[b]Bapentui[/b]

A hundred banners of a hundred clans flew flying in the air. Emblazoning the sky in a rainbow of hues and emboldening the seat of the Satyr Kingdom of miles around. Upon the horizon travelers under the clear afternoon sky looked out from the golden hills to the colorful flags that danced on the warm Savannah wind. Against the clear blue, nestled along the snaking waters of the Bapa river as it exploded into the many shallow and swampy runs of its flush green delta.

Banana and date palms stood sentinel around the city in the fertile marshes alongside the expansive reedy farms of rice and barley that grew in the fresh clean river water. And although still very distant, when the breeze blew right the salty smell of the distant sea blew inland, beckoning a cool refreshment from the distant ocean.

Carving across the hills, winding between totems of stone welcoming and warning visitors a webbing network of dirt road ways all bent and danced through the Savannah grass and under the welcoming shade of wide umbrella trees. The chirps of a hundred birds sung in the warm summer air. Monkeys screeched and chattered to themselves in the tall grass, sprinting away from the road side as along the road the silver army of the Seusebi made their solemn march for home.

Along the side of the road the farmers that had spun out into the fields well outside the city stopped to observe the heavy footed army as they came for home. The red banners of the Seusebi flying over their heads in a field so thick it was fire in the sun. These farmers, living in tall mud and thatch estates hung by at the fences, pensive and joyous to see the return of their spiritual leader. Their families taking the posts as they all wore the same excited looks.

It had been a good many years, and along the country roads leading into the city strong evidence of their people's growth persisted. Fields thick with lush grass and pensive bison stretched for miles in every direction. Their herdsmen and their family just as thick at the green grass yards, separated from their fields with hedges of thin spiny bushes.

Wives and daughters of the large herding clan estates stopped their busy work at tending the beats and roots they grew in their gardens. Their backs and breasts wholly warmed by the high afternoon sun. They smiled warmly at the passing army. Some of them had husbands, brothers, or sisters who marched in the retinue.

Behind them the expansion of their private estates went on by the men folk who did not march in service. Evidence of the growing effect of continual bumper seasons. Wooden frames from great palm trunks stood struck in a ground filled with gravel and stone. Thatched sheets of wattle slowly being nailed to the trunks as nearby vats of mud-based daub was prepared in blood-red clay troughs.

As the host wound out of the herds land and into the green orchards and fields of the Bapa delta region the feel changed considerably. Though still dominated by the small family-clan units, the neccesaity of size made them more constrained. Becoming rounder and compact - in comparison to the larger and rectangular estates out more – the farming clans of Bapentui's exterior lived more among their crop. Built up be generations of farming and growth within the family and within the expansion of their means.

Networks of stone and thatch and palm-roofed bridges ran a gauntlet through the maze of fields and orchards. Running over where the men and women toiled in the river-side muck or small fishing boats wove through the water, hunting for the traps the fishermen laid out for freshwater crab. The smells of roasting dunner filled the air as the wind trapped it beneath the soft green balcony of the fruiting trees. Mixing roasted nuts and meats with the scent of fresh ripening banana, dates, and pecans. It was earthly. It was pleasant. It was heaven on Earth. Farming communes coalesced into informal villages, just on the outskirts of Bapentui itself. And climbing up the shallow hill that would be crowned by the city itself.

Bapentui. The hill-top city that laid claim for itself the countryside a clear day away. A kingdom that laid claim to a hundred more tribes many more days out. Earthen walls stood guard over the hill. Organically bending and twisting to its contours. Conical towers standing right and powerful, flying the hundreds of colored flags of the kingdom's many tribes and clans. Behind which the stepped and tiered towers of its temples and its homes reached out for the sky. Flocks of birds flew in the air, chirping madly at the city below as they darted to and fro between the towering roofs. At the foremost crown the palace of the Kabaka at the ziggurat of the Seusebi.

Through the columned gates that stood open into the city the host marched. Passing from the packed clay of the outside to the winding cobbled paths climbing the city. Cut as tears, no more than a step high they cut the hill flat, taming its once dramatic robust peak. Crafting it to a landscape that over time could be used. And as the city would grow, so would the hill shrink. Or loose its definition.

Bapentui's markets and homes were a series of courtyards between covered walkways. Brick and plastered houses stood at the corners or at the edges dividing open air gardened plots. Steep angled roofs rose to the air, bearing deep thatched bosoms. Long grasses sat at the crown, or intertwined palm fronds. Long wooden verandas encircled many of the structures, covered with ceramic shingled roofs on frames of thick sticks.

The marching host attracted the attention of the populace. Many of which stood aside as the armed satyrs passed through, guarding the pallbearers that carried the Seusebi's covered throne. Faint glimpses of her shadow shone through the heavy silk canopy that shielded the priestess. And as the people watched her on, she looked ahead. Up the winding roads to where she'd arrive at the palace.

******

Ashra's hooves echoed softly off the soft amber plaster of the palace's inner walls. A soft sunlit glow shone softly from the precipice between the ceiling and the walls, illuminating the expansive hallway as the Seusebi kept a brisk pace. Moisi kept close behind, looking up at the wooden ceiling with awe in her eyes. She had been in the palace before, but never enough she'd be muted by it.

Along the walls the elongated and slender tribal busts of anonymous figures marched on. Between lamps of oil they gave a constant silent vigil against those that came in. To the Afarid, such decorations were a ward off spirits and agents of evil. Many were benign in their evil, being little more than mischief. But people of power attracted the stronger agents of evil, those that would bring disease and death, or confusion and madness.

Ashra turned a corner in the mighty hall. The light of the sun beamed strong at its opening several feet away. And guards stood vigilant at its opening. Tall capped Satyrs with tall conical helmets. They watched the approaching high-priestess behind wild distorted animal masks. Fully alert to her presence but not choosing to show it. Moisi drew closer to her guardian as they came closer to the guards.

