As you can see I've been working on this for some time. Also - I know - it has upset a lot of people, though I'm not sure why: It's just a simple fantasy/adventure tale.
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13 February 2024 / 11 July 2024 / 4 October 2024 / 4 October 2025 / 18 July 2026 / 18 October 2026
JTPYO – King of the Land of the Dead [3] / a devil's work (excerpt: it isn't him!)
Copyright © 2024, 2025, 2026 by Kristi A. Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Which is me.
OUR STORY THUS FAR: Naxosos, having left the Children of God in the fishing burg of Aslel-Aheya, and Szera Zeracx, who he met upon the island of Waresh-Ghlia, have just disembarked from the Szera's ship Phoashaem to seek a place of refuge on the Szera's land in the nation of Pavrain. Upon trying to enter the Szera Zeracx's lands via a difficult passage, Naxosos* and Zeracx are ambushed by a company of six armed men – the Szera Zeracx manages to overcome all these but is mortally wounded in the process. Naxosos restores him to life; both are very weakened, however, and are unable to flee a pack of wolves drawn by the sounds of conflict and the odor of fresh carrion. Szera Zeracx takes refuge against the far wall of a defile spanned by a fallen tree, and Naxosos assumes a defensive position, with his sling, on the bridge between the Szera and the clearing where the dead bodies are strewn. The wolves arrive and have their way with the men killed by Szera Zeracx and, apart from some growling and nasty looks, leave the two living men alone. The wolves finally depart the scene. Naxosos and the Szera Zeracx barely have time to catch their breaths before something else arrives, the anticipation of which causes the Szera to display panic and terror. Not having a clue what this might be, Naxosos readies himself for the worst. After a short wait, a creature with a supernatural appearance makes the scene; the Szera clearly is in terror of it. For his part, Naxosos – who has seen the sorcerer Joliel assume an animal form a couple of times – recognizes it. Though he's not as afraid of it as the Szera is, he is very reluctant to fight it.
The "Redoubt" as the Szerai clan call it, states that it will have to leave the Szera's land, its home for an unimaginably long time, because it can hear a hunt coming after it; it supposed that the Szera was dying and has come to offer him something called a "bargain" – in this it has made a mistake. The Szera promptly refuses this bargain: After checking to see if Naxosos is interested – Naxosos is quite confused in all this and doesn't really know why Szera Zeracx is so afraid or what the "bargain" is, though he refuses – the Redoubt takes its leave in a great big hurry.
Within another couple of minutes Szera Zeracx and Naxosos can hear the hunt on its way, moving toward them. A number of people, all members of the Szerai and including three of Szera Zeracx's children, swiftly arrive and there's a great deal of emotion when they find their Lord to be alive and moreover in his usual state of mind. A litter is brought. The bodies of the six dead men – all pretty messed up by the wolves feasting on them – are carried by members of the company to lie close to the bridge, and the Szera's daughter identifies one of the men as someone who brought a letter, supposedly from Szera Zeracx to his wife Bihalli, with the news that he was making his way toward the estate. This man looks a lot like Naxosos, as it turns out; the clan steward, a gruff graybeard named Creneghi, speculates about the nature of this invasion onto the holding.
Szera Zeracx is transported to "Big Lodge," a large dwelling housing a number of people; Naxosos, however, disappears from the escort. Creneghi advises two of the House Guard to run back down the shore of "the Graena," an enormous lake on the Szerekia, to search for Naxosos. The two young men, Faiszeh and Orocki, finally locate Naxosos, who they find bathing in the Graena. Gathering him up, they escort him toward Big Lodge, where there's an obvious party going on with more than a hundred clan members and their servants. Faiszeh and Orocki offer to let Naxosos sleep at the guardhouse, which is up the hill a distance from Big Lodge.
*NOTE: Naxosos is called by everyone "Torivo," which is one of his fugitive names.
😜
The Szera Zeracx: I am seeing.
Creneghi, Steward of House Szera and all its estates: No, you're dreaming. Go back to sleep.
TSZ: My wife the Lady Bihalli approaches. I have to meet her on the road.
Creneghi: *waits for a few seconds* *groans* What shall we do next, Lord?
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Their current path ended at Big Lodge in the hollow below, where now a great number of people, perhaps more than two hundred, with lamps and torches assembled around a long, low dwelling. Many sang, danced in slow circles, clapped their hands, and beat upon cymbals and drums.
"I smell food," Torivo said; he had stopped once more to look at the scene below. When Faiszeh caught up to him, he said further, "Anyway, I was going to say, I can probably heal the lady from her injury. Let's speak on that no more for now. Yes, the Szera will be upset, but then he will be happy and he will know our God." (To this Faiszeh thought it best to make no remark.)
Instead, after a couple of moments he said: "We don't have to cut through them to get to the guardsmen's fire-circle."
When Torivo hesitated, he added quickly, "But we can certainly go and see the Szera if you wish; they have installed him in the house, he will be surrounded by many, but if you wish to see him I can get you through the mob."
