Lord Zee
DracoLunaris
Frettzo
Cyclone
Vec
Torack
@Klomster I think it's just the effects of him living in semi-denial for so long - not helped by the fact that Daeron provided him with a fairly sheltered life in Calchester. A bit of exposure to the real world - perhaps a night of reflection on what just happened and the fact that he just so coldly killed those men - and he'll hopefully mature somewhat...
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STATUS: "Soon you will have forgotten all things. And soon all things will have forgotten you." 5 yrs ago
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"Soon you will have forgotten all things. And soon all things will have forgotten you."
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Sorry if that post seems quite rushed - I have a tight schedule this morning and need to get back to my essays. Hopefully it makes sense and does the job. And yes, Aulus is currently somewhat ill-informed, but perhaps not as much of a doofus as that post might suggest ^^'
Aulus Granus, 9th Baron Eskandar
Lord of Castle Cramz
Castle Calchester, 503 A.R
The weary force of riders - coming at a few hundred - rode through the great gates of Castle Calchester. The steeds muddied and clearly worn out, their riders did not look to be in much better shape. They were met by a few Humber riders who ushered them through the streets towards the impregnable fortress at the centre of the sprawling castle-town.
'Who're they?' Aulus asked Harik, a blacksmith who frequented Aulus' favourite tavern.
'Mazeltof,' the blacksmith grunted.
'Who?' Aulus asked. The middle-aged man gave Aulus a sidelong glance.
'You pullin' my leg boy? I said they's Mazeltof. News of their retreat from Orog came weeks ago. We're next, tha's for sure.' Aulus nodded slowly.
'Orog...that's...err,' he thought for a few seconds, 'that's the castle right?' Pushing the boy aside with an irritated grunt, the blacksmith made his way back to his smithy - he had no time to be teaching little boys what any idiot could see on a map. He paused and turned back to Aulus.
'Boy, it'll be your likes that get it when the Imperials get 'ere. They say that Erock Greensworth and Aureus Wulfrick are leading that force here.'
'Who're they?' Aulus asked with a slight yawn.
'They's death boy, that's who. You don't wanna be here when they get here.' Nodding distractedly, Aulus turned away and fought his way through the crowds until he could slip into an empty alleyway and head off towards the tavern. It was still early in the afternoon, so Grun and the others wouldn't be there. But Sikak the barkeeper, who also owned the establishment, was always fun to tease - and his daughter Ani was sweet on the eyes!
'What's this, you ain't gone yet?' the large man asked when Aulus walked in.
'Gone?' the young man asked as he took a seat before him, 'where should I be going? Is something good happening?'
'Yeaah, somethin' good's happenin' for sure you nitwit - didn't you see them escapin' Mazeltofs? Dontcha know what happened to 'em?'
'Oh yeah, Harik told me. Something about death coming and some castle Orog and whatnot,' Aulus shrugged, 'what do I care for these things?' Sikak frowned and leaned in as he scrubbed at a cup.
'Look 'ere now Aulus, yer a smart lad. You know what'll happen if Calchester falls to the Imperials, dontcha?' Aulus frowned.
'Eh...Daeron comes out and gives them what's coming to them? There isn't anybody what can stand before him when he gets angry! And with Hemala swinging that mace around, by golly! Everything will be back to normal in a jiffy. You people worry about all this stuff too much - just relax. Where's Ani anyway?'
'Come now Aulus, get back home. I'll betcha things are topsy-turvy up there now. Yer sister's probably lookin' all over fer you,' Aulus frowned and nodded slightly - he clearly wasn't going to relax and leave him be. The older waved him off and Aulus reluctantly left. Maybe he should go back home and check to make sure everything was alright. Daeron had been gone a fair while, after all, and he had noticed Hemala increasingly worried state - not that she bothered to confide in him when it came to matters of importance. She knew well that Aulus had no knowledge or opinion on such matters - and that, in addition, he did not truly care much about them.
The castle was alive with the neighing of horses and the low hum of men speaking in hushed tones. The retreat from Orog had clearly shaken the Mazeltof knights so much that even when they reached the safety of Calchester they could not quite bring themselves to speak up.
'My Lord!' Aulus turned at the familiar sound of Godric's voice, 'my lord! By the gods! Where have you been?' the skinny, balding old man rushed towards Aulus and quickly drove him indoors. He took the young man by the arm and guided him into a dark room - only the orange light of the fire revealed the others standing within. Aulus immediately recognised Hemala and the head advisor, Lady Maerya Bernalys. Aulus looked at the two strangers - a man and a woman.
'Aulus, come, sit here,' Hemala gestured for him to take a seat. Confused, Aulus looked towards Godric who huffed in annoyance and gently - but firmly - pushed the young man into the seat. Aulus was simply confused - Hemala never invited him to any of these "meetings" and whatnot. Maybe things were not fine after all? 'This is Dilys Mazeltof, and this is her brother, Ian Mazeltof,' Hemala told Aulus, 'they have just retreated from the Kingdom of Orog, which has now been over-run by Wulfrick and Greensworth Imperial forces. It is almost certain that they will soon march on us.' Aulus pursed his lips and decided it was best that he maintain his silence, else his general ignorance would become manifest.
'That damned Erock has been doggedly pursuing us since the fall of Fishgrove. He-he...killed Godwyn,' it was the woman, Dilys, who spoke. In the low light, Aulus finally got a good look at the two of them. The woman was rather small and appeared delicate. Her green eyes and blond hair came together to give her a rather pleasing appearance overall. Her brother, Ian, was taller than her. Like her, he had a shock of blond hair and piercing green eyes which were lighter than Aulus' - but even Aulus could see that the man was stunningly beautiful. If there was not so much sadness in his eyes and face, Aulus would have taken him for the merry sort - just the kind of person he'd enjoy a night of drinking and brawling with.
'We thought we could hold off in Orog until help arrived, but our men broke on seeing how severely outnumbered we were - there must have been seventy-thousand Imperials, if not more. They'll be here soon. We must escape before it's too late.' It was Ian who spoke this time. Hemala shook her head.
'No, there must be a way. Castle Calchester is impregnable, we can hold out for years if we have to.' Ian and Dilys looked to each other doubtfully.
'Lady Humber, with all due respect, we were there at Fishgrove. We know what they are capable of. Unless you can summon forth an army of warriors and powerful mages to defend Calchester, then we stand no chance and will be dying here in vain. We have lost all our family to them, we cannot lose anymore.' Ian looked from Hemala to Maerya unstintingly, 'our only hope is to withdraw, unite with the rest of the Alliance's forces, and advance from there. Else we'll be picked off one by one and all will be lost.' Dilys was silent, but Maerya turned to Hemala said it without mincing words.
'We have no chance winning if we are besieged here. If they have mages, then Calchester will fall within days, if not hours.' Hemala's eyes widened at this and she frowned. Furrowing her brows she turned to Aulus.
'Aulus, what do you think? Do you agree with this running away business?' Aulus had slightly zoned out as they talked and quickly sat up when his name was mentioned.
'Wha- run away? Me? Never!' he said quickly, 'I mean, uh. Maybe, sometimes. If Grun is really angry.' Hemala frowned and Maerya gave Aulus a censorious look. He bit his lower lip and looked down in embarrassment, 'sorry...I...zoned out a bit.' Sighing, Hemala turned back to the others.
'Look, most of the Humber forces are with my father. However, if we send word out to our remaining strongholds - which will fall to the Imperial advance if left where they are - and have them come here, then we can make a stand and repel the Imperial forces. If we get reinforcements, we may even be able to push back into Orog and retake what has been lost.' Hemala looked at the other three who were clearly unconvined. She made to turn back to Aulus for support, but very swiftly changed her mind. He surprised her by speaking out anyway.
'Don't worry, I was listening this time, promise.' Hemala pursed her lips and looked pleadingly to Maerya for support. The woman shook her head.
'I'm sorry Hemala , the risk is too high. We should send word to them all and tell them to retreat towards the main force. Lord Humber wrote to us some time back about the severe losses they incurred. Perhaps if we withdraw to the main force we will not only strengthen it, but also ensure victory at the next battle. All will be for naught if the main force is lost.' Ian and Dilys made clear their agreement and Hemala slumped in defeat.
'Hey now, there must be some way to hold on to Calchester,' Aulus interjected, getting up. Ian and Dilys looked to one another and managed to withhold their smiles. The situation may have been miserable, but this bumbling fool was providing some much-needed entertainment.
'I think...' Maerya interrupted, 'we can do just fine without your input, Lord Eskandar.' Aulus quickly nodded, shut his mouth, and sat back down. Ian just about stifled a laugh. Aulus shot him an affronted look, but said nothing. 'We will begin our preparations for a withdrawal immediately, then,' Maerya said. Hemala nodded reluctantly and the Mazeltof siblings smiled in approval.
'I'm not going anywhere,' came Aulus' voice. Maerya frowned.
'It's not up to you,' the older woman said firmly, 'it is in all of our interests to join the main force.'
'Don't care. Not going anywhere.' Aulus said, crossing his arms and looking away.
'Stop being a child!' Maerya snapped. Aulus looked at her angrily and stood up.
'Then stop treating me like one!' and with that, he stormed out of the room. Ian and Dilys looked to one another again, eyebrows raised. Maerya sighed and looked to Godric who bowed quickly and went after Aulus. Hemala could not help the small, satisfied smile on her face. Maybe there was yet some hope for her adoptive brother.
***
The Imperials forces, led by Erock Greensworth, entered Castle Calchester some weeks later without raising a sword. It was nighttime when they entered and the castletown was swiftly placed on lockdown as Imperial forces searched the castle for any potential enemies of the king. Hemala and the others had escaped weeks before. But try though they did, none could convince Aulus to leave.
'Aulus, this is serious. If you stay the will kill you,' Hemala had told him. He had shrugged.
'This is my home, I'm not leaving.' She had looked away guiltily - she had never known Aulus to be so attached to the castle.
'If you leave now, at the very least you will live to return. Please, come with us Aulus. Father needs you by his side - he will be so happy if you took up the sword and fought with him.' But Aulus shook his head.
'It's not my fight, Hemala. I'm going to the tavern.' And he had turned away to leave. But she caught him by the arm and hugged him tightly.
'Please Aulus, stay alive,' he had withheld his tears.
'Yeah, you too...' and without another word she had turned away and departed. They had sent word to all the remaining Humber strongholds telling them to withdraw to the Alliance's main force. If they arrived in time, they may well provide Lord Humber and the others with the reinforcements they needed to be victorious in their next battle - or, failing that, to survive at the least.
For his part, Aulus had spent the majority of the previous few weeks either half drunk, watching people pack up and leave, or getting shouted at by old man Sakik for not leaving when he had the chance. And now the Imperial forces had arrived and escape was nigh impossible.
'Ye're a bloody idiot if ever I saw one!' Sakik hissed to him.
'Jus' gimme another drink damnit,' Aulus slurred.
'You know how many people who come 'ere will be more 'an 'appy to sell you to them for some coin? By the gods, they'll be at the door any minute! You need to get the bloody 'ell out!'
'Damnit old man, just shush and gimme anoth-'
The door of the tavern flew open and a bedraggled man stepped in.
'Tha's 'im!' he shouted, 'that's the Humber boy!'
'Shit!' Sakik hissed.
Aulus turned with a dazed look. 'Where?' he asked incredulously.
'He means you, notwit!' Sakik shoved him with a finger, 'get away damnit!'
'Oh,' Aulus muttered, 'okay.' And as the soldiers struggled to stream into the crowded tavern, Aulus stumbled for the stairs and did his best to take them two at a time. At the top, Ani poked her head from one of the doors and gestured for him to come quickly. Aulus smiled drunkenly.
'Knew you wanted me,' he giggled before running towards her. She rolled her eyes and shoved him inside before the closing the door behind him. He banged against the door from the inside.
'Oi, what are you doin'?' he asked.
'Get going!' she hissed, 'they'll be up here any minute!'
'Oh, oh yeah, sorry.' Aulus turned around and ran to the window. Opening it, he leapt easily onto the roof just below the window and closed it behind him. Though the night was dark and he was drunk, he had made the same escape enough times to know where to put his feet. Clambering along the rooftops, he made his way back to the castle in the middle of the castletown. With soldiers everywhere, the only way to escape was through one of the secret passageways leading from the castle to the outside. Sneaking in through the open gate proved fairly easy - the Imperial soldiers appeared to have searched the place already, and finding no one, they had left a rather lax guard on the place.
Making swiftly for his room, Aulus grabbed his swordbelt and wrapped it around himself - checking his trusty rapier before tucking a knife in for good measure. Just as he was about to make his escape, he remembered the bow and quiver that Daeron had got him for his eighteenth birthday. Daeron had always insisted that Aulus join him on hunts and he had seen fit to gift his adoptive son with a fine composite bow and quiver. Aulus stepped back and scanned the room for them, and even as he did he could hear footsteps and voices.
'Yeah...saw someone...in...' Aulus swiftly made his way towards the door and hid beside it, slowly drawing his sword. The door flew open and two men charged in. They did not see Aulus who was now behind the door.
'Check under the bed,' one of them commanded. As he did so, Aulus allowed the door to swing shut and, before either realised his presence, his blade shot forward with lightning speed and precision through the man's neck. He grunted and fell to the ground as Aulus pulled the blade loose and prepared to take on the remaining soldier - who had already begun shouting to alert anyone within hearing distance. Scowling, Aulus leapt forward and brought his rapier to the man's neck.
'W-wait-' he managed before Aulus opened it up and blood streamed out. It took him a while to die, and Aulus did not wait around to see it. Wiping his blade on the bedsheets, he quickly took the bow and quiver and ran towards the fireplace. He was soon making a swift escape through the secret passageways of Castle Calchester.
'Shit shit shit shit,' he could be heard muttering.
@Fallenreaper Oooh, Blood Act! I think I might have joined that for a short while back on OldGuild. I believe one of my co-GMs in another RP - Rtron - is in it.
Generally, I have no issue with hurting my characters or making them generally miserable, but I wouldn't say I go out of my way to do that xPP ...
ok, maybe I do. ...
ok ok, I do, a lot - but it's fun to kill everything after a while! My characters are lucky enough not to have anyone saving them xD And the best part is when you sit back and remember the golden moments spent with that character, and you kinda wish they managed to stick around a bit longer! Poor buggers, the lot of 'em.
Now, I should get to starting on my opening post here.
Generally, I have no issue with hurting my characters or making them generally miserable, but I wouldn't say I go out of my way to do that xPP ...
ok, maybe I do. ...
ok ok, I do, a lot - but it's fun to kill everything after a while! My characters are lucky enough not to have anyone saving them xD And the best part is when you sit back and remember the golden moments spent with that character, and you kinda wish they managed to stick around a bit longer! Poor buggers, the lot of 'em.
Now, I should get to starting on my opening post here.
@Fallenreaper I was like - oh look, a funny person. Then I read that status.
Yours PCs aren't laughing, poor buggers.
Yours PCs aren't laughing, poor buggers.
*tfw Kho doesn't want to torture divinuskind so secretly sabotaged a CyKhollab so that the characters were 23,000 less than 150,000*
No one tell Cyclone anything.
It's not like he checks this place anyway.
No one tell Cyclone anything.
It's not like he checks this place anyway.
CyKhollab Productions present
starring
Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion, Most Supreme of All Djinn
Level 10 Hero
23 Khookies
&
Aihtiraq
aka who dat?
&
Basheer
Boom! HE'S BACK!
Level 1 Hero
0 Khookies
&
Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes
The Qa'id Adheem
The quickness of the Azad counter-strike clearly caught the Ma’Erkoz and their allies by surprise, for Shaqmar’s marching hordes descended upon a good many encampment to find their men rushing around trying to organise a defence, and the women clutching their children to their breasts and huddling inside their roundtents – as had the women of the Azad when the Ma’Erkoz raided. But they did not do as the Ma’Erkoz did. They did not slaughter all. The men, they slaughtered. And the women and children they sent back to the Qa’id Adheem. Some five encampments were caught thus before the Ma’Erkoz managed to mount a defence.
By then, Shaqmar had reunited with his forces in central-eastern Ma’Erkoz herding grounds, and a force of five thousand Tagham tribesmen, led by the Qa’id Adheem Tiqodae himself, came with Tadatunga to support in the war effort. They remained there for some time until the women and children had caught up with them, setting up camp and resting. One of Shaqmar’s scouting parties soon returned with news that the Ma’Erkoz had called up the tribes and were rallying not too far to the north. If Shaqmar moved swiftly he would be able to catch them before they had all gathered together, and so deliver a cutting blow to their resistance. The encampment came alive as Shaqmar commanded everyone to prepare to move once more, and the commanders all met in Shaqmar’s roundtent to discuss the plan of attack.
‘Their weakness is their current state of disunity and chaos. Our strength is our unity and organisation. We must capitalise on this and make it our goal to achieve the greatest victories possible now before they can properly organise. By so doing, we will have crippled them so, that by the time they do organise properly they will have become so weak that they will pose no great threat. Then their herding grounds will be ours for the taking, their herds ours to distribute, their women our property, and their children at our mercy – and they themselves dead or soon to be,’ Tiqodae was saying. Shaqmar nodded in agreement. The man was intelligent and his words were sound. Seeing that the two Qa’id Adheems were in agreement, the others remained silent and looked to Shaqmar.
‘The honoured Qa’id Adheem Tiqodae speaks truth. They are divided, unorganised, and weak. Each of us has five thousand men under his command, to a total of twenty-five thousand warriors. Our scouts speak of a large force, an estimated thirteen thousand, gathered in a valley half a day’s journey from here. If we ride swiftly, and if each man uses his two mares, we can be there in a far shorter period of time. We can then encircle them and crush them – though we will leave for them an escape route. And one of our forces – Chenar’s force – will not join the fray and will stay out of sight. When they see that they are beaten and begin escaping, you will be in wait for them beyond the valley, and you will slaughter them all,’ Shaqmar looked at the others. Tiqodae only smiled in approval while the others nodded, though his smile faded slightly when he mentioned slaughtering them all. Dead men did not make good slaves, after all.
‘What do I do if they surrender themselves?’ Chenar asked. Shaqmar looked down for a bit and thought.
‘If they surrender, command them to throw away their weapons and take from them their horses, and after the battle is done I shall deal with them as is fit,’ Chenar nodded, and Tiqodae voiced no dissent. With the plan clear to all, they set off.
The swift Rukbanian steeds of the Azad made short work of the distance, and Shaqmar’s utilisation of two horses instead of one – a capitalisation on a key skill honed by Rukbans; horse-riding – ensured they had descended upon the enemy in an even shorter period. Encircling the valley lying where the four hills clashed, without being detected, proved an impossible task. But by the time the enemy was alerted, there was no escape. Resting their mounts and themselves, the Azad force and the Ma’Erkoz one kept a close eye on each other for some hours, and as the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Shaqmar ordered that all prepare for the assault.
The four forces of Shaqmar, Tiqodae, Tadatunga and Siruga each streamed over one of the four hills like endless locusts, firing their vicious arrows into the waiting enemy host. They circled around the trapped force en masse, forming a whirlpool of riders around them even as they continued firing their arrows. The enemy force – who, it appeared, had by this point been joined by their women and children – had created make-shift barricades out of their carts and were fortifying themselves behind them while returning fire. A direct assault would be deadly, and so Shaqmar sent out the command to slowly increase the girth of the firing circle in a tactical retreat to the top of each of the four hills. With darkness descending, fires were lit and Shaqmar sat on Layl looking down upon the fortified enemy. The stars twinkled silently in the night sky as the smoke rose up and choked all it touched.
'Set them alight,' he commanded. The message was sent to the other commanders and fire arrows were prepared and, once Shaqmar's signal was given, the night sky was set ablaze with more arrows than there were twinkling stars in the sky. And night became day, and Shaqmar watched as they descended upon the helpless enemy from on high. The carts, which they had put up around them for safety, flamed up and became the doors of their self-made prison. The songs of men and women as they burned rang out through the valley, and Shaqmar's second signal was soon loosed: The rumble of hooves in the flittering darkness...and the denizens of hell descended upon the inferno, leaping through the collapsing fortifications like demons to the massacre. None escaped.
The men were slaughtered on the spot, and those among the women and children who were not burned were captured, and the goods untouched by fire were seized by those who happened upon them first. Layl's hooves sounded softly against the shouts and screams that ripped through the orange night - shadows moving against the firelight, horses grunting, footsteps and weeping, the odd clash of scimitars. Shrieks of despair. His rider watched with dark eyes and grim jaw, and in the post-massacre chaos, Shaqmar walked amongst the flames and coldly watched the remains of those who had burned. The fragrance of burnt flesh was sweet so early in the night, and the weeping and shrieking of the women was as a balm on his aching heart. The looting was not approved of by him, but there was nothing that could be done about it. If he attempted to stop them and redistribute it as he wished, they would think ill of him and suspect him, and they would not fight as willingly in future. And so he had to permit a minor inconvenience to achieve ultimate victory. Perhaps then he would be able to turn on them and seize the loot. Equal distribution amongst the mass of warriors always appealed to him, with commanders getting double. If the Eternal Sky gave him the authority, it would be done. When the captives were at last brought to him and the other commanders, his order was that all should be beheaded.
'Shaqmar, with all due respect, that is not the way. If you have no need for them, then give them to me,' Tiqodae protested. Shaqmar flashed him a dark look.
'I do have a need for them, Qa'id Adheem,' he said softly, 'I need them to die.'
'That would be of no use to anybody,' Tiqodae argued, 'and enough have already been killed here tonight. Let me have them Shaqmar.'
'It is of use,' the Azad chieftain responded coldly, 'the honour of the dead rests upon it.' Tiqodae pursed his lips and frowned.
'The death of the living is of no use to the dead, and they have no need for honour or dignity where they are. Do not create additional suffering and death here in the name of those who suffered and died already. You are a wise man, Shaqmar. Be not moved by your emotions.'
'I am not moved by emotions, friend, but you are moved by the potential for profit. We agreed before all this that mine would be the word when it comes to their fate, and my word is death.' The two stood staring each other down by the light of a few torches, and the other commanders maintained an uneasy silence.
'Yes, we did agree,' Tiqodae at last conceded and looked away, 'but know that it is not money that I am after. Merely the preservation of the lives of those who are innocent, and the preservation of your reputation before all,' Shaqmar glanced at the other commanders hesitantly at these words.
'P-perhaps, my Qa'id, it is not for the best to execute those who are our prisoners,' Chenar finally said. Tadatunga and Siruga murmured sheepishly in agreement, causing Shaqmar to sigh and his shoulders to slump.
'Though the honour of the dead rests on this decision, and though it pains me more than I can ever say, it is a man most foolish who ignores the advice of others. And 'tis especially so where there is such a strong consensus. If they must live, then I prefer that I not have to ever lay eyes upon them. They are yours, Tiqodae,' and with that, Shaqmar turned away without a word and strode moodily away. The others stared after him quietly for a while, and Tiqodae at last spoke.
'Your friend is most wise.'
'Most Wise': Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes, Qa'id Adheem of the Azad Confederation and Qa'id of the Azad Tribe
Later that night, Shaqmar's forces left the valley and retraced their footsteps until they were reunited with the moving encampment. They made camp on a small concealed plateau and Shaqmar commanded that careful watch should be kept in case the enemy approached in the night, and he commanded also that the valley where they had annihilated the first Ma'Erkoz force should be watched until the arrival of more enemies there. Brooding in his roundtent, Shaqmar told one of the guards to bring Surayka to him, and for her to bring kymis. When the roundtent's flap was opened slightly, Shaqmar looked up expectantly. But only the guard's bearded face could be seen.
'Qamtar?' Shaqmar asked in confusion.
'My Qa'id,' the man said hesitantly, 'the honoured lady refuses your summons.' Shaqmar looked at him for a few seconds, his face nearly failing him. He nodded quickly and signalled for Qamtar to go away before his emotions got the better of him and he broke down before the man. His sinking heart beating deafeningly in his chest, he could not help the misery that filled him at Surayka's snub. Moving towards the bed, he lay on his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. And he was for a long time still, and he was for a long time sad.
When morning came, Shaqmar's scouts returned with news of two more enemy forces quickly approaching the designated Ma'Erkoz rally point. 'One smaller force, coming at about seven thousand, and another larger force of twenty to twenty-five thousand,' the scout in question was reporting. Shaqmar nodded in understanding. It was good that they had crushed the first enemy force to gather, else they would have been heavily outnumbered.
'We will split in to two war parties. The Qa'id Adheem Tiqodae will lead the first, and will have Chenar with him. I will lead the second and will have Tadatunga and Siruga with me. The Qa'id Adheem's force will assault the larger enemy party, and I will assault the smaller one. We would do well to ensure they don't unite. If the smaller force is quickly crushed by my force while the Qa'id Adheem distracts the larger, we can ensure a swift victory against that one with an encirclement manoeuvre,' Tiqodae looked at Shaqmar silently, one eyebrow slightly raised, 'unless you object, Qa'id Adheem,' Shaqmar added slowly.
'Not at all, Shaqmar. I am merely confused as to why we need to split our force at all. We can together swiftly crush the smaller enemy force before turning on the second. There is no need to divide our strength.'
'What you say has some truth in it, Qa'id Adheem, but if we use our full force against either enemy horde we will be leaving our rear exposed to an attack by the other. That is why it is necessary to distract the larger while the smaller force is annihilated,' Tiqodae pursed his lips and looked down thoughtfully.
'That makes sense, I agree, but why is it necessary for you to lead such a large force against what the scout says is an enemy no larger than seven thousand men? You can just as easily do the job with five thousand less men,' Tiqodae pointed out. Shaqmar was silent and looked at Tiqodae warily for a few seconds.
'If you are afraid that you cannot fool the larger force for long enough for me to do my part, or if you do not trust my capabilities, then I can sally forth alone against the smaller force. I will leave all others under your command and you can deal with the larger force. On your own.' Shaqmar's cold - if ill-thought our - response finally came.
'I am not afraid of anything, Shaqmar, and I have no doubts about your capabilities. I just do not wish to split our force. But I see no problem with this plan that you mention now,' Shaqmar nodded and got to his feet.
