15 Lamasta

Not long before the sunrise, it was discovered that the great black head of the Akinoa was missing among the Xalyas. The Ragails were nervous; Djamin, irritated. The Xalyas could not help but smile mockingly. They were already preparing to leave, waiting for Kuriag’s order, when the Ragail captain approached, saying:

“His Excellency would like to speak to you in his tent, Dashvara of Xalya.”

Dashvara winced but nodded.

“I’ll be right there.”

He finished fitting Sunrise’s saddle, stroked her forehead, and saw the angry glint in Djamin’s eyes. Dashvara knew that, had he been in Titiaka, he would have received a beating for lack of diligence. But here on the steppe, the Ragail captain did not dare treat him like the slave he was. Could it be you’re be afraid of thirty steppe savages, foreigner? Dashvara scoffed mentally. And, giving him a curt salute, he walked away towards the tent. To his annoyance, Djamin followed him. Lessi was out, and inside were only Kuriag and Zraliprat, his childhood slave. Sitting on a cushion, the Legitimate did not look happy.

“Ah,” he said, seeing him enter. “Please, captain. Leave us alone.”

“Are you sure, Excellency?” Djamin hesitated.

Kuriag nodded firmly, and when the Ragail captain reluctantly left, he put aside the book he had in his lap and stood up.

“I don’t know how to take it,” he admitted, altered. “I let him live, I bought him a horse, I allowed him to travel with me to the steppe—and that’s how Raxifar pays it back? By running away like a rat? Is this how steppe honor works?”

Dashvara watched him. The young elf was more upset than angry. He shook his head, sighing.

“Listen, Excellency—”

“No, you listen to me,” the Legitimate interrupted sharply. “I know that you and your people helped him escape. I’m not going after him. Because, if I were to capture him, I could do nothing but sentence him to death. Understand that. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But after all I’ve done for you… I expected a little more respect and recognition.”

Dashvara nodded silently. Kuriag was right. From his point of view, he had bought them at a high price, he had helped them reach the steppe armed and on horseback, something the Xalyas would not have achieved without breaking their backs for years in Dazbon; in the end, he had given them a huge gift in exchange for supposedly temporal… but absolute loyalty.

Dashvara looked down at his right arm, where the mark of the Dikaksunora bird was hidden. He nodded again and said:

“You are quite right, Excellency. My apologies. Raxifar felt that given his past actions, it was best for him to go alone in search of his people. To warn you would have been to betray him as well. And he saved my life in Titiaka. As you see, the Eternal Bird cannot fly to two different places at once. But now he has turned to you again, Kuriag Dikaksunora. If you think I deserve punishment for my silence, I will accept it.”

Kuriag gave him a troubled look. He made a nervous gesture.

“I’m not going to punish you.”

Dashvara smiled slightly.

“And you deserve my respect more for that, Excellency.”

“Really?” the young Legitimate retorted. “Enough respect not to think next night, ‘since the novice master won’t punish us, we’re leaving too’?”

Dashvara’s smile widened.

“Enough,” he assured. “Which doesn’t mean I can’t have reservations about the destination of your trip. You want us to enter Essimean territory. Perhaps you believe that your mere presence will prevent the Essimeans from jumping us. I’m not so sure.”

Kuriag shrugged.

“The Essimeans have made more than one agreement with my father, and they are still trading with my family. They will not dare to ‘jump us’. You are under my protection. I know a little about how the Essimeans think. As long as you are my guards, they won’t dare touch you.”

“Assuming that,” Dashvara coughed, “what about our women? They don’t bear the mark. I’d be a lot safer if we left them in a safe place.”

Kuriag frowned.

“In a safe place? Where?”

Dashvara hesitated and then said:

“To the north. With the Honyrs. As soon as we pass through Essimean territory, it would be enough for a few of us to accompany them. And it would hardly delay the journey.”

Kuriag’s face had darkened.