"If there will be food ready for us at your tent," Torivo said, "we should just go there without passing through. So, lead on. Don't get too far ahead of me; as you can see, I'm quite tired. Like the Szera, if I but sit in one place for more than a few minutes, I will fall asleep."
"Whatever you wish, Lord. To take the alternate path to the guardhouse, we will backtrack along this road and there is a turning that leads uphill."
"Lead on."
"Do you trust me? The trail is quite faint. It will take us another ten minutes or so and then we'll see the fire-circle – women might be there, just saying."
"Do I trust you?" the other declared in a somewhat mocking tone. "I am capable of healing a man of death. Let me ask you again: Do you believe me to be defenseless? If so, you deserve to find the truth of the matter." After a pause: "And I learned not to fear women a long time ago. But thanks for mentioning it."
Faiszeh thought: He dreads being attacked, whether he is armed or not – because he doesn't want to kill. Then: This one's fear is not of his own death: He marches to the gallows with a smile on his face and a whistle on his lips! But he fears killing like some men fear leprosy, or ghosts, or rabid dogs. Faiszeh – who killed something almost every day, and had killed men a few times – found he was rather awed by this consideration.
With what he hoped was heartfelt sincerity: "You saved our Lord the Szera Zeracx. You stopped further attacks against our hold and our families. You gave us the opportunity to identify and know our enemies and possible new friends. My Lord Torivo has no cause to fear any sort of attack on this land. Indeed, my fellows and I will defend you to our very deaths."
"That is well," Torivo commented shortly. "Let us go on, therefore."
Faiszeh gestured back down the path: "This, therefore, is the way!" and, with a song in his heart, he proceeded. Torivo followed.
***
Naxosos then inquired of the three guardsmen of House Szera with whom he sat drinking (all the others were unconscious, including Faiszeh, who lay slumbering at his feet; a few of the house women were wakeful, but not stirring): "What would have happened after that, do you think?"
Giant, blonde-haired, red-bearded Jakizh answered readily with a laugh (though he was nodding drunk and every few moments would go cross-eyed, then shake his head and chuckle as though at his own ineptitude), "Oh, haha, there's no 'would have happened' about it!" He nudged Aghiteh, who sat slumped, forehead on knees, close by; the other awakened a little (not much) and grunted in laughter.
"Right, man?" Jakizh prompted.
(That the Guard were impressed with his handling of the house's court-speech was of great reassurance to Naxosos.)
Aghiteh (not quite so big – probably an archer – raven-haired, with pale-olive eyes and skin to match) then roused a bit and sat up, and drank water from his flagon.
One of the women at the other side of the main fireplace arose and, walking all the way around, came to refill his and Jakizh's flagons – Naxosos could observe that the lady, streaks of white in her frowsy dark-brown locks, plainly-attired like all the other Szerai, was fearful yet terribly mindful of him. (She was no simpleton, nor slave, or a servant: She kept company with these because they were involved in everything that went on; they were part of the land and protectors of the holding, and so was she; that the guardsmen took as little notice of her as they did the hour, or the ever-burning fires, or the continually-available cooked food and beverages, was an indicator of the esteem in which she was held. Her sharp eyes had been fixed on him for the last couple of hours. She likely knows more about me now in some ways than Mother, he ruefully considered. Delicious, comforting food had been given him by this lady and her company, morsels of fowl stewed in herbs, served on flatbread: He wanted to sleep after eating, too, but instead sipped mahkrah and remained awake and twitching.)
Glancing past the woman he discerned the early, faint, green-blue dawn-light at the lodge door. Certainly this won't last much longer.
The woman returned to her station, where the burned-down fire's wavering light concealed her features, but not her steady gaze. A girl of maybe fifteen, in brown homespun (he was now dressed in this same comfortable, warm wool, for which, like the food, he was most grateful) pretended to doze next to her.
Give them another day or so – you'll have to avoid them.
Aghiteh said, first shaking his head – miming being drunker than he was to amuse his fellows, though it was scarcely necessary as he was profoundly intoxicated: "Yeah: No 'would have happened' – he would've, they would've killed him!" and both men guffawed.
At the sound Q'zer (another of these Pavrani with limbs so massive it was shocking to view up close; hair and beard and eyes ink-black, and skin only a couple of shades lighter) now shook himself into consciousness, yawning with all his teeth on display like some fearsome beast. Naxosos heard him mumble in drunk suspicion "Who is that guy?" Then, quickly recalling, he shook his head and agreed: "Yeah, he would be really dead now, on his way toward his pyre!" Q'zer chucked deep in his chest, as though he relished whatever scene was playing itself out in his head.
Jakizh then said with theatrical amiability, "Yeah: They would have killed him!"
"Oh," Naxosos said, drinking – the water was cold and fresh, and he observed the others eagerly drank it – "So, then…he would have been dead, but they still would have had to kill him?" (They brought more than a dozen men, Naxosos thought a bit nervously, and the Szera's heirs, including a daughter who carried with her grave-unguents and cerements…the Undead are usually not that doughty, nor able to use a weapon...)