'Then I shall leave immediately to do what needs to be done. May the Eternal Sky...guide you towards victory,' and with that Shaqmar departed and roused his five thousand men and marched out.
The sun had not yet reached its zenith when they crested a hill and the enemy force came into view. They had clearly been made aware of Shaqmar's approach and had prepared for the coming battle. Halting at the crest, Shaqmar surveyed the slanted field which stretched out from the foot of the hill and into another, forming the side of a larger hill which rose up majestically above the one that Shaqmar now found himself. The enemy force had chosen to arrange itself on that open hillside, and it appeared they were wise enough to ensure that their women and children were not with them this time. Layl kicked at the ground and snorted in excitement. Taking a few steps forward, the stallion reared up on its hindlegs and kicked violently towards the enemy force and sent its thundering neighs towards the heavens.
'Sons of Rukbany!' Shaqmar roared, 'raise your swords! Raise your spears! If the Eternal Sky should weep for rage, let it not weep its life-giving waters! Let it not thunder and light up the heavens! Let it rain your death-bringing, furious arrows! If lightening bolts should descend from on high, let them be your unfailing, death-dealing darts!
And on Shaqmar's powerful declarations, those closest to him gave off a booming roar, which was replicated by all who heard it until the rumbling sound of all the five thousand - many of whom were hidden behind the crest of the hill - shook the earth and hills. Aye, and shook the very hearts of their foes. Turning to Qaseer, Shaqmar commanded him to take one thousand men and to circle around the right side of enemy-held hill quietly. Another of Shaqmar's trusted commanders - Qamtar's brother, Sakago - was commanded to take five hundred men and circle around the left side as noisily as possible. The command was then sent around for those who were remaining hidden behind the crest of the hill to create noise and stir up the earth and cause great dust clouds to rise up as though in preparation for an attack. As the earth rumbled at his command, Shaqmar watched the enemy force carefully as they sent a few small forces of riders further down the hill, who all subsequently began fiddling with their bows and preparing to fire in anticipation of an oncoming charge. As he watched, his eye caught on a small movement further down his own hill, quite some distance to his right. After watching the suspicious area for a while, his suspicion was confirmed as a well-camouflaged man moved further up the hill. They were attempting to spy on his side. He was not going to permit it.
Lifting his bow, the Qa'id Adheem notched an arrow and drew it. Almost as quickly as he drew, he aimed and fired. And his was a deathly precision. The spy had been crawling slowly up the hill and he never saw the arrow which penetrated his skull. He died without a sound.
As the earth continued to shake behind him, the Qa'id Adheem kept lethal watch, and as dust rose up behind him, Layl paced back and forth along the hilltop. After a short period, a contingent of enemy riders was sent to check on something that had been noticed to their right - Shaqmar's left. As news of the enemy force to their right reached their commander, even more troops were moved to guard the right flank in case of attack - and that swiftly came as the Sakago's five hundred began harassing the waiting troops with arrows and charging feints. No sooner had they considered the harassing party more or less contained and that they were safe once more, Qaseer's force emerged atop the opposing hill, directly above the enemy force. His hidden troops began to do as Shaqmar's now did. Shaqmar knew that horror would be creeping into the enemy commander's heart at this point - he would think himself surrounded with an enormous force before him and another behind him, and harassing parties to his right. Who knew just how many enemy troops were in the area and now had them surrounded? It was a foolish commander who did not keep eagle-eyed watch over his enemy. The day was already his.
As the enemy force attempted to reorganise in response to Qaseer's appearance, Shaqmar gave his troops the signal. Fearsome battle cries were loosed and the Azad streamed over Shaqmar's crest, firing their darts even as they charged forth. From the top of his hill, Qaseer was firing fiercely along with his troops, and Sakago's harassing troops on the enemy's right had suddenly become a lethal presence as they took out the confused and disorganised enemy with a savage efficiency. Once Shaqmar's troops clashed with their prey, Sakago commanded hismen put away their bows and likewise charged into the well-peppered flank. Shaqmar allowed his troops to take complete advantage of the enemy's disorganisation before commanding his troops to retreat. Even as the enemy prepared to give chase, Qaseer and his troops suddenly put their bows away and charged down the hill upon the momentarily distracted enemy. As they hesitated between pursuing Shaqmar and facing the new threat, Shaqmar's troops made a turnaround and charged once more - this time with Shaqmar at the helm. With all his forces engaged, and knowing that his battlefront was the most powerful of the three, Shaqmar made it his goal to unite his front with Sakago's by focusing the assault on the enemy's right flank. Qaseer, whether by sheer wit or due to being farther up the hill and being able to better see what Shaqmar was doing, did likewise.
By the time Shaqmar's initial advantage had passed, the morale and other damage done to the enemy force was so great as to make resistance all but futile - victory was only a matter of time. And the Ma'Erkoz seemed to realise that, for riders began to desert en masse. It would avail them nothing, however, for a good number of Shaqmar's men swiftly split into smaller contingents and set out to hunt the routing foe even as his main force continued what had become an all out massacre on the hillside.
Night had fallen by the time Shaqmar's troops regrouped once more, and his scouts soon arrived with news regarding the enemy encampment which had been following the force. They descended upon it in the night. The small number left to guard the women and children were swiftly dealt with and the camp was looted - though it was Shaqmar's command that all the male children be brought to him. And once all that was done, the camp was escorted by his force back to where the Azad encampment had settled for the night. Upon arriving there, Shaqmar discoverd that Tiqodae and the force that had set out with him had not yet returned. This worried him, and so he commanded his men - despite the exhausting day - to keep careful watch through the night and for his scouts to scour the region so as not to be caught off guard by any approaching force.
When morning came, the force Tiqodae had marched out with had not yet returned. Increasingly worried, Shaqmar commanded his scouts to expand the area they were scouring. One of his swiftest men, Yoditi, was given specific instructions to go and scout out the area where the forces should have clashed. And even as he did so, the command went round for all to prepare for a slow retreat from the area towards grazing grounds which were closer to home.
When Yoditi returned, he reported that the area he had scouted did not appear to have seen battle recently - though it was quite clear that a large host had passed by recently for the earth was all around kicked up and upturned. He had followed the trail for some time, but it eventually led too far to be worth pursuing - it did not seem likely that Tiqodae's force would deign to travel so far from its designated place without sending word of it to Shaqmar after all. 'And what of the enemy force?' Shaqmar asked. Yoditi shrugged and suggested that perhaps Toqidae's force had, upon seeing them approach, charged against the enemy. And the foe thus turned and fled, and he gave chase to them: and so the trails of the two forces had merged. Shaqmar nodded slowly.
'They may well have charged into a trap. Go with a group of men and follow the trail as far as it goes, and keep me updated regularly on your findings.' Yoditi nodded and turned away to do as commanded.
Soon enough, Shaqmar found a great hill with a flat top where he chose to base himself and the camp. He sat atop the hill, just outside the raised entrance to his great mobile roundtent, watching for many days. At times he thought of Toqidae and the others, but those were exceptions. For now with the threat of assault at bay, his mind gave way for the one who dwelled in it both night and day. Where had they taken Layla, and what had they done to her? Just as he was sinking into the depths of his wallows, he was approached by a few of his men who were pointing their spears warily towards a strange white-clad man - or at least, it seemed to be a man, for he was humanoid in shape. He was dressed in white from head to toe, even his face was wrapped in it - it seemed to be some kind of white fur-like material, though unlike any fur or leather Shaqmar had ever come across - except for a strange mark.
'My Qa'id,' one of the men - the well-known wrestler Sonakhai - announced. Shaqmar looked at the white-clad man suspiciously.
'What is it, Sonakhai?' Shaqmar asked.
'This...creature...it overpowered some of our men and demanded to be brought to you,' Shaqmar raised an eyebrow and looked at the thing.
'What are you?' Shaqmar asked the creature directly.
'I come from a hole in the Sky,' it said. Shaqmar's eyes widened and a frown grew on his face. He rose from his seat and towered above them all, glaring down at the stranger.
'Are you a shaman sent by the Ma'Erkoz?' Shaqmar glowered.
'I am sent by the Vicegerent of the Celestial Above, Deputy of Our Masters the Bard and Belvast, Word of Our Mother of the Words, and Blessed of Our Mother of the Cherry: the Battle Brother Morarom Ramomar. I am sent to find the one I am sent to find.' Shaqmar's hostility did not wane, but he sat back down.
'Very well, messenger of Morarom of a hole in the Sky. Are you a riddling shaman or a blathering madman?'
'Shaqmar of the Azad, I am neither this nor that, but a messenger of the gods. I am Battle Brother Juras, twentieth of the Hallowed Hundred. At my bidding, the earth parts and the clouds form and waters rise and fires grow, and the flightless fly and the flying fall, and the very blood streaming in your veins slows to a halt. Mock me not...and give me freedom to come and go through your lands and among your people as I please.' Shaqmar looked at the stranger and cocked his head. This 'Juras' was no taller than any normal man - if man he was - and he did not seem to possess strength much greater than the average Rukban (which, of course, was quite tremendous in itself!) Yet Sonakhai had said that a few of his warriors had been taken down singlehandedly by this stranger. It was clear that he had strength beyond any normal man - even shamans could not physically take on multiple Rukban warriors on their own!
'It is within my power to grant what you are after, but what is it that you give in return?' Shaqmar asked.
'I can give you a warning. It is sent from Our Master the Bard himself, and it is for the Lord of Rukbany, Qa'id Adheem of the Rukban Tribes: Shaqmar son of Buraq son of Muharaq son of Irqa son of Azad.' Shaqmar raised an eyebrow and eyed the man.
'And how much does this Bard of yours know about me - for I have never met him.'
'He has within his grasp the repository of everything that is, was, and can ever be.'
'Is he the Eternal Sky?' Shaqmar asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and his head cocking slightly.
'He is the admixture of the essences of the Celestial Above and Our Mother of the Cherry.'
'And who are they?' The Rukban asked softly.
'They are three: the Celestial Above, Our Mother of the Cherry, and Our Mother of the Words. And they are the greatest of the gods.'
'Do they dwell in the court of the Eternal Sky?'
'Some do, and at times the Eternal Sky has dwelled in their court.'
'Did they send the Prophet?'
'They did not.'
'Did he call to their worship?'
'He did not.'
'Are you of Y'Vahn?'
'I am not,' Juras said, 'for she is a foe of the Celestial Above.'
'Very well, you who worships lesser gods beside the Eternal Sky: what has your Bard sent you with?'
'He says:
For the longest time, Shaqmar was silent, his heart hammering in his chest. The words were powerful...and their meaning eluded him. But that they spoke of catastrophe and apocalypse were beyond doubt. He came from quite a nearby place. 'It is Toqidae, is it not? The Tagham shall betray me...' Shaqmar looked to Juras for affirmation, but the stranger was silent.
'I have given you what I have given you, and you owe me what you owe me.'
'You must at the very least make clear what you have given!' Shaqmar declared in disbelief.
'It is for you, not for me, to understand it.' Juras responded. Shaqmar scoffed and shook his head.
'Very well, you are given what you are owed: let none say that Shaqmar stole and broke his oath. But I've a question for you.'
'Yes?'
'Does your Bard know where my Layla is?' Juras was silent for the longest moment.
'Yes.'
'Speak to him then, and bid him tell me!'
'That I cannot do.'
'Then tell me this at least: is she well?'
'This I can tell you: she is yet among the living,' Shaqmar looked at the white-clad stranger, the thought of Layla overwhelming his mind.
'Join me and be my shaman,' it was half demand half request.
'This is the time of parting between you and I, Lord of Rukbany,' Juras responded, and with that he turned and brushed the spears threatening him away without so much as a gesture of his hand. Shaqmar watched him go and placed his chin on his hand, contemplating the devastating prophecy Juras had come with.
'Juras! Who are you sent to find?' Shaqmar suddenly asked. But the stranger did not respond and soon disappeared among the roundtents. He turned to two of his men and commanded them to trail the stranger everywhere he went.
'Watch him even if he is answering the call of nature or lying with a woman. Do not let your eyes off him.'
Grand halls of gleaming white and the comfort of a hundred howling winds welcomed the Vizier home. As of late, Ventus had taken to occupying the lonely and spacious upper levels of the Celestial Citadel. The lower levels had always been reserved for visitors, and though they now stood empty the signs of the Lifprasilians and Ilunabar's occupation remained. The silent courtyards had overgrown grapevines once cultivated by Lifprasilians and those unkempt trees that had been placed there in pots by Teknall in some attempt to liven the place. Their efforts were all for naught, for now those lower levels were the bleakest and emptiest of all. Higher up in the middle tier were the great open terraces and rotundas where the Zephyrean Skywatch made their home and other visiting djinn often frequented. Above all of that was the upper level that had been Zephyrion's quarter.
He had always kept that space zealously private and suffered no visitors to it, and yet at the top of that towering spire there was little to hide. Towards the end of his days on Galbar, Zephyrion had of course grown further detached and reclused himself in those heights. At the top of that tower you were very close to that great gleaming gemstone that crowned the palace; you could feel its power throb through the air, breathe in the sweet scent of those winds that it conjured to propel the palace, and be elevatedby the closeness to that power just as the fortress itself was elevated. So Ventus finally understood why it was that Zephyrion had hid away in those heights: it was just another way of retreating deeper into his own self.
Weeks and months passed by passed just as quickly as the mountains and climes below. Ventus remained in that tower with only the company of that gem and the sacred power that flowed from it. Zephyrion's power. A very potent and primordial force; the essence of Change.
The uncanny resemblance of Ventus' newfound reclusion to Zephyrion's was not lost upon those other djinn that frequented the Celestial Citadel, but where they had utterly obeyed Zephyrion's wish of solitude there were occasions in which they would summon the Vizier. One such time came when a thousand great skylords and stormlords all came to the Celestial Citadel with the greater part of their vast retinues; a gathering of that magnitude could only mean something immense, and so it was with a heavy heart that Ventus descended to the lower levels to meet with them. By his crown as Zephyrion's Majordomo, 'twas his burden to lord over the djinn and nature.
The cause of their summons was clear: they wanted nothing short of a coronation. For in wisdom the great sealord Salis, whose domain included vast swathes of the Sparking Sea, had proclaimed himself a lord of lords and a grand duke. His duchy included the brine of every sea but also the becks and lakes too; all the great djinni lords of the water had been quick to accept him as their supreme lord and one unquestioned voice, for in father Zephyrion's absence they were fearful and felt a need to band together in greater unity. Water and air had often stood side by side as friends, for it was through combined efforts that they worked to bring about the storms and the weather. So though the Vizier might have found Salis' move to be daring, he would not intervene. Most other elementals of the air seemed content to trust in the judgement of their friends who ruled the waters.
But more events had transpired: in his hubris, the mad dog 'Baron' Slag had responded by reaffirming his title as self-proclaimed master of fire. Flame was widely regarded to be the most dangerous of all the elements; those noble spiryts of pure flame were a rare sight upon Galbar's surface, for they often quarreled with the other elements with especially fervent hatred and enjoyed considerably shorter lifespans for it. In truth, the djinn of fire might be the most numerous of them all, for untold legions of chthonic, magmatic djinn dwelled within the world's fiery bowels. Though Ventus was disturbed by this progression, he had some doubts as to the veracity of Slag's claims. Flame was known for its ceaseless internal struggles. To the credit of Baron Slag's claims, those flamedjinn upon the surface seemed accept his reign (though not without grumbling), though his grasp over those hordes of chthonic elementals remained unknown. Regardless, those spiryts of molten rock rested so far beneath the earth as to be narly irrelevant to the affairs of the surface, so Ventus concerned himself more with the thoughts of those few firelords on the surface. Their loyalty to Slag was of course warrant enough to justify imposing strength upon their entire kind; Ventus would see to that in time.
In response to all the others, those djinn of the earth proclaimed a leader too: a stonelord by the name of Graund the Mountain. Unlike the rise of Duke Salis and Baron Slag, Graund seemed to have sought out no power of his own accord; indeed, by all accounts Graund was an ancient that barely moved. Instead the various stonelords had appointed him to such a role, for apparently they revered him above all others of his kind. In truth Ventus and the other elements possessed less knowledge of their brethren of the earth than of any other element, perhaps because the stonelords were a reclusive lot that rarely acted. Admittedly the Vizier knew nothing of this great lord; he thought that he had met one Graund many eons ago, and if that were the same as this Graund that the stonelord rallied around, that would make the djinni an ancient indeed. He would likely be the second eldest of all djinn, surpassed only by Ventus himself.
But that brought the skylords to speak of why it was that they had all come when one messenger would have sufficed to simply bring knowledge. Each of the other three elements had a great Scion, as was the name that had been dubbed to those lords of lords. It was only fitting that Air proclaim its own Scion, and who was more fit than Ventus himself?
When they presented their logic and attempted to crown him, Ventus refused. He was above such petty politics and had no desire to govern all of his own kind more closely than he did the other elements, and yet when he proclaimed that there must be another, the ensuing quarrel was one that could have shaken mountains. The voices of a thousand raging elemental lords proved enough to shake the Celestial Citadel. They could not choose one, and they could not decide for themselves? So be it; Ventus would choose, and he would choose many. Thus was the Conclave of Winds formed, and in place of one great Scion, the Sky would be ruled by a council of four: one for each great wind. The frigid and implacable Boreas, bringer of winter, spoke for the North; one by the name of Notus brought gentle rains and spoke from her seat in the South, one Anshal commanded the flaying winds of the West, and finally the just Komnestos ruled the East. The title of Scion was bestowed unto each of those four; for Vizier Ventus, who was the Most Supreme of All Djinn, had proclaimed it so. None questioned Zephyrion's Majordomo, and so through his degree those four Scions were each given as much legitimacy as any of of the other elements'. Of course there would be complaints of favoritism, for Ventus himself was of the air and always favored his own element above the others, but such was the way of the Hierarchy. Zephyrion himself took on a body of air, did he not?
With that matter resolved, Ventus finally delivered a mighty clap and proclaimed his judgement. Those thousand visitors were ordered to return to their own realms, though the four Scions in the Conclave of Winds had his permission to remain. Though they still reigned over their own winds below and returned to Galbar from time to time, in the Celestial Citadel would they met to arrive upon decisions of great import. Such was the price to pay for having four Scions in place of one; much time needed to be spent in discussion and argument, where with only one that time might be used for action. The Conclave's first order was to dominate the lesser elements, as was natural; they plotted to send a storm of horrific proportions to assault Baron Slag's volcanic bastion, an emissary to demand fealty from Graund, a request for an oath of friendship from Duke Salis. To varying success, their orders were carried out over the next few days. Ventus left them to their devices and returned to the heights of the upper spire, for he sensed something ill to come, looming above him like the stormclouds loomed over mortal men. He rested, but with ill ease.
It eventually came to pass that Ventus' prophesy came true and the foretold day arrived; the Vizier had known not from whence it would come, but indeed he had known that something dire would soon happen. The cosmos itself had whispered as much, though only his ears had heard. The great jewel that crowned the Celestial Citadel and saturated it with a small trickle of Zephyrean power seemed to burst without warning, and where once there had been a trickle there was now an unstoppable cataract. There was no intermission; in one moment all had been normal, and in the blink of an eye there was the deafening boom of thunder and a golden wind of primal magic flowed forth from the gem. Of epic proportions, it swept across the sky as a mighty streak that made the aurorae look as nothing, and perhaps that golden wind even rivaled the Phantasmagora in its scale and splendor.
Vizier Ventus could only stare agape and in disbelief; Zephyrion had been so inactive as to allow his own power to spill forth from the vessels that contained it. It was a dire portent for the Majordomo, for if a god neglected his own power so, how could one expect him to look over greater responsibilities? Galbar and the djinn were now kept in order only through the Vizier's diligence, and this new...development led Ventus to fear for the state of Mechanism of Change itself. Without the integrity of that Mechanism there would be dire consequences for all beings, and yet he trusted no other god's competence in maintaining it without abusing its power. The task fell unto Ventus' shoulders, as all duties seemed wont to do.
So before him the Vizier now had two great burdens: he had to work quickly to undo the havoc that that great wind of Zephyrean power would wreak upon Galbar. He would need to find some way to contain the power or absorb it into himself, for simply forcing it back into the gem would not do. The Celestial Citadel was like a swollen lake and that crystal its dam; no matter how much power Ventus poured back into the crystal, it would only seep back out. The second task was the more dangerous and alien of the two: he needed to enter the Mechanism of Change and examine its workings in person. He only hoped that if it had grown unstable he wold recognize the signs or be able to fix it with what limited knowledge Zephyrion had imparted unto him.
Never one to delay, he chose to undertake the more exciting of the two tasks first. He decided to enter the Mechanism of Change.
...
...
...only he lacked any idea of how such a feat might be accomplished. He opened his perception, his senses infinitely greater than those of mortals and even of djinn, and yet when he leered at the cracks and crevices of the world he saw nothing. There were no portals hidden in plain sight, no signs in those aspects of the world that only gods could see. It was easy to understand how all others seemed to take Zephyrion's contribution for granted, or not even know that it existed.
The Vizier tried a different approach: creating a portal of his own. He manipulated a golden wind of primal Change, that same raw power that was now bleeding out of the Celestial Citadel. He stretched the magic infinitesimally thin and willed it as he did, and yet when he tried to step through the portal he did so to no avail. Perhaps it was because even now he did no fully understand where or what the Mechanism of Change was. So he looked inward! Inward, just as he had a flicker where mortals had a soul, he had a pulsing where mortals had a heartbeat. The source of that pulsing was surely nowhere other than the destination that he sought, and so the Vizier crawled into his self.
Where all other tactics had failed, that strange and disconcerting attempt brought him success. It felt as through he had he had contracted himself until it was no longer possible, then contracted further, and further, until there was a debilitating pain and then...until he seeped through the fabric of reality itself. He found himself within the Mechanism of Change, but before he could process as much, every part of his being was wracked with an agony and an exhaustion that words could not describe.
Within the Mechanism of Change, there was raw Chaos. It assaulted his mind, his being, and his every sense; and yet, through it all, Ventus thought that he glimpsed a tiny fraction of some great Order, perhaps of Zephyrion's original plan.
Chaos washed over and through him and sprung into existence even inside him. This entire plane was a swirling maelstrom of energy, It was as if every point in space was the epicenter of some catacysmic explosion. Power and magic were all that existed to be seen, for in such a place matter could not even exist without being melted into some sort of raw energy. Yet despite their omnipresence and the sheer impossibility of even dreaming to quantify how much potential energy was locked away in this dimension, the Vizier somehow felt that there was enough to obliterate all of Galbar, and to then do it over again each moment thereafter until the end of time. If Ventus' vaporous form had followed his mind on this odyssey, it had been shred free and annihilated within an infinitesimal fraction of a moment. Aye, in this realm there was light, but there was so much of it that it rendered one blind.
It took a titanic effort for Ventus to endure the simple act of [ ehis ] own continued existence. Each moment was a struggle against a million tides and winds that sought to tear him apart and cast him to oblivion, and so in this state of strain he could scarcely even think. But with what little thought he could manage, he understood now that the Mechanism of Change could not be damaged or corrupted; there was nothing here to tamper with and no god that could withstand this place long enough to try. It occured to Ventus that he had not thought this plan through and knew no means with which he could ever escape. His last thoughts were of the doom that he had consigned himself to, and of Galbar's fate and that of djinn. What would happen in the wake of his disappearance? Alas, he would never see...
...
...and then he was torn asunder, and it felt as though he was stretched and expanded. He was drawn out like a wire of that ductile metal that men called copper, and then he was suddenly whole once again. The flood of light and magic that had assailed his every sense were gone in an instant. It was as though the deafening roar of a hurricane had given way to the most complete and utter of all silences, though of course concepts like 'sound' and 'hurricane' could never compare to what he had just experienced...
His vaporous body remained as it had been before and his mind remained mostly intact, albeit shaken. In truth the Vizier wondered if it had all been but a vivid hallucination, but even if such things were possible for djinn, he knew that he lacked the capacity to ever dream of such things. He knew that because even now, his mind failed at grappling what it was that he had even seen. If he could not remember now the entirety of what little he had processed then, there was no way his imagination could have conjured anything so overwhelming.
The Vizier's musings were interrupted by the voice of another.
"And so your mind does return
just as mine takes form.
To feel the warmth of Chaos!
I envy thee, Vizier."
Ventus spun to look towards the source of the voice, and lo and behold, there before him was another great djinn. By its size and form, Ventus knew it to be a great and powerful spiryt indeed, though he felt no recognition at the being's sight, its voice, or its aura. What insolence, then! This unknown lord sought to invade the sanctity of a space reserved for the great Father and (now) for his chosen Majordomo? Blasphemy!
Ventus looked at the being agape and began to say as much, but befoe the words were spoken he witnessed the djinn's body twist and change. From a twister of wind not unlike Ventus' own form, there sprung flames and then the one before him revealed itself to be an elemental of the purest and hottest fire. But how was it possible to wear such a facade? No other djinn could simply change its element in that manner; it was unnatural!
"O strange one, what and who art thee to enter this sacred place forbidden to common djinn, to shed free the form of air and reveal flame, to speak of this Chaos that only I and the Master hath seen?" Ventus demanded.
And as he spoke, the fire of the djinn before him was extinguished and transformed to ash, and that humble grey changed before the Vizier's eyes and was the gleaming gold sand of the Firewind. Now as a harmattan djinni of sand, he answered cryptically,
"Are not all us djinn alike?
I am Aihtiraq
I am like thee, a candle
burning unto nothingness."
Then that djinni who named himself Aihtiraq metamorphosed a final time: those swirling grains of golden sand coalesed and were made into droplets of water, and from the midst of his watery body a mighty inferno sprung to life. He was a fountain of water and flame and burning water that defied all sense to the beholder, and yet acted as though nothing were amiss. It was then that Ventus understood what great powers this strange spiryt must possess, and then that Aihtiraq smiled.
"I see wonder and terror
alike in thy eyes.
I am born of this magic
So fear not grand Vizier
for I seek nothing
and only give, as befits
the master of this new wind."
