Kiravi's Travelogue Ch. 04

The day somehow dragged on even more slowly with the knowledge that we weren't alone out here, but we did finally reach the next group of miserable looking shelters huddled up against a sheer red cliff. Half of them had collapsed or been hacked apart with stone axes for someone else's fire, but the qhatuqs crammed into the dugouts and lay spare blankets over the hardy animals. Kapak set shifts of guards through the night, with Leotie and I split up between different groups of grim-faced Orgos. Nothing happened as I shivered in the cold desert wind, other than the occasional curious yip of a coyote or rustle of an owl's wings. The dim light of our fires glimmered around the broken rocks, and the stars burned above, like the campfires of the gods.

Leotie yawned and nodded at me as we passed each other among the forlorn guard posts.

Serina was bundled tight against the cold even with the fire crackling, and I, utterly exhausted from an entire day climbing and descending on aching legs and raw feet, collapsed behind her small pile of blankets. "I waited up for you," Serina yawned, and excitement surged forward to temporarily banish fatigue. Rushing to escape the chill, I hurried to scramble under her blankets and felt her small, warm body beside mine.

"You didn't have to do that," I murmured, happy that I wouldn't have to 'accidentally' wake her while settling in, as my original and fatigue-induced plan had been.

"I've been thinking about you ever since, ever since," she yawned and murmured something else, pushing her body and generous rump back into me. I naturally let my arms wrap around her under the tangled pile of blankets, pulling her tight to me, "I need to tell you what happened." She yawned again, and I couldn't help but yawn as well.

"Tell me what, darling?" I asked, struggling to remain awake, "Darling?" I asked again before hearing her soft snores in the dugout. Oh well, I remember thinking to myself, before sleep took me as well.

Another morning, another experience of Kapak bawling at his qhatuqs. I'd still been huddling Serina when I woke, and the dugout was so crammed with sleeping bodies I didn't know if Leotie had come back. Either way, rubbing the sleep out of our eyes and eating another meal of tea, seeds, and biltong, we stepped off before the sun.

Kapak's mood was foul. He grumbled about the ruined shelters he'd have to repair on his way back, with wood bought from his share of the profits. He snarled at the guards and the qhatuqs, barely restraining himself when speaking to Leotie and me, to keep an ever-watchful eye on the ever-worsening surroundings. And he drove us, mortal and beast alike, at a barely sustainable pace that left sweat pouring from every pore and blood oozing from my uncalloused feet.

He was nervous, I could tell, everyone could tell, and we were worried too, alone and cut off in this strange land. You should know by now, dear readers, that I was no stranger to risk and peril, but my battlegrounds had always been cramped alleys and fetid gutters. Not nightmarish tangles of rocks and scrub. I was nervous too, and so was Serina. Even Leotie fiddled with her bow continuously, ready to string it in our defense.

We arrived early, in the late afternoon, to the scene Kapak had surely been fearing.

A score of figures waited around the next group of shelters, some crouching in the shade of hide tarps while others watched the track intently, spears clutched in their hands. They were an even mix of men, Enges, and Bhakhuri and, from a distance, they seemed as well-armed and provisioned as one would expect a village guard to be out here in the Ketza. The shelters they occupied sat at the intersection of tracks Kapak had mentioned, so maybe they were envoys or a patrol from the flint mine.

All such idealistic assumptions were immediately put into question, my dear readers, as we drew closer to the shelters and their new inhabitants. While their kit, their armor and appears and atlatl dart throwers, had once been well made and well-kept, time and the elements had taken their toll. The score of warriors drew up across the track as we approached, and Kapak summoned me and the half-dozen largest Orgos to the vanguard, though neither side readied their weapons or shouted challenges.

I noticed two more direly concerning things as the caravan trotted to a stop, and both sides glared warily at the other. A man had emerged from the shade of one of the shelters, and, unlike the garb of the others, his trappings suggested the faded splendor of some forgotten Headman or Mayor. Three damaged eagle feathers emerged pompously from his leather helmet, and ochre and other pigments dug from the dirt adorned his cotton tunic and breeches to form a pattern of overlapping red and black chevrons. A necklace of copper and precious stones hung low around his neck, and gaudy rings sat on his fingers, too large for his underfed frame. Those bony hands held a long wooden staff adorned with more copper and feathers at its top and, to my wide-eyed surprise, a sword of pure bronze with gleaming silver zig-zag inlay at least nine or ten hands long.

