25 Enraged truce

The Ragail’s response came so swiftly that it was as if they had anticipated the Xalya outburst. They surrounded the two steppe groups before the faster Xalyas even reached the Akinoas. Almost without thinking, Dashvara rushed at Maef and pulled him back to avoid impaling himself on one of the Ragail spears. He didn’t calm down, and Dashvara had to hit him on the head. The great Xalya did not faint, but he remained stunned enough to stop thinking.

“Do you want to get us all killed?” Dashvara hissed at him.

His fury was still boiling inside like an erupting volcano, but the presence of the Ragails had reminded him of an essential point he should never have forgotten: he was the lord of the Xalyas, and he could not send his brothers to their deaths in such a stupid way. He met Captain Zorvun’s dark gaze and lowered his head to the sand in shame. He cursed under his breath.

Your impulses will eventually cause your doom, Dash…

“Throw down your weapons!” the Ragail sergeant shouted.

With five dozen Ragails surrounding them, not even the craziest of them would have thought of fighting. However, the Xalyas did not obey immediately: they all turned to the last lord of the steppe, waiting for an order. Oh, yes. Of course: in the presence of his lord, a Xalya never surrendered without his consent… A stupid custom.

Dashvara rolled his eyes and dropped his sabers.

“Okay, throw down your weapons, brothers,” he said in Common Tongue.

A few seconds later, none of the Xalya were armed. The Akinoas, who had behaved much less savagely, laid their axes on the sand, and after separating the two groups by about twenty more paces, the sergeant barked:

“Soldiers! Any further attempts to kill and you will be punished by death, and this with the express consent of both Rayeshag Korfu and Atasiag Peykat. Your status as workers does not allow you to indulge in personal vengeance. Forget your past disputes, soldiers. In the Arena, we only kill by citizen consensus. You are here to train.”

He watched them all with angry dragon eyes. Dashvara would have liked to open his mouth to tell him: okay, don’t worry, it won’t happen again. But he couldn’t do it. It would have been a terrible lie.

“Do you think it will be enough?” the foreman Loxarios asked. He and Yira stood by the Ragails, tense and attentive.

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

They had planned it all along, Dashvara realized with a shudder. Logically, Atasiag must have already known that this Rayeshag Korfu had an Akinoa group in his possession. The scoundrels had set up an encounter on purpose. Did they hope they would make peace? Dashvara looked at the sergeant, the foreman, and Yira one by one.

Then dream on.

Finally, his gaze went to the black warriors, who were watching the scene, arms crossed. What on earth was a group of Akinoas doing in Titiaka? The most plausible explanation was that after the death of the Xalya clan, the other clans had continued to fight among themselves and had been sold as slaves to the Diumcilians. A grimace of pure disdain contorted Dashvara’s face. In two hundred years, these savages had managed to depopulate the Rocdinfer steppe a thousand times more effectively than the hated last Old King.

The Ragail sergeant ordered the Xalyas to line up and the guards withdrew.

“You’re going to stay like that for an hour,” he said. “I don’t want to hear anyone talking. Anyone who moves or opens his mouth will receive five lashes. Then you will begin training with the Steliar warriors.”

He glanced around as if to make sure everyone had understood the instructions. Satisfied, he turned around and walked away with the foreman Loxarios. Yira was the only one to remain with the Xalyas. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there, as still as they were. Well, she was even more motionless than them: Dashvara’s hands were shaking like the claws of an enraged red nadre.

Come on, Dash. You once lived in a Shalussi village, after all. Now control yourself and remember that these warriors are men of a Titiaka Legitimate that is an ally of Atasiag Peykat. You cannot touch them. You cannot kill them. And, in theory, they can’t kill you either. In theory.

The Akinoas began to train against the Steliar warriors and Dashvara closed his eyes so as not to see them. The sun was beating down on him and his thoughts, dazed, ended up replaying the same memories over and over again. The siege of the Dungeon. The last defense of the heirs of the steppe. And death. Death on all sides. The Xalyas had fallen one by one, most of them under the blows of the Akinoas and their bloodthirsty troll.