"Wind?" the Vizier asked, but Aihtiraq had vanished before the word came out. It was only in the strange one's absence that Ventus finally unraveled the mystery of his riddles and made sense of Aihtiraq's words. He looked outside to that streak of golden wind streaming forth from the Celestial Citadel, slower now. It seemed to have leaked all the excess Zephyrean power that had built up, though that finite amount of power was still a great Wind of Change that would sweep across the world and offer Galbar's denizens a potent source of magic. And it would seem that Aihtiraq was born of that same wind, a djinni lord of magic sprung forth from Zephyrean magic.
In a way then, Aihtiraq had been formed of Zephyrion's own lifeblood. Ventus had only been formed of the god's breath. The Vizier ruminated over that distinction for some time, then watched as the last of Aihtiraq's wind billowed away from the Celestial Citadel to go wherever he would take it.
When fire devours its kindling, the brown and green stuffs wither in the heat. They yield their phlogiston and turn ashen. In like manner, the men and women of Talal were devoured, but not by flame. It was plague that had struck the Vetruvian town, and the consumption turned the folk that it afflicted anemic. They then coughed up their own blood and died a bloody mess. It was a trying time, and many prayed. Little came in the form of deliverance for those afflicted; some did recover and they thanked the Master for his mercy, but many more succumbed to consumption than survived it.
Alas, not all was death! Though the plague had claimed her husband, one woman was nonetheless with his child, and even in the face of so much death, she had hope. She had to hope, for it was all that she had; the chance of a second marriage was slim. With her husband departed and no children to care for her, she would have to have a strong son now to secure her future. So hope and pray she did, and when the midwives left to bring water from the river and she was alone, there came an answer to her prayer.
It crawled up from the sand outside, it burst forth from the brazier, and it condensed from the mist of her heavy breath. Somehow it did all of those things at once, as a most unusual spiryt manifested itself. It was a swirling mass of sand and burning water, and yet in that chaotic storm one could see the likeness of a smiling face.
She knew of the djinn, as all Vetruvians did, but no myths spoke of such extraordinary things. It seemed unnatural, and were it not for its assuring smile she might have thought it some demon sent by Y'Vahn to claim her child. It also seemed too wild to be true, and were it not for the warmth of its burning body, she might have thought it a hallucination. But alas, Aihtiraq was real.
"Small one, thou hast suffered much.
'twas not by my hand
but nonetheless, I offer
my magic. I grant one wish."
A breath of disbelief parted from her lips. The spiryt's calming aura and warm smile anchored her to reality; she instantly trusted in it as much as she had in her own father. "My husband," she whispered, "can you return him to me?"
Without hesitation, the djinn seemed to shake his head, and she felt the crushing weight of sorrow.
"Alas, his body grew cold
and now not e'en
I could restore him to life.
Wish for the future, perhaps?"
Of course. How could she have been so greedy? She understood now; this wish was meant to be spent upon her child.
"I wish," she began, hesitating at the words. "I wish...for a strong son. A son that will know fame and greatness, whose name shall go to legend."
"Know that this wish I could grant
but greatness is oft
the fabric of undoing.
If you still wish it, I give."
She thought that he was warning her of something, but it was all so cryptic. From outside, she heard laughter and talking. The midwives were returning soon, and some part of her was afraid that this kind spiryt would disappear the moment that the eyes of any other tried to look upon it. So hurriedly, she said, "Alas, it is greatness that I desire for him. A strong son, one strong enough to care for me and his people. Grant me this one wish, I beg of you!"
The spiryt's smile remained. He seemed to nod, and then he opened his mouth and a long breath of golden wind cascaded out. It swept across the floor and reached to touch the walls and dance upon the ceiling. It seemed to fill the whole room with a great golden light, and in that moment of blindness the spiryt vanished quicker than he had even appeared. All of that golden wind and its light surged towards her, and it swept through his nose and her mouse to some place deep inside of her, and then it was gone. When the midwives entered the tent a moment later, they were speaking of some great golden wind that had just blown through the sky. They asked whether she thought it a good omen or ill, and so the lady murmured that it boded well and then fell asleep. In her half-lucid dreams, she wondered if that strange being had been the spirit of her lost husband.
As in for her fate, months passed by. The babe within her belly grew larger and stronger, and when the day came for it to emerge into the world, its delivery was no easy task. So large was that baby boy that his birthing sapped the last of the woman's strength, and as she held him in her arms, she knew that she was not long for the world. But even so, her son was robust and through him and his destined greatness she might live on. "Enkidu," she named him with her last whisper, and then slipped away. The orphaned infant was adopted by one of the midwives, and with that stranger Enkidu spent his first days.
It was some days before Shaqmar's scouts returned with substantial news regarding Toqidae's force. They reported that they had come across what appeared to be the aftermath of a vicious battle. Later that same day, another scout returned with news that Toqidae had been found encamped some distance north of that same battlefield. It appeared that the Tagham Qa'id Adheem had seen fit to remain in the area so as to pick off the remnants of the Ma'Erkoz force. 'He says you should march north and unite with his force so that you can both decide the next plan of attack,' Yoditi was saying. Concealing his irritation, Shaqmar rose and nodded.
'We march on the morrow,' he said brusquely before gesturing for Yoditi to let the men know. That night was sleepless and fitful as thoughts of Layla haunted every minute and second, and every heartbeat reverberated her name to him. Soon he would be reunited with her...soon.
On the morn he was the first to rise. Though exhausted, it was not exhaustion that wanted for sleep - though he was sorely in need -, nay, it was exhaustion which sought the peace of her presence by his side and in his arms. When they at last united with Toqidae's force and Shaqmar dismounted to greet the other Qa'id Adheem, he found that he - as well as being flanked by the other Qa'ids - was accompanied by a stranger. 'Now that the Azad chiefling has arrived, I will deliver the message direct to him,' the stranger was saying. Toqidae gave him a hostile glance.
'You shall do no such thing,' was his cold response.
'The message was never meant for you, you have no say in the matter,' the messenger spat. Toqidae turned on him angrily and made to grab him.
'Your tongue grows overlong, man, think not that I will hesitate to rid you of it,' the messenger backed away slightly, shaken by Toqidae's forbidding glare.
'Qa'id Adheem, I will hear what this man has for me,' Shaqmar interjected. Toqidae turned to Shaqmar with a frown.
'Shaqmar, he has nothing important to say. Mere posturing and taunts, unworthy of your station,' Shaqmar looked at him for a few moments before his response came.
'I will be the judge of that,' and so saying, he turned to the messenger and gestured for him to deliver his message.
'I, Zalzirai of the Ma'Erkoz, come bearing a message for Shaqmar: "From noble Firasi, Qa'id amongst Qa'ids, mighty Qa'idinqad of the entirety of Rukbany, to the upstart chiefling Shaqm-"'
'Before you continue, it is important to correct some of the content of this message of yours. I would hate for it to be said that your master sent a message full of inaccuracies. Here, it should read: "From the king of cowards, the greatest weakling, mightiest oppressor, from Firasi the Oathbreaker, slayer of the innocent, to the Qa'id Adheem Shaqmar." Yes, that is better, do you not think? You may continue now.' The messenger scowled and nodded.
'He says, after sending you his greetings, "And we have heard the words you spoke challenging the might of the Ma'Erkoz, and we thought it necessary to respond to your sharp tongue before our blades bring an end to both your silver tongue and golden eyes:
Thus spake Firasi. I meet you on the morrow." And here ends the message.'
Shaqmar stared at the man in stunned silence for some time. This whole matter was...due to a blood-feud? How many years had it been since Ankamai's death at Qaseer's hand? How long had it been since the war with the tribes of Bajlaan? He had not realised that the Ma'Erkoz had held his neutrality at the time against him - it had come about at a point when the Azad were simply unable to wage war, even if the crimes of Bajlaan had exceeded all limits. And moreover, the dispute had been between the Ma'Erkoz and Bajlaan, the Azad had neither horse nor camel in the matter. Shaking himself from his reverie, Shaqmar turned on the messenger with a fury.
'Return to your wicked overlord and tell him to beg the Sky for mercy, for if he were to weep the Mahd he shan't find it with me. On the morrow death marches towards him riding fury, and it shall be blind to his cries and shan't hear any plea. Take flight before you fall victim to my battle frenzy, for were you not a messenger, your head would now be free.' The messenger laughed anxiously before backing away and making as quickly as he could for his horse. Toqidae watched Shaqmar for a few moments, but quickly went his own way when the Qa'id Adheem flashed him an angry glare, and the others soon did likewise.
Ankamai had married the daughter of Siruga, the Dhul'Dhanab Qa'id, sometime before Shaqmar subjugated them. While no great conflict had erupted between Shaqmar and Siruga, and while the Dhul'Dhanab had quickly surrendered to him after a few minor skirmishes, it so happened that in one such skirmish Qaseer had spotted a stranger near a well and, taking him to be a Dhul'Dhanab spy, had struck him down. That had been Ankamai. It had not helped that Qaseer and Ankamai's elder brother, Firasi, had a long-standing rivalry - for Qaseer, as a general rule, had a rival over every crest. When Firasi had come to take revenge for his brother's death, Shaqmar had adjudicated between him and Qaseer and the matter had been solved, Shaqmar thought, amicably - Qaseer had to pay a blood tribute of one-hundred horses. Siruga had later offered his daughter, Ankamai's widow, to Qaseer in marriage. And while Shaqmar had heard that this infuriated Firasi, he had not thought much of it - for the marriage was quite convenient for strengthening the bond between the Azad and the Dhul'Dhanab. Now, years later, the ugly matter raised its head once more.
Not long after this affair, while Shaqmar was still busy reorganising after defeating the Dhul'Dhanab, a major dispute between the Ma'Erkoz and the tribes of Bajlaan erupted into all out war when a band of Bajlaan raiders ambushed a group of Ma'Erkoz herders, slaying the men and seizing the women and children and herd animals. A good number of the women had been pregnant, which inflamed injured Ma'Erkoz pride. And Firasi had called on Shaqmar to join him and fight to restore lost Ma'Erkoz honour, and fight to uphold the unspoken laws and traditions of the Rukbans - which the Bajlaan had wickedly broken time and time again. And Shaqmar sent his apologies and told him that he was simply unable to wage war at that time. It seemed that Firasi had, though he never showed it, held that against him.
And the Ma'Erkoz had fought the Bajlaan, and Firasi had personally slain their champions Sarqik and Turtan. The famed Buglai had been felled by the hand of one of Firasi's brothers - Jarobai - while their Qa'id Chagal had been brought down by an arrow to the eye. Many claimed to have fired it, but it later transpired that the arrow in fact belonged to a Bajlaanid who had fired it in error - or so he claimed. As for Barai and Kasrai the son of Boutayn, they had eventually fled to the north and out of Firasi's reach. The war had raged for many months, and Shaqmar had taken the opportunity to lick his wounds and establish himself internally - for Qa'id Urtagai of the Mu'aykala had still been alive then and was a real threat to Shaqmar. How he had been so blind to Firasi's intentions over the past years, Shaqmar could not understand. It was what it was, however, and his Layla was now in the vengeful claws of that furious beast. But Firasi's love for his brother was as nothing beside Shaqmar's love for his Layla, and Firasi's fury at the death of his brother was as nothing beside Shaqmar's fury at the very thought that a little harm could come to his beloved - so how was it when Firasi had done that and more? The Eternal Sky's throne itself doth shake at such furies!
Shaqmar was seated on a log, still seething and deep in thought when he was approached by Qamtar. The man bowed deeply. 'Qa'id Adheem, your brother Zanshah has arrived,' Shaqmar's eyes widened at this and he immediately rose to his feet. His brothers had not been seen for many years - all older than him, they had each set out into the world and left Shaqmar behind to care for his parents and sisters. What, after all, did the weak Azad tribe hope to offer their likes? They had not been the masters of southern Rukbany then. Zanshah, the very eldest - older than Shaqmar by some twenty years -, had gone south into the Vetruvian desert, along with Bulagutai who was just over two years Shaqmar's senior. Zanshah was very well-travelled, and this had not been the first time he went voyaging. He had in the past travelled to the north and gone beyond where the Barrens of Rukbany ended, and on another adventure he had ventured east and crossed the Mahd before sailing south on it till he reached the greatest settlement of Vetruvia. And on this, his third and most recent expedition, and his longest by far, he had travelled into the heart of the torrid sands.
Shaqmar found him near the outskirts of the encampment surrounded by people who had heard of his arrival and come to pay their respects to the esteemed elder and warrior, and brother of the Qa'id Adheem. All parted as Shaqmar made his towards his brother.
'Shaqmar!' he roared when his eyes landed on his youngest sibling, 'by the Eternal Sky brother! You have flattened mountains and erected them anew!' he said with a laugh before the two brothers grabbed one another by the forearms, embracing in the way of the Rukbans after long being apart.
'It is good to see you again elder brother. The tribe has sorely missed your presence.'
'It doesn't seem like you needed me at all! I return, thinking to find the little-known tribe I had left years ago, and instead, I find you in the midst of a battle with none other than the mighty Ma'Erkoz!' Shaqmar's smile faded slightly at the mention of the war, and Zanshah noticed immediately. 'You will have to tell me how this entire affair came about.'
'You...have not yet learned?' Shaqmar asked hesitantly. Zanshah shook his head in the negative. 'It is something to be told another time. For now, let us offer you what little we can at this time. And you will have to pardon us for not throwing festivities in your honour, for we must fight on the morrow.' And with that, Shaqmar turned and, with Zanshah beside him, walked back towards his great roundtent. A large bucket of water - collected during the recent rainfall - was brought and Shaqmar helped his brother out of his travel clothes and seated him on the log. Seeing the Qa'id Adheem doing the work of women, a few passing women rushed to aid Zanshah in washing himself in place of Shaqmar, but he waved them away and, wet cloth in hand, began scrubbing sweat and sand and dirt from his brother's body. Once he had scrubbed him down completely, he lifted the bucket and slowly poured its content onto Zanshah's head and back. With that done, the Azad elder rose and Shaqmar set about drying him with another piece of cloth and rinsing the water out of his hair. The naked - but dry - man then ascended the steps with Shaqmar and entered the roundtent where Shaqmar swiftly got him new clothes.
By the time he was dressed and they were sat down, food had been prepared and was brought in for them. Shaqmar tasted it before his brother and, after a few moments, invited him to begin. As they ate and drank, Shaqmar asked Zanshah about his adventures in the many years since they had last seen one another. Brushing long black hair from his eyes with the back of his hand, Zanshah told him of how he had ventured into the Firewind with Bulagutai. After some weeks of travelling, they had come across a group of misfits - Vetruvians and Rukbans - who were led by a man named Y'Qar.
'We joined him and travelled through the desert for many days until we came to a large oasis in the middle of the Firewind. It was a paradise in the midst of hell, its lake akin to an ocean whose ending cannot be seen in any direction one launches their gaze,' he bit into a piece of beef, 'we had hardly stayed there a short time when there descended an almighty being from the heavens and it spoke with Y'Qar for long. When it was done and had disappeared, he turned to us and proclaimed that he had been given an almighty gift from the Eternal Sky through its servant, the Vizier Ventus. H-'
'Wait,' Shaqmar suddenly said, 'that's the same creature that came to us many years ago and gave our shamans a mysterious gift.' Zanshah raised an eyebrow at this revelation.
'Is that true?!' he asked incredulously. Shaqmar nodded in the affirmative and Zanshah looked down at the food for a few moments. 'In any case, we stayed in that strange paradise for a little over a year as Y'Qar taught us all he had learned from the Vizier Ventus. And when that was done, we all headed our separate ways. Some returned to their homes, others - like Bulagutai - sought ascetic reclusion in order to further explore the gift of the Eternal Sky. Last I saw our brother he was heading west along the shores of that ocean-like oasis. As for me, I continued south into the desert. I sailed oceans of sand and came upon oceans of water, and I rode the winds and waters with the Eternal Sky's gift and landed on foreign shores. And what I saw is more than can be related to you in one sitting or two. After these many years, I return to find our lands much changed. I left and the Azad were weak and unknown, trampled by all. I return and find us on the verge of subjugating all Rukbans beneath our unified banner. How did this come about? What caused this present war with the Ma'Erkoz?'
With a heavy heart, Shaqmar told his elder brother of all that had transpired - that their father had passed away naturally some years back and of the heinous crimes of the Ma'Erkoz and murder of their mother. Zanshah had expected to return to find that his parents had passed away - killed in battle even - but he never imagined that his mother would go in such a cruel and treacherous way. He bent his head and was silent for a long while before he muttered a small prayer for her soul and the soul of their father and all their noble ancestors.
With that done, Zanshah suddenly rose and asked Shaqmar to bring all the shamans of the encampment before him. When they were all gathered before the roundtent's wooden steps - thirty-nine in total, the ancient Alqama at their head -, Zanshah emerged before them and raised his arms skyward.
'You who are privy to the secrets of the universal tongues! On the morrow we face the Ma'Erkoz, who have breached every law set forth by the Eternal Sky. On the morrow the Qa'id Adheem will punish them. But on the morrow the Eternal Sky will punish them too. I want you all, with me, to raise your arms towards the heavens and beseech the Sky to send down to us one of its foremost warriors and punishers who will, with the Sky's permission, rend the lawbreakers apart!' The shamans muttered to one another at this request and there was clear fear in their eyes - it was well-known that djinnis could be erratic and whimsical. Even if one was summoned successfully, there was no telling whether it would accept a shaman's request or not. Alqama stepped forward, leaning on his walking stick.
'If you want to do this,' he said with a powerful voice, 'then we will need a mighty sacrifice. We all must, all together, slaughter a horse each. And they must then be set ablaze, their spirits rising with the smoke that a great spirit from above may descend.' Zanshah nodded in agreement and turned to Shaqmar who was stood behind him.
'We shall each need one of your horses, brother.' Shaqmar nodded and gestured for them to move out of the encampment where the ritual could take place.
Forty of Shaqmar's best horses were brought by the women and each of the shamans was given one, along with a sharp blade and rope. The steeds were forced to lie down on their sides, where their hindlegs and forelegs were tied. Zanshah stroked the white mare he had been given with a strong hand and whispered calming words to her. The knife in his other hand remained hidden so as not to alarm the poor thing and his whisperings soon melted into a calming hum that was replicated by all the other shamans in the large circle. Slowly and gently, Zanshah pressed the blade into her stomach before ripping all the way up her torso with a calm, swift, stroke. She let off a groan and began to struggle, almost in tandem with the thirty-nine others. Releasing the knife, Zanshah placed his hand inside her torso until her beating heart was in his hand. She struggled and kicked and groaned as he tightened his grip. After a while, the heart gave out and she lay dead - like all the others. Kymis was brought forth and each shaman took a clay bowl and filled it. Then each sipped the liquid and sprayed it from his mouth onto the corpse before him. This was done until all bowls were empty.
In the middle of the circle of death, wood was brought and a pyre was built. The forty corpses were lifted and lain in place before each of them took up a torch and began circling the large pyre and setting it alight. Soon enough, smoke billowed and sweltered into the heavens - and one could almost hear the spirited neighs of horse souls as they rose skyward.
With the sacrifice complete, the shamans all backed away from the fire and formed a large circle around it, raising their arms to the heavens and muttering in a foreign, guttural tongue. Their speech, as the seconds passed, grew quicker and more impassioned and they were soon circling around the fire in slow sideways hops. The smoke darkened and the heavens blackened from it, and still the shamans growled and leapt and kicked at the earth - slowly, deliberately, in complete synchrony.
A result was not immediately apparent, but it did not take overly long to manifest itself either. After some ten minutes of the guttural sounds and ritual dance, the highest clouds of smoke parted as an arrow of aerial purity descended from on high. It struck earth, the epicentre of the flame, with a mighty force and sent flaming wood and burning horse parts and shamans flying. The gathered people let out a roar of fear and many dispersed. Zanshah was swift to rise after being blown back, and he raised his arms in a show of humility to the catastrophic being that had descended, and in an attempt to get it to focus on him.
'Hum, Ho, Ha, Him - before you is a force most grim! Kho, Kha, Khiy, Kheer - shake and tremble before Basheer!' It was a mighty thing, a djinn among djinns, a lord of lords. And though its voice struck terror into the hearts of all, there was an elegance to its form and a gentle beauty and tune to its every word.
'Brilliant Basheer, terror and fear - glory most clear: listen and hear!' Zanshah declared. Basheer looked upon him, and his movement caused the wind to rise in clamouring melody.
'For some moments you may borrow my ear: I am with you, I listen and I hear. Speak well and you will have much cause to cheer, speak ill and there awaits a fate austere.'
'There has arisen a great evil in our land - innocents are brought low by its butchering hand. It has broken our law and the law of the Sky, and we have decreed that it shall tomorrow die. Since it shall die tomorrow, you are here today: We ask you smash with us the ones who are astray.' Basheer considered Zanshah for a few moments before the wind broke into a furious cacophony of sounds around him.
'You mean to say you have an enemy who has caused you much pain and agony: and you would have me venture forth to him and fight and loose his final song and hymn,' Basheer bent down and his huge face nearly touched the tiny Zanshah, 'This is it, or am I not right? You think me dim?- I am of light!' Zanshah looked down and did not respond to the angry djinn. After a few silent seconds, Basheer rose back up and spoke again. 'I am not a tool for mortals to use against their foes and all whom they accuse. You spoke well, but your request is fall'n flat. You are spared, you may thank your tongue for that.' And so saying, Basheer began his ascension towards the skies. As he rose, leaving behind something of a divine melody, he observed with an imperious eye the fearful mortals who were gathered all anigh. His eyes fell on a single, white-clad figure in the distance and he suddenly froze in place and his tune came to a crashing end. There emanated from that figure the undeniable aura, and taste, and smell, of an ancient friend. He looked back down at Zanshah and spoke again.
'You my ear again I lend: Is the white-clad man your friend?' Zanshah opened his mouth in surprise at the question, and nothing but a small 'uh' left his mouth. Before Basheer could grow irate at his silence, Shaqmar was suddenly beside his brother.
'The white-clad man is known to me for he came to us a friend and with prophesy,' Shaqmar responded swiftly. He glanced at Zanshah quickly before looking back up to Basheer who was now descending again.
'Are you a friend of The First Among Creation? Do you know where she is- in what place or nation?'
'Great Lord, what know we of these distant things? We are not gods and do not fly on wings. We do not know what you or heaven sing and only know what sight and hearing bring.' Basheer gave off a cry of shock at Shaqmar's words, and the Qa'id Adheem took a step back in fear at having angered the mighty djinni.
'Your words are as nectar and I the honey bee! Here end my wavering attempts to fly and flee. What are you people that your tongues should be so free? Who blessed them thus and filled Basheer with growing glee?' Shaqmar blinked in confusion and looked to his brother, who looked to him with equal confusion. The end of a staff - a goat's skull fixed on it - suddenly came between them, and they parted before Alqama's walking stick.
'We master five: the horse and the bow and the word, and the sword also and the caring for the herd,' the old man declared. A melodious laugh cleft the heavens and Basheer clapped thunder at the old man's balanced rhyme.
'Were Basheer to have been born otherwise it would have been nowhere but 'neath your skies! You three have well my goodly passions stirred: I aid you, masters of the sword and word.'
He had dreamt of slaying Shaqmar and all his kin for a thousand nights, but this night was dreamless. Firasi peered up at the sky as he lay on the grass outside his tent counting the stars. There were more stars than he had horses...and yet for every light in that sky, he would avenge Ankamai tenfold. He only had to wait until the first light. Finally, when that pink blush came upon the dull horizon and whispered of the coming sun, the Qa'id rose. Within the hour he and his horses were armored and their horses saddled; at last, the time had come!
He addressed his warriors with a fire in his heart and upon his lips,
As one great horde, the Ma'Erkoz bellowed their war cries and rallied. Above all their din, Firasi roared, "For every heart that you tear from the chest of an Azad, I shall gift you a horse! To any man that returns bearing no trophy, you shall leave a head shorter."
And so Firasi mounted his beloved Faxa and rode forth proudly with the scalps of a dozen Azad hanging from his saddle. A thousand riders did likewise, and, in formation, the horde advanced upon the plains until it drew within sight of Shaqmar's host. It was tradition to raise a white banner, an offer of peace and a promise to spill no blood if the enemy laid down their arms and surrendered. But Firasi denied the wretches that! He raised a black banner instead; 'twas one that promised only the lives of the women and children, and even then their lives were bound to end in slavery. The warlord sent forth one last messenger to demand Shaqmar's surrender, knowing well what the answer would be. He had his man ready to raise the red banner: the promise of death for all.
'How many?' Shaqmar asked Yoditi as he galloped back to him.
'Many, my Qa'id. More than fifteen thousand,' the veteran responded. Shaqmar's war party had taken some significant losses as they advanced. While he had twenty thousand warriors with him when he marched forth, which had been bolstered by the five thousand Tagham to twenty-five thousand, he now had just over eleven thousand warriors. It was lucky that they had surprised and crushed much of the Ma'Erkoz quite swiftly, else they would have been easily outnumbered by forces twice - even thrice! - their size. As it were, numbers would prove to be of very little significance today, for the Eternal Sky itself was on his side. As Shaqmar watched the enemy host, a rider galloped out towards them holding out a small arm skyward to signal that he bore a message. Shaqmar steered Layl forward and met the messenger personally. Firasi, the messenger informed him, demanded surrender. Shaqmar's eyes flashed with a fury and Layl reared up on his hind legs, kicking the air mere inches from the messengers face. The messenger's horse involuntary moved away from the monstrous steed. Layl turned away and kicked at the ground and twisted himself around, dust rising up around him as Shaqmar drew his sword.
'Tell Firasi that God shall descend from on high to claim his spiteful soul today. If he is a man, and he has already proven he is not, then let him come out and face me in a death-duel. My sword is eager for his blood, by God! My hands are eager to claw his eyes out! I will sink my teeth into him and I will tear his flesh from his bones: watch!- this is what happens when the dog defies the cave lion!' With that, the messenger turned away and fled, and Shaqmar waited on Firasi's response.