Now Faiszeh, who had with his enormous arms embraced Naxosos's feet and ankles before passing out, began to stir. (And Naxosos, who had chosen to keep his boots on even though they were soaked through, noticed that at least where this one had been hanging onto him – and snoring on him – his boots were almost dry and his feet relatively warm. That, he considered, was good: At least the blood is mostly washed out…)
"You guys!" Faiszeh muttered in a loud, aggrieved tone; Naxosos felt this one's grip tighten about his lower legs until finally he realized what he was about and let go. Faiszeh then said as he struggled to sit up: "We're not supposed to talk about that stuff!" Crosslegged on the floor, he shook his head and scoured his face with the heels of his hands. "Oh gods, my head!"
Naxosos could scarcely believe that any of these young men (Faiszeh was but twenty-six, and had told him they were all around the same age: "Over twenty but under twenty-eight; after twenty-eight, you go into the militia, or work on an estate!") were currently still conscious, let alone seeming to rouse, after consuming as much wine and mead as they had. (This clan's mead was some of the best he had ever tasted, and quite strong – which made him think of Thais and how pleased she would be at receiving a few jars of it, and in turn made him realize that he missed her terribly, and Nirith, and everyone. Fortunately, these men were so drunk and sleepy, and so unfamiliar with him, they couldn’t possibly have noticed his spasm of rue – so he hoped.)
The Guard had been expecting their Lord the Szera Zeracx to arrive almost any day, but the dismaying knowledge that an enemy had gained the holding when the House's men were away made everyone feel as though he must atone for his negligence (Naxosos had figured out). That the elthir-evo had made an appearance seemed also to have stirred up a general uneasy guilt. They had been on alert for many days without any clear idea of what needed to be done, for the letter had advised them to await the Szera's arrival without any sign of anxiety or impatience, and that he wished for no one to know of his presence, at least initially – and it was in the Szera's usual style and code.
All of the Guard knew of the elthir-evo, the Redoubt, but as Faiszeh had said, they weren't supposed to discuss it among themselves or with anyone else, not even close kindred; only a select group had left the holding when the hounds had started belling and screeling, and thrashing to be let out of their pens, this after everyone had tensely listened to the wolves' entire convocation at the Monument Gate without moving a muscle (Naxosos had learned).
(Also he had found it to be true that no one – not a one of the Guard or anyone they knew – had ever seen the elthir: They only knew that it existed from tales and images; some of them had encountered signs of its hunting. A great deal, however, was known about the results of an encounter with the creature and what happened to a person who had accepted its "bargain." It was in fact common knowledge, as one of the Szera's close relatives had been "changed at the bargain" had continued to live upon the hold for some years before he had disappeared – all but the youngest of the house guard had encountered him at one time or another.)
Squabbling wolves meant little to the hounds or the Guard, as long as the sounds weren't coming from the Szerekia – the Guard had heard the racket, of course, but after the appearance of the strange man with a letter from Szera Zeracx that bade them to stay put, it had been thought best to await further developments.
Objectively speaking, Naxosos considered, it had been a clever notion: Someone had intercepted the letter (likely killing the bearer Szera Zeracx had hired) and managed to change or make a revised copy of it that the Szera's wife, perhaps intimidated by the presence of a stranger on the plantation with only an aged man and some hounds to guard her and two daughters, had accepted as genuine. He hoped he would get a chance to view the original or the copy, or both, and to find out what had happened to the messenger, whose absence would have been noticed when he didn't report back to his dispatcher.
Maybe the Szera's wife would provide some more ideas regarding the matter – especially if he were to be able to heal her of her fractured hip! She might become a lifelong friend or even a Child of God! (Even without mahkrah, Naxosos thought, it would have been easy to stay awake for hours after receiving this information: luckily, however, he did have some mahkrah in his flask.)
Tolalo was more practiced at healing fractures. (Here I am thinking about Tolalo again, he guiltily considered.)
Bihalli was her name, he reminded himself, and the Szera had been away from the holding for over two years and she was thirteen years his senior and his first wife; Yaiszer and Chazim were the Szera's oldest children and his heirs, and she was his half-sister of the same father. She had been married before.
That Bihalli and the Szera Zeracx, and perhaps a number of others, might be converted, and baptized – or, in the Szera's case, re-baptized – was an enervating idea.
The house guard, he reasoned, must have known other things about his accompanying the Szera, and something about his being a fugitive; they knew Szera Zeracx worked for Panavastis as an assassin, about which – as with the elthir-evo – all had been sternly admonished not to give out any word, except that they could tell certain others they knew about it.
And then there was the thing about someone being lucky enough to find six geeneys, all decent fighters and marksmen if Naxosos was any judge of such things, with fluent Pavrani (including idiomatic clan-specific court-speech), one of whom – by report – looked almost just like him (Naxosos of Viragos, sovereign of the Children of God, Regent of Arigne, and King of the fishers), willing to traipse from the main highway into and through the Szerekia (the northernmost quarter of which, he had learned, was a stone-cluttered wold, very open, with visibility for miles on a good day) and, assuming they were not captured or killed, to hide out until a certain messenger arrived – from the main highway – thence to intercept his message and put him out of play, then to fabricate a new letter or change the original and deliver it to the lady Bihalli when they knew she and her daughters were undefended at a part of the holding far from any rescue.