A sharp intake of breath brought him out of the macabre curses that were clouding his mind. He opened his eyes, surprised, and saw from the corner of his eye Zamoy sobbing silently. His heart sank. His first impulse was to go and give the Baldy a strong brotherly hug to console him; he held back just in time and swallowed.

Cry, cousin: crying for the past does not stain honor. It simply does not help.

He met Yira’s gaze and returned it with an expression of indifference. Then he applied himself to observe the Akinoas. They seemed to be in good shape and better fed than on the steppe. One of them had just defeated his Steliar opponent, and brandishing his axe, he addressed to the Xalyas a ferocious smile.

Go ahead, monster, keep smiling. You just proved to me again how ruthless you Akinoas are. Your remorse can be seen for miles around.

Of all the duels that Dashvara witnessed, not one was lost by the Akinoas.

Half an hour must have passed when suddenly someone collapsed in the row. Dashvara turned his head slightly to see that it was Morzif. Defying instructions, Tsu knelt down beside the blacksmith.

“Did he faint?” one of the Ragail guards asked, approaching.

“Yesterday, he received forty lashes,” Tsu explained. “And his wounds have opened up. Please, I am a doctor, let me take care of him.”

Without further questioning, the Ragail made an affirmative gesture, he called two companions, and they dragged Morzif out of the arena, followed by Tsu. Before leaving, the Ragail passed in front of all the Xalyas with penetrating eyes, as if to remind them that the punishment was not yet over. At least, these Ragails were not as harsh in their punishments as His Eminence…

Dashvara armed himself with patience, and when the Ragail sergeant finally reappeared in the arena and ordered them to pick up their abandoned weapons, he felt as if he had stood there just like a stake.

“Remember,” the sergeant said, “I don’t want any confrontations outside of training.”

He looked at Maef and then turned his eyes to Dashvara. He understood that Dashvara was someone special to the Xalyas, and he expected him to impose some order among his people. Dashvara nodded curtly as he straightened up with his sabers.

“Xalyas,” he said in Oy’vat. “Let’s not lose our cool. We can’t attack the Akinoas in front of the federates. Three years have passed, we can wait a little longer.”

“Wait for what?” Maef growled.

Dashvara winced.

“For the right time,” he answered, confused. “That is, not today.”

Zamoy muttered:

“If I could slaughter them all before these foreigners kill me, I swear by my Eternal Bird that I would.”

Dashvara looked at the Baldy, surprised by the vehemence of his words. A fire of hatred shone intensely in his eyes, suddenly awakened after three years of exile. Orafe raised his saber high and roared:

“A Xalya warrior obeys his Eternal Bird by doing justice!” With his weapon, he pointed at the Akinoas from afar, spitting in their direction. “If I die, I will at least die having shed the blood of those treacherous dogs!”

A tension mixed with aversion and fatalism seized the Xalyas. The thirst for revenge swept over them in a new wave. Maef, Ged, Shurta, and Pik stared darkly at the Akinoas; Lumon shook his head sadly… Makarva’s hands gripped the sabers and shook like those of a terrified child, but he was determined to follow his brothers to the death. The punishment imposed by the Ragails had done absolutely nothing to calm them down. Dashvara met the captain’s calm and patient gaze and understood that he was expecting something from him.

Very good, Captain. What do you want me to tell them now? That it is better to live without honor than to die for such a miserable revenge? I am not even convinced of that, Zorvun. Who knows if we’ll spend the rest of our lives serving foreigners after all. Is that a life for a Xalya? Atasiag Peykat waves his promise of freedom before our eyes like a peasant uses a handful of tasty grass to drive his donkey. But who is to say when the donkey will get its reward, Captain? It may be months, years, eons… Time will tell, no doubt, if we don’t die first.

His face hardened.

And we won’t die first, he promised himself. My Eternal Bird may waver like my brothers’, but the Eternal Bird of our clan never wavers.