And when Firasi received word of Shaqmar's answer, his response was to raise the red banner. A messenger was thus sent to Shaqmar to proclaim that, "Noble Firasi, Qa'id amongst Qa'ids, mighty Qa'idinqad of the entirety of Rukbany, answers the the upstart chiefling Shaqmar's challenge of a death-duel; and yet he craves not only the blood of Shaqmar, but that of his whole tribe. So there shall be a battle! Send forth a champion first if you would witness Ma'Erkoz supremacy; otherwise, Firasi will lead the charge before the bloody banner, and he longs to face his foe's charge and slaughter chiefling and bodyguard alike in the thick of combat."
Shaqmar gave the messenger a frigid look and turned away. His eyes scanned the faces of his men and he roared out. 'Who of you will sally forth before me and strike fear into Firasi's cowardly heart? Who of you is a champion staunch and steady who will drive into Ma'Erkoz a sword that's curved and heavy?- you who wields the sword of fear, come and stand before me here!' A few men made to lunge forward with their steeds, but it was Qaseer who roared deafeningly at them to drawback or face his fury. The small, stocky champion urged his mare forward and drew his scimitar.
'Qa'id Adheem! Unleash me upon your foes!' he shouted. Shaqmar smiled and turned upon the messenger.
'Go back to the coward and tell him Qaseer will strike his champion down.'
So that messenger relayed the word back to his master, and Firasi proclaimed to all those about him, "Shaqmar sends his own cousin to die! Qaseer rides out as the champion of the Azad; who among you shall be my champion and claim the honor of being first to slay an Azad on this day?"
Those of his chieftains and generals and bodyguards all clamored and many stepped forth, but it was Hunayra that made the strongest case, no, who demanded that it be him. "It is known that Qaseer is the blight upon my soul, the rust upon my blade. So long as that worm draws breath I cannot rest. Send me to face him, great Qa'id, and I shall proudly return with a red blade and his scalp hanging from my saddle." With that, Qaseer's mare burst forth and galloped towards the centre-point between the gathered hosts. He stopped there, scimitar drawn, and his mare kicked the earth and reared up before he skillfully leapt off and landed with a small roll. Leaping to his feet, he called on the Ma'Erkoz to bring out their champion.
'Consider him dead and begin your weeping now!' came his fearless challenge.
On the other side came mocking cries and more than a few men threw things toward Qaseer or made to urinate in his direction. As for Hunayra, with deliberate calm and slow he prepared his horse, he inspected his twin scimitars, he asked his favorite wife Arya - who he had specifically brought with him that day - for her blessing and a token. All the while, Hunayra thought, Qaseer would no doubt be burning in rage at the indignity of being made to wait. Hunayra knew his enemy well, and he knew that as that fire flared in Qaseer's heart it would drive him to brashness, and a wild man flailing about his blade would make for a far easier kill than one who kept his calm. Hunayra knew his rival well, and so he had planned all this.
'C'mon! C'mon!' the increasingly-frustrated Qaseer shouted.
After allowing enough time for Qaseer to seethe, the champion of the Ma'Erkoz, at last, mounted his horse and advanced at a canter. He might have looked afraid were it not for the smile upon his face. He dismounted slowly at a short distance from Qaseer and then drew his two blades. The scimitars gleamed golden in the sun's light, but so too did the smallest part of a dagger that Hunayra kept hidden in his belt. A backup, for the slim chance that he found himself disarmed. Or if Qaseer lowered his guard!
"Qaseer! You did not think that I had forgotten our duel, did you? Are you ready to die, you miserable rat?" Qaseer grinned widely at this.
'Took you long enough! I'm going to look forward to ripping out that pretty little tongue of yours - and I'll keep it as a token! After all, anything that's been where that little thing has been deserves to be cherished!' He licked his lips and laughed aloud, gesturing for the man to come closer, 'come, talk less and let us have some fun. It's been too long!'
"To think that a man can have ten whores and keep his humor! Hah, tell me Qaseer, do they mount you?" Hunarya taunted. He kept Qaseer in the corner of his eye and made ready to defend against any sudden attack, but pretended to be more concerned with his own blades and his horse. "Perhaps once you're dead I shall be able to satisfy them."
'Perhaps!-' Qaseer declared, his face red, 'when you're dead I will be able to show Arya what a real man can do! Don't worry, as I say, I'll hang your tongue up in our roundtent, and whenever she misses you, you can just...talk.' He smiled widely - it was not a nice smile, but one seething with fury and malice - and stepped forward to speak more low, 'you're a rat and a snake Hunayra. You stole her from me when all knew she was rightfully mine!' His eyes flashing, he gestured threateningly with his blade, gripping his sheath tightly in his other hand. All knew the reason behind Qaseer and Hunayra's rivalry. Arya was, to many, the most beautiful being on the plains of Rukbany, and Qaseer had for long made his intention to wed her clear. He would ride on a near monthly basis to the camp of the small Cangin clan to bring her gifts and woo her - so much so that her father had ordered constant watch be kept around her roundtent in case the little devil should sneak in and defile her purity! But wiley Qaseer had his ways and he had thought that, to all extents and purposes, his wedding with Arya was merely a matter of time. He just had to convince her stubborn father that he was the best man for her. The old man, Jarnilai, had only become more and more suspicious of the young man - the fact that he had six wives already at the time made him doubt Qaseer's sincerity and his ability to care for his daughter.
Then the damned Hunayra had appeared on the scene. He had made himself quite the reputation in various raids against Vetruvians as well as some tribes in the far north where Qaseer had never been. All knew him to be a warrior of great prowess and ability. When he came asking to wed Arya, Qaseer had flown into a fury and galloped out to kill him that very day. But by the time he had arrived an agreement had been reached and Arya was promised him. Infuriated, he had confronted her father before the entire tribe and demanded he give Arya to him in marriage. Foolish and angry, he had only grown more furious when Jarnilai refused and had drawn his sword against him. Were it not for a shaman's swift interjection, the old man would have lost more than his arm - by God! Naturally, the affair created something of a crisis between the Azad and the Cangin, and Arya refused to see Qaseer again after that. Shaqmar had been furious and had ordered his saucy, flippant cousin whipped four hundred times - fifty to his upper back, fifty to his lower back, fifty to his buttocks, and fifty to his feet. The punishment was repeated again after two weeks. He fell comatose for nearly a month afterwards and could hardly walk for over three seasons. Were it not for the care of his six wives and Alqama, he certainly would have died. But the whole affair had planted within the man a deep hatred for Hunayra. As soon as he had regained his health, he made it known that he was challenging his bitter rival to a duel. They were to meet before a combined group of Azad and Ma'Erkoz elders who would ensure the duel was fought honourably. But before the day of their meeting came, crisis struck - for Ankamai was killed by Qaseer. The duel never came about.
"Alas, if I am a snake or a rat, I suppose I shall have to claim your manhood from your lifeless corpse. Your scalp is promised to Firasi, but your manhood -" Hunayra suddenly laughed, "would make a fine token to present Arya, since you long for her so! Hah, I now know how she could never fall for a fool like you." And then Hunayra flourished his blades and approached the rabid dog that was his foe. While much of Hunayra's words had only added to Qaseer's anger, they did not truly insult him. This, however, was different. All knew his love for Arya, and all knew that she had loved him. For Hunayra to question even that - to suggest that she could never love him. His grip on his sword tightened and his face darkened instantly. Without a response, he stepped forward and struck out with lightning fury. His sword slashed horizontally - if it had landed, Hunayra would have found the content of his stomach spilling out.
But Hunayra predicted that sudden strike and leapt away - not back, but to the side. With one of his scimitars he caught Qaseer's stray blade and with the other he struck at it in an attempt to knock it out of his foe's hand. But Qaseer was not overly concerned with his enemy's little tricks - his target was no sword. Without stopping, he stuck his leg out and gave his foe a savage kick between the legs.
'FOCUS!' he roared.
Adrenaline softened the pain that Hunayra felt at the cheap blow, but he still cried out in pain. With all pretences of honor gone, he shoved his swords forward as if trying to force both them and Qaseer's own blade closer to the man's throat. Then, in a single swift motion he cast one of his scimitars to the ground and used the free hand to reach for the dagger at his belt. Finding it, he stayed so close to Qaseer that he could feel the man's hot breath, and then stabbed at the fool's insolent leg. He pressed his blade forward, trying to force the fight onto the ground where it would devolve into a bloody butchery. With a dagger in his hand, Hunayra held the advantage in such close quarters. Qaseer grunted in surprise as he felt the blade sink into his thigh, and though he struggled to remain upright the combined pressure of the pain and Hunayra's weight forced him to fall back. He tried, to no avail, to flip his opponent over so that he was on top, but the taller man had the advantage in that regard and maintained his position on top. Releasing his sheath, he grabbed blindly at Hunayra's dagger hand in an attempt to gain control over the blade, even as he fought to push their locked scimitars upwards.
Locked in that struggle with one hand trying to rip the dagger out of Qaseer's leg and the other trying to bear down on the man's throat with the edge of his scimitar, Hunayra nonetheless thought of a way to bring himself an advantage. With all the force that he could, he brought his knee down upon the man's groin. If Qaseer would strike the fork of his legs, he would repay the favor! Qaseer grunted and scowled while continuing his struggles, then he laughed slightly.
'Th-think you'll knock out my horse before Arya can enjoy it, eh? Don't worry, we'll be having fun tonight,' and with that, he gave an ear-piercing whistle. A mare neighed somewhere and there was the sound of trotting, though Hunayra was so fixated upon his tantalizing victory that he did not hear.
Sneering at his words, Hunayra spat into Qaseer's eyes. Then, while his foe was blinded he at last freed the dagger, wrested Qaseer's hand off his own arm, and raised it to pierce his eternal enemy's heart - but there was a distinct snort and whinny to his side, and before the blade could descend Qaseer's horse dealt Hunayra a kick to the side of the head. He was struck dead in an instant. He fell lifelessly to the side, knocked off Qaseer by the impact of the blow. The sneer remained on his face and the triumphant glow in his eyes remained even as the dagger fell into the earth.
'Y-you don't mess with Qaseer's horse,' the short Azad grunted. With that, he struggled to sit up and pulled himself up against his trusty mare, 'you beautiful thing, Mara,' he said as he stroked her neck and back, planting a kiss on one of her muscled haunches. Then he hobbled over and snatched the dagger from the ground - he'd be holding on to that. Approaching Hunayra's corpse, he saw little point in scalping him - there was little scalp left after Mara's mighty strike. Reaching for the dead man's still warm mouth, he forced it open and reached for his tongue. 'Just as I promised, I'll be keeping this,' and with that he took his prize. He noted a small piec of tied cloth around his forearm - clearly a token of some kind. Smirking, the Azad ripped it off and tucked it into his belt. Looking further down his dead body he smiled and tapped the dead man's groin, 'don't worry though, you can keep that!' and with a guffaw, he raised the tongue and gave off an incomprehensible roar in the direction of the Ma'Erkoz.
On the other side, Shaqmar looked on in silent fury. That damned Qaseer! He should have sent someone with a greater respect for the honour and dignity of the Azad and not a brutish head and bitter rivalry. He watched as he mounted Mara and returned to their side, grinning widely. 'AZAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!' he roared towards the heavens, holding his arms out wide. A few cheers met him, but otherwise all glared in silent shame. Qaseer looked at Shaqmar in confusion, 'What?' he asked innocently.
'By God, I'm going to lash you so you'll not wake up for a year!' the Qa'id Adheem growled lowly. Qaseer laughed.
'If Arya cares for me, lash me all you like, cousin!' and with that, he urged his mare back into position. Shaqmar watched as the Ma'Erkoz sent their men out to take back their slain champion.
With cold rage Firasi had watched his man slain by a horse in what was meant to have been single combat between two men. A duel of honor. It had been neither honorable nor single combat, and to see the same man that slaughtered his brother now bring down his champion was enough to make Firasi furious. He would take that one, that Qaseer, and he would keep him alive. Already the Qa'id dreamt of all the ways he would torture and punish Qaseer, but first there was the matter of slaughtering the Azad. No sooner had Hunayra's body been reclaimed then the Ma'Erkoz began readying their charge. True to his word, Firasi's red banner was held high above where he would ride. If Shaqmar was no coward, he would lead the charge directly opposite to that banner, and then the two warlords would at last meet upon the battlefield.
As the red banner was raised, Shaqmar raised his sword and five riders stepped forth. The middle rider raised a pole with circularly arranged horse-tail hairs of varying colors arranged at its top. The large Uild was the banner of the Qa'id Adheem. The other horsemen, one by one, raised smaller uilds. Three of them represented each of the Three Great Tribes of the Azad Confederation, while the fourth represented all the others - the Fifteen Tribes.
The Uild of the Qa'id Adheem and the Azad [ centre ], those of the Three Great Tribes of the Azad Confederation [ from right to left, Dhul'Dhanab, Huntalla, Mu'aykala ], and that of the Fifteen Tribes [ far left ]
Even as the uilds were raised, the guttural growls of shamans rose up and carried on the winds.
'Firasi!' Shaqmar roared, and for one reason or another his voice seemed far louder than normal, and it carried to far greater distances, 'God himself has seen your sins. I am Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes! I am the punishment of God - if you had not committed such great sins, the Eternal Sky would not have seen fit to send a punishment as terrible as me upon you!'[1] and with that, the winds picked up and the clouds gathered and the horse hairs of the uilds and Firasi's red banners moved violently as the weather turned suddenly. The guttural growls of Shaqmar's shamans seemed to give way to a strange sound - more melodic. More ominous.
There...behind the five uilds, there rose up a great dark cloud which slowly took on - more and more - a humanoid form. Horses grunted and whinnied fearfully on both sides, and shouts rose up even on Shaqmar's side - though they had all witnessed the mighty djinni yesterday, still was he a spectacle worthy of fear. Basheer opened his mouth as if inhaling and let go a mighty whirlwind from his mouth, which rose up like a flailing tentacle and seemed to shatter the eye of the sky. The tentacular vortex was released into the heavens, and Basheer rose up swiftly on a gust of wind before diving down and tearing through the very earth as he cut towards the terrified Ma'Erkoz - his melody was an ear-piercing death-screech, his visage was the image of death and ruination. Men were torn apart by the force of the wind and horses went rocketing into the skies and all around it rained blood and mortal remains. Under his banner, Firasi stared in horror - for one reason or another the winds melting away around him. He looked across the torn plain to where Shaqmar rested upon his steed. In the haze and heat and debris and red rain, he and Layl looked like a dark black stain which shimmered here and there like some fiend from the depths of Azmund-Y'Vahn. Scowling with hatred and fury even as his hands trembled ever so slightly at the catastrophic being that was laying into his men, he turned Faxa away and made his escape with the many others who were doing likewise.
Even as Basheer continued to lay waste to those who could not escape - or, to be more accurate, those he did not let escape - Shaqmar signalled to his foremost warriors and he urged Layl forward. The mighty stallion leapt forward and sprung into a full gallop after a few strides. He tore after the escaping Firasi even as his men struggled to keep up with him. Like the tip of a singular arrow, Shaqmar sped forth as the rest of the wedged warband raced after him, and when he caught up with the Ma'Erkoz stragglers who were quick enough to escape Basheer but too slow to outpace Layl, they felt the kiss of his blade and fell. Rain splattered against the foaming canvass of heaven.
'Firasi!' Shaqmar growled as Layl continued flying forth. But Faxa was a rare steed. The chestnut stallion had a long starting advantage so that not even Layl could catch up with it before Firasi found some imagined safety in his camp. Circling around the encampment, worry eating at his heart at what Firasi might do with Layla in his moment of defeat, he waited until his men were gathered around him - clicking in annoyance to find that Qaseer has made a detour to save Arya from Basheer's fury. With all gathered, he raised his scimitar and charged into the camp.
'I want Firasi alive!' Shaqmar shouted as he leapt from Layl and threw open the the first roundtent he came upon. He narrowly dodged a thrown jar and looked inside. An ancient woman was sat glowering at him, many children around her, and a clay bowl in her hand ready to be thrown. Shaqmar withdrew and threw open the next roundtent, and the next. In the distance he could hear someone calling Qaseer and guessed that it was the captured Yesla, finally free. The clash of swords reached his ears some time afterwards as he continued his search. But there was no Layla to be found.
When Qaseer brought Firasi to him, tied and bloodied, Shaqmar turned on his cousin and asked about Layla.
'My Qa'id,' he said hesitantly, looking down, 'she...she is not here.' Shaqmar shook his head, dismissing the preposterous suggestion, and turned upon the tied and bloodied Firasi.
'She is long gone,' he laughed. Shaqmar scowled at this and, with pent-up rage and hatred, kicked him roundly across the face. The Ma'Erkoz Qa'id grunted with pain and fell to the side, his cheek bloodied and a few teeth loose.
'You will lose far more than your teeth, and I will break far more than your bones if you do not speak. God descended from on high and struck you down! So speak, curse you! Where is she?'
'As I said Shaqmar,' Firasi grunted, lifting himself back up, 'she is long gone. I sold her to those merchants weeks ago. You will never see her again!' Shaqmar's eyes widened and he felt his chest and arms convulse forcefully. He breathed and calmed himself before glaring at Firasi for a few seconds. Then he reached for Layl and felt for the spear he had brought specifically for this purpose. Hefting it, he looked at the hated Qa'id of the Ma'Erkoz.
'You are a snake and a coward, Firasi; a woman is more of a man than you,' he turned completely towards him, 'you found my woman and sang:
and may the Eternal Sky damn you for what you sang. May it rain curses upon you greater than that which has already befallen you. May it torment and never permit you entrance into its great palace. Now I find you, so listen as I sing:
And with that, Shaqmar drove his spear into Firasi's left eye with savage strength; so much so that the spear emerged from the other side in a spray of gore and brain matter. His hated body convulsed and continued twitching even after Shaqmar drew the spear back out.
'Drive two spears up his feet and through his legs, and bury their shafts into the earth. Leave him like that so that he will serve as an example to all who come after him, and so that his dead moans will reach all: thus is the fate of cowards, thus the fate of traitors, thus the fate of lawbreakers, thus the fate of criminals.'
He stood before the groaning, shuddering corpse as it tried to rip itself free of the spears that fixed it in place on display. Though Firasi was dead and Shaqmar was alive, the dead body had more life in it than Shaqmar's idle one. His eyes stared somewhat blankly at the once-hated (still-hated) foe as if staring long enough would extract Layla's location from his dead jaws. Zanshah came to him from time to time and tried to get him to leave his place and rest, or leave his place to eat. But he was immovable. Every now and again he would sigh with yearning, or he would groan along with the corpse. And his silver tongue could not find the words with which to complain to the Eternal Sky about his state. The corpse of Firasi was a mere mockey of living-death - for Shaqmar was now living-death made manifest.
Eventually, it was not Zanshah who moved Shaqmar but Surayka. She came to him some two days after he had been stood before Firasi, his face yellow and gaunt from lack of sleep and lack of food and drink, his beard drooping dolefully. She placed her hand on his shoulder before she spoke, and hearing her voice prompted a numb reaction from him. He turned to her in somewhat dumb shock and stared at her blankly.
Surayka
'Shaqmar, you need to come with me. You are not well.' And she took him by the hand and pulled him gently. He nodded distractedly and took a few faltering steps with her. He glanced glassily at Firasi and, even as he allowed Surayka to lead him away, continued looking at the croaking corpse until it was out of sight. She removed his dirty clothes and, much as he had done not more than a week earlier for his brother, washed and cleansed him of all the dirt and sweat. Once done, she took him inside and silently dressed him. He stood there when she was finished, glassily ogling the vacant air. Pursing her lips, she took him firmly by the hand and laid him on his furs. When food was brought, she sat with him and fed him - and every now and again she snapped at him to chew his food. Zanshah had told her that Layla was either dead or gone never to return. It was obvious that Shaqmar would be in shock and denial for a while, but eventually he would emerge from his stupor and - so Zanshah had reasoned to her - he would need to find a good woman by his side. A woman who would help him forget his loss and refill the void in his heart and soul.
'It is you, Surayka. For you have loved him for as long as I can remember. And in time, I am certain that he will realise your position of honour in his heart.'
She looked at the dazed Shaqmar wistfully as he chewed. Something in her knew that Zanshah was wrong. Shaqmar was never going to forget his Layla. He was never going to allow her - or any other - into his heart. His blank gaze turned to her suddenly and she realised that she had been staring at him for longer than she meant. 'You- you should rest now. Here,' she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him gently back onto the furs. He did not resist and allowed himself to fall back. Moving the food away, she rose and placed some of the furs and blankets on him, and once she was certain he was well-covered, she turned to leave.
'Stay,' she halted in place, uncertain if she had heard him speak or if it was just her fanciful imagination, 'here.' She turned and looked at him in surprise. Wordlessly, she retraced her steps and sat herself on her knees beside him. She brushed some strands of jet-black hair from his eyes and placed the blankets tighter around his shoulders. His beard moved slightly as he managed what might have been the ghost of an attempt at a smile and he finally closed his eyes and got some much-needed sleep.
He slept for two days without waking, and Surayka remained with him in the roundtent. She moved from her place only to eat and answer the call of nature. And when she surrendered to sleep she usually crumpled near him on the ground - and one person or another who happened to enter the roundtent to check on them would find her like that and place some furs and blankets around her. When Shaqmar awoke, he found her sat there still, and she smiled silently as his eyes drew open. He sat up and, before he opened his mouth to ask, she brought a bowl of water to his lips. He took it from her and drank it all before extending the bowl to her for more. She obliged him.
Food was brought and he ate ravenously as she watched. After a few minutes he reallised that she was not eating and gestured for her to join him. He was silent throughout and she did not say anything. When he had eaten his fill he rose and reached for a dagger hidden in the furs. Drawing it, he tested its sharpness and seemed satisfied. Without a word, he left the roundtent. She followed him timidly and watched as he sat on the great roundtents steps and brought the dagger up towards his head. 'Shaqmar- no!' she blurted in panic, bursting forward towards him in a futile attempt to stop him. He paused and looked back at her.
'Calm yourself, Surayka. It is only hair,' he said deliberately as he cut upwards with a few swift stroke and his waist-length pitch-black hair was no more. He placed the cut hair next to him and felt the back of his head. It was now just about chin length. He brought the blade to his long black beard next and cut away brutishly at it until it was far shorter. Satisfied, he told a passerby to take his hair and bury it somewhere outside the camp - the man looked at him oddly and Surayka had the slightest feeling that the man perhaps did not recognise Shaqmar. If Shaqmar noticed, he did not seem concerned.
With that done, he turned around and entered his roundtent once more. He placed the dagger back in its place in the furs and removed the clothes Surayka had dressed him in. In their place he put on an orange shirt and a flowing blue robe - and a simple rope served as a belt. When he turned around, Surayka was giving him a quizzical look. He smiled slightly and moved towards her, placing a hand on her cheek.
'For all you have done, Surayka, I thank you,' and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She was taken aback by his touch and colour rushed to her face. She quickly retreated out of his reach.
'Shaqmar, what's going on. What are you doing?' she asked, trying her best to ignore what he had just done. He took a deep breath and looked to the roundtent's entrance.
'I am going,' he said simply, and made for the exit.
'W-what? No, you can't. You're in no state to go anywhere!' she followed him, grabbing his arm in an attempt to hold him back.
'Surayka, please, don't be ridiculous,' he said, ignoring her grip and moving down the stairs even as she pulled pointlessly at him.
'Zanshah!' she shouted, 'Qaseer! Qulut! Somebody!' her cries gained a very quick response as Qaseer came rushing out of his roundtent - still naked above the waist - not too far away. Seeing Shaqmar's appearance, he halted and confusion was clear on his face.
'By the Eternal Sky's holy pi- uh, holy blessings. What's happened to you? What's the racket about?' Releasing Shaqmar, Surayka turned to Qaseer.
'Stop him! He says he's leaving!' Qaseer looked to Shaqmar who had not slowed down in the slightest.
'Leaving?' he asked, turning on his heel and walking beside him, 'where to? Caught the Zanshah bug have you?'
'Yes, yes I have,' was Shaqmar's simple response.
'You think you can find Layla on foot?' Qaseer asked, his voice suddenly low. Shaqmar stopped and looked at him.
'It is better than sitting here doing nothing.'
'You want to go alone when all of Rukbany obeys your every command? I never thought that love would make so great a fool of you, cousin.' Shaqmar may have, in the past, reacted with annoyance at the idea that he was in 'love' or that he was a 'fool', but he had been exposed before the world - they had seen his tears, and they had heard his impassioned words, and they had fought to return to him his Layla. It was no longer his stiffly guarded secret, for he had let it slip.
'You want me to drag Rukban warriors around in search of a woman? They would never allow themselves to be slighted so,' Shaqmar said simply.
'She is not any woman, Shaqmar. She is Layla,' came Qaseer's curt response. Her name on his tongue struck him harder than a blow and he felt the tears well up in his eyes. But he banished them with a quick hand.
'Very well. Let us go and search for her. Gather a-'
'What? Right away?' Qaseer asked incredulously. Shaqmar looked at him uncertainly.
'What, is there anything else that the people are attending to?' Shaqmar asked.
'Yes, Toqidae and Zanshah are celebrating tonight our victory over the Ma'Erkoz, for the Tagham return to their lands on the morrow. You must be there.' Shaqmar frowned at this and made to turn and continue, but Qaseer grabbed him by the arm and forcefully pulled him back. Weakened by his sorrows, Shaqmar could not ignore him as he had Surayka.
'Listen to me, you maddened man, and do as I say. Do not weaken yourself and heap on it insult to the powerful.' Shaqmar scowled.
'I do not fear Toqidae or any other. I must to my Layla, even now I can hear her soul crying out to be found. I cannot wait even an hour more, even a second.' But Qaseer's grip did not wane and Shaqmar quickly realised that he would not be able to escape except with a fight. Sighing in defeat, he acquiesced to his cousin's demand.
'But we leave on the morrow even before the Tagham depart,' he demanded, and Qaseer nodded to appease him and returned him to his roundtent.
'Surayka,' he said, 'fix his butchered hair for him, and find him something suitable for the Qa'id Adheem to wear.' She nodded and Shaqmar scowled at Qaseer, who smiled widely and shrugged helplessly. 'You should be thanking me - I'd rather her be...servicing me than you. God knows I've tried!' Shaqmar did not laugh, and Shaqmar did not smile. With that, Qaseer turned away and rushed off back to his roundtent, muttering excitedly to himself.