“To bypass Essimea in this way would attract suspicion,” he objected. He paused and uttered: “I will consider your proposal, Dashvara of Xalya. You may go.”

“Go to the Honyrs?” Dashvara replied in a light tone. And he chuckled at the Legitimate’s alarmed expression. “It was a joke, Excellency. I won’t run away, don’t worry.”

He bowed his head briefly and left the tent. Outside, his brothers greeted him with questioning looks, Zorvun scrutinized him, and Dashvara shrugged with amusement.

“I fear that now the Ragails will not let us out of their sight.”

Several gasped. Orafe growled:

“Nothing new under the sun.”

Dashvara wasn’t so sure: it was clear that the Ragail captain hadn’t appreciated being deceived. Having observed him during the trip through the tunnels, Dashvara had a picture of him similar to that of Faag Yordark: a pragmatic, reasonable, strict man… and Titiaka to the core. He resented the freedom the Xalyas enjoyed under Kuriag’s tutelage because it simply went against tradition. Until now, he had just ignored them. But Dashvara could tell by looking at his brothers that returning to the steppe made them feel freer than ever… At some point, they would forget that they were still slaves, they would see the Ragails as intruders, an altercation would arise… and Dashvara preferred not to imagine the outcome.

They were about to pack up Kuriag’s tent when Zorvun stopped him.

“Dash. Did you tell him about the Honyrs and…?” Seeing Dashvara give a nod, the captain paused and inquired, anxious to know, “So?”

Dashvara cleared his throat.

“I don’t know if this was the best time to talk about it,” he admitted, “but he said he’d consider it.”

Zorvun winced and shook his head in annoyance.

“To consider it is not enough. I’ll talk to him,” he decided.

Dashvara smiled as he moved away to help his brothers. There was an advantage to having the new master as the captain’s son-in-law: now, the captain didn’t insist on using Dashvara as a messenger like he did when he wanted to communicate with Atasiag. He thought he had some influence over Kuriag. And maybe he did. The problem was that the Ragail captain had some too.

So, as they set off, the steppemen saw with concern that they were heading north, towards the village of Lifdor. Under the leaden sky, a cold, persistent wind swept across the grass and through the clothes and armor of the Xalyas. Winter was at the gates of the steppe.

They crossed a river and entered an area of slightly higher hills. There was not a single tree in all that vast expanse of almost barren land. They passed by a band of wild horses, and about noon, they saw a cottage and a flock of sheep led by a Shalussi girl. From the top of the hill, the child stared at the advancing line of horsemen. The sky was now completely clear, but the wind was still blowing as insistently as ever.

It was still an hour before they reached the village of Lifdor, according to Asmoan, when they saw three warriors on horseback standing on the other side of a wide, shallow river. This was the Bakhia River, which originated in the mountain of the same name in Xalya land and flowed into the Pilgrim Ocean. It flowed through all the Shalussi lands. Or at least, what was left of it, Dashvara corrected.

The warriors were, presumably, Essimean: unlike the Shalussis or Akinoas, they wore a uniform, a dark blue and black uniform. According to their culture, black symbolized death and blue the immortality of their god. Dashvara immediately felt the tension rising in the group, among the Ragails, but especially among the Xalyas.

Let us stay calm, my brothers, he thought, his heart glooming. The time has not come to fight.

They stopped at a distance, and the three Essimean horsemen crossed the river. Before Kuriag spoke, the one who was going in the middle saluted:

“Welcome to Essimea, Kuriag Dikaksunora.”

He addressed the Legitimate directly, without hesitation. He had even said his name. Dashvara frowned. Certainly, the young elf’s rather refined attire made him stand out among so many warriors with armor, and the Essimeans knew the crest of the renowned Master, but… even so, the welcome seemed no less strange. It seemed as if they already knew of the Legitimate’s coming. And perhaps that was the case, he thought. After all, it seemed logical to inform Todakwa of the visit of the heir to Menfag Dikaksunora in person.

Surrounded on one side by the Xalyas and on the other by the Ragails, Kuriag Dikaksunora nodded courteously.