A sudden burst of fire erupted from his throat.

“Xalyas, listen!” he thundered.

Under the Ragail sergeant’s curious gaze, he moved back a few steps to have all the Xalyas in front of him before declaiming like the good philosopher he was:

“Brothers, let us not act hastily. Xalyas, we are not hate-fueled animals like the Akinoas. We have the spirit of justice, we have dignity, but above all, we are brothers, and we are loyal to our Dahars. Dying now solves nothing. It didn’t solve anything in Xalya Dungeon, and it won’t solve anything here. If you endanger your life, you endanger the life of your clan. Don’t forget that.”

Captain Zorvun wiggled his eyebrows at him eloquently as if to remind him that the first one to have to apply a lesson was the one who delivered it.

You’re absolutely right, Captain.

Tense as a bowstring, Dashvara snorted loudly, turned his back on his brothers, and headed for the place where the Steliar warriors were. With some relief, he saw that everyone, including Yira, was following him. He gave her an indefinable pout and hissed through his teeth:

“If you and Atasiag give us another big surprise without warning, you can be sure that your Eminence will end up regretting it.”

Yira’s eyes sparkled.

“You’re nothing but a savage, Dashvara of Xalya,” she whispered. “Fayrah warned me that you would react like this, but I didn’t believe her until…” she shook her head, falling silent, and for a moment, Dashvara felt ashamed. How was a person supposed to feel when they saw a whole troop of beardy men rushing at other warriors, shouting like raving lunatics? Suddenly, an unsound amusement made him laugh sardonically.

“These monsters killed dozens of my clansmen with axes,” he said. “They killed my father. I saw with my own eyes the axes reduce the lord of the Xalyas to a soulless body.” He paused. “How did you expect me to react?”

Sadness had clouded Yira’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” she confessed in a hushed voice and repeated, “I don’t know.”

Dashvara raised an eyebrow, surprised to see her so troubled. He cleared his throat and looked down at the swords he was still holding.

“Well then. So His Eminence wants me to train with you?”

“Train with the Steliar warriors first. As for me… for now, I’ll watch you.”

Without waiting for his response, Yira gestured to the Steliar men and walked away toward one of the field walls. For the next few minutes, more than one Steliar warrior looked at the Xalyas with apprehension. They seemed to fear that their new opponents would suffer another bout of fury. None of the Xalyas was in the mood to calm them down.

Steliar’s men turned out to be mediocre fighters. They carried long swords and wielded them with more or less the same skill as Miflin had three years ago. Dashvara defeated his first opponent quickly. The poor Steliar men had to suffer the Xalya rage instead of the Akinoas. After two hours, not a single Xalya had lost a battle. When Dashvara got the surrender of his last opponent, he turned to the black steppemen; they were training like beasts, a good thirty paces away. He continued to watch them cautiously as he made his way to where the captain, Maef, Orafe, Kaldaka, Lumon, and Alta were already resting. None of them spoke, but Maef’s eyes burned like fires. He sat down beside them in the shadow of the wall and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead.

“Look at how they’re beating each other up,” he commented with an evil smirk. “Lord Vifkan said they’re like trolls, just a bit smaller. No wonder they’re so good at taming the worst creatures of Rocdinfer…”

He suddenly fell silent when he saw, stunned, that one of the Akinoas was separating from his comrades and heading towards them. He stiffened, suspicious.

“That face looks familiar,” Alta murmured.

Dashvara looked at him, inquisitive, and the Xalya observed in a neutral voice:

“Remember that, back in the dungeon, I used to work as a messenger as well as a groom. This Akinoa…” he paused and finished: “He looks a lot like Shiltapi, but it’s not him.”

“His son?” Lumon suggested.

Dashvara swallowed. Could this giant really be the son of the Akinoa leader? Orafe growled.

“Well, to me they all look the same. Very tall and with crazy faces.”

“He just stopped,” Kaldaka observed.

“It looks like he’s waiting for one of us to approach,” Lumon mused.