(How had they known all the spare men would be called away? Naxosos found himself mulling: He had surmised from the dogs' behavior that they were, despite a mean and menacing presentation, well-trained and -treated – the hounds Szera Zeracx had addressed by name had to be at least a few years old – and, most especially, well-acquainted with the entire land and its routines. How had they allowed the false messenger to get so far into the holding? It must be that there was some token that a messenger bore, or something in the way he behaved upon the property, that signaled to the sentinel dogs to refrain from attacking or harassing him: it could not be his odor; perhaps the dogs recognized a token he bore. Think: It could not be the same person every time; it would necessarily often be someone who was a stranger. There had to have been something that kept the hounds from mauling or at least chasing him. Think: Are the animals used to the comings and goings of certain people upon their lands, so that they know not to give chase? Of course, dogs in the city or in the fishers' warrens were often unruly and might attack even someone offering kindness to them, but these dogs were of a different sort; they were part of the gang; they knew the minds of their masters.)
And what had been the group, the select group that loosed the hounds this night, and run after them while the rest had been directed to stay –?
The answer: Those who knew how to read and write had gone.
These three young men, for example (Jakizh, Aghiteh, and Q'zer) had remained at the guardhouse, and Faiszeh had gone – because he was literate, and they were not. (They hadn't meant to reveal this information to him, and Faiszeh had scolded them roundly for it once he realized what they'd done – just before he had passed out with his great arms clasped about Naxosos's feet.)
"Are we under attack?" Faiszeh jokingly inquired, drawing a chuckle from the other three guardsmen.
Poor Faiszeh was clearly the worse for drink; his hangover was starting.
"You should have taken some mahkrah when it was offered, Faiszeh," Naxosos laughed; the other's response was an agonized moan.
"Do you want some now?" Naxosos persisted.
"Honestly, I want to go back to sleep."
Naxosos handed him the flask anyway.
It was amusing to realize that Faiszeh and Orocki had been among those chosen to accompany members of the Szera's family and others of the household on what had been supposed to be a dreadful mission…because they could read and write. Amusing and astounding.
Now that he knew Faiszeh a little, it was easy to tell he was educated and Naxosos could, when he thought about it, remember that Orocki talked about letters with code in them, though the idea of the fellow being able to do this was a bit of a surprise. (Like the other members of the house guard and their hangers-on – except for Naxosos and present company, and the women tending the fires – Orocki currently snored loudly on one of the pallets set close to the lodge's walls: his squire, a youth of about fourteen, lay nearby dozing upon a blanket placed over a couple of bales of straw, an assortment of weapons and armor arranged about him. As Faiszeh had stated, many pallets were empty, as half the Guard were away.)
Now he observed activity beginning at main fire circle, where a handful of women and girls sat or reclined, or had until this instant: All the women, varied in age but looking so much alike that they could have come from the same family, began to awaken and shift around; in less than a minute they arose as a group and, with only scant, softly-uttered speech, some hair-fixing and muffled yawning – and side-glances in his direction – filed out the door, their silhouettes more distinct against the slowly-brightening sky. One aged female, her hair entirely silver and her face like a walnut with hollows and ridges, remained, nodding as she sat cross-legged on a mat beside a carefully-cut and -stacked pile of kindling.)
The cocks will crow any moment! It was always nice to know he'd once again outpaced his drinking companions, even if at a cost – and that he could fall asleep now, since Faiszeh was awake and could watch over him.
"Oh, shit…" Faiszeh mumbled; he struggled for a few seconds to rise onto his knees, then with a bit more struggle climbed into his former seat upon a low bench at Naxosos's side, where he rather comically laid his great head with its glossy (though begging for a comb and some oil) dark-chestnut locks upon Naxosos's shoulder, and covered his face (his beard was a pronounced and interesting mix of dark-brown, auburn, and red-blonde hues) with both hands, and gracelessly, noisily yawned, provoking snickering and chuckles from his friends.
Again Naxosos marveled at how clean-smelling and -appearing these rural Pavrani were, for they lived in lake-fisher, dirt-floor habitations at close quarters with all kinds of animals – including dogs – insects whirring in and out of unscreened windows and doors, with ever-present stagnant or billowing smoke, and the pungent odors of animal hides being stretched and tanned, their mouths always open and their bottoms hanging out, these country Pavrani, all the time. (Of course, he reminded himself, they were close to the headwater of a great spring and they had kept this land for several hundred years: The Szerai quite obviously took clean, ever-flowing water for granted: He found upon second and third thoughts, however, that instead of inspiring envy, the idea elicited a keen pity: How lonely they will be, he thought, upon the salt! – He was surprised at himself: Pity, he found, however, would not entirely leave the stage.)
Faiszeh was not quite as tall as Szera Zeracx, but probably outweighed the Szera by a hundred pounds – he was a bit less frightening than Orocki, who was not only taller than the Szera, but broader in the shoulders than Faiszeh. Naxosos didn't want the familiarity between the two of them, however, to increase past friendly arm-punches and jokes (though he considered that a kiss might be quite a small price to pay for the information Faiszeh probably had – if only the fellow were to be satisfied with that! but he wouldn't, of course).