It was not the first thing, the appearance of the tattered but haughty noble, dear readers, that caused me to nudge Kapak's burly arm and whisper a warning in his ear.

Those of us capable of harnessing the Eldritch winds, however we do it, are often capable of producing food and water through sheer force of will and the raw energy of magic. The food has no taste, the water never seems to wet your throat, but it will keep whoever eats it from starving to death. Such spells are meant only to provide a meal or two, to stretch stores during famine or long journeys, never to give the root sustenance for man or beast. Anyone who eats more of this raw, conjured food than true and real nourishment begins to change, and the warriors in front of us had all of the signs.

Their eyes shone strangely, despite being sunken into their drawn faces as if some internal light burned there. The men and Enges were far paler than they should have been, their skin thin and ashy, hair wispy and brittle. The Bhakhuri had strange blotches running up their necks and down their arms. All of their veins were dark, pushing up against their off-putting skin, seeming to pulse before our eyes and struggle to carry blood tainted by the raw magic of their diet.

"Hail, travelers," the tattered nobleman spoke, planting the decorated staff in the middle of the track, his voice raspy. "I welcome you to the lands of Kuvash, which I am responsible for."

Kapak had stopped with the rest of the vanguard a dozen or so paces from the waiting warriors. Immediately, his tone was icy, bristling with more than his usual gruffness, "Thank you for your welcome, lord, but I wish your lands themselves had been as hospitable as you now claim to be."

The nobleman bristled, and several of the warriors who'd remained by the sides of the track clustered towards their master. "All of Anghoret — the Ketza and Kuvash as well — has experienced great drought for several seasons. My subjects required much of the meager resources we had, and the track here and leading to the mine suffered," the thin man's words were conciliatory, but his tone was anything but. His lips pulled back over his rotten teeth with every word, his eyes boring into Kapak.

Kapak glowered, "I understand my lord; privation has been a constant companion of mine. I notice, also, that your lack of resources extends to not being able to offer guests in your lands food or even a sip of water and occupying our shelters. Shelters I built with these hands ten summers ago," he waved left and right, "I see none of the hospitality a lord of Anghoret is expected to provide, and am met instead with spears."

"Of course, Mayors of Anghoret provide hospitality to all who request it. All those, that is, that travel in good standing and pay proper homage to both lords and gods," the man smiled a smile that conveyed no warmth.

I had to restrain the aging Enges slightly as he spluttered a response, "You compound your shameful lack of hospitality with insults as well?! You shame yourself and your palace, and I have no more to say to you. Begone from this place."

The man, who had still not named himself, finally stopped smiling, "It's clear you won't render respect, so allow me to speak a language that you will understand: trade. You've crossed my land, used my track, slept in my shelters, so you must pay my toll or have your assets seized under Imperial law."

I placed a hand on Kapak's muscular arm, "You are the Mayor of Kuvash?" A nod, annoyed, from the man as he acknowledged me and my question, "So it would be your birthright, then, as you say you're the mayor of Kuvash, to collect taxes and tolls through this part of the Ketza?"

"Through all the Ketza."

"My apologies, my lord. I am Kiravi al-Kiral, only the third son, so not nearly as well educated in Imperial law as you must be." I know, dear readers, I was surely laying it on thickly, but I was trying to remember something from a half-recalled discussion at the Academy a few years before. "With whom am I honored to be discussing the privileges of Imperial nobility with?"

"Sata al-Kuva, son of Kuv al-Kuva," the man said, though he glared at me with withering intensity. It all clicked in my mind in an instant. From the moment I'd seen his bedraggled garb and sickly, eldritch-fed physique, I knew that his claim to be a tax collector was spurious.

"Ah, Kuv al-Kuva. Does he still live?"

"Obviously not, for I am now Mayor."

"Of course, of course," I said, keeping my voice as mild as possible, "I should have liked to have met him."

"What in the Chaos Wastes are you playing at?" Kapak mumbled out of the side of his mouth.

"I should have liked to have met him since it is clear he did an improper job educating his son. The Emperor has decreed, time and again, that tolls shall only be collected when caravans enter Anghoret and where they cross the mother rivers; otherwise, every petty hill tribe mayor would tax caravans until there was nothing left. That would be a shame, wouldn't it, Kapak?"