“He doesn’t intend to negotiate, does he?” Orafe grumbled.

“Ah, negotiate!” Dashvara laughed through his teeth. “That’s a good one…” He met Zorvun’s gaze and fidgeted, uneasy. “Why are you looking at me like that, Captain?”

This one shrugged.

“Maybe this individual has something interesting to say, don’t you think?”

Dashvara turned his eyes to the Akinoa waiting in the middle of the arena like an impassive rock. He wrinkled his nose.

“Are you asking me to speak with him?”

“Exactly.”

His attitude irritated Dashvara, but… well, his captain had just given him an order, hadn’t he? He stood up and muttered:

“This is all stupid. He’s not going to tell me anything interesting and you know it.”

“Probably not,” the captain admitted. “But we are Xalyas, Dashvara. We always allow anyone to speak. By the way,” he added, “if it’s not too much trouble, tell this savage that Captain Zorvun of Xalya is still alive and has gotten a lot of practice in the last three years killing monsters.”

Dashvara looked up to the sky.

“Why don’t you tell him that in person? Bah, you’re a coward, Captain.”

He began to walk away and barely managed to suppress a smile when he heard a grunt and footsteps behind him.

“A coward, eh?” the captain said as he walked beside him. “Let’s see what this little monster tells us.”

They stopped at a respectable distance from the Akinoa. The captain spoke first, switching to Common Tongue:

“We were very surprised to meet Akinoas in Titiaka. I don’t know why, I thought you would be living comfortably in our usurped dungeon.”

The Akinoa inhaled through his nose without uncrossing his muscular arms. On his right forearm, the Blue Circle of the Korfu shone. And just below, where Dashvara wore the beetle of the Doomed, appeared the white arrow of the miner slaves, with the counter-seal. It was said that the life of the miners was even more hellish than that of the Doomed… Dashvara squinted and tried, in vain, to read the numbers from where he stood: some would have told him the date each seal was applied.

The savage was slow to answer, but finally, he opened his big fleshy lips and said in a deep voice:

“Your dungeon, Xalya, has been destroyed. The Essimeans attacked it two springs ago. They left only ruins.”

His eyes scanned them. Did he hope to see grief on their faces? Neither Zorvun nor Dashvara altered. It’s not a handful of stones we care about, Akinoa, but the people inside. Perhaps you are not able to understand that.

“So, just like that, the Essimeans have become the kings of the steppe, huh?” Zorvun croaked.

The Akinoa spat on the sand.

“The Essimeans are even more treacherous than you, Xalyas.”

Dashvara smiled sarcastically.

“Than us?” he retorted. “Who allied themselves with them to annihilate us, Akinoa? Remember that the lords of the steppe were much more lenient with you than the Essimeans. They allowed you to settle on the borders of their lands. They did not enslave you, and they let you live in peace.”

The Akinoa spat again.

“Lies. You pushed us back and cornered us in the desert. You left us to starve.”

“And you killed us with your bloody axes,” Dashvara replied sharply. “You are no better than we are.”

The Akinoa squinted, scanning Dashvara’s face. Zorvun intervened.

“You are talking to the lord of the Xalyas, Akinoa. The last lord of the steppe. According to the ancient code of Rocdinfer, you owe him loyalty.”

His tone was clearly mocking. The Akinoa hissed, and for a moment, Dashvara feared that Zorvun had exacerbated the beast’s nerves.

“The last lord of the Xalyas is dead,” he growled. “My own father cut off his head and stuck it on a spike, just like you did to my great-grandfather.”

There was no doubt, this was the son of Shiltapi of Akinoa. Dashvara held his gaze, letting a cold fury filter through. His words hammered at his heart like a cascade of explosive arrows. Finally, his throat cleared, and when he answered, it was in a voice so cold that it even frightened him.

“I am the firstborn son of Lord Vifkan. And I swear to you, Raxifar, son of Shiltapi, that I will, in turn, cut off your father’s head the day I meet him.”

And then they’ll cut mine, for a change…, he thought wryly. All for the sake of preserving traditions.