Shaqmar bore patiently Surayka's gentle attempts to fix his hair's appearance and her further trimming his beard so that it was level. And when she brought him better clothes, it was more out of a lack of desire to displease her than a desire to wear them (or go to the feast) that he wore them.
'Are the people not speaking, Surayka?' he asked her as she wrapped a belt around him.
'Of what, my Qa'id?' she pulled back and examined her handiwork before he spoke again.
'You spend your days with me and your nights with me. And when I leave, you leave with me, and you return with me, and you cut my hair and you dress me, and you feed me and eat with me. I may well soon be gone, do you want to return to them and find your reputation has left with me?' She was silent and Shaqmar could see that this was something she had thought about before.
'I guess...' she was quiet for a few seconds, 'I guess you'll have to make sure you don't leave.' She looked at him shyly, but Shaqmar's eyes were instantly cold.
'Surayka, do you wish to war with me?' he asked lowly. She stepped back and looked away, shaking her head slowly. 'Then don't war with...her.' He did not have to say her name for Surayka to know what he meant.
'Shaqmar, I didn't mea-'
'Don't do it again.' She flinched at the harshness in his tone and stiffened. Her eyes watered slightly, but no tears fell. Her voice came curt.
'Is there anything I can help you with?'
'No.'
A CyKhollab
starring
Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion, Most Supreme of All Djinn
Level 10 Hero
23 Khookies
&
Aihtiraq
aka who dat?
&
Basheer
Boom! HE'S BACK!
Level 1 Hero
0 Khookies
&
Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes
The Qa'id Adheem
~~~~SECTION ONE~~~~
The quickness of the Azad counter-strike clearly caught the Ma’Erkoz and their allies by surprise, for Shaqmar’s marching hordes descended upon a good many encampment to find their men rushing around trying to organise a defence, and the women clutching their children to their breasts and huddling inside their roundtents – as had the women of the Azad when the Ma’Erkoz raided. But they did not do as the Ma’Erkoz did. They did not slaughter all. The men, they slaughtered. And the women and children they sent back to the Qa’id Adheem. Some five encampments were caught thus before the Ma’Erkoz managed to mount a defence.
By then, Shaqmar had reunited with his forces in central-eastern Ma’Erkoz herding grounds, and a force of five thousand Tagham tribesmen, led by the Qa’id Adheem Tiqodae himself, came with Tadatunga to support in the war effort. They remained there for some time until the women and children had caught up with them, setting up camp and resting. One of Shaqmar’s scouting parties soon returned with news that the Ma’Erkoz had called up the tribes and were rallying not too far to the north. If Shaqmar moved swiftly he would be able to catch them before they had all gathered together, and so deliver a cutting blow to their resistance. The encampment came alive as Shaqmar commanded everyone to prepare to move once more, and the commanders all met in Shaqmar’s roundtent to discuss the plan of attack.
‘Their weakness is their current state of disunity and chaos. Our strength is our unity and organisation. We must capitalise on this and make it our goal to achieve the greatest victories possible now before they can properly organise. By so doing, we will have crippled them so, that by the time they do organise properly they will have become so weak that they will pose no great threat. Then their herding grounds will be ours for the taking, their herds ours to distribute, their women our property, and their children at our mercy – and they themselves dead or soon to be,’ Tiqodae was saying. Shaqmar nodded in agreement. The man was intelligent and his words were sound. Seeing that the two Qa’id Adheems were in agreement, the others remained silent and looked to Shaqmar.
‘The honoured Qa’id Adheem Tiqodae speaks truth. They are divided, unorganised, and weak. Each of us has five thousand men under his command, to a total of twenty-five thousand warriors. Our scouts speak of a large force, an estimated thirteen thousand, gathered in a valley half a day’s journey from here. If we ride swiftly, and if each man uses his two mares, we can be there in a far shorter period of time. We can then encircle them and crush them – though we will leave for them an escape route. And one of our forces – Chenar’s force – will not join the fray and will stay out of sight. When they see that they are beaten and begin escaping, you will be in wait for them beyond the valley, and you will slaughter them all,’ Shaqmar looked at the others. Tiqodae only smiled in approval while the others nodded, though his smile faded slightly when he mentioned slaughtering them all. Dead men did not make good slaves, after all.
‘What do I do if they surrender themselves?’ Chenar asked. Shaqmar looked down for a bit and thought.
‘If they surrender, command them to throw away their weapons and take from them their horses, and after the battle is done I shall deal with them as is fit,’ Chenar nodded, and Tiqodae voiced no dissent. With the plan clear to all, they set off.
The swift Rukbanian steeds of the Azad made short work of the distance, and Shaqmar’s utilisation of two horses instead of one – a capitalisation on a key skill honed by Rukbans; horse-riding – ensured they had descended upon the enemy in an even shorter period. Encircling the valley lying where the four hills clashed, without being detected, proved an impossible task. But by the time the enemy was alerted, there was no escape. Resting their mounts and themselves, the Azad force and the Ma’Erkoz one kept a close eye on each other for some hours, and as the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Shaqmar ordered that all prepare for the assault.
The four forces of Shaqmar, Tiqodae, Tadatunga and Siruga each streamed over one of the four hills like endless locusts, firing their vicious arrows into the waiting enemy host. They circled around the trapped force en masse, forming a whirlpool of riders around them even as they continued firing their arrows. The enemy force – who, it appeared, had by this point been joined by their women and children – had created make-shift barricades out of their carts and were fortifying themselves behind them while returning fire. A direct assault would be deadly, and so Shaqmar sent out the command to slowly increase the girth of the firing circle in a tactical retreat to the top of each of the four hills. With darkness descending, fires were lit and Shaqmar sat on Layl looking down upon the fortified enemy. The stars twinkled silently in the night sky as the smoke rose up and choked all it touched.
'Set them alight,' he commanded. The message was sent to the other commanders and fire arrows were prepared and, once Shaqmar's signal was given, the night sky was set ablaze with more arrows than there were twinkling stars in the sky. And night became day, and Shaqmar watched as they descended upon the helpless enemy from on high. The carts, which they had put up around them for safety, flamed up and became the doors of their self-made prison. The songs of men and women as they burned rang out through the valley, and Shaqmar's second signal was soon loosed: The rumble of hooves in the flittering darkness...and the denizens of hell descended upon the inferno, leaping through the collapsing fortifications like demons to the massacre. None escaped.
The men were slaughtered on the spot, and those among the women and children who were not burned were captured, and the goods untouched by fire were seized by those who happened upon them first. Layl's hooves sounded softly against the shouts and screams that ripped through the orange night - shadows moving against the firelight, horses grunting, footsteps and weeping, the odd clash of scimitars. Shrieks of despair. His rider watched with dark eyes and grim jaw, and in the post-massacre chaos, Shaqmar walked amongst the flames and coldly watched the remains of those who had burned. The fragrance of burnt flesh was sweet so early in the night, and the weeping and shrieking of the women was as a balm on his aching heart. The looting was not approved of by him, but there was nothing that could be done about it. If he attempted to stop them and redistribute it as he wished, they would think ill of him and suspect him, and they would not fight as willingly in future. And so he had to permit a minor inconvenience to achieve ultimate victory. Perhaps then he would be able to turn on them and seize the loot. Equal distribution amongst the mass of warriors always appealed to him, with commanders getting double. If the Eternal Sky gave him the authority, it would be done. When the captives were at last brought to him and the other commanders, his order was that all should be beheaded.
'Shaqmar, with all due respect, that is not the way. If you have no need for them, then give them to me,' Tiqodae protested. Shaqmar flashed him a dark look.
'I do have a need for them, Qa'id Adheem,' he said softly, 'I need them to die.'
'That would be of no use to anybody,' Tiqodae argued, 'and enough have already been killed here tonight. Let me have them Shaqmar.'
'It is of use,' the Azad chieftain responded coldly, 'the honour of the dead rests upon it.' Tiqodae pursed his lips and frowned.
'The death of the living is of no use to the dead, and they have no need for honour or dignity where they are. Do not create additional suffering and death here in the name of those who suffered and died already. You are a wise man, Shaqmar. Be not moved by your emotions.'
'I am not moved by emotions, friend, but you are moved by the potential for profit. We agreed before all this that mine would be the word when it comes to their fate, and my word is death.' The two stood staring each other down by the light of a few torches, and the other commanders maintained an uneasy silence.
'Yes, we did agree,' Tiqodae at last conceded and looked away, 'but know that it is not money that I am after. Merely the preservation of the lives of those who are innocent, and the preservation of your reputation before all,' Shaqmar glanced at the other commanders hesitantly at these words.
'P-perhaps, my Qa'id, it is not for the best to execute those who are our prisoners,' Chenar finally said. Tadatunga and Siruga murmured sheepishly in agreement, causing Shaqmar to sigh and his shoulders to slump.
'Though the honour of the dead rests on this decision, and though it pains me more than I can ever say, it is a man most foolish who ignores the advice of others. And 'tis especially so where there is such a strong consensus. If they must live, then I prefer that I not have to ever lay eyes upon them. They are yours, Tiqodae,' and with that, Shaqmar turned away without a word and strode moodily away. The others stared after him quietly for a while, and Tiqodae at last spoke.
'Your friend is most wise.'
'Most Wise': Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes, Qa'id Adheem of the Azad Confederation and Qa'id of the Azad Tribe
Later that night, Shaqmar's forces left the valley and retraced their footsteps until they were reunited with the moving encampment. They made camp on a small concealed plateau and Shaqmar commanded that careful watch should be kept in case the enemy approached in the night, and he commanded also that the valley where they had annihilated the first Ma'Erkoz force should be watched until the arrival of more enemies there. Brooding in his roundtent, Shaqmar told one of the guards to bring Surayka to him, and for her to bring kymis. When the roundtent's flap was opened slightly, Shaqmar looked up expectantly. But only the guard's bearded face could be seen.
'Qamtar?' Shaqmar asked in confusion.
'My Qa'id,' the man said hesitantly, 'the honoured lady refuses your summons.' Shaqmar looked at him for a few seconds, his face nearly failing him. He nodded quickly and signalled for Qamtar to go away before his emotions got the better of him and he broke down before the man. His sinking heart beating deafeningly in his chest, he could not help the misery that filled him at Surayka's snub. Moving towards the bed, he lay on his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. And he was for a long time still, and he was for a long time sad.
When morning came, Shaqmar's scouts returned with news of two more enemy forces quickly approaching the designated Ma'Erkoz rally point. 'One smaller force, coming at about seven thousand, and another larger force of twenty to twenty-five thousand,' the scout in question was reporting. Shaqmar nodded in understanding. It was good that they had crushed the first enemy force to gather, else they would have been heavily outnumbered.
'We will split in to two war parties. The Qa'id Adheem Tiqodae will lead the first, and will have Chenar with him. I will lead the second and will have Tadatunga and Siruga with me. The Qa'id Adheem's force will assault the larger enemy party, and I will assault the smaller one. We would do well to ensure they don't unite. If the smaller force is quickly crushed by my force while the Qa'id Adheem distracts the larger, we can ensure a swift victory against that one with an encirclement manoeuvre,' Tiqodae looked at Shaqmar silently, one eyebrow slightly raised, 'unless you object, Qa'id Adheem,' Shaqmar added slowly.
'Not at all, Shaqmar. I am merely confused as to why we need to split our force at all. We can together swiftly crush the smaller enemy force before turning on the second. There is no need to divide our strength.'
'What you say has some truth in it, Qa'id Adheem, but if we use our full force against either enemy horde we will be leaving our rear exposed to an attack by the other. That is why it is necessary to distract the larger while the smaller force is annihilated,' Tiqodae pursed his lips and looked down thoughtfully.
'That makes sense, I agree, but why is it necessary for you to lead such a large force against what the scout says is an enemy no larger than seven thousand men? You can just as easily do the job with five thousand less men,' Tiqodae pointed out. Shaqmar was silent and looked at Tiqodae warily for a few seconds.
'If you are afraid that you cannot fool the larger force for long enough for me to do my part, or if you do not trust my capabilities, then I can sally forth alone against the smaller force. I will leave all others under your command and you can deal with the larger force. On your own.' Shaqmar's cold - if ill-thought our - response finally came.
'I am not afraid of anything, Shaqmar, and I have no doubts about your capabilities. I just do not wish to split our force. But I see no problem with this plan that you mention now,' Shaqmar nodded and got to his feet.
'Then I shall leave immediately to do what needs to be done. May the Eternal Sky...guide you towards victory,' and with that Shaqmar departed and roused his five thousand men and marched out.
The sun had not yet reached its zenith when they crested a hill and the enemy force came into view. They had clearly been made aware of Shaqmar's approach and had prepared for the coming battle. Halting at the crest, Shaqmar surveyed the slanted field which stretched out from the foot of the hill and into another, forming the side of a larger hill which rose up majestically above the one that Shaqmar now found himself. The enemy force had chosen to arrange itself on that open hillside, and it appeared they were wise enough to ensure that their women and children were not with them this time. Layl kicked at the ground and snorted in excitement. Taking a few steps forward, the stallion reared up on its hindlegs and kicked violently towards the enemy force and sent its thundering neighs towards the heavens.
'Sons of Rukbany!' Shaqmar roared, 'raise your swords! Raise your spears! If the Eternal Sky should weep for rage, let it not weep its life-giving waters! Let it not thunder and light up the heavens! Let it rain your death-bringing, furious arrows! If lightening bolts should descend from on high, let them be your unfailing, death-dealing darts!
My nation, the sun doth at last on the horizon rise
Let heaven know it, let it hear your frightful battle cries!
Come, offer up your souls for your tribe and Eternal Sky
Buy honour and dignity with blood and live though you die!
The only speech now is the whistle of the cutting edge
So march forth with all ferocity and honour your pledge:-
Let Ma'Erkoz choke blood and on the flesh of their dead feast!
They thought that they were lions, but have summoned forth a beast!
They thought themselves conquerors by slaying our weak women
Let the vexed star know that we are true warriors and men!
I am sun-lit Shaqmar, the Qa'id of the quick retort
I attack and am death, attack me now and I'm a fort!
I am sun-lit Shaqmar, the Qa'id of the fierce charger
I am the dread avenger and the wicked surcharger!
The universe may, with its thousand glories, swiftly cease,
But our glory can never fade, nor can its hot fires freeze!
Tell the celestial skies that we rival their stars in height
And the horse's neigh reached the utmost south due to our might!
Let the north now feel our rage and hear our resounding bolt
Let all listen as we roar, let them hear of our revolt!'
Let heaven know it, let it hear your frightful battle cries!
Come, offer up your souls for your tribe and Eternal Sky
Buy honour and dignity with blood and live though you die!
The only speech now is the whistle of the cutting edge
So march forth with all ferocity and honour your pledge:-
Let Ma'Erkoz choke blood and on the flesh of their dead feast!
They thought that they were lions, but have summoned forth a beast!
They thought themselves conquerors by slaying our weak women
Let the vexed star know that we are true warriors and men!
I am sun-lit Shaqmar, the Qa'id of the quick retort
I attack and am death, attack me now and I'm a fort!
I am sun-lit Shaqmar, the Qa'id of the fierce charger
I am the dread avenger and the wicked surcharger!
The universe may, with its thousand glories, swiftly cease,
But our glory can never fade, nor can its hot fires freeze!
Tell the celestial skies that we rival their stars in height
And the horse's neigh reached the utmost south due to our might!
Let the north now feel our rage and hear our resounding bolt
Let all listen as we roar, let them hear of our revolt!'
And on Shaqmar's powerful declarations, those closest to him gave off a booming roar, which was replicated by all who heard it until the rumbling sound of all the five thousand - many of whom were hidden behind the crest of the hill - shook the earth and hills. Aye, and shook the very hearts of their foes. Turning to Qaseer, Shaqmar commanded him to take one thousand men and to circle around the right side of enemy-held hill quietly. Another of Shaqmar's trusted commanders - Qamtar's brother, Sakago - was commanded to take five hundred men and circle around the left side as noisily as possible. The command was then sent around for those who were remaining hidden behind the crest of the hill to create noise and stir up the earth and cause great dust clouds to rise up as though in preparation for an attack. As the earth rumbled at his command, Shaqmar watched the enemy force carefully as they sent a few small forces of riders further down the hill, who all subsequently began fiddling with their bows and preparing to fire in anticipation of an oncoming charge. As he watched, his eye caught on a small movement further down his own hill, quite some distance to his right. After watching the suspicious area for a while, his suspicion was confirmed as a well-camouflaged man moved further up the hill. They were attempting to spy on his side. He was not going to permit it.
Lifting his bow, the Qa'id Adheem notched an arrow and drew it. Almost as quickly as he drew, he aimed and fired. And his was a deathly precision. The spy had been crawling slowly up the hill and he never saw the arrow which penetrated his skull. He died without a sound.
As the earth continued to shake behind him, the Qa'id Adheem kept lethal watch, and as dust rose up behind him, Layl paced back and forth along the hilltop. After a short period, a contingent of enemy riders was sent to check on something that had been noticed to their right - Shaqmar's left. As news of the enemy force to their right reached their commander, even more troops were moved to guard the right flank in case of attack - and that swiftly came as the Sakago's five hundred began harassing the waiting troops with arrows and charging feints. No sooner had they considered the harassing party more or less contained and that they were safe once more, Qaseer's force emerged atop the opposing hill, directly above the enemy force. His hidden troops began to do as Shaqmar's now did. Shaqmar knew that horror would be creeping into the enemy commander's heart at this point - he would think himself surrounded with an enormous force before him and another behind him, and harassing parties to his right. Who knew just how many enemy troops were in the area and now had them surrounded? It was a foolish commander who did not keep eagle-eyed watch over his enemy. The day was already his.
As the enemy force attempted to reorganise in response to Qaseer's appearance, Shaqmar gave his troops the signal. Fearsome battle cries were loosed and the Azad streamed over Shaqmar's crest, firing their darts even as they charged forth. From the top of his hill, Qaseer was firing fiercely along with his troops, and Sakago's harassing troops on the enemy's right had suddenly become a lethal presence as they took out the confused and disorganised enemy with a savage efficiency. Once Shaqmar's troops clashed with their prey, Sakago commanded hismen put away their bows and likewise charged into the well-peppered flank. Shaqmar allowed his troops to take complete advantage of the enemy's disorganisation before commanding his troops to retreat. Even as the enemy prepared to give chase, Qaseer and his troops suddenly put their bows away and charged down the hill upon the momentarily distracted enemy. As they hesitated between pursuing Shaqmar and facing the new threat, Shaqmar's troops made a turnaround and charged once more - this time with Shaqmar at the helm. With all his forces engaged, and knowing that his battlefront was the most powerful of the three, Shaqmar made it his goal to unite his front with Sakago's by focusing the assault on the enemy's right flank. Qaseer, whether by sheer wit or due to being farther up the hill and being able to better see what Shaqmar was doing, did likewise.
By the time Shaqmar's initial advantage had passed, the morale and other damage done to the enemy force was so great as to make resistance all but futile - victory was only a matter of time. And the Ma'Erkoz seemed to realise that, for riders began to desert en masse. It would avail them nothing, however, for a good number of Shaqmar's men swiftly split into smaller contingents and set out to hunt the routing foe even as his main force continued what had become an all out massacre on the hillside.
Night had fallen by the time Shaqmar's troops regrouped once more, and his scouts soon arrived with news regarding the enemy encampment which had been following the force. They descended upon it in the night. The small number left to guard the women and children were swiftly dealt with and the camp was looted - though it was Shaqmar's command that all the male children be brought to him. And once all that was done, the camp was escorted by his force back to where the Azad encampment had settled for the night. Upon arriving there, Shaqmar discoverd that Tiqodae and the force that had set out with him had not yet returned. This worried him, and so he commanded his men - despite the exhausting day - to keep careful watch through the night and for his scouts to scour the region so as not to be caught off guard by any approaching force.
When morning came, the force Tiqodae had marched out with had not yet returned. Increasingly worried, Shaqmar commanded his scouts to expand the area they were scouring. One of his swiftest men, Yoditi, was given specific instructions to go and scout out the area where the forces should have clashed. And even as he did so, the command went round for all to prepare for a slow retreat from the area towards grazing grounds which were closer to home.
They came to me on a night of deep despair
When tragedy had seized the violent air
Methought them wicked spirits or something so
But they were not - by God! - how was I to know?
No, they were the living dead fresh from the grave
Come with summons for me from their earthen cave
There were none to burn and send them where they fell
Where their souls now fly only the Sky can tell
Neither can our tears lift them, nor our sighs aid
Will they ever scream or will they quickly fade?
When tragedy had seized the violent air
Methought them wicked spirits or something so
But they were not - by God! - how was I to know?
No, they were the living dead fresh from the grave
Come with summons for me from their earthen cave
There were none to burn and send them where they fell
Where their souls now fly only the Sky can tell
Neither can our tears lift them, nor our sighs aid
Will they ever scream or will they quickly fade?
When Yoditi returned, he reported that the area he had scouted did not appear to have seen battle recently - though it was quite clear that a large host had passed by recently for the earth was all around kicked up and upturned. He had followed the trail for some time, but it eventually led too far to be worth pursuing - it did not seem likely that Tiqodae's force would deign to travel so far from its designated place without sending word of it to Shaqmar after all. 'And what of the enemy force?' Shaqmar asked. Yoditi shrugged and suggested that perhaps Toqidae's force had, upon seeing them approach, charged against the enemy. And the foe thus turned and fled, and he gave chase to them: and so the trails of the two forces had merged. Shaqmar nodded slowly.
'They may well have charged into a trap. Go with a group of men and follow the trail as far as it goes, and keep me updated regularly on your findings.' Yoditi nodded and turned away to do as commanded.
Soon enough, Shaqmar found a great hill with a flat top where he chose to base himself and the camp. He sat atop the hill, just outside the raised entrance to his great mobile roundtent, watching for many days. At times he thought of Toqidae and the others, but those were exceptions. For now with the threat of assault at bay, his mind gave way for the one who dwelled in it both night and day. Where had they taken Layla, and what had they done to her? Just as he was sinking into the depths of his wallows, he was approached by a few of his men who were pointing their spears warily towards a strange white-clad man - or at least, it seemed to be a man, for he was humanoid in shape. He was dressed in white from head to toe, even his face was wrapped in it - it seemed to be some kind of white fur-like material, though unlike any fur or leather Shaqmar had ever come across - except for a strange mark.
'My Qa'id,' one of the men - the well-known wrestler Sonakhai - announced. Shaqmar looked at the white-clad man suspiciously.
'What is it, Sonakhai?' Shaqmar asked.
'This...creature...it overpowered some of our men and demanded to be brought to you,' Shaqmar raised an eyebrow and looked at the thing.
'What are you?' Shaqmar asked the creature directly.
'I come from a hole in the Sky,' it said. Shaqmar's eyes widened and a frown grew on his face. He rose from his seat and towered above them all, glaring down at the stranger.
'Are you a shaman sent by the Ma'Erkoz?' Shaqmar glowered.
'I am sent by the Vicegerent of the Celestial Above, Deputy of Our Masters the Bard and Belvast, Word of Our Mother of the Words, and Blessed of Our Mother of the Cherry: the Battle Brother Morarom Ramomar. I am sent to find the one I am sent to find.' Shaqmar's hostility did not wane, but he sat back down.
'Very well, messenger of Morarom of a hole in the Sky. Are you a riddling shaman or a blathering madman?'
'Shaqmar of the Azad, I am neither this nor that, but a messenger of the gods. I am Battle Brother Juras, twentieth of the Hallowed Hundred. At my bidding, the earth parts and the clouds form and waters rise and fires grow, and the flightless fly and the flying fall, and the very blood streaming in your veins slows to a halt. Mock me not...and give me freedom to come and go through your lands and among your people as I please.' Shaqmar looked at the stranger and cocked his head. This 'Juras' was no taller than any normal man - if man he was - and he did not seem to possess strength much greater than the average Rukban (which, of course, was quite tremendous in itself!) Yet Sonakhai had said that a few of his warriors had been taken down singlehandedly by this stranger. It was clear that he had strength beyond any normal man - even shamans could not physically take on multiple Rukban warriors on their own!
'It is within my power to grant what you are after, but what is it that you give in return?' Shaqmar asked.
'I can give you a warning. It is sent from Our Master the Bard himself, and it is for the Lord of Rukbany, Qa'id Adheem of the Rukban Tribes: Shaqmar son of Buraq son of Muharaq son of Irqa son of Azad.' Shaqmar raised an eyebrow and eyed the man.
'And how much does this Bard of yours know about me - for I have never met him.'
'He has within his grasp the repository of everything that is, was, and can ever be.'
'Is he the Eternal Sky?' Shaqmar asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and his head cocking slightly.
'He is the admixture of the essences of the Celestial Above and Our Mother of the Cherry.'
'And who are they?' The Rukban asked softly.
'They are three: the Celestial Above, Our Mother of the Cherry, and Our Mother of the Words. And they are the greatest of the gods.'
'Do they dwell in the court of the Eternal Sky?'
'Some do, and at times the Eternal Sky has dwelled in their court.'
'Did they send the Prophet?'
'They did not.'
'Did he call to their worship?'
'He did not.'
'Are you of Y'Vahn?'
'I am not,' Juras said, 'for she is a foe of the Celestial Above.'
'Very well, you who worships lesser gods beside the Eternal Sky: what has your Bard sent you with?'
'He says:
As I was sat watching the sky,
I heard the Cube call me.
The tree, alight and at full bloom
Stood shimmering and free:
She stroked the grasses at her feet
To mute the grief at god's defeat,
And scatter woe's ivy.
The plains lay ill before my gaze,
A lonely spider cried,
The dismal mounts beyond the haze
Were sad and tried to hide
Like two lost seekers seeking light
Debating who of them is right
As they walk side by side.
His phantom wore a monster's face,
Your phantom rode the night;
He came from quite a nearby place
Within your watchful sight,
Each statement held a lethal weight
Of happenings beyond the gate
Which we'd do well to fight:
To slay the unassuming dove,
Or with it to be slain.
He holds his tyranny above
The stone where freedom's lain,
He glares with his disastrous glare
With his arm raised up in the air
And knifes the living vein.