"It would."

"And Sata here certainly looks like a petty hill tribe mayor, doesn't he?"

"He does."

"Akashi take the Emperor and his damned proclamations," Sata spat, "I'll collect what I want, when I want. You valley-born soft-bellies need to learn that the hills will always have their own ways!"

So there it was; robbery masquerading as official tax collection. Kapak spoke quietly, "There are three of ours for every one of yours. Step aside, Sata, return to your hamlet in the hills, and leave us alone."

Sata sneered again before chanting a few words of power and gesturing with his staff. The jewels and metal adorning its top glowed brightly, shining with magic drawn through Sata, "That may be true, but we also have the power of the Eldritch Winds. It is simple, just pay what I am owed, and no blood need be shed."

I glanced at Kapak. He arched a bushy eyebrow. I spoke similar words of power, loud enough for all of the emaciated warriors to hear, and the air twisted and boiled around my free left hand, "So do we, my lord Sata," I said, still trying to keep my voice mild, "step aside."

The Mayor's sunken eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth nervously. He was a coward, I could tell that now, but desperate from starvation and clearly hard times suffered in the dry Ketza. His warriors all looked to their leader warily, unsure themselves of what to do.

Cowardice won out. "Let's go from this worthless place," Sata ended the spell channeled into his staff and spat onto the dirt of the track, "Your dusty, worthless goods are beneath us, anyways," he attempted one more flare of cheap bravado, but he had lost the confrontation. They skulked away down the track leading north, and, to his credit, Kapak held his tongue as the score of warriors slowly disappeared around the first bend of the track.

Our caravan let out a collective sigh, and I heard the faint twang of Leotie unstringing her bow. Some of the qhatuqs started unloading tarps and shelters from the backs of their animals, but Kapak was still staring down the northern track, chewing on his lip. I was confused for a moment, but I let my mind begin to follow Kapak's concern.

"You saw their eyes?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," Kapak grunted.

"They're going to come back; they have to. They need real food, and Sata needs to save face."

"Yes," Kapak looked up and around at the cliffs surrounding the shelters. "They'll come in the night, kill as many of the animals as they can and either drive us off or wait for us to leave."

I nodded, agreeing, "This is your caravan, Kapak; I can't give you orders, but I wouldn't stay here."

Kapak hesitated, uncharacteristically mellow when he spoke. "I release you from your duties, Kiravi al-Kiral. You may go if you please, take the Oracle and the huntress. There's no reason for you to stay with us."

I pondered for a moment but quickly made up my mind. It was tempting to flee along the track or into the hills, but it was abundantly clear that the Ketza was a hostile place after the prolonged drought. And, besides, I'd developed a soft spot for the bullheaded old caravan master. The only thing to do was remain with Kapak and his qhatuqs, but we didn't need to stay in such a vulnerable place.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'd still like to get my share," I smiled roguishly at him, "but why wait here for a fight? We have daylight left, and we have the stars and the moons to light the track; why not March into the night, and put Sata behind us?"

Kapak nodded, slowly at first before he clapped a thick fingered hand on my shoulder, "you'd make a decent qhatuq, Magus."

"Eh, I don't get along well enough with the llamas."

The Enges laughed a great bark that echoed off of the rocks around us before he rushed back to the waiting caravan to launch them into action. He hissed and growled instead of shouting, not wanting the sound to carry to Sata's ears. The tired, aching qhatuqs groaned but complied quickly, repacking their animals and hurriedly giving themselves and their animals a meal and a drink.

"What's happening?" Serina asked, her face tired, but her eyes alive with fear. Leotie stood beside her, already scanning the rocks warily.

"We march until we put this place behind us," I said, "And I'll be glad of it."

We pushed our aching legs hard, the anxiety of the confrontation lending a surge of energy to our tired bodies. The sun slid behind the rocks ahead of us, drenching the sandstone in bloody light, and we marched. The stars winked into being one after another, pushing through the darkening, purpling sky, and still, we marched. The moons shone on the shadowed track, playing tricks on our fatigued eyes and minds, but still, we marched.

With the moons at their zenith, our feet dragging in the dust, and believing we'd finally left Sata's domain behind us, the first Atlatl dart hissed through the darkness and clattered loudly against stone.