The Akinoa showed his teeth with ferocity.

“You will not meet him again, Xalya rat. Shiltapi is dead. The Shalussis killed him. Now, if you want us to set a day to kill each other, go ahead. My heart will be in heaven the day I finish with you and your vile blood.”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow. He had never imagined that he would talk so long with an Akinoa.

“So you Akinoas go to a heaven when you die?” he inquired.

The savage smiled coldly.

“Your question proves your ignorance, Xalya. We serve Akinoa. We are the servants of the greatest warrior who ever lived.” He glanced down at Dashvara’s tattooed arm. “We serve only him and we die for him. All who do not serve him go to hell. You and all your kind will go to hell no matter what.”

Dashvara nodded gravely.

“I see. I regret to inform you, however, that now, you are not serving your god precisely, but a Diumcilian named Rayeshag Korfu. Akinoa must not like that very much, right? Look, I can only see one way out that will satisfy both of us. You stop serving your master, you die and go to heaven, and I’ll continue to live here as long as I can.” He gave him a detached smile. “Do you have a better idea?”

Raxifar finally uncrossed his arms, and Dashvara tried not to back down. He was at a respectable distance: he could not reach him by surprise. The Akinoa looked into his eyes. He was slow to answer, and when he did, his answer was concise:

“We are not in the steppe. Let’s work together to free ourselves, let’s steal a boat, let’s go back to Rocdinfer, and there, we’ll settle our accounts.”

Abruptly, Dashvara let out a laugh. Raxifar’s proposal was ridiculous.

“Are you kidding us?” He looked at the captain out of the corner of his eye. The captain’s face showed disbelief. “Come on, Raxifar, son of Shiltapi, who would believe that you wouldn’t betray us at the slightest opportunity? Besides, where did you get the idea that we also want to return to the steppe? According to what you say, we don’t even have a dungeon waiting for us there. And there are only twenty-two of us. With that, we can’t start a real clan anymore, Raxifar.” He held his gaze with pride. “Yes, you have succeeded, savages. You got what you wanted. You have wiped out all the clans that descended from the Old Kings. Now leave us in peace. As you hear,” he said, seeing the look of surprise in Raxifar’s eyes. “I will not try anything against you as long as you do the same. A wise Shalussi once told me: I judge men for what they are and not for what they represent. I don’t know you. I would have gladly killed Shiltapi, but I don’t see why I would kill a son for the crimes of his father. Perhaps, if I knew you better, I would change my mind. That is why I advise you not to speak to me again. If I hear an insult to one of my brothers, a serious threat, or a tasteless joke about our dead, you can be sure that I will change my mind. In the meantime, I give you my word that my brothers will not try anything against you.”

The Akinoa scanned him for a long moment before nodding slowly and crossing his arms again.

“This seems to me correct and wiser than I would have expected from a Xalya man.” As Dashvara made a curt gesture of farewell, he added, “And by the way, we people never make fun of the dead.” He smiled. “We don’t like to speak ill of the absent.”

He turned his back on them and walked away to his people. Captain Zorvun ran a hand over his sweaty neck.

“Eternal Bird, Dash. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this. I was getting ready to grab you by the neck before you lost your nerve and rushed to strangle him, and here you are offering him a peace deal. And, to top it all, the savage accepts it.”

“A truce,” Dashvara corrected, relaxing by the second. “I’m afraid it’s only a truce.” He met Zorvun’s gaze and closed his eyes briefly before adding in a low voice: “I am tired, Captain. Tired of so much war. And I think Raxifar is tired too. The Akinoas are humans, not monsters. In battle, they become animals, it’s true, but… are we any different? They were looking for land to live in without starving every year, and we were always kicking them out of our land. We would have been wiser if we had accepted them into our clan. My father would have been wiser if he had accepted the surrender during the siege. He knew that we would not resist, and in spite of everything, he persisted and led all his people to death. His pride was stronger than his loyalty to the clan.” He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I will not make the same mistake, Captain.”

