The Call of Dust, page 4
part #1 of Arat Series
“What? What is it? Are you all right?” His questions were panicked.
She shook her hands as if trying to cool herself off, her words rushing out between breaths. “Khiron! I see what I missed; what the Nnesutee wanted me to see on my own. Oh, what a fool I’ve been not to see it sooner.”
Khiron held her shoulders and looked at her. “What? What is it?”
She regained control of herself. The suddenness of her transformation from eleven-year-old excitement to cold detatchment chilled him.
“It matters not,” she said blandly. “Nothing that we can do about it now anyway. I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.” Without a backward look, she walked up to the carriage and climbed in, leaving a concerned Khiron frozen where he stood.
5
Sibulla
A golden scaled dragon flew high above Mount Ceidon, heading north into the unknown. The Raja of Ceidon and Philomene the Guileless watched it diminish into the distance through the Steep Bay, both standing near its stone ledge.
“A fell portent, Philomene?”
“It was a golden dragon, and that bodes well, Great Raja. They have never been the enemy of humankind.”
“So you have said before. I should have remembered your words.”
“No, Great Raja. Your sagacious perceptions and willingness to make difficult decisions are the mortar that holds this kingdom together. Let it never be said that you ask too few questions, my lord.”
The Raja looked fatigued. “I am suspending the rules of protocol, Philomene. This morning, no title between us that is higher than ‘friend.’” He looked into the distance where the dragon was a mere speck on a tapestry of blue and white. “I’ve never seen one fly so quickly.”
Philomene looked long before turning from the open view. “Neither have I. Then again, I haven’t seen many dragons over the span of my life. I have seen them in battle once, and that was once too many.”
The Raja watched until the dragon was no longer visible, then turned. His steps were that of a man burdened, the heaviness in each obvious. They had not been so when they had walked to the Steep Bay together minutes before. “I feel a weight that I have not felt before, Philomene. I sense a threat that supersedes even that presented by the Ulaan. We may win this battle and still lose everything despite our victory.”
“You continue to surprise me, Great…my friend. You are more aware of the flow of reality than most will ever be. You may not be a mage, nor a swordsman, but as a lord, you have few equals.”
“It is good for you to say so. I am tired. I have no one that I can talk to without the trappings of my office constraining me. I am the Raja of Ceidon, but I am also simply a human. Since Jakgrim left the palace, I have had no one that I can bare my thoughts to without weakening our kingdom. A leader’s unfiltered thoughts can destroy the grand illusion which makes all of us who rule effective. It is a heavy burden.”
Philomene stood silent. He had never thought of the Raja outside of his role as ruler of the kingdom. Over the years that he had served him, his constant thought was for the well-being of the Raja and the kingdom of Zaim. His advice had always been guided with that in mind. He suddenly realized that his time in the dojon in Chalice in his youth had changed him. In his continuing quest to learn more about magery and the depth of its mysteries, he had lost the need for human interaction on a friendship level, or so he believed. What his Raja needed him to be, he wasn’t sure he could fulfill. The thought shook him.
The Raja sat back upon the throne as if he had seen twice his years. He didn’t speak, keeping his thoughts to himself, his eyes needy as he looked into the distance.
The silence stretched.
Philomene struggled to find what to say. This was an opportunity not given to many: the ability to speak without protocol, to be free to share without worry of offense. To listen to the innermost thoughts of the man who governed the lives of so many thousands. As the Raja’s advisor, he knew his role, but as his friend, he was as lost as a leaf in the breeze. Yet his Raja needed him, and he would stand up to the challenge, even if he had no idea how to.
He opened his mouth to speak when a bell sounded. The doors of the throne room opened, and Rephna entered with a Sibulla. Philomene turned to see the Raja’s face with no trace of the weight it bore just seconds ago. He felt a pang of sadness. The moment had passed.
“Great Raja of Ceidon, I introduce to you the Sibulla, Zatrin Bei.”
“Thank you, Rephna. You may leave us now.”