He was loath to become confrontational over the issue: At about the third hour past midnight, three-quarters of an hour after Naxosos had brought the Szera Zeracx back from the Land of the Dead, he'd been presented to the guardsmen and their collective by Faiszeh. The company had already been briefed on him by Orocki; however, he could tell that some of them doubted that he was in fact not the geeney message-carrier who had appeared on the estate, surprising the Szera's women when they were all but alone: He recalled now that Faiszeh had gotten a little belligerent with a couple of the Guard who, suspecting a charade, joke, or sorcery, wouldn't put down their lances and continued to glare and mutter.
"Sit up, Faiszeh…ooof! There's a fellow!" Naxosos chuckled as he roused the other, who was starting to fall asleep again; Faiszeh again rubbed his eyes and yawned hugely, this time not bothering to cover his face, then managed to sit straight on his bench with only a slight push from Naxosos.
"Where's the water?" he growled, with another shake of his head. Since the woman had not refilled Faiszeh's flagon – lying on its side under the bench – Naxosos handed him the one he was drinking from. Faiszeh yawned again.
(In addition to being cleaner than one would expect, these Pavranis' teeth were also to his observation more whole, and whiter, to a surprising degree.)
He was at the point of speaking, when almost as one the house guard reposed about the dwelling began to stir. There was no alarm – Naxosos had sensed, when the women went out, that the barnyard fowls would soon begin to crow and cackle, and, not long after, the other birds to sing, and it was likely thus with these men; also to the variety of youths who, Naxosos imagined, were guardsmen-in-training: Squires and armor-bearers. Now that all were yawning and sitting up, or standing, Naxosos could see there were approximately six youths scattered about the lodge, and four guardsmen who had until now been sleeping.
Faiszeh set his flagon down and stood. The other three, Q'zer, Jakizh, and Aghiteh, were standing too, rubbing their faces and shaking their heads; Aghiteh in particular was quite unsteady on his feet. Please don't fall…
Heard was the clank of gear being picked up: The men and youths were, to appearances, arming themselves. A youth ran up, carrying some weapons and an assortment of belts and lashings, wordlessly offering them to the guardsmen.
"What…what's going on, here?" Naxosos inquired, quite astonished and perhaps somewhat alarmed that some of these men were able to get out of bed given the quantities of wine, mead, and ale they had consumed: Once the house guard had found out that the Szera was still alive and expected to live – and not "changed" – they had begun, boisterously and uninhibitedly, to celebrate. When Faiszeh had shown up with Naxosos, some of the Guard were already into their third celebratory drink.
"He's been awake all night, and was in the fight with our lord the Szera," Jakizh said, meaning Naxosos. "He should stay." Then, rather unaccountably, he laughed.
"What's going on?" Naxosos repeated, feeling a little chill play along his spine.
Faiszeh was still yawning, but said now, "No, you have to stay with me, Torivo." Then, gruffly, without making eye contact, "No arguments!"
Naxosos, his heart turning to lead, replied "Well, then: All right…"
Hoping he would not be handed some weapon he didn't know how to use, Naxosos stood up, feeling his knees complain that they wanted to rest and his feet that they could not possibly go on.
"You're pretty drunk," Q'zer observed in the same snickering tone as his fellow.
"Leave him alone!" Faiszeh grumped.
At this moment, a cockerel began to crow, in a weak and cackling way at first, but in a few seconds (as Naxosos observed the guardsmen equipping themselves with weapons while the others, already strapped, began to file out the door), it raspingly corrected itself, and then within another second or two uttered a shrilly trumpeting scream, followed by a series of lesser screams.
"Just stay with me," Faiszeh – seeming quite distant and unlike his former, overly-friendly self – said, and started for the door. Suddenly he turned, looking at Naxosos. "You have some more of that, eh, you call it mahkrah?"
"Ah, yes. But what are we –"
Without a word or another glance Faiszeh turned, and followed the other guardsmen and youths outside.
God protect me! Naxosos thought, as – dressed in a shepherd's brown woolen tunic and dark-brown woolen cape, knees and feet loudly protesting – he went out after the other, into the dawning day.
***
Kompleus Creneghi, with two of the guardsmen who had helped transport the Szera to Big Lodge, ascended now to the guardhouse via the main path, usually about a ten-minute climb; likely it would take longer this morning due to the lingering mist and murk. The sky began to lighten as they progressed. The two men of the detail had had a couple of hours of sleep each, but Creneghi had not slept a wink.
He could tell the Guard had vacated their lodge when the roosters began to crow with little other sound to accompany them. "Let's stop for a moment," he said to the two who accompanied him, Iridanio and Poritans. Listening, he discerned the nearly-inaudible noises of barefoot women, about ten of them, making trips to the spring and well with their buckets: They were usually quiet at this; one had to listen carefully to hear them.
"Where do you think they are?" Creneghi inquired now of the two.
Before either could reply, there came a distant, many-voiced shout from a group of men further up the hillside: "HOI!" Then, again, in quick succession: "Hoi! Hoi!" and then (upon conscientious listening) laughter, whistles, and catcalls. There was a little bit of an echo; certainly they were not trying for concealment.