And now his oceans up and flee,
They crash against your shores;
Your women scream an unheard plea,
And are ravaged by wars;
There float the memories of time,
Six moons all soar above the crime
Without a look or pause.
I heard the Cube call me.
The tree, alight and at full bloom
Stood shimmering and free:
She stroked the grasses at her feet
To mute the grief at god's defeat,
And scatter woe's ivy.
The plains lay ill before my gaze,
A lonely spider cried,
The dismal mounts beyond the haze
Were sad and tried to hide
Like two lost seekers seeking light
Debating who of them is right
As they walk side by side.
His phantom wore a monster's face,
Your phantom rode the night;
He came from quite a nearby place
Within your watchful sight,
Each statement held a lethal weight
Of happenings beyond the gate
Which we'd do well to fight:
To slay the unassuming dove,
Or with it to be slain.
He holds his tyranny above
The stone where freedom's lain,
He glares with his disastrous glare
With his arm raised up in the air
And knifes the living vein.
And now his oceans up and flee,
They crash against your shores;
Your women scream an unheard plea,
And are ravaged by wars;
There float the memories of time,
Six moons all soar above the crime
Without a look or pause.
For the longest time, Shaqmar was silent, his heart hammering in his chest. The words were powerful...and their meaning eluded him. But that they spoke of catastrophe and apocalypse were beyond doubt. He came from quite a nearby place. 'It is Toqidae, is it not? The Tagham shall betray me...' Shaqmar looked to Juras for affirmation, but the stranger was silent.
'I have given you what I have given you, and you owe me what you owe me.'
'You must at the very least make clear what you have given!' Shaqmar declared in disbelief.
'It is for you, not for me, to understand it.' Juras responded. Shaqmar scoffed and shook his head.
'Very well, you are given what you are owed: let none say that Shaqmar stole and broke his oath. But I've a question for you.'
'Yes?'
'Does your Bard know where my Layla is?' Juras was silent for the longest moment.
'Yes.'
'Speak to him then, and bid him tell me!'
'That I cannot do.'
'Then tell me this at least: is she well?'
'This I can tell you: she is yet among the living,' Shaqmar looked at the white-clad stranger, the thought of Layla overwhelming his mind.
'Join me and be my shaman,' it was half demand half request.
'This is the time of parting between you and I, Lord of Rukbany,' Juras responded, and with that he turned and brushed the spears threatening him away without so much as a gesture of his hand. Shaqmar watched him go and placed his chin on his hand, contemplating the devastating prophecy Juras had come with.
'Juras! Who are you sent to find?' Shaqmar suddenly asked. But the stranger did not respond and soon disappeared among the roundtents. He turned to two of his men and commanded them to trail the stranger everywhere he went.
'Watch him even if he is answering the call of nature or lying with a woman. Do not let your eyes off him.'
≈≈≈≈≈
~~~~SECTION TWO~~~~
Grand halls of gleaming white and the comfort of a hundred howling winds welcomed the Vizier home. As of late, Ventus had taken to occupying the lonely and spacious upper levels of the Celestial Citadel. The lower levels had always been reserved for visitors, and though they now stood empty the signs of the Lifprasilians and Ilunabar's occupation remained. The silent courtyards had overgrown grapevines once cultivated by Lifprasilians and those unkempt trees that had been placed there in pots by Teknall in some attempt to liven the place. Their efforts were all for naught, for now those lower levels were the bleakest and emptiest of all. Higher up in the middle tier were the great open terraces and rotundas where the Zephyrean Skywatch made their home and other visiting djinn often frequented. Above all of that was the upper level that had been Zephyrion's quarter.
He had always kept that space zealously private and suffered no visitors to it, and yet at the top of that towering spire there was little to hide. Towards the end of his days on Galbar, Zephyrion had of course grown further detached and reclused himself in those heights. At the top of that tower you were very close to that great gleaming gemstone that crowned the palace; you could feel its power throb through the air, breathe in the sweet scent of those winds that it conjured to propel the palace, and be elevatedby the closeness to that power just as the fortress itself was elevated. So Ventus finally understood why it was that Zephyrion had hid away in those heights: it was just another way of retreating deeper into his own self.
Weeks and months passed by passed just as quickly as the mountains and climes below. Ventus remained in that tower with only the company of that gem and the sacred power that flowed from it. Zephyrion's power. A very potent and primordial force; the essence of Change.
The uncanny resemblance of Ventus' newfound reclusion to Zephyrion's was not lost upon those other djinn that frequented the Celestial Citadel, but where they had utterly obeyed Zephyrion's wish of solitude there were occasions in which they would summon the Vizier. One such time came when a thousand great skylords and stormlords all came to the Celestial Citadel with the greater part of their vast retinues; a gathering of that magnitude could only mean something immense, and so it was with a heavy heart that Ventus descended to the lower levels to meet with them. By his crown as Zephyrion's Majordomo, 'twas his burden to lord over the djinn and nature.
The cause of their summons was clear: they wanted nothing short of a coronation. For in wisdom the great sealord Salis, whose domain included vast swathes of the Sparking Sea, had proclaimed himself a lord of lords and a grand duke. His duchy included the brine of every sea but also the becks and lakes too; all the great djinni lords of the water had been quick to accept him as their supreme lord and one unquestioned voice, for in father Zephyrion's absence they were fearful and felt a need to band together in greater unity. Water and air had often stood side by side as friends, for it was through combined efforts that they worked to bring about the storms and the weather. So though the Vizier might have found Salis' move to be daring, he would not intervene. Most other elementals of the air seemed content to trust in the judgement of their friends who ruled the waters.
But more events had transpired: in his hubris, the mad dog 'Baron' Slag had responded by reaffirming his title as self-proclaimed master of fire. Flame was widely regarded to be the most dangerous of all the elements; those noble spiryts of pure flame were a rare sight upon Galbar's surface, for they often quarreled with the other elements with especially fervent hatred and enjoyed considerably shorter lifespans for it. In truth, the djinn of fire might be the most numerous of them all, for untold legions of chthonic, magmatic djinn dwelled within the world's fiery bowels. Though Ventus was disturbed by this progression, he had some doubts as to the veracity of Slag's claims. Flame was known for its ceaseless internal struggles. To the credit of Baron Slag's claims, those flamedjinn upon the surface seemed accept his reign (though not without grumbling), though his grasp over those hordes of chthonic elementals remained unknown. Regardless, those spiryts of molten rock rested so far beneath the earth as to be narly irrelevant to the affairs of the surface, so Ventus concerned himself more with the thoughts of those few firelords on the surface. Their loyalty to Slag was of course warrant enough to justify imposing strength upon their entire kind; Ventus would see to that in time.
In response to all the others, those djinn of the earth proclaimed a leader too: a stonelord by the name of Graund the Mountain. Unlike the rise of Duke Salis and Baron Slag, Graund seemed to have sought out no power of his own accord; indeed, by all accounts Graund was an ancient that barely moved. Instead the various stonelords had appointed him to such a role, for apparently they revered him above all others of his kind. In truth Ventus and the other elements possessed less knowledge of their brethren of the earth than of any other element, perhaps because the stonelords were a reclusive lot that rarely acted. Admittedly the Vizier knew nothing of this great lord; he thought that he had met one Graund many eons ago, and if that were the same as this Graund that the stonelord rallied around, that would make the djinni an ancient indeed. He would likely be the second eldest of all djinn, surpassed only by Ventus himself.
But that brought the skylords to speak of why it was that they had all come when one messenger would have sufficed to simply bring knowledge. Each of the other three elements had a great Scion, as was the name that had been dubbed to those lords of lords. It was only fitting that Air proclaim its own Scion, and who was more fit than Ventus himself?
When they presented their logic and attempted to crown him, Ventus refused. He was above such petty politics and had no desire to govern all of his own kind more closely than he did the other elements, and yet when he proclaimed that there must be another, the ensuing quarrel was one that could have shaken mountains. The voices of a thousand raging elemental lords proved enough to shake the Celestial Citadel. They could not choose one, and they could not decide for themselves? So be it; Ventus would choose, and he would choose many. Thus was the Conclave of Winds formed, and in place of one great Scion, the Sky would be ruled by a council of four: one for each great wind. The frigid and implacable Boreas, bringer of winter, spoke for the North; one by the name of Notus brought gentle rains and spoke from her seat in the South, one Anshal commanded the flaying winds of the West, and finally the just Komnestos ruled the East. The title of Scion was bestowed unto each of those four; for Vizier Ventus, who was the Most Supreme of All Djinn, had proclaimed it so. None questioned Zephyrion's Majordomo, and so through his degree those four Scions were each given as much legitimacy as any of of the other elements'. Of course there would be complaints of favoritism, for Ventus himself was of the air and always favored his own element above the others, but such was the way of the Hierarchy. Zephyrion himself took on a body of air, did he not?
With that matter resolved, Ventus finally delivered a mighty clap and proclaimed his judgement. Those thousand visitors were ordered to return to their own realms, though the four Scions in the Conclave of Winds had his permission to remain. Though they still reigned over their own winds below and returned to Galbar from time to time, in the Celestial Citadel would they met to arrive upon decisions of great import. Such was the price to pay for having four Scions in place of one; much time needed to be spent in discussion and argument, where with only one that time might be used for action. The Conclave's first order was to dominate the lesser elements, as was natural; they plotted to send a storm of horrific proportions to assault Baron Slag's volcanic bastion, an emissary to demand fealty from Graund, a request for an oath of friendship from Duke Salis. To varying success, their orders were carried out over the next few days. Ventus left them to their devices and returned to the heights of the upper spire, for he sensed something ill to come, looming above him like the stormclouds loomed over mortal men. He rested, but with ill ease.
≈≈≈≈≈
~~~~SECTION THREE~~~~
It eventually came to pass that Ventus' prophesy came true and the foretold day arrived; the Vizier had known not from whence it would come, but indeed he had known that something dire would soon happen. The cosmos itself had whispered as much, though only his ears had heard. The great jewel that crowned the Celestial Citadel and saturated it with a small trickle of Zephyrean power seemed to burst without warning, and where once there had been a trickle there was now an unstoppable cataract. There was no intermission; in one moment all had been normal, and in the blink of an eye there was the deafening boom of thunder and a golden wind of primal magic flowed forth from the gem. Of epic proportions, it swept across the sky as a mighty streak that made the aurorae look as nothing, and perhaps that golden wind even rivaled the Phantasmagora in its scale and splendor.
Vizier Ventus could only stare agape and in disbelief; Zephyrion had been so inactive as to allow his own power to spill forth from the vessels that contained it. It was a dire portent for the Majordomo, for if a god neglected his own power so, how could one expect him to look over greater responsibilities? Galbar and the djinn were now kept in order only through the Vizier's diligence, and this new...development led Ventus to fear for the state of Mechanism of Change itself. Without the integrity of that Mechanism there would be dire consequences for all beings, and yet he trusted no other god's competence in maintaining it without abusing its power. The task fell unto Ventus' shoulders, as all duties seemed wont to do.
So before him the Vizier now had two great burdens: he had to work quickly to undo the havoc that that great wind of Zephyrean power would wreak upon Galbar. He would need to find some way to contain the power or absorb it into himself, for simply forcing it back into the gem would not do. The Celestial Citadel was like a swollen lake and that crystal its dam; no matter how much power Ventus poured back into the crystal, it would only seep back out. The second task was the more dangerous and alien of the two: he needed to enter the Mechanism of Change and examine its workings in person. He only hoped that if it had grown unstable he wold recognize the signs or be able to fix it with what limited knowledge Zephyrion had imparted unto him.
Never one to delay, he chose to undertake the more exciting of the two tasks first. He decided to enter the Mechanism of Change.
...
...
...only he lacked any idea of how such a feat might be accomplished. He opened his perception, his senses infinitely greater than those of mortals and even of djinn, and yet when he leered at the cracks and crevices of the world he saw nothing. There were no portals hidden in plain sight, no signs in those aspects of the world that only gods could see. It was easy to understand how all others seemed to take Zephyrion's contribution for granted, or not even know that it existed.
The Vizier tried a different approach: creating a portal of his own. He manipulated a golden wind of primal Change, that same raw power that was now bleeding out of the Celestial Citadel. He stretched the magic infinitesimally thin and willed it as he did, and yet when he tried to step through the portal he did so to no avail. Perhaps it was because even now he did no fully understand where or what the Mechanism of Change was. So he looked inward! Inward, just as he had a flicker where mortals had a soul, he had a pulsing where mortals had a heartbeat. The source of that pulsing was surely nowhere other than the destination that he sought, and so the Vizier crawled into his self.
Where all other tactics had failed, that strange and disconcerting attempt brought him success. It felt as through he had he had contracted himself until it was no longer possible, then contracted further, and further, until there was a debilitating pain and then...until he seeped through the fabric of reality itself. He found himself within the Mechanism of Change, but before he could process as much, every part of his being was wracked with an agony and an exhaustion that words could not describe.
Within the Mechanism of Change, there was raw Chaos. It assaulted his mind, his being, and his every sense; and yet, through it all, Ventus thought that he glimpsed a tiny fraction of some great Order, perhaps of Zephyrion's original plan.
Chaos washed over and through him and sprung into existence even inside him. This entire plane was a swirling maelstrom of energy, It was as if every point in space was the epicenter of some catacysmic explosion. Power and magic were all that existed to be seen, for in such a place matter could not even exist without being melted into some sort of raw energy. Yet despite their omnipresence and the sheer impossibility of even dreaming to quantify how much potential energy was locked away in this dimension, the Vizier somehow felt that there was enough to obliterate all of Galbar, and to then do it over again each moment thereafter until the end of time. If Ventus' vaporous form had followed his mind on this odyssey, it had been shred free and annihilated within an infinitesimal fraction of a moment. Aye, in this realm there was light, but there was so much of it that it rendered one blind.
It took a titanic effort for Ventus to endure the simple act of [ ehis ] own continued existence. Each moment was a struggle against a million tides and winds that sought to tear him apart and cast him to oblivion, and so in this state of strain he could scarcely even think. But with what little thought he could manage, he understood now that the Mechanism of Change could not be damaged or corrupted; there was nothing here to tamper with and no god that could withstand this place long enough to try. It occured to Ventus that he had not thought this plan through and knew no means with which he could ever escape. His last thoughts were of the doom that he had consigned himself to, and of Galbar's fate and that of djinn. What would happen in the wake of his disappearance? Alas, he would never see...
...
...and then he was torn asunder, and it felt as though he was stretched and expanded. He was drawn out like a wire of that ductile metal that men called copper, and then he was suddenly whole once again. The flood of light and magic that had assailed his every sense were gone in an instant. It was as though the deafening roar of a hurricane had given way to the most complete and utter of all silences, though of course concepts like 'sound' and 'hurricane' could never compare to what he had just experienced...
His vaporous body remained as it had been before and his mind remained mostly intact, albeit shaken. In truth the Vizier wondered if it had all been but a vivid hallucination, but even if such things were possible for djinn, he knew that he lacked the capacity to ever dream of such things. He knew that because even now, his mind failed at grappling what it was that he had even seen. If he could not remember now the entirety of what little he had processed then, there was no way his imagination could have conjured anything so overwhelming.
The Vizier's musings were interrupted by the voice of another.
"And so your mind does return
just as mine takes form.
To feel the warmth of Chaos!
I envy thee, Vizier."
Ventus spun to look towards the source of the voice, and lo and behold, there before him was another great djinn. By its size and form, Ventus knew it to be a great and powerful spiryt indeed, though he felt no recognition at the being's sight, its voice, or its aura. What insolence, then! This unknown lord sought to invade the sanctity of a space reserved for the great Father and (now) for his chosen Majordomo? Blasphemy!
Ventus looked at the being agape and began to say as much, but befoe the words were spoken he witnessed the djinn's body twist and change. From a twister of wind not unlike Ventus' own form, there sprung flames and then the one before him revealed itself to be an elemental of the purest and hottest fire. But how was it possible to wear such a facade? No other djinn could simply change its element in that manner; it was unnatural!
"O strange one, what and who art thee to enter this sacred place forbidden to common djinn, to shed free the form of air and reveal flame, to speak of this Chaos that only I and the Master hath seen?" Ventus demanded.
And as he spoke, the fire of the djinn before him was extinguished and transformed to ash, and that humble grey changed before the Vizier's eyes and was the gleaming gold sand of the Firewind. Now as a harmattan djinni of sand, he answered cryptically,
"Are not all us djinn alike?
I am Aihtiraq
I am like thee, a candle
burning unto nothingness."
Then that djinni who named himself Aihtiraq metamorphosed a final time: those swirling grains of golden sand coalesed and were made into droplets of water, and from the midst of his watery body a mighty inferno sprung to life. He was a fountain of water and flame and burning water that defied all sense to the beholder, and yet acted as though nothing were amiss. It was then that Ventus understood what great powers this strange spiryt must possess, and then that Aihtiraq smiled.
"I see wonder and terror
alike in thy eyes.
I am born of this magic
So fear not grand Vizier
for I seek nothing
and only give, as befits
the master of this new wind."
"Wind?" the Vizier asked, but Aihtiraq had vanished before the word came out. It was only in the strange one's absence that Ventus finally unraveled the mystery of his riddles and made sense of Aihtiraq's words. He looked outside to that streak of golden wind streaming forth from the Celestial Citadel, slower now. It seemed to have leaked all the excess Zephyrean power that had built up, though that finite amount of power was still a great Wind of Change that would sweep across the world and offer Galbar's denizens a potent source of magic. And it would seem that Aihtiraq was born of that same wind, a djinni lord of magic sprung forth from Zephyrean magic.
In a way then, Aihtiraq had been formed of Zephyrion's own lifeblood. Ventus had only been formed of the god's breath. The Vizier ruminated over that distinction for some time, then watched as the last of Aihtiraq's wind billowed away from the Celestial Citadel to go wherever he would take it.
≈≈≈≈≈
~~~~SECTION FOUR~~~~
When fire devours its kindling, the brown and green stuffs wither in the heat. They yield their phlogiston and turn ashen. In like manner, the men and women of Talal were devoured, but not by flame. It was plague that had struck the Vetruvian town, and the consumption turned the folk that it afflicted anemic. They then coughed up their own blood and died a bloody mess. It was a trying time, and many prayed. Little came in the form of deliverance for those afflicted; some did recover and they thanked the Master for his mercy, but many more succumbed to consumption than survived it.
Alas, not all was death! Though the plague had claimed her husband, one woman was nonetheless with his child, and even in the face of so much death, she had hope. She had to hope, for it was all that she had; the chance of a second marriage was slim. With her husband departed and no children to care for her, she would have to have a strong son now to secure her future. So hope and pray she did, and when the midwives left to bring water from the river and she was alone, there came an answer to her prayer.
It crawled up from the sand outside, it burst forth from the brazier, and it condensed from the mist of her heavy breath. Somehow it did all of those things at once, as a most unusual spiryt manifested itself. It was a swirling mass of sand and burning water, and yet in that chaotic storm one could see the likeness of a smiling face.
She knew of the djinn, as all Vetruvians did, but no myths spoke of such extraordinary things. It seemed unnatural, and were it not for its assuring smile she might have thought it some demon sent by Y'Vahn to claim her child. It also seemed too wild to be true, and were it not for the warmth of its burning body, she might have thought it a hallucination. But alas, Aihtiraq was real.
"Small one, thou hast suffered much.
'twas not by my hand
but nonetheless, I offer
my magic. I grant one wish."
A breath of disbelief parted from her lips. The spiryt's calming aura and warm smile anchored her to reality; she instantly trusted in it as much as she had in her own father. "My husband," she whispered, "can you return him to me?"
Without hesitation, the djinn seemed to shake his head, and she felt the crushing weight of sorrow.
"Alas, his body grew cold
and now not e'en
I could restore him to life.
Wish for the future, perhaps?"
Of course. How could she have been so greedy? She understood now; this wish was meant to be spent upon her child.
"I wish," she began, hesitating at the words. "I wish...for a strong son. A son that will know fame and greatness, whose name shall go to legend."
"Know that this wish I could grant
but greatness is oft
the fabric of undoing.
If you still wish it, I give."
She thought that he was warning her of something, but it was all so cryptic. From outside, she heard laughter and talking. The midwives were returning soon, and some part of her was afraid that this kind spiryt would disappear the moment that the eyes of any other tried to look upon it. So hurriedly, she said, "Alas, it is greatness that I desire for him. A strong son, one strong enough to care for me and his people. Grant me this one wish, I beg of you!"
The spiryt's smile remained. He seemed to nod, and then he opened his mouth and a long breath of golden wind cascaded out. It swept across the floor and reached to touch the walls and dance upon the ceiling. It seemed to fill the whole room with a great golden light, and in that moment of blindness the spiryt vanished quicker than he had even appeared. All of that golden wind and its light surged towards her, and it swept through his nose and her mouse to some place deep inside of her, and then it was gone. When the midwives entered the tent a moment later, they were speaking of some great golden wind that had just blown through the sky. They asked whether she thought it a good omen or ill, and so the lady murmured that it boded well and then fell asleep. In her half-lucid dreams, she wondered if that strange being had been the spirit of her lost husband.
As in for her fate, months passed by. The babe within her belly grew larger and stronger, and when the day came for it to emerge into the world, its delivery was no easy task. So large was that baby boy that his birthing sapped the last of the woman's strength, and as she held him in her arms, she knew that she was not long for the world. But even so, her son was robust and through him and his destined greatness she might live on. "Enkidu," she named him with her last whisper, and then slipped away. The orphaned infant was adopted by one of the midwives, and with that stranger Enkidu spent his first days.
≈≈≈≈≈
~~~~SECTION FIVE~~~~
It was some days before Shaqmar's scouts returned with substantial news regarding Toqidae's force. They reported that they had come across what appeared to be the aftermath of a vicious battle. Later that same day, another scout returned with news that Toqidae had been found encamped some distance north of that same battlefield. It appeared that the Tagham Qa'id Adheem had seen fit to remain in the area so as to pick off the remnants of the Ma'Erkoz force. 'He says you should march north and unite with his force so that you can both decide the next plan of attack,' Yoditi was saying. Concealing his irritation, Shaqmar rose and nodded.
'We march on the morrow,' he said brusquely before gesturing for Yoditi to let the men know. That night was sleepless and fitful as thoughts of Layla haunted every minute and second, and every heartbeat reverberated her name to him. Soon he would be reunited with her...soon.
On the morn he was the first to rise. Though exhausted, it was not exhaustion that wanted for sleep - though he was sorely in need -, nay, it was exhaustion which sought the peace of her presence by his side and in his arms. When they at last united with Toqidae's force and Shaqmar dismounted to greet the other Qa'id Adheem, he found that he - as well as being flanked by the other Qa'ids - was accompanied by a stranger. 'Now that the Azad chiefling has arrived, I will deliver the message direct to him,' the stranger was saying. Toqidae gave him a hostile glance.
'You shall do no such thing,' was his cold response.
'The message was never meant for you, you have no say in the matter,' the messenger spat. Toqidae turned on him angrily and made to grab him.
'Your tongue grows overlong, man, think not that I will hesitate to rid you of it,' the messenger backed away slightly, shaken by Toqidae's forbidding glare.
'Qa'id Adheem, I will hear what this man has for me,' Shaqmar interjected. Toqidae turned to Shaqmar with a frown.
'Shaqmar, he has nothing important to say. Mere posturing and taunts, unworthy of your station,' Shaqmar looked at him for a few moments before his response came.
'I will be the judge of that,' and so saying, he turned to the messenger and gestured for him to deliver his message.
'I, Zalzirai of the Ma'Erkoz, come bearing a message for Shaqmar: "From noble Firasi, Qa'id amongst Qa'ids, mighty Qa'idinqad of the entirety of Rukbany, to the upstart chiefling Shaqm-"'
'Before you continue, it is important to correct some of the content of this message of yours. I would hate for it to be said that your master sent a message full of inaccuracies. Here, it should read: "From the king of cowards, the greatest weakling, mightiest oppressor, from Firasi the Oathbreaker, slayer of the innocent, to the Qa'id Adheem Shaqmar." Yes, that is better, do you not think? You may continue now.' The messenger scowled and nodded.
'He says, after sending you his greetings, "And we have heard the words you spoke challenging the might of the Ma'Erkoz, and we thought it necessary to respond to your sharp tongue before our blades bring an end to both your silver tongue and golden eyes:
Have you come to know the dawn through these my ruins?
Just repayment for wind and rain unabating,
The newly-born finds in them rest from the sand dunes,
They are studied: I knew what I was creating.
I saw it, and its people are people of truth
They do not wish after the intent to depart.
By God! You are the lovers of discord, forsooth!
Oh me! You pounded and punctured the brave man's heart!
And my eye doth battle the tear from what you did
To my brother, Ankamai, when I neglect it,
For Ankamai, the mighty, into whom you slid
The untrue blade when he stood by the water-pit.
I go on visitation soon to Azad land,
Amongst them is Shaqmar who wishes to face me,
I assuaged some of my thirst for blood with my band-
Shaqmar now comes slaying: does he wish to race me!?
How is my patience when you slaughtered Ankamai,
And you have gloated at his murder on the plains!
By my life, I shall slaughter for my Ankamai
Every known gloater, or put them debased in chains,
I struck: hear my raging thunders and deathly knells!
And I tore families and lit up a great flame,
So drink deep of what you now draw from our blood wells!
And go forth humbled, at a loss, burning in shame.
The people proclaim that we are neighbours most vile:
They have lied about us in this that they have said,
They did not see us riding on horses virile
Seizing Vetruvians and planting their hearts with dread,
The day we marched forth against the tribes of Bajlaan
With a gathering whose like are the far mountains,
Amongst them was Sarqik and Buglai and Turtan
And Chagal and Barai and the son of Boutayn,
On that day Shaqmar's sword did not come out and hack,
He gave up those mothers heavy with their sorrow,
So do not tire of fighting, son of Buraq,
Be patient, for I am not going to withdraw!
My close friends, closen to me on this fated day
Every seductive neigher and steed, red or black,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and ask me, and -aye!-
Do not take long in asking, for I soon attack.