Rephna bowed her head and left the room, the doors closing silently behind her.
“I recognize the role of the Sibulla as the Arbiter of Kingdoms, and hereby grant her equal status according to her station,” the Raja said in the formal fashion.
“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “It seems that you are on the brink of war.”
“I believe so, Arbiter.”
“And this is?” she motioned towards Philomene.
“My royal advisor, Philomene the Guileless.”
She looked thoughtful, as if scanning through her memories. “Why yes, I know who you are. The mage who fought at Wolf Pass in the midlands of Bacileisa.”
“That was a long time ago, but yes, I am he.”
“It was quite a long time ago. Do you use the ritual of J’kbar to maintain your vigor? You should look much older.”
“No, Arbiter. I did not attain the rank of ‘Master’ in my discipline.”
The Raja’s brow raised in ignorance at the terms and span of the conversation. “None of this is pertinent to the cause at hand,” he said with thinly veiled irritation. “The Ulaan plan to conquer Zaim, and presumably they will do so by attacking Mount Ceidon directly. We have taken preparations to defend the mountain plateau upon which we and all of our visitors stand, but my primary concern is for the hundreds of acres of crops that surround Mount Ceidon. More importantly, the thousands upon thousands of people who call the crops and the areas surrounding them their home. Our army is small, and our mages are few.
“Being on a peninsula with reefs bordering most of our shores has kept us from many issues from the sea. That natural deterrent has been helped even more by Chalice being so close to us. No navy wants to attract their attention, for they just may consider such a force in such close proximity to their shores cause enough for them to respond. Not many can deal with a High Mage.
“We have a pact with Pehnah, the City of Paths, which abuts our western border, but they will not rise against the Ulaan kingdom. No one on this continent will. Not many of the kingdoms of Gaia would. We have ascertained that will be their point of entry.”
The Sibulla didn’t look impressed. “The size of your army?”
“Approximately five thousand swordsmen and a thousand archers, with a mage corps of seven, led by my advisor, Philomene.”
“I see,” the Sibulla said. “How far out are the Ulaan? What are their latest movements, and where are your scout reports?”
Philomene shifted uneasily, but the Raja spoke plainly. “We have had no sightings as of yet, nor reports that speak of their whereabouts currently.”
“Your signet ring portended an impending attack.” Her voice was a mixture of inquisitiveness and rebuke. “What was the source of that information?”
The Raja didn’t hesitate. “From the Arat, a seer of great power.”
“Where is this seer? I would hear their vision.”
“She has left Zaim, Arbiter. She left by ship after sharing her vision.”
“You mean to say that I was summoned here and brought from the priory in Chalice on the words of this so-called se—,” she lifted a gloved hand as recognition sparked in her eyes. “What did she say precisely?”
At a nod from the Raja, Philomene repeated all she said verbatim, including the story of their meeting, but leaving out the part of what Jittan had done and her belief of the dangers she was in personally.
“I see. I’m not aware of what kingdom she spoke of,” the Arbiter said. “We Sibulla maintain a living history of the kingdoms that we have had interaction with. Many kingdoms have people with a variety of shades of brown skin, most of which are located on our home continent of Karitichus. Yet, none have the description of power that she seems to have implied.”
“That is all we know, Arbiter.”
“I understand. Who commands your defenses?”
“Our Master of Swords.”
“Thank you, Great Raja. I know that you are not used to being spoken to so directly, but time leaves me no alternative.”
“In some ways, Arbiter, it is refreshing.”
She smiled at that. “I need to know what your Master of Swords has planned. Pulling up the platforms and lifts that lead up the side of this mountain could hold off many forces indefinitely. Still, the plan to defend the greater part of the kingdom will be important to know.”
The Raja pulled a ring beneath his throne’s arm while the Sibulla spoke, and as she finished, the doors opened, admitting the Master of Swords.
He entered as before, his bare feet seemingly gliding across the ornate floor. He acknowledged the Sibulla with a deferential nod as he stood beside her and bowed deeply before the Raja, keeping his gaze downward when he rose.