“Thank you.”

The Essimean introduced himself:

“My name is Ashiwa of Essimea, brother of Todakwa of Essimea. My brother and lord feels honored by your visit to our lands, and he has ordered that we, his subjects, do all we can to make you and your wife feel at ease.”

Dashvara turned pale. So, this man in soldier’s livery was none other than a younger brother of Todakwa. He gritted his teeth quietly and for a moment met the Essimean’s eyes. It was only for a moment, a mere second, but Dashvara was sure he saw a glint of fear in Ashiwa’s eyes. No wonder, for all Xalyas must have been looking at him with criminal eyes at the same time. Dashvara did not envy him.

“Thank you,” Kuriag repeated.

Ashiwa of Essimea swallowed.

“If it suits you, I will escort you to Lamasta, the nearest town to our land. Until recently, it belonged to a savage named Lifdor. Any merchant can assure you that in a few short years, the entire area has changed greatly, and for the better. Thanks in part to your father’s help,” he observed, flatteringly.

Kuriag bowed his head again, and the procession resumed. Dashvara’s Eternal Bird was boiling inside. The affability of Ashiwa of Essimea seemed a cruel illusion to him.

You know what Essimeans are like, Dash: they’re worse than red snakes. They smile at you and betray you. They betrayed us by joining with the savages to wipe out our people. They have swept away the shaards of the steppe and with them the wisdom of the ancient kings. If they decided not to exterminate us, it was not out of mercy: it was because they thought we were no longer a threat. And truthfully… are we?

His doubts soared when they saw the town of Lamasta. It was not a city like Titiaka, but it was more than a steppe village. There, built along the river and even on the small hill nearby, were perhaps a hundred buildings. There were huts, but also stone houses, and on the hill, stood a small Essimean temple with a clearly Titiaka architecture. Lamasta was alive with activity. Dashvara’s heart ached with confusion.

Come on, he said to himself as the procession moved towards the town, did you think the steppe was dying? Well, look, Dash, what do your eyes see now? Life, peace, and wealth. Frightening, isn’t it? You who thought you were arriving with your brothers to devastated and empty lands, behold the power of the Essimeans!

As Siranaga would have said, in his memoirs: Rocdinfer was a happy kingdom again. Or at least, that was how it looked. And, strangely enough, noticing this made Dashvara feel stunned, intimidated, and indignant all at once.

Several times he felt that Kuriag was giving him and his brothers worried looks. Was he perhaps afraid they would lose their temper? Well. He could stay reassured for the moment: they were all too stunned by the Essimean grandeur. If Lamasta was like this, what was Aralika, the City of the Tower, supposed to be like?

All this was built by slaves, he thought. Perhaps even the Xalyas who had survived had worked here. Dashvara glared at the houses and people of Lamasta. The Essimeans had achieved nothing wonderful: their kingdom floated on a sea of blood. Like that of Shaotara and Siranaga. Like that of the Ancient Kings.

History repeats itself. Except that now, there were no more lords of the steppe, the savages were subdued, the Honyrs lived isolated in the north…

And the rest of us are only thirty-five Xalya slaves of Diumcili, Dashvara’s dark mind finished. Twenty-three warriors. Five female pirates. One fanatic of the Eternal Bird. A Titiaka wife. A cripple. A physician. And a steppe lord with his naâsga and his shadow. His lips twitched as he added, And a six-year-old. Face it, Dash: right now, little Shivara has as much chance of rescuing the trapped Xalyas and getting out alive as we do.

His gaze had fallen on a group of Essimean guards patrolling the outskirts of the city. He could hear the Xalyas breathing heavily. Maef was snorting like a horse. So much so that he looked like he was going to suffocate. Zorvun reached out to squeeze his shoulder and whispered something to him. Perhaps because of this, Maef did not burst, but his eyes kept flashing with fury. Api watched him from the corner of his eye, not with his usual mockery but with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

After riding along the main street they stopped before a stone building, probably built from some earlier structure of the steppe lords. The Ragail captain gave the order to dismount. Dashvara dismounted. And his brothers after him, reluctantly. It was clear that they all wanted to spur their horses and ride away from there. It was either that or draw their swords to vent their rage. However, they had not come all this way to die foolishly. So they held back their impulses.