Closen Faxa's reins to me, for my actions give
Absolute truth to the words that I here speak,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, none of them shall live
For I shall put out their flame even as they shriek,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and when we step out
On to the field, let that be when the deed is done!
Closen Faxa's reins to me, they may wish to sprout
Wings and flee, but they shan't gallop free 'neath the sun!
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and closen too my
Battledress, and say to every Azad fighter
Come forth and draw the glinting blade: your death is nigh!
Come forth light or heavy: you leave a head lighter.
We have possessed you, so grovel at our feet and
Be slaves: you are destined towards domination,
And take heed, and pull and be ardent: take a stand -
Prepare for ceaseless war; the death of your nation!
For the tribes of Azad have dawned like the ancients:
The Prophet's people who were sundered by the storm.
We have slaughtered their helpless ones with blades trenchant
And shall slay their champions alone or in a swarm!
Oh Azad, prepare what you wish - and what you can
For you shall not find for this any cessation.
Just repayment for wind and rain unabating,
The newly-born finds in them rest from the sand dunes,
They are studied: I knew what I was creating.
I saw it, and its people are people of truth
They do not wish after the intent to depart.
By God! You are the lovers of discord, forsooth!
Oh me! You pounded and punctured the brave man's heart!
And my eye doth battle the tear from what you did
To my brother, Ankamai, when I neglect it,
For Ankamai, the mighty, into whom you slid
The untrue blade when he stood by the water-pit.
I go on visitation soon to Azad land,
Amongst them is Shaqmar who wishes to face me,
I assuaged some of my thirst for blood with my band-
Shaqmar now comes slaying: does he wish to race me!?
How is my patience when you slaughtered Ankamai,
And you have gloated at his murder on the plains!
By my life, I shall slaughter for my Ankamai
Every known gloater, or put them debased in chains,
I struck: hear my raging thunders and deathly knells!
And I tore families and lit up a great flame,
So drink deep of what you now draw from our blood wells!
And go forth humbled, at a loss, burning in shame.
The people proclaim that we are neighbours most vile:
They have lied about us in this that they have said,
They did not see us riding on horses virile
Seizing Vetruvians and planting their hearts with dread,
The day we marched forth against the tribes of Bajlaan
With a gathering whose like are the far mountains,
Amongst them was Sarqik and Buglai and Turtan
And Chagal and Barai and the son of Boutayn,
On that day Shaqmar's sword did not come out and hack,
He gave up those mothers heavy with their sorrow,
So do not tire of fighting, son of Buraq,
Be patient, for I am not going to withdraw!
My close friends, closen to me on this fated day
Every seductive neigher and steed, red or black,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and ask me, and -aye!-
Do not take long in asking, for I soon attack.
Closen Faxa's reins to me, for my actions give
Absolute truth to the words that I here speak,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, none of them shall live
For I shall put out their flame even as they shriek,
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and when we step out
On to the field, let that be when the deed is done!
Closen Faxa's reins to me, they may wish to sprout
Wings and flee, but they shan't gallop free 'neath the sun!
Closen Faxa's reins to me, and closen too my
Battledress, and say to every Azad fighter
Come forth and draw the glinting blade: your death is nigh!
Come forth light or heavy: you leave a head lighter.
We have possessed you, so grovel at our feet and
Be slaves: you are destined towards domination,
And take heed, and pull and be ardent: take a stand -
Prepare for ceaseless war; the death of your nation!
For the tribes of Azad have dawned like the ancients:
The Prophet's people who were sundered by the storm.
We have slaughtered their helpless ones with blades trenchant
And shall slay their champions alone or in a swarm!
Oh Azad, prepare what you wish - and what you can
For you shall not find for this any cessation.
Thus spake Firasi. I meet you on the morrow." And here ends the message.'
Shaqmar stared at the man in stunned silence for some time. This whole matter was...due to a blood-feud? How many years had it been since Ankamai's death at Qaseer's hand? How long had it been since the war with the tribes of Bajlaan? He had not realised that the Ma'Erkoz had held his neutrality at the time against him - it had come about at a point when the Azad were simply unable to wage war, even if the crimes of Bajlaan had exceeded all limits. And moreover, the dispute had been between the Ma'Erkoz and Bajlaan, the Azad had neither horse nor camel in the matter. Shaking himself from his reverie, Shaqmar turned on the messenger with a fury.
'Return to your wicked overlord and tell him to beg the Sky for mercy, for if he were to weep the Mahd he shan't find it with me. On the morrow death marches towards him riding fury, and it shall be blind to his cries and shan't hear any plea. Take flight before you fall victim to my battle frenzy, for were you not a messenger, your head would now be free.' The messenger laughed anxiously before backing away and making as quickly as he could for his horse. Toqidae watched Shaqmar for a few moments, but quickly went his own way when the Qa'id Adheem flashed him an angry glare, and the others soon did likewise.
Ankamai had married the daughter of Siruga, the Dhul'Dhanab Qa'id, sometime before Shaqmar subjugated them. While no great conflict had erupted between Shaqmar and Siruga, and while the Dhul'Dhanab had quickly surrendered to him after a few minor skirmishes, it so happened that in one such skirmish Qaseer had spotted a stranger near a well and, taking him to be a Dhul'Dhanab spy, had struck him down. That had been Ankamai. It had not helped that Qaseer and Ankamai's elder brother, Firasi, had a long-standing rivalry - for Qaseer, as a general rule, had a rival over every crest. When Firasi had come to take revenge for his brother's death, Shaqmar had adjudicated between him and Qaseer and the matter had been solved, Shaqmar thought, amicably - Qaseer had to pay a blood tribute of one-hundred horses. Siruga had later offered his daughter, Ankamai's widow, to Qaseer in marriage. And while Shaqmar had heard that this infuriated Firasi, he had not thought much of it - for the marriage was quite convenient for strengthening the bond between the Azad and the Dhul'Dhanab. Now, years later, the ugly matter raised its head once more.
Not long after this affair, while Shaqmar was still busy reorganising after defeating the Dhul'Dhanab, a major dispute between the Ma'Erkoz and the tribes of Bajlaan erupted into all out war when a band of Bajlaan raiders ambushed a group of Ma'Erkoz herders, slaying the men and seizing the women and children and herd animals. A good number of the women had been pregnant, which inflamed injured Ma'Erkoz pride. And Firasi had called on Shaqmar to join him and fight to restore lost Ma'Erkoz honour, and fight to uphold the unspoken laws and traditions of the Rukbans - which the Bajlaan had wickedly broken time and time again. And Shaqmar sent his apologies and told him that he was simply unable to wage war at that time. It seemed that Firasi had, though he never showed it, held that against him.
And the Ma'Erkoz had fought the Bajlaan, and Firasi had personally slain their champions Sarqik and Turtan. The famed Buglai had been felled by the hand of one of Firasi's brothers - Jarobai - while their Qa'id Chagal had been brought down by an arrow to the eye. Many claimed to have fired it, but it later transpired that the arrow in fact belonged to a Bajlaanid who had fired it in error - or so he claimed. As for Barai and Kasrai the son of Boutayn, they had eventually fled to the north and out of Firasi's reach. The war had raged for many months, and Shaqmar had taken the opportunity to lick his wounds and establish himself internally - for Qa'id Urtagai of the Mu'aykala had still been alive then and was a real threat to Shaqmar. How he had been so blind to Firasi's intentions over the past years, Shaqmar could not understand. It was what it was, however, and his Layla was now in the vengeful claws of that furious beast. But Firasi's love for his brother was as nothing beside Shaqmar's love for his Layla, and Firasi's fury at the death of his brother was as nothing beside Shaqmar's fury at the very thought that a little harm could come to his beloved - so how was it when Firasi had done that and more? The Eternal Sky's throne itself doth shake at such furies!
Shaqmar was seated on a log, still seething and deep in thought when he was approached by Qamtar. The man bowed deeply. 'Qa'id Adheem, your brother Zanshah has arrived,' Shaqmar's eyes widened at this and he immediately rose to his feet. His brothers had not been seen for many years - all older than him, they had each set out into the world and left Shaqmar behind to care for his parents and sisters. What, after all, did the weak Azad tribe hope to offer their likes? They had not been the masters of southern Rukbany then. Zanshah, the very eldest - older than Shaqmar by some twenty years -, had gone south into the Vetruvian desert, along with Bulagutai who was just over two years Shaqmar's senior. Zanshah was very well-travelled, and this had not been the first time he went voyaging. He had in the past travelled to the north and gone beyond where the Barrens of Rukbany ended, and on another adventure he had ventured east and crossed the Mahd before sailing south on it till he reached the greatest settlement of Vetruvia. And on this, his third and most recent expedition, and his longest by far, he had travelled into the heart of the torrid sands.
Shaqmar found him near the outskirts of the encampment surrounded by people who had heard of his arrival and come to pay their respects to the esteemed elder and warrior, and brother of the Qa'id Adheem. All parted as Shaqmar made his towards his brother.
'Shaqmar!' he roared when his eyes landed on his youngest sibling, 'by the Eternal Sky brother! You have flattened mountains and erected them anew!' he said with a laugh before the two brothers grabbed one another by the forearms, embracing in the way of the Rukbans after long being apart.
'It is good to see you again elder brother. The tribe has sorely missed your presence.'
'It doesn't seem like you needed me at all! I return, thinking to find the little-known tribe I had left years ago, and instead, I find you in the midst of a battle with none other than the mighty Ma'Erkoz!' Shaqmar's smile faded slightly at the mention of the war, and Zanshah noticed immediately. 'You will have to tell me how this entire affair came about.'
'You...have not yet learned?' Shaqmar asked hesitantly. Zanshah shook his head in the negative. 'It is something to be told another time. For now, let us offer you what little we can at this time. And you will have to pardon us for not throwing festivities in your honour, for we must fight on the morrow.' And with that, Shaqmar turned and, with Zanshah beside him, walked back towards his great roundtent. A large bucket of water - collected during the recent rainfall - was brought and Shaqmar helped his brother out of his travel clothes and seated him on the log. Seeing the Qa'id Adheem doing the work of women, a few passing women rushed to aid Zanshah in washing himself in place of Shaqmar, but he waved them away and, wet cloth in hand, began scrubbing sweat and sand and dirt from his brother's body. Once he had scrubbed him down completely, he lifted the bucket and slowly poured its content onto Zanshah's head and back. With that done, the Azad elder rose and Shaqmar set about drying him with another piece of cloth and rinsing the water out of his hair. The naked - but dry - man then ascended the steps with Shaqmar and entered the roundtent where Shaqmar swiftly got him new clothes.
By the time he was dressed and they were sat down, food had been prepared and was brought in for them. Shaqmar tasted it before his brother and, after a few moments, invited him to begin. As they ate and drank, Shaqmar asked Zanshah about his adventures in the many years since they had last seen one another. Brushing long black hair from his eyes with the back of his hand, Zanshah told him of how he had ventured into the Firewind with Bulagutai. After some weeks of travelling, they had come across a group of misfits - Vetruvians and Rukbans - who were led by a man named Y'Qar.
'We joined him and travelled through the desert for many days until we came to a large oasis in the middle of the Firewind. It was a paradise in the midst of hell, its lake akin to an ocean whose ending cannot be seen in any direction one launches their gaze,' he bit into a piece of beef, 'we had hardly stayed there a short time when there descended an almighty being from the heavens and it spoke with Y'Qar for long. When it was done and had disappeared, he turned to us and proclaimed that he had been given an almighty gift from the Eternal Sky through its servant, the Vizier Ventus. H-'
'Wait,' Shaqmar suddenly said, 'that's the same creature that came to us many years ago and gave our shamans a mysterious gift.' Zanshah raised an eyebrow at this revelation.
'Is that true?!' he asked incredulously. Shaqmar nodded in the affirmative and Zanshah looked down at the food for a few moments. 'In any case, we stayed in that strange paradise for a little over a year as Y'Qar taught us all he had learned from the Vizier Ventus. And when that was done, we all headed our separate ways. Some returned to their homes, others - like Bulagutai - sought ascetic reclusion in order to further explore the gift of the Eternal Sky. Last I saw our brother he was heading west along the shores of that ocean-like oasis. As for me, I continued south into the desert. I sailed oceans of sand and came upon oceans of water, and I rode the winds and waters with the Eternal Sky's gift and landed on foreign shores. And what I saw is more than can be related to you in one sitting or two. After these many years, I return to find our lands much changed. I left and the Azad were weak and unknown, trampled by all. I return and find us on the verge of subjugating all Rukbans beneath our unified banner. How did this come about? What caused this present war with the Ma'Erkoz?'
With a heavy heart, Shaqmar told his elder brother of all that had transpired - that their father had passed away naturally some years back and of the heinous crimes of the Ma'Erkoz and murder of their mother. Zanshah had expected to return to find that his parents had passed away - killed in battle even - but he never imagined that his mother would go in such a cruel and treacherous way. He bent his head and was silent for a long while before he muttered a small prayer for her soul and the soul of their father and all their noble ancestors.
With that done, Zanshah suddenly rose and asked Shaqmar to bring all the shamans of the encampment before him. When they were all gathered before the roundtent's wooden steps - thirty-nine in total, the ancient Alqama at their head -, Zanshah emerged before them and raised his arms skyward.
'You who are privy to the secrets of the universal tongues! On the morrow we face the Ma'Erkoz, who have breached every law set forth by the Eternal Sky. On the morrow the Qa'id Adheem will punish them. But on the morrow the Eternal Sky will punish them too. I want you all, with me, to raise your arms towards the heavens and beseech the Sky to send down to us one of its foremost warriors and punishers who will, with the Sky's permission, rend the lawbreakers apart!' The shamans muttered to one another at this request and there was clear fear in their eyes - it was well-known that djinnis could be erratic and whimsical. Even if one was summoned successfully, there was no telling whether it would accept a shaman's request or not. Alqama stepped forward, leaning on his walking stick.
'If you want to do this,' he said with a powerful voice, 'then we will need a mighty sacrifice. We all must, all together, slaughter a horse each. And they must then be set ablaze, their spirits rising with the smoke that a great spirit from above may descend.' Zanshah nodded in agreement and turned to Shaqmar who was stood behind him.
'We shall each need one of your horses, brother.' Shaqmar nodded and gestured for them to move out of the encampment where the ritual could take place.
Forty of Shaqmar's best horses were brought by the women and each of the shamans was given one, along with a sharp blade and rope. The steeds were forced to lie down on their sides, where their hindlegs and forelegs were tied. Zanshah stroked the white mare he had been given with a strong hand and whispered calming words to her. The knife in his other hand remained hidden so as not to alarm the poor thing and his whisperings soon melted into a calming hum that was replicated by all the other shamans in the large circle. Slowly and gently, Zanshah pressed the blade into her stomach before ripping all the way up her torso with a calm, swift, stroke. She let off a groan and began to struggle, almost in tandem with the thirty-nine others. Releasing the knife, Zanshah placed his hand inside her torso until her beating heart was in his hand. She struggled and kicked and groaned as he tightened his grip. After a while, the heart gave out and she lay dead - like all the others. Kymis was brought forth and each shaman took a clay bowl and filled it. Then each sipped the liquid and sprayed it from his mouth onto the corpse before him. This was done until all bowls were empty.
In the middle of the circle of death, wood was brought and a pyre was built. The forty corpses were lifted and lain in place before each of them took up a torch and began circling the large pyre and setting it alight. Soon enough, smoke billowed and sweltered into the heavens - and one could almost hear the spirited neighs of horse souls as they rose skyward.
With the sacrifice complete, the shamans all backed away from the fire and formed a large circle around it, raising their arms to the heavens and muttering in a foreign, guttural tongue. Their speech, as the seconds passed, grew quicker and more impassioned and they were soon circling around the fire in slow sideways hops. The smoke darkened and the heavens blackened from it, and still the shamans growled and leapt and kicked at the earth - slowly, deliberately, in complete synchrony.
A result was not immediately apparent, but it did not take overly long to manifest itself either. After some ten minutes of the guttural sounds and ritual dance, the highest clouds of smoke parted as an arrow of aerial purity descended from on high. It struck earth, the epicentre of the flame, with a mighty force and sent flaming wood and burning horse parts and shamans flying. The gathered people let out a roar of fear and many dispersed. Zanshah was swift to rise after being blown back, and he raised his arms in a show of humility to the catastrophic being that had descended, and in an attempt to get it to focus on him.
'Hum, Ho, Ha, Him - before you is a force most grim! Kho, Kha, Khiy, Kheer - shake and tremble before Basheer!' It was a mighty thing, a djinn among djinns, a lord of lords. And though its voice struck terror into the hearts of all, there was an elegance to its form and a gentle beauty and tune to its every word.
'Brilliant Basheer, terror and fear - glory most clear: listen and hear!' Zanshah declared. Basheer looked upon him, and his movement caused the wind to rise in clamouring melody.
'For some moments you may borrow my ear: I am with you, I listen and I hear. Speak well and you will have much cause to cheer, speak ill and there awaits a fate austere.'
'There has arisen a great evil in our land - innocents are brought low by its butchering hand. It has broken our law and the law of the Sky, and we have decreed that it shall tomorrow die. Since it shall die tomorrow, you are here today: We ask you smash with us the ones who are astray.' Basheer considered Zanshah for a few moments before the wind broke into a furious cacophony of sounds around him.
'You mean to say you have an enemy who has caused you much pain and agony: and you would have me venture forth to him and fight and loose his final song and hymn,' Basheer bent down and his huge face nearly touched the tiny Zanshah, 'This is it, or am I not right? You think me dim?- I am of light!' Zanshah looked down and did not respond to the angry djinn. After a few silent seconds, Basheer rose back up and spoke again. 'I am not a tool for mortals to use against their foes and all whom they accuse. You spoke well, but your request is fall'n flat. You are spared, you may thank your tongue for that.' And so saying, Basheer began his ascension towards the skies. As he rose, leaving behind something of a divine melody, he observed with an imperious eye the fearful mortals who were gathered all anigh. His eyes fell on a single, white-clad figure in the distance and he suddenly froze in place and his tune came to a crashing end. There emanated from that figure the undeniable aura, and taste, and smell, of an ancient friend. He looked back down at Zanshah and spoke again.
'You my ear again I lend: Is the white-clad man your friend?' Zanshah opened his mouth in surprise at the question, and nothing but a small 'uh' left his mouth. Before Basheer could grow irate at his silence, Shaqmar was suddenly beside his brother.
'The white-clad man is known to me for he came to us a friend and with prophesy,' Shaqmar responded swiftly. He glanced at Zanshah quickly before looking back up to Basheer who was now descending again.
'Are you a friend of The First Among Creation? Do you know where she is- in what place or nation?'
'Great Lord, what know we of these distant things? We are not gods and do not fly on wings. We do not know what you or heaven sing and only know what sight and hearing bring.' Basheer gave off a cry of shock at Shaqmar's words, and the Qa'id Adheem took a step back in fear at having angered the mighty djinni.
'Your words are as nectar and I the honey bee! Here end my wavering attempts to fly and flee. What are you people that your tongues should be so free? Who blessed them thus and filled Basheer with growing glee?' Shaqmar blinked in confusion and looked to his brother, who looked to him with equal confusion. The end of a staff - a goat's skull fixed on it - suddenly came between them, and they parted before Alqama's walking stick.
'We master five: the horse and the bow and the word, and the sword also and the caring for the herd,' the old man declared. A melodious laugh cleft the heavens and Basheer clapped thunder at the old man's balanced rhyme.
'Were Basheer to have been born otherwise it would have been nowhere but 'neath your skies! You three have well my goodly passions stirred: I aid you, masters of the sword and word.'
***
~~~~SECTION SIX~~~~
He had dreamt of slaying Shaqmar and all his kin for a thousand nights, but this night was dreamless. Firasi peered up at the sky as he lay on the grass outside his tent counting the stars. There were more stars than he had horses...and yet for every light in that sky, he would avenge Ankamai tenfold. He only had to wait until the first light. Finally, when that pink blush came upon the dull horizon and whispered of the coming sun, the Qa'id rose. Within the hour he and his horses were armored and their horses saddled; at last, the time had come!
He addressed his warriors with a fire in his heart and upon his lips,
"Mighty warriors of my tribe, blood of my blood,
my keen blades, my red vengeance, my furious flood:
you know why I proclaimed this blood-feud, why they die.
When base Qaseer drove his blade through my Ankamai,
a lance of grief pierced my heart and it wracks me still.
I am denied rest until the debt is repaid;
I say an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart!
With spear, impale every Azad that dares ride forth,
trample their corpses, defile their daughters, and then
we stack their skulls and rival the greatest mountains."
my keen blades, my red vengeance, my furious flood:
you know why I proclaimed this blood-feud, why they die.
When base Qaseer drove his blade through my Ankamai,
a lance of grief pierced my heart and it wracks me still.
I am denied rest until the debt is repaid;
I say an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart!
With spear, impale every Azad that dares ride forth,
trample their corpses, defile their daughters, and then
we stack their skulls and rival the greatest mountains."
As one great horde, the Ma'Erkoz bellowed their war cries and rallied. Above all their din, Firasi roared, "For every heart that you tear from the chest of an Azad, I shall gift you a horse! To any man that returns bearing no trophy, you shall leave a head shorter."
And so Firasi mounted his beloved Faxa and rode forth proudly with the scalps of a dozen Azad hanging from his saddle. A thousand riders did likewise, and, in formation, the horde advanced upon the plains until it drew within sight of Shaqmar's host. It was tradition to raise a white banner, an offer of peace and a promise to spill no blood if the enemy laid down their arms and surrendered. But Firasi denied the wretches that! He raised a black banner instead; 'twas one that promised only the lives of the women and children, and even then their lives were bound to end in slavery. The warlord sent forth one last messenger to demand Shaqmar's surrender, knowing well what the answer would be. He had his man ready to raise the red banner: the promise of death for all.
'How many?' Shaqmar asked Yoditi as he galloped back to him.
'Many, my Qa'id. More than fifteen thousand,' the veteran responded. Shaqmar's war party had taken some significant losses as they advanced. While he had twenty thousand warriors with him when he marched forth, which had been bolstered by the five thousand Tagham to twenty-five thousand, he now had just over eleven thousand warriors. It was lucky that they had surprised and crushed much of the Ma'Erkoz quite swiftly, else they would have been easily outnumbered by forces twice - even thrice! - their size. As it were, numbers would prove to be of very little significance today, for the Eternal Sky itself was on his side. As Shaqmar watched the enemy host, a rider galloped out towards them holding out a small arm skyward to signal that he bore a message. Shaqmar steered Layl forward and met the messenger personally. Firasi, the messenger informed him, demanded surrender. Shaqmar's eyes flashed with a fury and Layl reared up on his hind legs, kicking the air mere inches from the messengers face. The messenger's horse involuntary moved away from the monstrous steed. Layl turned away and kicked at the ground and twisted himself around, dust rising up around him as Shaqmar drew his sword.
'Tell Firasi that God shall descend from on high to claim his spiteful soul today. If he is a man, and he has already proven he is not, then let him come out and face me in a death-duel. My sword is eager for his blood, by God! My hands are eager to claw his eyes out! I will sink my teeth into him and I will tear his flesh from his bones: watch!- this is what happens when the dog defies the cave lion!' With that, the messenger turned away and fled, and Shaqmar waited on Firasi's response.
And when Firasi received word of Shaqmar's answer, his response was to raise the red banner. A messenger was thus sent to Shaqmar to proclaim that, "Noble Firasi, Qa'id amongst Qa'ids, mighty Qa'idinqad of the entirety of Rukbany, answers the the upstart chiefling Shaqmar's challenge of a death-duel; and yet he craves not only the blood of Shaqmar, but that of his whole tribe. So there shall be a battle! Send forth a champion first if you would witness Ma'Erkoz supremacy; otherwise, Firasi will lead the charge before the bloody banner, and he longs to face his foe's charge and slaughter chiefling and bodyguard alike in the thick of combat."
Shaqmar gave the messenger a frigid look and turned away. His eyes scanned the faces of his men and he roared out. 'Who of you will sally forth before me and strike fear into Firasi's cowardly heart? Who of you is a champion staunch and steady who will drive into Ma'Erkoz a sword that's curved and heavy?- you who wields the sword of fear, come and stand before me here!' A few men made to lunge forward with their steeds, but it was Qaseer who roared deafeningly at them to drawback or face his fury. The small, stocky champion urged his mare forward and drew his scimitar.
'Qa'id Adheem! Unleash me upon your foes!' he shouted. Shaqmar smiled and turned upon the messenger.
'Go back to the coward and tell him Qaseer will strike his champion down.'
So that messenger relayed the word back to his master, and Firasi proclaimed to all those about him, "Shaqmar sends his own cousin to die! Qaseer rides out as the champion of the Azad; who among you shall be my champion and claim the honor of being first to slay an Azad on this day?"
Those of his chieftains and generals and bodyguards all clamored and many stepped forth, but it was Hunayra that made the strongest case, no, who demanded that it be him. "It is known that Qaseer is the blight upon my soul, the rust upon my blade. So long as that worm draws breath I cannot rest. Send me to face him, great Qa'id, and I shall proudly return with a red blade and his scalp hanging from my saddle." With that, Qaseer's mare burst forth and galloped towards the centre-point between the gathered hosts. He stopped there, scimitar drawn, and his mare kicked the earth and reared up before he skillfully leapt off and landed with a small roll. Leaping to his feet, he called on the Ma'Erkoz to bring out their champion.
'Consider him dead and begin your weeping now!' came his fearless challenge.
On the other side came mocking cries and more than a few men threw things toward Qaseer or made to urinate in his direction. As for Hunayra, with deliberate calm and slow he prepared his horse, he inspected his twin scimitars, he asked his favorite wife Arya - who he had specifically brought with him that day - for her blessing and a token. All the while, Hunayra thought, Qaseer would no doubt be burning in rage at the indignity of being made to wait. Hunayra knew his enemy well, and he knew that as that fire flared in Qaseer's heart it would drive him to brashness, and a wild man flailing about his blade would make for a far easier kill than one who kept his calm. Hunayra knew his rival well, and so he had planned all this.
'C'mon! C'mon!' the increasingly-frustrated Qaseer shouted.