Zorvun nodded calmly and patted him on the back.

“I believe you are a good lord, Dashvara.”

The young Xalya looked at him mockingly.

“Tell me, Captain, why do you insist so much on making me the lord of the Xalyas?”

Zorvun smiled as they walked toward their brothers.

“I do not insist on making you anything you are not already, son.” He paused, and his gaze passed from the Triplets to Maef, to Lumon and the others. “Look at them, Dashvara. These are your people. Feel proud of them because they deserve it. At heart, we are not slaves. We are not even defeated men. We are still Xalyas, as we have always been. We remember the long ballads of the ancients. We share the same lessons of life. And in easy times and in hard times, we remain loyal to the Eternal Bird of our clan.” He shook his head. “But this Eternal Bird, Dash, sometimes requires a little help. I am only a master-at-arms and a captain. I only know how to bolster the morale of the soldiers before the battle and direct them so that we don’t lose too many. That’s what I’ve done all my life. The Xalyas trust me when it comes to fighting. But I am not a lord for them. You, on the other hand, represent everything they want to hold on to. You are the last descendant of the lords of the steppe. You represent the Dahars. Your orders show the right way.”

Dashvara looked at him, dumbfounded. The most incredible thing was that Zorvun seemed to be talking seriously. He suddenly felt like he was drowning in a barrel of oil.

“May the Eternal Bird guide me,” he breathed out, “my orders are the way to nothing. I know the tradition, and I know how stubborn the Xalyas can be about it. But we are far from the steppe. Things have changed. We can’t always live by keeping customs from immemorial times that no longer have a basis.”

Captain Zorvun’s eyes sparkled.

“I thought the matter was closed, son. Precisely because we no longer have a home, your duty is to help your people keep their Eternal Bird intact. You must keep the clan together and protect the Dahars and its tradition, as all the lords of the steppe should have done. And I assure you that I would not ask you to be the lord of anything if I did not know that you were capable of assuming your responsibility. You proved that you were by talking with this Akinoa.”

Dashvara did not dare to put on a doubtful face. He simply nodded softly and whispered in a hoarse voice:

“Your confidence honors me, Captain.”

Zorvun smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m just reminding you of a lesson the shaard surely taught you years ago, my lord.”

Dashvara shuddered at the name. A few minutes ago, it would have seemed like a joke to hear the captain, a man in his seventies who had given him orders all his patrolling life, call him “my lord”. Now it just seemed… strange. But justified.

Justified by the eternal and unchanging tradition, he sighed mentally.

“I think the federate girl is waiting for you,” Zorvun said suddenly.

Dashvara raised an eyebrow and turned to see Yira standing about twenty paces away with a black sword in her hand. He walked away, leaving Zorvun to fill the others in on their conversation with Raxifar of Akinoa; he drew one of his swords and stopped a few steps away from the federate woman. Her eyes were hauntingly serene.

“Can I ask you a question?” Dashvara suddenly said. “What do you think makes a man a savage?”

Yira watched him for a few moments before answering firmly:

“Lack of self-control. Unconscious cruelty. Unpredictability. A savage acts without regard to the consequences of his actions.”

Dashvara nodded thoughtfully.

“So that’s what I am to you. A savage.”

“That’s how you behaved earlier,” Yira replied calmly. “Actions are what define a person.”

Dashvara smiled sadly.

“Right. Sometimes a man stops thinking with his head and thinks with his heart. And, logically, this way, nothing very reasonable can come of it. There is nothing wilder than a heart.”

Yira shook her head, and Dashvara flushed slightly. He was too used to meditating in front of his brothers and had forgotten that not everyone might be willing to listen to his ramblings.

“Er, okay,” he said, gripping his sword tighter. “Ready?”

“You can draw your two swords,” Yira finally said.

“You have only one,” Dashvara objected.

Yira’s eyes smiled.

“The other hand is armed too, even if you can’t see it. Ready?”

Dashvara frowned but drew the other sword anyway.

“Ready.”