This was expected: The Guard were overjoyed to know that their lord the Szera Zeracx was, in spite of all portents and fears, still alive; they had doubtless celebrated. (They're likely dreadfully hung over, too, he reflected – having not had much opportunity to think about anyone except the Szera and his family in the last couple of hours.)
Creneghi glanced from one to the other of the two men, each of whom remained impassive and avoided looking at him. "Where are they, do you think?" he reiterated; before his words were all the way out, Iridanio briskly answered: "They're at East Swale, sir. It's another stadium up –"
"Yes," Creneghi said and started walking again, the detail quickly following. It had been some while since he had visited the Great Yard, as he and his fellows had called it thirty years back.
East Swale, as the Guard now named it, was a boggy space a mile-and-a-half long and a quarter-mile wide, where the Grandmother Spring branched, channeling between two tall rock ridges, eventually to filter down into the main waterway again. Late in the season it was a good place to hunt.
They crossed the guardhouse yard; the women and girls going to and fro with their water-buckets murmured salutations to them, but didn't stop their work or do anything more than whisper, glancing up, "Blessed morning, my Lords!" as they walked around them: Each of the Szerai knew that Kompleus Creneghi stood on little ceremony, and liked most of all to see everyone cheerfully at his or her tasks.
It was a bit of a climb. The trail was easily followed, but the way was steep; if one didn't place his foot carefully, he risked a graceless slip – and the murk didn't start to let go until there was appreciable light in the sky.
By then, there had been several rounds of "Hoi! Hoi!" Creneghi and his detail were almost to the edge of the east-facing scarp, where numerous conifers stood out blackly against the incipient dawn.
A chant began; before they were quite to the ridge, Creneghi motioned for the detail to halt and listen. The company in the field below was preparing for another round. The light was rising with the morning mist and breezes, and the calls of the lake- and forest-animals, and the oily smoke smell from last night's torch-procession, and the chatter of the men and youths in the swale below were all, and each, distinct.
The loam under their feet gave off humid warmth while chill descended from the pine trees and cold air above. (Let's hope it helps their hangovers, Creneghi reflected.)
Motioning to the two men that they should wait, Creneghi continued up the slope until he stood at the spine projecting chest-high, slanting down steeply into the glen, a rock wall that ran from north to south for hundreds of yards – and looked into the East Swale.
An able mountaineer could simply walk (the boys would run in great leaps) down the slope into the Swale below; a guy with faulty knees, however, and wishing not to break his head, would take the path that led down from the ridge into the Swale's northernmost outlet. (The men of the Guard, of course, and the boys, swarmed up and down the cliff-side in their hide boots, goat-like, as had Creneghi in his youth.)
"HOI!" the guardsmen all cried again; now he was leaning forward in order to see down the escarpment.
The view was impressive – a few hundred feet down-slope (for the most part bare, light-colored stone full of upward-tending creases and cracks) a margin of vine-laden, overgrown vegetation presented a daunting obstacle at the base of the scarp.
Beyond the treed margin lay a broad glen with great, flossy tufts of bruntori grass all over it, here and there a clump of bog-brush growing around a tree; Creneghi could not see any water, standing or otherwise, today. The Swale was usually more or less dried-out by this time of year: Broad and flat, it was a fine area for training horses.
Or men: A large company, ten of the house guard and more than ten youths and young men of the clan, had gathered at the head of the Swale; Creneghi saw they were practicing spears, with a great deal more competitiveness and zeal than one might expect, given that they had probably been drinking heavily up until a couple of hours ago.
They even, he saw, had the running target set up, a straw-stuffed deer hide affixed to a long (very long) cable pulley: With two or three youths working the pulley, the butt would approach or flee from a spearman at a good clip, often swinging wildly back and forth. It was, until you got the hang of it, a real devil to hit with a spear or a javelin.
The distance from the near end of the pulley to the far – a hummock of stunted olive trees – was a little over a hundred yards.
Before he started down, Kompleus Creneghi (Steward and Master of the Guard to House Szera) watched to see who would next step to the mark. The men and youths, he saw, swarmed about the various racks that held contestants' arms – of course each of the Guard and each squire had brought his along and kept them at his side for the morning's exercise, so…
The next man to throw would be someone who hadn't brought his own spear.
And within another second or two, he found he was right: The man, shorter in stature than the guardsmen (even some of the youths were taller), selected what turned out to be a lance with a truncated handle and long, slightly curved, single-edged blade, similar to the one a shepherd might employ against a large animal that threatened him.
Indeed, he was dressed in a shepherd's habit to complete the picture: A tunic of light brown-dyed wool that hung a little past his knees and dark-brown, hooded cloak.