After allowing enough time for Qaseer to seethe, the champion of the Ma'Erkoz, at last, mounted his horse and advanced at a canter. He might have looked afraid were it not for the smile upon his face. He dismounted slowly at a short distance from Qaseer and then drew his two blades. The scimitars gleamed golden in the sun's light, but so too did the smallest part of a dagger that Hunayra kept hidden in his belt. A backup, for the slim chance that he found himself disarmed. Or if Qaseer lowered his guard!
"Qaseer! You did not think that I had forgotten our duel, did you? Are you ready to die, you miserable rat?" Qaseer grinned widely at this.
'Took you long enough! I'm going to look forward to ripping out that pretty little tongue of yours - and I'll keep it as a token! After all, anything that's been where that little thing has been deserves to be cherished!' He licked his lips and laughed aloud, gesturing for the man to come closer, 'come, talk less and let us have some fun. It's been too long!'
"To think that a man can have ten whores and keep his humor! Hah, tell me Qaseer, do they mount you?" Hunarya taunted. He kept Qaseer in the corner of his eye and made ready to defend against any sudden attack, but pretended to be more concerned with his own blades and his horse. "Perhaps once you're dead I shall be able to satisfy them."
'Perhaps!-' Qaseer declared, his face red, 'when you're dead I will be able to show Arya what a real man can do! Don't worry, as I say, I'll hang your tongue up in our roundtent, and whenever she misses you, you can just...talk.' He smiled widely - it was not a nice smile, but one seething with fury and malice - and stepped forward to speak more low, 'you're a rat and a snake Hunayra. You stole her from me when all knew she was rightfully mine!' His eyes flashing, he gestured threateningly with his blade, gripping his sheath tightly in his other hand. All knew the reason behind Qaseer and Hunayra's rivalry. Arya was, to many, the most beautiful being on the plains of Rukbany, and Qaseer had for long made his intention to wed her clear. He would ride on a near monthly basis to the camp of the small Cangin clan to bring her gifts and woo her - so much so that her father had ordered constant watch be kept around her roundtent in case the little devil should sneak in and defile her purity! But wiley Qaseer had his ways and he had thought that, to all extents and purposes, his wedding with Arya was merely a matter of time. He just had to convince her stubborn father that he was the best man for her. The old man, Jarnilai, had only become more and more suspicious of the young man - the fact that he had six wives already at the time made him doubt Qaseer's sincerity and his ability to care for his daughter.
Then the damned Hunayra had appeared on the scene. He had made himself quite the reputation in various raids against Vetruvians as well as some tribes in the far north where Qaseer had never been. All knew him to be a warrior of great prowess and ability. When he came asking to wed Arya, Qaseer had flown into a fury and galloped out to kill him that very day. But by the time he had arrived an agreement had been reached and Arya was promised him. Infuriated, he had confronted her father before the entire tribe and demanded he give Arya to him in marriage. Foolish and angry, he had only grown more furious when Jarnilai refused and had drawn his sword against him. Were it not for a shaman's swift interjection, the old man would have lost more than his arm - by God! Naturally, the affair created something of a crisis between the Azad and the Cangin, and Arya refused to see Qaseer again after that. Shaqmar had been furious and had ordered his saucy, flippant cousin whipped four hundred times - fifty to his upper back, fifty to his lower back, fifty to his buttocks, and fifty to his feet. The punishment was repeated again after two weeks. He fell comatose for nearly a month afterwards and could hardly walk for over three seasons. Were it not for the care of his six wives and Alqama, he certainly would have died. But the whole affair had planted within the man a deep hatred for Hunayra. As soon as he had regained his health, he made it known that he was challenging his bitter rival to a duel. They were to meet before a combined group of Azad and Ma'Erkoz elders who would ensure the duel was fought honourably. But before the day of their meeting came, crisis struck - for Ankamai was killed by Qaseer. The duel never came about.
"Alas, if I am a snake or a rat, I suppose I shall have to claim your manhood from your lifeless corpse. Your scalp is promised to Firasi, but your manhood -" Hunayra suddenly laughed, "would make a fine token to present Arya, since you long for her so! Hah, I now know how she could never fall for a fool like you." And then Hunayra flourished his blades and approached the rabid dog that was his foe. While much of Hunayra's words had only added to Qaseer's anger, they did not truly insult him. This, however, was different. All knew his love for Arya, and all knew that she had loved him. For Hunayra to question even that - to suggest that she could never love him. His grip on his sword tightened and his face darkened instantly. Without a response, he stepped forward and struck out with lightning fury. His sword slashed horizontally - if it had landed, Hunayra would have found the content of his stomach spilling out.
But Hunayra predicted that sudden strike and leapt away - not back, but to the side. With one of his scimitars he caught Qaseer's stray blade and with the other he struck at it in an attempt to knock it out of his foe's hand. But Qaseer was not overly concerned with his enemy's little tricks - his target was no sword. Without stopping, he stuck his leg out and gave his foe a savage kick between the legs.
'FOCUS!' he roared.
Adrenaline softened the pain that Hunayra felt at the cheap blow, but he still cried out in pain. With all pretences of honor gone, he shoved his swords forward as if trying to force both them and Qaseer's own blade closer to the man's throat. Then, in a single swift motion he cast one of his scimitars to the ground and used the free hand to reach for the dagger at his belt. Finding it, he stayed so close to Qaseer that he could feel the man's hot breath, and then stabbed at the fool's insolent leg. He pressed his blade forward, trying to force the fight onto the ground where it would devolve into a bloody butchery. With a dagger in his hand, Hunayra held the advantage in such close quarters. Qaseer grunted in surprise as he felt the blade sink into his thigh, and though he struggled to remain upright the combined pressure of the pain and Hunayra's weight forced him to fall back. He tried, to no avail, to flip his opponent over so that he was on top, but the taller man had the advantage in that regard and maintained his position on top. Releasing his sheath, he grabbed blindly at Hunayra's dagger hand in an attempt to gain control over the blade, even as he fought to push their locked scimitars upwards.
Locked in that struggle with one hand trying to rip the dagger out of Qaseer's leg and the other trying to bear down on the man's throat with the edge of his scimitar, Hunayra nonetheless thought of a way to bring himself an advantage. With all the force that he could, he brought his knee down upon the man's groin. If Qaseer would strike the fork of his legs, he would repay the favor! Qaseer grunted and scowled while continuing his struggles, then he laughed slightly.
'Th-think you'll knock out my horse before Arya can enjoy it, eh? Don't worry, we'll be having fun tonight,' and with that, he gave an ear-piercing whistle. A mare neighed somewhere and there was the sound of trotting, though Hunayra was so fixated upon his tantalizing victory that he did not hear.
Sneering at his words, Hunayra spat into Qaseer's eyes. Then, while his foe was blinded he at last freed the dagger, wrested Qaseer's hand off his own arm, and raised it to pierce his eternal enemy's heart - but there was a distinct snort and whinny to his side, and before the blade could descend Qaseer's horse dealt Hunayra a kick to the side of the head. He was struck dead in an instant. He fell lifelessly to the side, knocked off Qaseer by the impact of the blow. The sneer remained on his face and the triumphant glow in his eyes remained even as the dagger fell into the earth.
'Y-you don't mess with Qaseer's horse,' the short Azad grunted. With that, he struggled to sit up and pulled himself up against his trusty mare, 'you beautiful thing, Mara,' he said as he stroked her neck and back, planting a kiss on one of her muscled haunches. Then he hobbled over and snatched the dagger from the ground - he'd be holding on to that. Approaching Hunayra's corpse, he saw little point in scalping him - there was little scalp left after Mara's mighty strike. Reaching for the dead man's still warm mouth, he forced it open and reached for his tongue. 'Just as I promised, I'll be keeping this,' and with that he took his prize. He noted a small piec of tied cloth around his forearm - clearly a token of some kind. Smirking, the Azad ripped it off and tucked it into his belt. Looking further down his dead body he smiled and tapped the dead man's groin, 'don't worry though, you can keep that!' and with a guffaw, he raised the tongue and gave off an incomprehensible roar in the direction of the Ma'Erkoz.
On the other side, Shaqmar looked on in silent fury. That damned Qaseer! He should have sent someone with a greater respect for the honour and dignity of the Azad and not a brutish head and bitter rivalry. He watched as he mounted Mara and returned to their side, grinning widely. 'AZAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!' he roared towards the heavens, holding his arms out wide. A few cheers met him, but otherwise all glared in silent shame. Qaseer looked at Shaqmar in confusion, 'What?' he asked innocently.
'By God, I'm going to lash you so you'll not wake up for a year!' the Qa'id Adheem growled lowly. Qaseer laughed.
'If Arya cares for me, lash me all you like, cousin!' and with that, he urged his mare back into position. Shaqmar watched as the Ma'Erkoz sent their men out to take back their slain champion.
With cold rage Firasi had watched his man slain by a horse in what was meant to have been single combat between two men. A duel of honor. It had been neither honorable nor single combat, and to see the same man that slaughtered his brother now bring down his champion was enough to make Firasi furious. He would take that one, that Qaseer, and he would keep him alive. Already the Qa'id dreamt of all the ways he would torture and punish Qaseer, but first there was the matter of slaughtering the Azad. No sooner had Hunayra's body been reclaimed then the Ma'Erkoz began readying their charge. True to his word, Firasi's red banner was held high above where he would ride. If Shaqmar was no coward, he would lead the charge directly opposite to that banner, and then the two warlords would at last meet upon the battlefield.
As the red banner was raised, Shaqmar raised his sword and five riders stepped forth. The middle rider raised a pole with circularly arranged horse-tail hairs of varying colors arranged at its top. The large Uild was the banner of the Qa'id Adheem. The other horsemen, one by one, raised smaller uilds. Three of them represented each of the Three Great Tribes of the Azad Confederation, while the fourth represented all the others - the Fifteen Tribes.
The Uild of the Qa'id Adheem and the Azad [ centre ], those of the Three Great Tribes of the Azad Confederation [ from right to left, Dhul'Dhanab, Huntalla, Mu'aykala ], and that of the Fifteen Tribes [ far left ]
Even as the uilds were raised, the guttural growls of shamans rose up and carried on the winds.
'Firasi!' Shaqmar roared, and for one reason or another his voice seemed far louder than normal, and it carried to far greater distances, 'God himself has seen your sins. I am Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes! I am the punishment of God - if you had not committed such great sins, the Eternal Sky would not have seen fit to send a punishment as terrible as me upon you!'[1] and with that, the winds picked up and the clouds gathered and the horse hairs of the uilds and Firasi's red banners moved violently as the weather turned suddenly. The guttural growls of Shaqmar's shamans seemed to give way to a strange sound - more melodic. More ominous.
There...behind the five uilds, there rose up a great dark cloud which slowly took on - more and more - a humanoid form. Horses grunted and whinnied fearfully on both sides, and shouts rose up even on Shaqmar's side - though they had all witnessed the mighty djinni yesterday, still was he a spectacle worthy of fear. Basheer opened his mouth as if inhaling and let go a mighty whirlwind from his mouth, which rose up like a flailing tentacle and seemed to shatter the eye of the sky. The tentacular vortex was released into the heavens, and Basheer rose up swiftly on a gust of wind before diving down and tearing through the very earth as he cut towards the terrified Ma'Erkoz - his melody was an ear-piercing death-screech, his visage was the image of death and ruination. Men were torn apart by the force of the wind and horses went rocketing into the skies and all around it rained blood and mortal remains. Under his banner, Firasi stared in horror - for one reason or another the winds melting away around him. He looked across the torn plain to where Shaqmar rested upon his steed. In the haze and heat and debris and red rain, he and Layl looked like a dark black stain which shimmered here and there like some fiend from the depths of Azmund-Y'Vahn. Scowling with hatred and fury even as his hands trembled ever so slightly at the catastrophic being that was laying into his men, he turned Faxa away and made his escape with the many others who were doing likewise.
Even as Basheer continued to lay waste to those who could not escape - or, to be more accurate, those he did not let escape - Shaqmar signalled to his foremost warriors and he urged Layl forward. The mighty stallion leapt forward and sprung into a full gallop after a few strides. He tore after the escaping Firasi even as his men struggled to keep up with him. Like the tip of a singular arrow, Shaqmar sped forth as the rest of the wedged warband raced after him, and when he caught up with the Ma'Erkoz stragglers who were quick enough to escape Basheer but too slow to outpace Layl, they felt the kiss of his blade and fell. Rain splattered against the foaming canvass of heaven.
'Firasi!' Shaqmar growled as Layl continued flying forth. But Faxa was a rare steed. The chestnut stallion had a long starting advantage so that not even Layl could catch up with it before Firasi found some imagined safety in his camp. Circling around the encampment, worry eating at his heart at what Firasi might do with Layla in his moment of defeat, he waited until his men were gathered around him - clicking in annoyance to find that Qaseer has made a detour to save Arya from Basheer's fury. With all gathered, he raised his scimitar and charged into the camp.
'I want Firasi alive!' Shaqmar shouted as he leapt from Layl and threw open the the first roundtent he came upon. He narrowly dodged a thrown jar and looked inside. An ancient woman was sat glowering at him, many children around her, and a clay bowl in her hand ready to be thrown. Shaqmar withdrew and threw open the next roundtent, and the next. In the distance he could hear someone calling Qaseer and guessed that it was the captured Yesla, finally free. The clash of swords reached his ears some time afterwards as he continued his search. But there was no Layla to be found.
When Qaseer brought Firasi to him, tied and bloodied, Shaqmar turned on his cousin and asked about Layla.
'My Qa'id,' he said hesitantly, looking down, 'she...she is not here.' Shaqmar shook his head, dismissing the preposterous suggestion, and turned upon the tied and bloodied Firasi.
'She is long gone,' he laughed. Shaqmar scowled at this and, with pent-up rage and hatred, kicked him roundly across the face. The Ma'Erkoz Qa'id grunted with pain and fell to the side, his cheek bloodied and a few teeth loose.
'You will lose far more than your teeth, and I will break far more than your bones if you do not speak. God descended from on high and struck you down! So speak, curse you! Where is she?'
'As I said Shaqmar,' Firasi grunted, lifting himself back up, 'she is long gone. I sold her to those merchants weeks ago. You will never see her again!' Shaqmar's eyes widened and he felt his chest and arms convulse forcefully. He breathed and calmed himself before glaring at Firasi for a few seconds. Then he reached for Layl and felt for the spear he had brought specifically for this purpose. Hefting it, he looked at the hated Qa'id of the Ma'Erkoz.
'You are a snake and a coward, Firasi; a woman is more of a man than you,' he turned completely towards him, 'you found my woman and sang:
I dawned upon the naked tent of a cursèd foe
And brought my warriors and their horses in tow,
I entered thereupon and found lain there within
A powerless goddess who sowed my heart with sin,
I looked around to where her guardian should have been
And, finding none, took my spear and freely plunged it in!
And brought my warriors and their horses in tow,
I entered thereupon and found lain there within
A powerless goddess who sowed my heart with sin,
I looked around to where her guardian should have been
And, finding none, took my spear and freely plunged it in!
and may the Eternal Sky damn you for what you sang. May it rain curses upon you greater than that which has already befallen you. May it torment and never permit you entrance into its great palace. Now I find you, so listen as I sing:
I rode to hunt, thinking I had a worthy foe
And I took my men and all their furies in tow
I took the souls of Ma'Erkoz and all its kin:
They could not fight, but God! they made a mighty din!
I looked for where that barking mongrel was hidden:
And took my father's spear and plunged it deep within!'
And I took my men and all their furies in tow
I took the souls of Ma'Erkoz and all its kin:
They could not fight, but God! they made a mighty din!
I looked for where that barking mongrel was hidden:
And took my father's spear and plunged it deep within!'
And with that, Shaqmar drove his spear into Firasi's left eye with savage strength; so much so that the spear emerged from the other side in a spray of gore and brain matter. His hated body convulsed and continued twitching even after Shaqmar drew the spear back out.
'Drive two spears up his feet and through his legs, and bury their shafts into the earth. Leave him like that so that he will serve as an example to all who come after him, and so that his dead moans will reach all: thus is the fate of cowards, thus the fate of traitors, thus the fate of lawbreakers, thus the fate of criminals.'
***
~~~~SECTION SEVEN~~~~
He stood before the groaning, shuddering corpse as it tried to rip itself free of the spears that fixed it in place on display. Though Firasi was dead and Shaqmar was alive, the dead body had more life in it than Shaqmar's idle one. His eyes stared somewhat blankly at the once-hated (still-hated) foe as if staring long enough would extract Layla's location from his dead jaws. Zanshah came to him from time to time and tried to get him to leave his place and rest, or leave his place to eat. But he was immovable. Every now and again he would sigh with yearning, or he would groan along with the corpse. And his silver tongue could not find the words with which to complain to the Eternal Sky about his state. The corpse of Firasi was a mere mockey of living-death - for Shaqmar was now living-death made manifest.
Eventually, it was not Zanshah who moved Shaqmar but Surayka. She came to him some two days after he had been stood before Firasi, his face yellow and gaunt from lack of sleep and lack of food and drink, his beard drooping dolefully. She placed her hand on his shoulder before she spoke, and hearing her voice prompted a numb reaction from him. He turned to her in somewhat dumb shock and stared at her blankly.
Surayka
'Shaqmar, you need to come with me. You are not well.' And she took him by the hand and pulled him gently. He nodded distractedly and took a few faltering steps with her. He glanced glassily at Firasi and, even as he allowed Surayka to lead him away, continued looking at the croaking corpse until it was out of sight. She removed his dirty clothes and, much as he had done not more than a week earlier for his brother, washed and cleansed him of all the dirt and sweat. Once done, she took him inside and silently dressed him. He stood there when she was finished, glassily ogling the vacant air. Pursing her lips, she took him firmly by the hand and laid him on his furs. When food was brought, she sat with him and fed him - and every now and again she snapped at him to chew his food. Zanshah had told her that Layla was either dead or gone never to return. It was obvious that Shaqmar would be in shock and denial for a while, but eventually he would emerge from his stupor and - so Zanshah had reasoned to her - he would need to find a good woman by his side. A woman who would help him forget his loss and refill the void in his heart and soul.
'It is you, Surayka. For you have loved him for as long as I can remember. And in time, I am certain that he will realise your position of honour in his heart.'
She looked at the dazed Shaqmar wistfully as he chewed. Something in her knew that Zanshah was wrong. Shaqmar was never going to forget his Layla. He was never going to allow her - or any other - into his heart. His blank gaze turned to her suddenly and she realised that she had been staring at him for longer than she meant. 'You- you should rest now. Here,' she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him gently back onto the furs. He did not resist and allowed himself to fall back. Moving the food away, she rose and placed some of the furs and blankets on him, and once she was certain he was well-covered, she turned to leave.
'Stay,' she halted in place, uncertain if she had heard him speak or if it was just her fanciful imagination, 'here.' She turned and looked at him in surprise. Wordlessly, she retraced her steps and sat herself on her knees beside him. She brushed some strands of jet-black hair from his eyes and placed the blankets tighter around his shoulders. His beard moved slightly as he managed what might have been the ghost of an attempt at a smile and he finally closed his eyes and got some much-needed sleep.
He slept for two days without waking, and Surayka remained with him in the roundtent. She moved from her place only to eat and answer the call of nature. And when she surrendered to sleep she usually crumpled near him on the ground - and one person or another who happened to enter the roundtent to check on them would find her like that and place some furs and blankets around her. When Shaqmar awoke, he found her sat there still, and she smiled silently as his eyes drew open. He sat up and, before he opened his mouth to ask, she brought a bowl of water to his lips. He took it from her and drank it all before extending the bowl to her for more. She obliged him.
Food was brought and he ate ravenously as she watched. After a few minutes he reallised that she was not eating and gestured for her to join him. He was silent throughout and she did not say anything. When he had eaten his fill he rose and reached for a dagger hidden in the furs. Drawing it, he tested its sharpness and seemed satisfied. Without a word, he left the roundtent. She followed him timidly and watched as he sat on the great roundtents steps and brought the dagger up towards his head. 'Shaqmar- no!' she blurted in panic, bursting forward towards him in a futile attempt to stop him. He paused and looked back at her.
'Calm yourself, Surayka. It is only hair,' he said deliberately as he cut upwards with a few swift stroke and his waist-length pitch-black hair was no more. He placed the cut hair next to him and felt the back of his head. It was now just about chin length. He brought the blade to his long black beard next and cut away brutishly at it until it was far shorter. Satisfied, he told a passerby to take his hair and bury it somewhere outside the camp - the man looked at him oddly and Surayka had the slightest feeling that the man perhaps did not recognise Shaqmar. If Shaqmar noticed, he did not seem concerned.
With that done, he turned around and entered his roundtent once more. He placed the dagger back in its place in the furs and removed the clothes Surayka had dressed him in. In their place he put on an orange shirt and a flowing blue robe - and a simple rope served as a belt. When he turned around, Surayka was giving him a quizzical look. He smiled slightly and moved towards her, placing a hand on her cheek.
'For all you have done, Surayka, I thank you,' and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She was taken aback by his touch and colour rushed to her face. She quickly retreated out of his reach.
'Shaqmar, what's going on. What are you doing?' she asked, trying her best to ignore what he had just done. He took a deep breath and looked to the roundtent's entrance.
'I am going,' he said simply, and made for the exit.
'W-what? No, you can't. You're in no state to go anywhere!' she followed him, grabbing his arm in an attempt to hold him back.
'Surayka, please, don't be ridiculous,' he said, ignoring her grip and moving down the stairs even as she pulled pointlessly at him.
'Zanshah!' she shouted, 'Qaseer! Qulut! Somebody!' her cries gained a very quick response as Qaseer came rushing out of his roundtent - still naked above the waist - not too far away. Seeing Shaqmar's appearance, he halted and confusion was clear on his face.
'By the Eternal Sky's holy pi- uh, holy blessings. What's happened to you? What's the racket about?' Releasing Shaqmar, Surayka turned to Qaseer.
'Stop him! He says he's leaving!' Qaseer looked to Shaqmar who had not slowed down in the slightest.
'Leaving?' he asked, turning on his heel and walking beside him, 'where to? Caught the Zanshah bug have you?'
'Yes, yes I have,' was Shaqmar's simple response.
'You think you can find Layla on foot?' Qaseer asked, his voice suddenly low. Shaqmar stopped and looked at him.
'It is better than sitting here doing nothing.'
'You want to go alone when all of Rukbany obeys your every command? I never thought that love would make so great a fool of you, cousin.' Shaqmar may have, in the past, reacted with annoyance at the idea that he was in 'love' or that he was a 'fool', but he had been exposed before the world - they had seen his tears, and they had heard his impassioned words, and they had fought to return to him his Layla. It was no longer his stiffly guarded secret, for he had let it slip.
'You want me to drag Rukban warriors around in search of a woman? They would never allow themselves to be slighted so,' Shaqmar said simply.
'She is not any woman, Shaqmar. She is Layla,' came Qaseer's curt response. Her name on his tongue struck him harder than a blow and he felt the tears well up in his eyes. But he banished them with a quick hand.
'Very well. Let us go and search for her. Gather a-'
'What? Right away?' Qaseer asked incredulously. Shaqmar looked at him uncertainly.
'What, is there anything else that the people are attending to?' Shaqmar asked.
'Yes, Toqidae and Zanshah are celebrating tonight our victory over the Ma'Erkoz, for the Tagham return to their lands on the morrow. You must be there.' Shaqmar frowned at this and made to turn and continue, but Qaseer grabbed him by the arm and forcefully pulled him back. Weakened by his sorrows, Shaqmar could not ignore him as he had Surayka.
'Listen to me, you maddened man, and do as I say. Do not weaken yourself and heap on it insult to the powerful.' Shaqmar scowled.
'I do not fear Toqidae or any other. I must to my Layla, even now I can hear her soul crying out to be found. I cannot wait even an hour more, even a second.' But Qaseer's grip did not wane and Shaqmar quickly realised that he would not be able to escape except with a fight. Sighing in defeat, he acquiesced to his cousin's demand.
'But we leave on the morrow even before the Tagham depart,' he demanded, and Qaseer nodded to appease him and returned him to his roundtent.
'Surayka,' he said, 'fix his butchered hair for him, and find him something suitable for the Qa'id Adheem to wear.' She nodded and Shaqmar scowled at Qaseer, who smiled widely and shrugged helplessly. 'You should be thanking me - I'd rather her be...servicing me than you. God knows I've tried!' Shaqmar did not laugh, and Shaqmar did not smile. With that, Qaseer turned away and rushed off back to his roundtent, muttering excitedly to himself.
Shaqmar bore patiently Surayka's gentle attempts to fix his hair's appearance and her further trimming his beard so that it was level. And when she brought him better clothes, it was more out of a lack of desire to displease her than a desire to wear them (or go to the feast) that he wore them.
'Are the people not speaking, Surayka?' he asked her as she wrapped a belt around him.
'Of what, my Qa'id?' she pulled back and examined her handiwork before he spoke again.
'You spend your days with me and your nights with me. And when I leave, you leave with me, and you return with me, and you cut my hair and you dress me, and you feed me and eat with me. I may well soon be gone, do you want to return to them and find your reputation has left with me?' She was silent and Shaqmar could see that this was something she had thought about before.
'I guess...' she was quiet for a few seconds, 'I guess you'll have to make sure you don't leave.' She looked at him shyly, but Shaqmar's eyes were instantly cold.
'Surayka, do you wish to war with me?' he asked lowly. She stepped back and looked away, shaking her head slowly. 'Then don't war with...her.' He did not have to say her name for Surayka to know what he meant.
'Shaqmar, I didn't mea-'
'Don't do it again.' She flinched at the harshness in his tone and stiffened. Her eyes watered slightly, but no tears fell. Her voice came curt.
'Is there anything I can help you with?'
'No.'
@TheDuncanMorgan I'm all ears :)
Edit: I've just been very busy since I finished the sheets, otherwise I would have written something already. Plus, my planned opening post would involve some of your NPCs, and I didn't get round to asking for permission XP
Edit: I've just been very busy since I finished the sheets, otherwise I would have written something already. Plus, my planned opening post would involve some of your NPCs, and I didn't get round to asking for permission XP
Editing on the train
Hey, I do that someti-
is awful.
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