“[i]Mi Sui.[/i]” said one of the guards as Ashra drew closer. He held out his arm, blocking her path with his spear, “The little one may not enter.”

“Like the Hells she can't you thick-headed bafoon.” Ashra cursed, booming with anger. Grabbing hold of the guard's spear she continued, “She's in my care, and you have nothing to worry about! Release this spear or I will see you burn upon my altar!” she threatened angrily, leaning into the guard's face.

He seemed to consider the threat momentarily. “I will see my husband will know!” she spat angrily.

Obediently, the guard released the spear from his hands, handing it to the high-priestess. “My apologies.” he said stiffly, stepping aside.

Ashra glared at him angrily, spear in her hand. With a distasteful grunt she threw it on the stones before her and walked through. Moisi hugged her legs closely as they passed the two watchful sentries.

Passed them they entered into a large garden court-yard. Thatched awnings bowed over a covered walk that cut around the edge and through the middle. At any available post stood watch another guard, dressed shoulder to hoof in deep red cloaks. They turned to watch the visitor curiously, almost grudgingly. Too much for her taste.

All over the gardens palms loaded with bananas and dates grew alongside crystal pools filled with golden orange fish. The unfolded fronds of ferns provided shade for a number of tiny mushrooms growing in the dark soil at their base. Smooth stones marked the edge of grassy paths that wound through the garden courtyard and around islands of bushes loaded with pearl white and rosy pink flowers open to the sun above.

It would have given the Seusebi piece, if it wasn't for the paranoid watch of her husband's guard.

And she found her husband, sitting hunched in the middle of one of the paths. Knife in his hand busying with a bush of large orchids.

Yesobi Bawentui was by no means a simple man. And he was by far older than his wife. His body was still thick and heavy with muscles, and under his white robe there would be a wandering landscape of scars, both from battles and hunt. Though as his thick fuzzy head of hair thinned and grayed, so too had he left the field of battle as his hair retired from his scalp.

In his recent years as his fingers went stiff and he could no longer sprint the distance of his younger companions he retired to simpler choirs and devoted himself to past-times he had not otherwise the time to practice between others. Ashra could not say she hated it. They were endearing, if not awkward for a war leader.

“Yesobi.” Ashra said, bowing.

Yesobi paused, hand half way into the bush as he carried the knife over to the base of a dish-pan sized orchad. He looked over, puzzled. “Oh!” he said, seeing his wife. His face washed itself with a king relief. He was a dark Satyr, blacker than most. And against that his eyes shone a bright green, “It is you, my love.” he smiled, “I did not imagine you back so soon.” he continued standing up.

But looking in her eyes he soon realized something was wrong. There was a bitterness behind Ashra's gaze. And Yesobi saw that. Concerned him. “What's the matter? Did the guards give you trouble.”

“I feel it is more than I usually receive, but it is not the matter.” Ashra said sharply, “The matter is something went wrong. Terribly wrong.” she added, her tone going softer and lower. She gave paused, biting nervously on her lip.

Yesobi nodded, turning to his guards he held out a hand. “Go, leave us!” he shouted. His voice carried like a shot of thunder. And they obliged the order as if carried on lightning. Turning and filing out of the garden.

“Should Moisi be here?” he asked, concerned. Looking down at the small Satyr child. With the guard leaving she was more relaxed. But still stayed close to her guardian.

“I'm afraid she was there when it happened. I doubt she'll leave my side for a while. She's shocked.” Ashra said despondent and distressed, “I hardly think it will matter. It's no secret, or news to her.”

Yesobi nodded, “Go on.” he said, bending over to pick the basket that laid on the ground at his hooves.

“The camp was attacked.” she said, “Almost a week ago, when we began the trial. We had retired for the evening after the initial proceedings and settling for the night when they came.

“I don't know who they followed, but they came after me.” she said, her voice almost choking. She reached out to Moisi and held her softly by her shoulders, “My guards were quick to act, and they were dealt with. I myself had to fight them off. Niyo was most helpful. But something went wrong, very wrong.”

“Niyo wasn't hurt?” Yesobi said, panic stricken as well, “Rwan?”

“Niyo is OK. But Rwan disappeared after the battle. We suspect he was kidnapped. Niyo went off to locate him and took several of my retinue with him. It's suspected the Bugan had a hand in this.”

Yesobi's face was flat, devoid of any show of emotion on the news. But his body shook. Ashra could see it in his hands. The jittering dance of the flowers in the basket. Ashra held out a hand, holding the king's shoulders. Carefully, she helped him down, and they sat in the grass.

“The Bugan...” he said. His voice cracked in his chest. He placed a scarred hand to it, messaging his breast through his long white robes. “How'd it happen? Do we know!?” he said, demandingly. His voice cracked in his throat. His eyes wild with desire and anger.

“Niyo said he left Rwan with Mami before he came to assist me.” Ashra said, “At the battle... Someone tried to kill him. But Niyo pulled him back. But the assailant took Rwan's eyes with a knife.” it was still hard to talk about it. He weighed heavily on her shoulders and heart. And every time the words escaped her lips, or crossed her mind, she could feel the surgical knives on her stomach again. Their cold sharp precision moving to save life before it ended without entering the world. They had cared for him so much then, afraid he would die weak and frail...

“I suppose we will need to bring him to court.” Yesobi grumbled, “And there will no excursions out to perform trial. It will be here, and always here.

“We'll need to find Mami first, or his sons. Do we know where they went?”

“We'll look for them.” she said, “We did recapture the human though, we can press him for information here at home. I sent him to be held at the temple. When the time's right, we'll start.”