The man turned to view the course, and Creneghi saw that yes, it was him, the stranger Torivo, he had first seen only a few hours ago, in the dead of night, when he had gone out with the landsmen and the dogs, expecting to find the Szera Zeracx deceased or perhaps worse. Torivo with his black hair and beard, and speech of a geeney, though he looked like a runty version of a Pavrani; Torivo, to whom the Szera had given the password of a clan member; Torivo who had brought the Szera back from death with a word; Torivo, who had seen and spoken with the Redoubt as though it was his familiar. ("You can smell it on him," Orocki had commented as they were carrying the Szera up from the monument – that one was easily spotted in the milieu below, due to his large size and light coloring. He and Faiszeh – frowsy auburn hair and arms like tree trunks – were staying close to the stranger, as instructed.)
"There's more to that fellow than meets the eye." It was Poritans, who had climbed up to see what he was looking at.
(Faiszeh couldn't very well leave him, Creneghi thought in amusement, nor could the two of them remain at the lodge!)
Iridanio showed up a second later. "We should make haste," he said.
"I want to see him throw," Creneghi said.
The stranger Torivo now removed his cloak, hanging it upon the weapons-rack, and stepped to the mark; he must have asked for the target to be drawn away from him; the pulley, worked by a pair of boys, ran shudderingly at first; with increasing rapidity, the deer-hide target began to "flee" from the spearman. The gathering receded; someone started to call out "Hoi! Hoi!" and the other guardsmen began to chant.
Creneghi could tell the fellow was already popular; and, though it was generally doubted that he would be able to hit the target, everyone wished him well. Woe betide them, he thought sternly, if they are betting on this! He resolved to talk again to all the Guard about betting at his first opportunity.
Torivo spent a second-and-a-half studying the target as it dipped into the glen, the boys pulling for all they were worth.
It's already too far away for a guy that short to hit…
But the stranger turned out to be altogether surprising: Before two seconds had gone, the man sprinted after the target, holding the spear in one hand above his head – already Creneghi could tell he knew what he was about, though he still doubted the stranger would be able to hit the butt, which was picking up speed.
Now the chant of "Hoi! Hoi!" was less polite, and more excited.
In another second, Kompleus Creneghi found he was wrong about Torivo, and was delighted to see the stranger (the Szera's new boyfriend, who just happened to be a holy man and the sought-after fugitive King of Arigne) pursue the target at a lightfooted run for about thirty yards; with a little jump – in the manner of a Kheorani foot-soldier, though many Pavrani spearmen also found great success with this style – pedaling the air a time or two with his boot-clad feet, Torivo flung the lance with what seemed all his might, his heels neatly hitting the ground a half-second later; upon landing, he staggered only a little.
The lance struck the wildly-swinging, quickly-fleeing target in a killing shot between ribs and backbone: Due to how much the stranger had closed with it before taking his shot, the throw was of little note, but…
He's using magic, Creneghi thought.
This didn't damage his increasing respect for the stranger, though it made an icy tingle crawl up his spine. I hope those guys didn't rough him up any…
"Sorcery," Poritans observed.
The men of the house guard, and their attendants, had suddenly grown quiet and still. The boys working the pulley also ceased their activity, and the target, stubby lance-haft sticking out of its abdomen, swung another listless time or two, sagged, and gave up the ghost. The gaggle of competitors and squires drew back.
"Let's get down there – go ahead of me and tell them I'm on the way, will you?"
"You got it, Boss," Iridanio said, and disappeared between one breath and the next, Poritans right behind him; both of these went back to the trail; the sky was much lighter now and it was easy to see.
Creneghi watched another few seconds – Torivo, having regained his balance after throwing and landing, turned and regarded the assembly with what seemed mild surprise. He knows what he's doing! Kompleus Creneghi thought with accelerating panic and thus hurried to the glen below.
In less than five minutes he was entering East Swale at its northernmost portal; a babble of voices that had become much more audible when finally he rounded the escarpment suddenly ceased. All the men and youths formed into two ranks; the stranger Torivo stood between Faiszeh and Orocki, appearing somewhat absurd between the huge youngsters – both of whom were now giving him fearful glances.
The men and youths now began asynchronously to mutter, "Blessed morning, Lord!"
Faiszeh stepped forward now, and cried out smartly, "Blessed morning, Master Creneghi!"
He's ridiculously hungover, Creneghi thought before he said: "I'm surprised the lot of you came up this morning." Gesturing towards the stranger, he added, "And you brought this fellow – you don't know him at all; obviously the Szera likes him, but what if he got hurt?"
Torivo now started to speak, but Creneghi interrupted: "I saw you throw." Hoping like hell the other didn't notice his fear, he said with his most cantankerous squint: "You're using magic; of course, we already know this about you, as it's evident you healed the Szera Zeracx from a grievous injury. But I must ask you, in all courteousness and with good intent, not to do these things within our hold, or upon our land."
"I was about to tell him that, Sir," Faiszeh volunteered, "when you showed up."
"I'm sorry," Torivo said, with a very small bow (that Creneghi found himself returning before he knew what he was about). "I'm sorry, Sir."
"We usually require that sorcerers and soothsayers stay in separate quarters while on the Szerekia – but we usually do not allow them here," Kompleus Creneghi went on. "I'm just being honest; stay with Faiszeh and Orocki and all will be well; follow their advice. Refrain from demonstrations of your art and do not speak to any women unless you are given leave."