Ashiwa of Essimea invited Kuriag, Lessi, and Asmoan into the building, and he let Djamin and two other Ragails in, as well as Api and a Hezae in Titiaka clothing… but that was all. As Dashvara approached the door, one of the Essimean guards stepped in and said:

“The stables are behind the building.”

Dashvara glared at him. The Essimean was taller than he was, but younger: he couldn’t hold the Xalya’s gaze, looked away, became agitated… Then, from within, Kuriag intervened:

“I’ll be safe within these four walls, don’t worry. Follow the instructions, and there will be no problem.”

Dashvara remained unperturbed. There would be no problem, he said? Oh then, hell, why worry? He gave a curt nod, turned around, and took over the reins of Sunrise. If Kuriag trusted the Essimeans, if he believed they would not betray them, it was up to him. It was bad enough that they had followed him into an Essimean city and had been greeted by none other than a brother of the new kinglet of the steppe. Now, the only thing Dashvara could do was to make sure that, if the Essimeans pulled out the swords, the Xalyas would be ready. And, for the moment, they were more than ready.

They went to the so-called stables, which were in reality simple paddocks without shelter. No sooner had they entered one of them than Orafe gave a grunt to a helpful stable boy who had approached his horse. From then on, no boy dared disturb them. When they had finished tending to the animals, they sat down by the fence to eat as well, scanning their surroundings with careful eyes. The three Honyrs continued to whisper to their horses. Leaning against the fence, Dashvara watched the figures moving on the roof of the nearby temple. The pounding of hammers could be heard from there. Were there Xalyas among these workers? Were there Xalyas among the distant voices heard in the city?

You won’t know if you stay here.

He glanced at the Ragails. They had left their horses in the other paddock and were on the alert, but they spoke with greater calm than usual, as if the Xalyas’ concern at being surrounded by Essimeans made them feel more at ease.

‘Dash? You’re here, aren’t you?’, Tahisran suddenly asked.

The shadow was still in Api’s bag. Dashvara approached quietly.

“You can’t get out,” he whispered to him. “There are eyes everywhere.”

‘I know,’ Tahisran replied cheerfully. ‘Anyway, I can’t technically get out: this bag isn’t like yours, it’s tied with a loop. And the worst thing is that it’s all full of stuff… If you knew… I’d swear there’s even some food left over from months ago. Good thing I don’t mind bad smells… Say, Dash.’

“Mm?” Dashvara answered.

He had turned to lean against the fence next to Sandcup, Tsu’s horse. That day, the young demon had traveled with the drow. A curious choice, considering that Tsu was not one to talk for hours on end with a talkative boy like Api. He noticed Tahisran’s excitement and arched an eyebrow, intrigued, before reaching out and stroking the forehead of Tsu’s horse.

“Is something the matter, Tah?” he asked.

‘You’re not going to believe this,’ the shadow smiled. ‘Do you remember what Api said in Rocavita? That story about the little girl lost in a tower in the Underground? At first, I thought it couldn’t possibly be her, but… yesterday I overcame my fears and had a long talk with Api in Asmoan’s tent. He didn’t know her personally, but… now I’m sure it’s her!’

Dashvara felt confused.

“Her? Wait a minute, who is ‘her’?” Before Tahisran could explain, he remembered and huffed: “Gosh. I remember now.”

For sure, he remembered. The first day he’d met him, in Rocavita, Tahisran had told him that, years ago, he’d known a little girl who’d been lost far away from here, he’d traveled in vain to find her parents, and when he’d returned, the girl was nowhere to be seen, and he had thought her dead. Apparently, Api had convinced him that she was still alive. Dashvara shook his head and met the horse’s soft, dark eyes.