“Look at me, Master of Swords. You have the same liberty to speak before me that my advisor does.”
His head slowly lifted until his almond-shaped eyes looked directly into the Raja’s own. His gaze was piercing, his face smooth with an aged scar on the right edge of his chin. “I obey as you command, Great Raja.”
The Sibulla took close note of him, her eyes seeming to consume every detail. “You are of the Nnesutee are you not? When do the rootless ever take root?”
The Nnesutee’s expression was unmoved as his gaze rested on her. “When the soil is rich enough to feed it.”
“Rich as in financial gain, Nnesutee?”
“Abundant in its capacity to nurture life, Sibulla. What is the abundance of coin in relation to the bourgeoning breath of a flower? What are the rewards of a blade in relation to the life that one fruit can support? From a single apple, a continent can be fed. As long as one eats only of its flesh and does not consume the seeds, the dimensions can be fed indefinitely.”
Philomene started to interrupt the two, but the Raja motioned for him to be silent.
“So you are a seed that has found rich soil?” she asked.
“I am a farmer that prepares the soil for the seeds it will nurture.”
She looked at him silently for some time. Both of them locked eyes with neither giving quarter.
Her brow lifted with an air of respect given. “What is your plan of defense, Master of Swords?”
“It rests on the fact that they are worshippers of Dris.”
“As is the kingdom of Zaim,” she retorted.
“And that is where we have the advantage, Arbiter. The Ulaan teach a strict interpretation in their dojon, and that interpretation governs every aspect of their strategy. According to their teachings, one swordsman can challenge another to single combat. In such a contest, the winner takes all. By this teaching, wars can be fought not only with armies but within a single duel.”
“That is the rule of Kath, the arena of the Ancients, Master of Swords. It is where the terms ‘First Sword’ and ‘Sword of the Kingdom’ come from, where kingdoms send a solitary swordsman or mage to represent it in combat. It is not the rule beyond its borders.”
“What you have said is true, Arbiter, but not when both kingdoms are worshippers of the Ancient Dris. As both we and the Ulaan claim Dris as our Ancient, we fall under the rules of the Dojon of Dris. That rule states that when conflict arises within the faith, a swordsman or mage can be chosen from each opposing perspective to settle the matter through martial prowess. Amongst kingdoms, this also applies. Dris holds that just as the ruler of a kingdom is the embodiment of their kingdom, and when a ruler concedes to another kingdom, the ruler’s kingdom is sundered, so a swordsman can represent a kingdom, with like result.”
The Sibulla’s lips remained neutral, but there was a grin in her eyes. “As you say, Master of Swords. The Ulaan would only attack this peninsula to control its crops. To ensure that the crops and those who tend them remain healthy, they would most likely not attack the populace, but only those on Mount Ceidon. According to their history, they should attack with a force of between fifteen and fifty. Fifteen dojon-trained swordsmen could cut through a hundred non-dojon trained swordsmen easily. Being that these are Ulaan swordsman, we could safely multiply that number to a few hundred. They would cut down soldiers, swordsmen, and anyone who attacked them or drew a weapon.”
The Nnesutee nodded. “I agree with your assessment, Arbiter. Even if all of our swordsmen were on the Mount, once a sufficient number of Ulaan were on the deck, it would make no difference. Accordingly, I have the bulk of our swordsmen doing patrols amongst the crops and communities on the ground, including our most talented swordsmen and archers. We have a token force of swordsmen stationed on the Mount, led by a former royal guardsman. All of our mages, with the exception of our royal advisor, are in the spire towers that make up the crown of the palace. With four of the five towers occupied, each mage has two archers assigned to them. We should have ample warning before the Ulaan make it to the palace, giving us time to extend the challenge, which in effect will end the hostilities.”
“Your plan of defense is solid, Master of Swords, yet some will be killed in their initial attack.”
