,
“I ask only fair payment,” she said, and all eyes swivelled to her, “the lives of two people who wronged me. I would exact vengeance myself, but…”
“But?” Batu said,
“I have sworn to do no more harm to any living soul.” She said, and a few men laughed, but Temejun nodded,
“It is true.” He said. He would do nicely. Shaitani closed her mouth; her case would be better made with silence and subjugated looks.
Batu turned about, staring at each man who spoke,
“I will not allow this,” he said,
“Then step aside,” Temejun said, spreading his fingers in the air, “because I care too much about our people to let them die when I could ensure they live.”
“I am chief,” Batu said, “unless you wish to take to the ring it will stay so.”
“I will,” Temejun said,
“Then I will ready myself. An hour.” Batu said, and then stepped away before turning to walk toward the house he had claimed for himself. The crowd thinned, men forming into clumps of excited chatter and flashing eyes. Temejun strode to her,
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She asked, touching his arm with exaggerated care,
“Yes. No…” he sighed, “but it is done.”
“You may have to kill him,” she said, raising her hands defensively when he shot her a look, “he will never forgive this humiliation, I fear, but you know him better than I.” She had planted the seed, and now had to pray it would bear fruit; to find another viable source would take time and effort she could scarce afford. Temejun licked his lips,
“I will make him submit. Make him declare it, and surrender,” he said, “when he knows my superiority he will accept my rule.”
“I hope you are right.” Shaitani said, “I will return to the inn-”
“No,” he said, “you will stay. You will see this and know what I have done for you.”
“Not for me.” Shaitani murmured, then, and he did not protest.
They waited side by side, sitting eventually at the royal table to sip wine and pick at some of the delicate treats laid upon it. How easily this moving kingdom moved every aspect of itself, she thought, how readily. And yet she could still have been in the grasslands of the east, despite the Europia mud caking her thin, calf-skin boots.
“Can you see the future?” He asked suddenly, picking at a sweet bread, and Shaitani arched her brow,
“The future is fluid, it changes with each decision we make, my lord.” She said simply, and he nodded,
“Will my brother kill me?” He said,
“If you lose.” She said without pause,
“Will I lose?” He asked, and she shrugged, hands raising,
“That is beyond my power to know.”
“Is it in your power to help?” He said, voice little more than a whisper, and she felt the slippery edge of a precipice; the moment to act had come, but the line between failure and success was finer than she could ever have expected.
“I could,” she said, “but it would require magic that I no longer practice… I am sorry.”
“Blood magic?”
She nodded after ten heartbeats had passed,
“Do it,” he said, “for me, and I will help you seek forgiveness.” She stared at her hands as if deliberating,
“I…”
“Please, Shaitani, please,” he said, “you showed me your power, but will not use it? What of your revenge? What of your promise.”
She pulled her dagger from its sheath, feeling the weight of his apprehension, his fear, on her tongue; when she drew the blade across her own palm he shuddered. The words came so easily, and it was such a small enchantment to weave, but still he gaped as if she were something to marvel at. She squeezed her blood into his wine under the table.
“Drink,” she whispered,
“What-”
“Drink.”
He looked around before he threw back the wine in one gulp, wiping the residue from his lips with a sleeve,
“What will this do?” He said,
“It will give you the edge you need.” She said and turned away as if ashamed. He pressed his palm to her shoulder, and left a clean handkerchief on her leg,
“My thanks.” He said and walked to the men who were already forming a ring of bodies. Shaitani wrapped her hand and followed after fifty heartbeats; there was no need to push to the front for his men parted like water around a stone. She swallowed and raised her chin when he nodded to her; this was it.
The din that men made never ceased to amaze her; even when though they failed to utter a word the men around her seemed to hum with knowledge of what was to come, and yet the silence that fell when Batu stepped forward was almost complete. He seemed to take all of the light from the day by looming above every person around, his face was sombre, stoic, and there was no malice in his wide, dark eyes.
Shaitani licked her lips and curled her toes inside her boots; if the enchantment was not enough… She shook her head as if ridding herself of cobwebs and set her jaw. There was no ceremony or preamble, that she could see, before the first blade sliced through the air without a
sound. Unlike the men of Europia the horse lords of the east seemed to favour agility over brute strength; they dodged and weaved rather than blocking blows with great slabs of metal. This was a dance she could appreciate. The surprise on Batu’s face when Temejun drew first blood made Shaitani glad that he had asked for her help; no-one had expected him to win. That much she could see on the faces of the men on the other side of the ring.
And yet he was; he seemed to be made of water as he flowed from movement to movement, and Batu could only dodge and defend against that sudden and unexpected fury. When Temejun dropped to one knee suddenly, and Batu’s swing plunged onward into the nothingness above his head, the force of it pulling the bulk of his body in and arc that ended with him sprawling on the ground. Temejun sprung to his feet once more and brought his swords down on either side of his brothers head. Shaitani swallowed and waited to see the blood spill.
“Do you submit, Brother?” Temejun said, panting lightly. Batu lay still for a few heartbeats and then shook his head. Temejun faltered. Shaitnai bit back on frustration.
“Not to you.” Batur grunted,
“I have bested you.” Temejun growled,
“Your witch did, I do not know what she gave you, but-”
“I have bested you, and you will submit,” Temejun said once more.
Shaitani feared he might and foresaw a future where her plans became more and more futile, more and more broken. Batu’s face twisted and he seemed to swirl the words in his mouth before spitting,
“Not to you.”
Temejun froze, sword in hand, and Shaitani felt the world turn as every man around him waited for action. Shaitani clenched her fists behind her back; he must do it… he could not fall at this hurdle. Temejun frowned, gripping his sword, jaw working as a susurrus slithered through the crowd.