“This kid tells a lot of stories, Tah. How can you be sure he didn’t make it all up?”

He perceived the abrupt negation of the shadow.

‘That’s impossible. He gave too many details. The girl survived,’ he said.

His joy was obvious, and Dashvara smiled.

“Well, I’m happy for you then, Tah. Really.”

He could see the curiosity in the horse’s eyes. The horse couldn’t quite understand why he was calling him Tah when its name had always been Sandcup. His smile widened, he patted its forehead, and he was about to ask Tah what he thought of Api and Asmoan, to find out, if anything, if he was aware that both were demons when he suddenly heard a roar:

“Yodara!”

There was a stunned silence. Dashvara turned around, his hands clutching the pommels of his swords. What the…?

What he saw left him paralyzed. A warrior in Essimean uniform had stopped several paces away, eyes wide. An Essimean warrior, yes, he was an Essimean warrior. But he was also a Xalya.

And a former officer of my father’s lord, Dashvara remembered, dumbfounded.

He did not know how to react to such an encounter. The truth is that, for a few moments, neither of his brothers was able to speak. When Ged stood up, Dashvara remembered that he and Yodara were blood brothers.

“B-Brother?” the master weaponsmith gasped, approaching in disbelief.

The Xalya officer was livid, but when Ged broke the silence, he stammered:

“Eternal Bird. Am I dreaming?”

Ged huffed, smiled, and they both laughed and hugged each other tightly under the frown of the Ragails and the happy smiles of the Xalya. It wasn’t every day that one met again a good Xalya officer, though the mere thought that he was now working for the Essimean twisted Dashvara’s smile into a hesitant pout.

And what did you want him to do? a small, sarcastic voice replied. Take his own life, perhaps? Resist to the death as your lord father did? That would not have helped matters.

As the Xalya troop rose to greet the officer, Dashvara stepped out of the paddock, and Yira joined him, a puzzled expression on her face. As he approached, he heard Ged say in Oy’vat:

“We’re back at last, brother. Not as free as we would like, but we will be soon.”

“My old friend!” Zorvun exclaimed, laughing serenely.

Yodara widened his already moist eyes and breathed out in disbelief:

“Captain Zorvun!”

The Xalyas stepped aside to let the captain pass, and both shook hands vigorously.

“That uniform looks really bad on you,” the captain scoffed.

“Yours doesn’t look much better on you,” Yodara replied, smiling, but his smile faded when he added, altered, “It’s like a dream. More than once in these three years I’ve thought I was going crazy. And I think maybe I’m hallucinating… And little Shkarah,” he added, moved, taking his niece’s hand with an astonished expression. “It’s so strange and so good at the same time to see you again. You will be glad to know, Shkarah, that your cousins are still alive. They are working in Aralika with Maeya. At least, that was true three years ago. I haven’t seen them since…” He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes I think my Eternal Bird has lost all hope. It’s flying low to the ground. If it even flies at all,” he sighed. “If the lord of the Xalyas saw me now, he’d chop my head off for treason.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Dashvara interjected loudly.

Arvara stepped aside, and Yodara frowned; he blinked, and his complexion turned pale again.

“Eternal Bird,” he articulated. “Dashvara?”

The lord of the Xalyas smiled and nodded, indicating his people with a vague gesture.

“They made me a lord, so I try to be one.”

“He’s more than trying,” Zorvun assured, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Yodara watched him intently. He’s sizing me up, Dashvara realized. If he expected to find a replica of Lord Vifkan, he was in for a big disappointment… He cleared his throat.

“I am glad to see you, Yodara. I remember my father holding you in high regard.”

Yodara bowed his head.

“We didn’t always share the same vision, but he always listened to my opinion and that of the other officers before making a decision.”

A decision that sometimes went against all wisdom, Dashvara added mentally. He cracked a small smile.

“In that regard, I will try to do as he did. So,” he went on, “the Essimeans have separated the families.”

