Paul Thompson - Sister of the Sword

“People of Arku-peli!” he called. “I am Zannian, chief of this band! Do you hear me?” A shower of stones spattered the ground a pace in front of his horse.

His lips thinned in a grim smile. “I see you do. I have words for your headman! Bring him out, so I may speak with him!”

The crowd atop the wall stirred, and two people shouldered to the front. One was an elderly man with thinning gray hair and a long nose. The other was a woman half his age with chestnut hair drawn back in a thick braid. She leaned on a spear.

“Say what you need to say to me!” the woman called.

“Begone, woman! I will speak only to your Arkuden!”

“Begone yourself then, butcher. The Arkuden is too busy to waste words on you!”

Puffing under their load, the litter bearers arrived alongside Zannian. Seated in the contraption of hide and poles was a woman of forty summers, though she looked much older. Her fair hair was liberally streaked with gray, a shade reflected in her dark, flinty gaze, and her face was deeply lined. Once a warrior herself, she traveled now by litter because her right leg ended at the knee, the limb lost years before to a shattering injury.

“Go back, mother,” Zannian said to her under his breath. “You’re not needed here.”

“I want to see their faces,” Nacris replied. “I want to be here when they admit Amero is dead!”

“Bring out the Arkuden!” Zannian shouted once more. “Bring him out, if any of you want to survive this fight!”

The woman and the elderly man conferred, then the old man called down in a quavering voice, “The Arkuden has been wounded. He can’t yet stand on his injured leg. Speak to us, raider. We will carry your words to him.”

Nacris pushed herself up on her hands, screaming, “Show us his corpse, you liars! We know he’s dead! I want to see the work done by my Jade Men!”

Furious, Zannian leaned down and shoved the crippled woman back into her seat.

“Meddling old vulture! Shut your mouth!” To the men holding up her conveyance he harked, “Take Nacris back to camp!”

“No! I deserve to see his blood! Stop, men! I killed him, Zan! You couldn’t do it, but I could! Stop right now! Take me back—”

Wary as they were of the formidable Nacris, the litter bearers were more afraid of their leader. They continued down the hill with the woman ranting at them all the way.

“Listen to me, foolish people!” Zannian declared loudly. “This is your last chance! By Moonmeet, we’ll have the means to overcome your wall! When that happens, no one in Arku-peli will be spared! Do you hear? You’ll all die! Tell that to your wounded Arkuden—you have until the morning of Moonmeet to yield. After that, no mercy!”

In answer to his ultimatum, many villagers on the wall turned their backs and lifted their kilts in contempt.

Zannian laughed despite himself and donned his skull-mask again. He rode back to his waiting captains. The eldest of them, Hoten son of Nito, greeted him.

“Any sign of the Arkuden?” the elder man asked.

“No. Mother’s assassins may well have succeeded.”

Another raider said, “She promised they would submit if their Arkuden died.”

“My mother says many things. You’d be wiser to listen to me, not her.”

The raider chief and his captains rode back to their band. Hoten pulled the skullcap of bear and panther teeth from his head and rubbed a hand over his sweaty pate.

“I don’t like it, Zan,” he said. “What if the mud-toes don’t give up in time? Will you really set a pack of ogres on them?”

“Assuming that rogue Harak returns with any, yes.” Zannian glared at Hoten’s shocked expression. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“But ogres, Zan! How can we ally ourselves with such monsters?”

Zannian’s laugh was as sharp as a bronze sword. “Are they any worse than a green dragon?”

He kicked his horse’s flanks and cantered away. Raiders eager for his favor followed him, leaving Hoten behind. The camp by the river soon rang with Nacris’s shrill denunciations, punctuated by her son’s deeper-voiced replies.

By the time the first mountain peaks appeared on the western horizon, Beramun was beside herself with worry. So many days had passed since she’d left the Valley of the Falls—days without word of Zannian’s raiders or the fate of Yala-tene. She chafed at the deliberate pace Karada set for her band. When she complained at their slowness, Karada told her the horsed contingent couldn’t leave behind the unmounted members. If the band became strung out, both the head and tail of the line would be vulnerable to raider or Silvanesti attack.

Beramun saw the wisdom of this, yet understanding did nothing to ease her anxiety. Her riding skills had improved on the long march, and she was able to concentrate less on maintaining her seat and more on the distant ghostly peaks ahead. Her anxious eyes remained fixed forward, watching the mountains grow slowly more distinct in the hot, hazy air.

To distract herself from the slow pace and her own dark worries, Beramun left Karada’s side and circled back through the dusty column. Eventually, she passed the ranks of the elf prisoners, marching in the center of the nomads’ column under the command of their own officers.

The elves had proved surprisingly docile. Aside from plenty of sullen faces in their ranks, they kept pace and caused no trouble. One or two glared at Beramun as she rode by, but she ignored them.

Balif had been given over to the custody of Pakito. The elf lord was mounted on a good horse, the better to keep pace with Pakito’s large steed. Balif’s hands were bound in front of him so he could hold his reins, and a stout rawhide thong was slung under his horse’s belly, hobbling the elf’s ankles. The horse he rode had been trained by Samtu, Pakito’s mate. It responded to whistled commands like a dog. If Balif tried to gallop away, Samtu’s shrill whistle would bring the animal trotting obediently back.

“It would be simpler if you’d give your oath not to escape,” Pakito said.

“All captives have the duty to escape,” replied Balif. “Karada would agree with me.”

A grunt. “Try it then. Karada would slit your throat.”

Balif smiled thinly. He knew the big man spoke the truth.

Beramun rode up to them, falling in beside the elf lord’s mount. Though she said nothing, her curiosity was so obvious Balif addressed her.

“Are you Karada’s daughter?” he asked. The nomads had taken his helmet and suede hat, so his fair face was rapidly turning red-brown under the broiling sun.

Beramun shook her head. “No. I come from a different place, a different clan.”

“Yet, she favors you like a daughter. Don’t you think so?” This last was addressed to Pakito.

“This one interests her,” the giant agreed. “And Karada does not give her attention lightly.”

Balif looked back at Beramun, his pale eyes frankly assessing her. “Why, I wonder? What does she see in you?”

“All that black hair and those big dark eyes—she is pretty,” Pakito said thoughtfully, and Beramun’s blush was more fiery than the elf’s sunburn.

“For a human, I suppose so. I’ll concede it as a matter of taste.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I were a prized mare!” Beramun snapped. “I came from Yala-tene with a message from Karada’s brother, Amero. His town is besieged by vicious raiders. I was one of several scouts sent to find Karada and fetch her back to Yala-tene.”

“Yes? Why doesn’t the dragon of the mountain help his friend the Arkuden?”

Beramun explained Duranix’s absence, then said, “Elf, you seem more talker than fighter. How did you and Karada become such dire enemies?”

“In my country, one may be a poet, a dancer, or a painter, as well as a warrior. Thinking and fighting are not like fire and water, mixing to the destruction of both. As commander of the host of the Speaker of the Stars, I am obliged to carry out his will and make war on his enemies. Karada understands this. We’ve fought many times. Once I won and spared her life. I thought showing leniency to their chief would dispirit the nomads, but...” He shrugged and shot a sidelong glance at Pakito, who was listening carefully. “Many times I regretted not killing Karada. The Speaker’s soldiers have hunted her for twenty seasons. In that time, many brave warriors have perished.”