“Despite our best efforts, the Ulaan will not be defeated without the spilling of blood,” he said solemnly. “If any Ancient were to supplant the Ulaan’s worship of Dris, it would have to be the Ancient Nihil. The Ulaan are a blood-thirsty people, and Nihil’s Wolf is never far from where they tread. But we will minimize the loss of life, and in the process, protect the life of our Raja.”
The Sibulla looked satisfied. “What do you perceive as my role in this?”
The Nnesutee bowed before her deeply and rose, showing great deference. “You will be needed to extend the challenge, which will make it legally binding in the eyes of any kingdom who learns of it.”
“And who will become the representative Sword of Zaim?”
He bowed again, “why its Master of Swords, of course.”
She started to speak when a sound like a thunderclap caused all of them to jump, the explosion followed by an exhalation like a rushing wind. A mephitic odor rushed into the room. Magery.
“So soon?” the Raja exclaimed. “The Ulaan are here so soon?”
“That was from our mage core, Great Raja. We are under attack!”
The Master of Swords turned and glided towards the door with haste. “Please come, Arbiter. Our moment has arrived.”
The Raja sat in his throne, with a look of deep irritation. The explosions had stopped minutes ago, and the silence that followed was almost a physical discomfort.
Black smoke rose past the Steep Bay in curling wisps, a smell both acrid and sweet saturated the chamber. Occasionally the sound of voices reached the throne room, but none of them were decipherable.
The great Raja toyed with the rings beneath the throne’s arm, rubbing his fingers past each one as his advisor rubbed the inside of his pinkie ring with persistence.
Finally, a bell rang, and the doors of the throne room opened. The Sibulla entered first, followed by the Master of Swords and three Ulaan. The first two were tall women, and the last was a male of average height, their skin color split down the center of their faces: one-half pale blue, the other a soft gold. They wore tanned leather armor and carried two swords: one across their backs, and the other at their sides. It was the first time that Philomene could remember a weapon being in the throne room other than the Raja’s sword. Neither the Sibulla or the Master of Swords was armed.
The Sibulla took a position between the Raja and the Ulaan swordsmen, the Master of Swords coming to stand a step behind her on her left side.
“Great Raja of Ceidon, Brazen Shield of Mount Ceidon, and ruler of the Kingdom of Zaim, I present to you UiNemtasma, the leader of this delegation," she said. Uilia, her Second, and Uinni,” moving a hand before each as she introduced them. She then spoke to the Ulaan in their own tongue, a musical language that was smooth and flowed like honey from the tongue.
“We do not need translation,” UiNemtasma said. Her eye’s burned brightly framed between her braided straight hair. “We speak the Zaim tongue, as well as the tongue of every kingdom that worships the Ancient of the Sword.”
“Very well. You understand the honor of royal title. As none of you are one of the Ruling Nine, you must direct all of your comments to me when speaking to the Raja of Mount Ceidon.”
“Acceptable,” UiNemtasma said. “I recognize the role of the Sibulla as the Arbiter of Kingdoms, and hereby grant her equal status according to her station.”
The Sibulla nodded her acceptance of the declaration, as did the Raja.
“I am the highest-ranked of the Ulaan present, and as I have accepted the challenge, I will speak for our kingdom moving forward. As you have said, I would have Uilia as my witness and second and will send Uinni to lead our—,” she paused as she searched for a word,”—delegation beyond your borders.”
Uinni bowed and moved without pause to the doors, which began to open just as he arrived before them. He slipped through the still opening doors and was gone.
The Raja spoke. “What are the casualties?”
The Sibulla remained silent, indicating that the question was directed to the Master of Swords.
“We lost all of the swordsmen on the Mount that were not within the palace, Great Raja. We also lost three of the mages along with their archers. Of those of the guard on the Mount who were not in the palace proper, only two archers survived. As of the last report, we lost none of our number that were not on the mount.’
The Raja was a mask of calm, but Philomene thought he saw a slight look of discomfort in his gaze. What it meant he would have to ask later. As it was, it had been so quick that he may have imagined it.