We froze, unsure of what we'd heard, our hearts hammering in our ears, but like fools, we hesitated. A ragged shout went up from the rocks on either side of the track, and dimly lit silhouettes emerged from behind boulders and cracks in the rock. A salvo of darts as long as Serina was tall arced towards us from either side and the qhatuqs and the guards scrambled for any kind of cover. Half a dozen llamas were hit, screaming and braying into the night with sudden pain. I saw an Enges crumple, a dart sprouting from his chest like a deadly tree, and heard the twang of Leotie's bow as she fired back.

My guts were sour with fear; I'd been in more than a few fights, even some larger brawls, but this was different. This was a battle, and I couldn't see my enemies, and I couldn't get close to them. Another wave of darts clattered off of the rocks or thudded into flesh. Kapak was roaring at the guards and qhatuqs and shouting curses in three different languages at our attackers.

I had to do something, so I found Leotie and Serina huddled behind a dead llama, running to them bent at the waist as darts hissed everywhere. The huntress selected a target, aimed, fired into the darkness, and cursed as she missed. "I can't fucking see anything!" she shouted over the war cries and screams of the dying.

Nodding, I murmured a spell to life, focusing first on the conduit inside me and then on a fist-sized stone nearby. It began to glow with intense light, and I snatched it up, hurling it up into the jumble of rocks in front of us. An Enges was suddenly silhouetted by the gleaming stone, and Leotie grunted as she drew and loosed another flint-tipped arrow that punched messily into his throat. The huntress unleashed a terrifying, yipping war cry that might have been arousing under different circumstances, and I readied another spell. An Orgos guard nearby hurled a javelin free-handed into a Bhakhuri attacker's chest but was rewarded with a dart to his muscular thigh. I spotted another attacker in the light from my stone and unleashed a bolt of raw magic, and it caught the man in the stomach to messily spill his innards across the rocks.

We'd hurt our attackers, certainly, and I roared something about their mothers' activities in Anghu's gutter, but we'd also marked ourselves as targets to the rest of Sata's warriors. Darts hummed through the air towards us from all directions. Another beast was struck and crumpled on the opposite side as the first one, and I dragged it close to us to improve our cover, muscles straining painfully. My gut was still knotted with fear, sweat pouring off of me, heart screaming in my ears. I had no desire to die here and go off to the second life.

Kapak was only a dozen or so paces away, crouched behind a stray boulder, "We can't stay like this!" He shouted to me, a dart shattering its flint tip as it smashed into the rock a handsbreadth from his head.

"We need to be able to see them!" I shouted back, even as a human grabbed the glowing rock I'd thrown and tossed it back down onto the track, blinding and illuminating us for the spear throwers, "Or we have to bring them down to us!"

Kapak nodded grimly, sprinting surprisingly quickly over to the rock and kicking it away and off of the track. Darts split the air all around him, but he emerged unscathed. "Sata!" He roared, "Sata, you coward! If even one of us escapes, the Emperor will know of this! His army will drown you in your own blood, all of you! Cowards!" His voice echoed, and still, the darts came, and still, somehow, Kapak was unhurt.

A human broke cover to hurl a dart at Kapak, incensed by his words, and Leotie put him down with an arrow to the lung. But the rest were still shrouded in darkness, and we could see little more than shapes in the gloom. I could've pushed my magic into more stones but risked our attackers just hurling them back at us, and I would be exposed and spotlighted while throwing them.

I heard mumbling, close to whimpering, beside me, and I looked down to see Serina looking into her hands, glowing eyes opened wide. Strands of black hair lay across her forehead. She had a tiny mole just above her top lip that I'd never noticed. It was strange, what you saw when the battle-panic was on you; I've only understood that so much more as my travels continued, dear readers.

"Ru-su-kur. Tutu-ubara. Eli sari shutu. Sha naqba imuru, sha naqba imuru," she chanted in some unknown tongue, her eyes burning brighter and brighter, and wisps of burning magic began to swirl around her head and her hands. She uncupped her hands gently, and the coyote pendant I'd given her began to float upwards. The faint light it'd held before flared painfully, stinging my eyes, burning my skin, and still, she chanted her strange spell, "Sha naqba imuru, Sha naqba imuru, SHA NAQBA IMURU!" The pendant rose and rose until the entire track, and the rocks were bathed in sunlight, no, brighter than sunlight, so intense my eyes welled up with tears.