"I understand, Master Creneghi," Torivo said pleasantly enough, with another little bow.
"While you are here, maybe we'll all get a chance to go hunting," Creneghi then remarked.
"He doesn't hunt!" Faiszeh blurted.
"Oh?" Creneghi inquired now of Torivo, who stood regarding him with impressive calm, breathing a little, still, from his efforts with the lance.
He likes me. That was good; that was something.
"Yes," the stranger replied with a grin. "Yes, Sir. I will go with the hunt, but I don't hunt."
(If he was who the Szera had said he was, this fellow was a King, predicted by prophecy to rule over the nation of Arigne. Hmph, Creneghi thought.)
"Hm. Well, anyway," Creneghi went on, "I wonder why the Guard would go out on a morning like this, with our Lord having just returned home, and not in a fresh or lively condition…? And all of you, not just a few?"
"Master Creneghi," Torivo said, "I reassured them, actually, that we had a good amount of time, since Szera Zeracx would likely sleep all day today and probably at least part of tomorrow, and –"
Fortune favors us. "Actually," Kompleus Creneghi responded, "that is why I'm here." Raising his voice: "Everyone needs to return to the lodge and prepare for a little walk; the Szera awakened a short time ago and said that he would go to New Keep, and that the Lady Bihalli and Lady Ehmarel were in transit from there, coming here – we didn't know how he knew this, he explained that he just knew, and he was in a great hurry to be on the road to meet them."
Now the silence was profound. Creneghi went on: "The Szera is too weak to sit a horse so they are going to carry him."
"That's quite concerning," the stranger Torivo interjected. "He lost a great amount of blood. If they are coming here, why instead couldn't he be talked into –"
Interrupting the man yet again, Creneghi said, "He knows she is in pain – no, Faiszeh, I didn't tell him that; he just knows. While I was trying to explain things as best I might, the runner that we had sent to New Keep showed up – this was just before cock-crow."
"That boy is fleet," Poritans remarked, and Iridanio joked, "And tireless!" and a few of the men chuckled.
"Indeed he is," Creneghi answered with a little laugh. "I gave him a five-tragaetti piece." He continued, addressing the assembly. "The Szera said that Bihalli and the guardsmen who are with her, and our clansmen at the New Keep, had received the news that our Lord had been attacked when trying to enter the Szerekia at the southern gate, the Monument, and that they were coming; but he said, the messenger, that he had found the lodge already preparing to go out, for the Lady had awakened from her rest and said the household needed to be away. Also their hounds had started baying and showing disturbance. And the Lady – the Szera had said and then the, ah, the messenger said – she ordered the Guard to bear her here, to Old Keep, the messenger related, ah…" (Creneghi hated himself for faltering, but the night had been long; his fear for the Szera, himself, and the rest of the clan had left a mark upon him, and he was old: mustering wakefulness, he shook his head and spoke on.) "All right: The Szera awakened when it seemed he was deeply unconscious; I was watching when it happened. Everyone by then in the locale knew that our Lord was still alive and expected to live, though his injuries had been grievous. Before anything else he asked about this one –" Creneghi gestured toward the stranger – "and where he was and I assured him, I assured our Lord the Szera Zeracx, that Torivo was under the care of the house guard. The Szera then surprised everyone by trying to rise from his bed; he seemed most anxious, and stated that he knew his wife and daughter were coming from the New Keep to see about him, and that he needed to meet them; he told me to assemble the Guard and follow him, for he meant to be away immediately."
A murmur arose at this; Creneghi waited for a few seconds – noting that the stranger Torivo remained, on the whole, undisturbed. He knows the Szera will live. Then, further: He has an ambition; he has been dwelling on it over the last couple of hours.
"Many men one would suppose dead or dying, were they to be as reduced and ashen as our Lord was the last time I spoke with him," Kompleus Creneghi said. "I am greatly worried; also, I know that our Lady has been stricken with unrelenting pain and disability. I didn't – perhaps I failed to – tell the Szera. I must say I don't know what the future will bring." He turned then to the stranger Torivo. "I know you are exhausted, Lord Torivo – I'm not sure what to say, but you must come with us. The Szera demands it. By the time we get to the Keep, he will have left on the way to meet the Lady Bihalli. We may have to hurry to catch up."
"It's all right, Master Creneghi," Torivo said. Then, after a short pause: "I have some mahkrah in my flask, still."
"That is well, and you should save some for me." Yes, he likes me. This idea brought a great deal of relief.
"Will you ride a horse," he asked then, "so that you may at least have some rest?"
"Oh, heavens, no!" the stranger exclaimed in his penetrating, youthful voice, and some of the Guard chuckled. Creneghi could see that many of the men were fretting to be away: they didn't want for their Lord to get too far ahead of them.
Faiszeh, however, clearly could think of nothing else except for this errant King and how cute and cuddly he looked, although (Creneghi glanced again to make sure) Faiszeh was, and the rest of the company, now in somewhat of a quandary because of how well the fellow could throw.
(9 May 2024 1234h / 11 July 2024 / 4 October 2024 / 4 October 2025 / 18 October 2026)
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