“They’ve done more than keep us apart,” Yodara considered, taking a more practical tone. “They enslaved us to the point of insanity. From what I know, they sent most of us to do domestic chores or tend to the livestock in Aralika. I think I’m the only one they decided to use as a guard. Still, they won’t let me carry swords. Nor speak in Oy’vat,” he added in the Wise Tongue with a crooked smile that twisted even more when he said, “Anyway, you’re the first Xalyas I’ve spoken to in three years. If only I could get away. But, if I did, they would sacrifice a member of my family. If I disobey, they will punish them. The Essimeans know the hearts of the Xalyas,” he admitted bitterly. “They are black mages. They know how to handle us.”

He met Dashvara’s eyes again and nervously lowered his head, showing for the first time the shame that was eating him up inside. Dashvara was looking for something to say in response to ease his torment when Yodara blurted out in a choked voice:

“I know that, if I ever see my sons again, I will not dare to look them in the face.”

Ged sighed and comforted him with a pat. Dashvara calmly acknowledged:

“It’s been a tough three years for all of us. But now there is hope.”

“Really?” Yodara retorted with some vivacity. “What hope? My brother says you are also slaves. There are about thirty of you. The Essimean warriors are hundreds. And, aside from you, I’d wager there are no more than fifteen Xalya men on the steppe. The clan is dead. I mean no disrespect, Dashvara of Xalya. I was one of the first to admire your father’s steadfastness and persistence. But you have to be realistic. The Essimeans would laugh their heads off if you drew your swords now to free your people, my lord. I’m only saying what I think.”

Dashvara heard several of them gasp. Zamoy grunted:

“If we start being this optimistic, we’re not going anywhere.”

Voices rose, but more than one, instead of supporting or refuting Yodara’s assertion, anxiously asked him about this or that family member, and whether he had seen them alive in Aralika before leaving for Lamasta… Yodara was trying to answer the flood of questions as best he could when suddenly a dry voice was heard, ripping through the air. The Xalyas all turned to see an Essimean patrol approaching between the paddocks. The patrol leader had just barked something in the Galka language, the Essimean dialect. Dashvara had learned it as a child from Maloven, but according to the shaard, his level left much to be desired. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the Essimean guard had just issued an order to Yodara. By then, all that could be heard was the wind and the distant pounding of hammers on the temple roof.

The Essimean’s face contorted, and he repeated the order. This time Dashvara understood a “come closer”, followed by what was probably a rather contemptuous appellation. With concern, Ged took Yodara by the arm, but Yodara broke free, gave a clear signal to his brothers not to interfere, and approached the patrol leader. The latter shouted something in his face, and the Xalya officer clenched his fists and lowered his head, muttering words in Galka… Interrupting him, the Essimean warrior pushed him and hissed something. Yodara nodded promptly and moved away from there. He glanced back only once. And that look was directed at Dashvara, half fierce, half pleading, as if to say, “Don’t send my sons to the grave like your father would have done”. The helplessness had been crushing him for three years. It was not surprising, then, that his morale had hit rock bottom and that he was ready to defend the little he had left: the lives of his sons, even if they were in the hands of the Essimeans. And yet, when Yodara looked away, Dashvara thought he saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Captain Zorvun raised a hand to urge the Xalyas to back off and let the Essimean patrol pass. They glared at them so murderously that even the chief sped up to get away as quickly as possible. Near the opposite paddock, the Ragails, unexpressive, did not miss a bit of the scene. Dashvara sighed, and Zorvun echoed him, stopping beside him.

“Sounds like life on the steppe was more devastating than life on the Border,” he muttered in a husky voice.

Dashvara reached out a hand to Yira and gently squeezed hers as he replied to Zorvun:

“Perhaps, Captain. But an Eternal Bird can recover. At least a little.”

Zorvun shook his head sadly.

“Maybe, son. The day it stops getting battered…” He nodded, a confused look on his face. “Maybe a little.”