Spoiler: Part I: Galghälani
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It was dusk on the ocean of Galghälani, and the shrimp were beginning to rise to the surface of the water. Sunset was the best time for harvesting shrimp: the crustaceans stayed too deep under the water during the daylight hours but it was too dark to catch them later in the night. The Galghäl had plenty of stories of reckless fishers who had cast their nets in the dark, only to walk unknowingly off the side of their boats, get tangled in their own twine, or accidentally snag something far more dangerous than a net full of shrimp. No, twilight was the best hour to cast the nets. Of course, Medmäsha Tänata had never been inclined to take the easiest method of doing anything.
“Throw me the ropes!” Medmäsha shouted over the sound of the crashing waves and the howling wind as she struggled to keep her canoe from capsizing. On the raft floating thirty yards away, her uncle Phïsambo spun a coil of dried, braided kelp over his head before tossing it across the gap. It was a good throw: Phïsambo had many years of experience as an angler, and his casts rarely missed their mark. Medmäsha caught the end of the rope and clung to it for dear life as a wave lifted her canoe and suddenly dropped it, nearly knocking her into the waters. Finally regaining her balance, Medmäsha tied the rope around her barbed harpoon and tossed the other end back to Phïsambo. As the next wave crested, she sighted her prey and hurled the spear. The shaking of the waves knocked the spear slightly off target, but it still landed, embedding its head into the flesh of the thrashing greatshark as it swam toward her canoe, its mouth opening to snap at her outstretched arms. At the last moment, she jumped backward, and the shark’s wicked teeth slammed together only inches away from her face. As it circled away to come in for another pass, she stole a glance at its lithe, glistening body. It was a huge creature, perhaps the largest she had ever seen. Thirty feet long at a minimum, with a mouth wide enough to swallow her whole… if it could catch her. As the greatshark swam further and further away, Medmäsha said a silent prayer to Badï the Swordfish, God of Stormy Waters, that the rope would not break.
As her prayer ended, she felt the coiled kelp go taut beneath her fingers, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now came the dangerous part. Lifting herself out of the canoe, her muscles strained as she hung aloft, midway between the taut rope and the churning waters below. Slowly, hand over hand, she pulled herself down the rope and towards the shark, still straining with the weight of Phïsambo’s heavy raft behind it. As she reached the end of the rope, Medmäsha dangled above the shark’s head from one hand, grasping a thick-bladed shark’s tooth dagger with the other hand. She took a deep breath, released it, and, her eyes squeezed shut, dropped.
§§§
They hauled the greatshark’s carcass onto the dock of the floating village, grins on their faces as they surveyed the bounty that they had captured. “You’re getting to be quite the hunter, Medmäsha,” said Phïsambo, his watery eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll admit, I was skeptical to take you on at first, but now I must admit I was wrong to doubt you. You may be only a woman, but you hunt better than half the boys I’ve taught - and more fearless than the lot of them!”
Medmäsha smiled modestly. “Some call it foolishness rather than fearlessness, uncle.”
“Bah!” shouted Phïsambo, shaking the seawater out of the jellyfish tendrils of their beard. “It’ll be fearlessness in my book so long as you come out of it without being horribly maimed or killed! Foolishness is for those who don’t have the skill to finish the job.”
“Well, credit must go to Badëmajha and the gods for granting us this magnificent animal,” said Medmäsha, bowing her head in thanks for the leviathan god’s blessing. “May the waters ever flow beneath us.”
“May the waters ever flow beneath us,” repeated Phïsambo, bowing his head as well. “By the way, what do you think happened to the others?”
Phïsambo’s question was appropriate, for, while a returning group of greatshark hunters would normally be greeted by the entire family eagerly waiting on the docks, today only Medmäsha and her uncle stood over the trophy of their hunt. “I suppose we had better check inside the huts,” Medmäsha said, leading the way from the dock to the largest of the seagrass-roofed shacks that the floating village was made from.
Inside the hut, a fire blazed in a carefully tended hearth. One unobserved spark could set the entire village ablaze, so it was rare that the family would light the hearth. Medmäsha’s stomach lurched as she walked in to see most of the population of the village clustered around something near the flames. She had a bad feeling about this. First her family had missed their return from the hunt, then they’d lit a fire, and what was this thing they were all gathered around? Something didn’t feel right about this…
“What is it?” she asked, pushing her way through the crowd to find her husband. Lehïlali was the son of the village chief, one of the most promising merchants in the family, and completely and utterly in denial of his wife’s ambitions and exploits. He barely glanced at Medmäsha as he pointed to the bundle of rags lying by the side of the hearth. “Haven’t you unwrapped it yet, to see what it is?”
Lehïlali coughed. “This object was found in a canoe, floating past our village. Whatever it is, it was adrift on the easterly wind, being carried in from the deep water beyond the shallows. It is the property of Badëmajha, and it is not our place to tamper with the will of the leviathan goddess.”
Medmäsha laughed, kissing Lehïlali on the cheek. “Oh, my poor sweet husband. You’re afraid to unwrap it, aren’t you?”
“Afraid?” Lehïlali scoffed. “As I just said, this came out of the deep waters-”
“As did the greatshark I just killed? As do all the fish we make our livelihoods from?” Medmäsha spread her arms and raised her voice. “Oh great leviathan goddess, if you do not wish me to open this gift that you have sent us, strike me down where I stand!”
Nothing happened. The waves continued to lap against the sides of the floating hut, the wind continued to howl in the storm, the fire continued to crackle in the hearth. “Right then,” said Medmäsha. “I’m going to open it.”
Stooping over, she pulled the rags away from what lay underneath, but pulled back in shock when she realized what it was. Whispers filled the air.
“What is it?”
“It looks like a person of some kind.”
“Why’s it dressed so strangely?”
“I can’t tell… is it a man or a woman?”
“Can we eat it?”
“No we can’t eat it, you moron, it’s a human.”
“Is it even breathing?”
“If it’s dead I’m claiming those bracelets for myself!”
“Shut up, all of you!” shouted Medmäsha. “It is alive, but asleep. We had better try to wake them up.”
Another torrent of comments filled the room, but Medmäsha ignored them as she shook the person’s shoulders. “Come on then, wake up - oh!”
The figure’s eyes had suddenly snapped open, and they attempted to stand up unexpectedly, slamming the top of their head into Medmäsha’s face. “Shësho!” she swore. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The figure had fallen back down and was now sitting on the floor, their eyes wild. “Let me go! I need to get back to…” They trailed off mid sentence, apparently unsure of where they were supposed to be getting back to.
Cautiously, Lehïlali approached the dishevelled foundling and looked down at them, false confidence in his eyes. “My name is Lehïlali Tänata, the chief of this village. Who are you, and how did you end up here?”
Medmäsha elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Dirty liar! He is only the acting chief, while the true chief is away!”
Lehïlali at least had the dignity to look ashamed, but the ragged person seemed not to notice or to care. “I… I do not know how I came here. I suppose the winds must have washed my canoe ashore after I passed out from exhaustion. All I remember is the heat, and the thirst…” Their eyes went wide, and they began to grasp wildly at Lehïlali’ and Medmäsha’s legs. “Water! Please, give me water!”
Somebody rushed forward with a waterskin, and the stranger quaffed the entire thing in one gulp. “Oh, by Haleti, that feels good. The thirst… you have no idea. In any case, I remember little of what happened on the water, but much of what happened before that. Listen, Tänata, and I shall tell you my tale of woe.”
§§§
“My name is Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi, a resident of the Korebita Foothills. I was once a great warrior, a hero of fame and fortune. I was granted the title Warcaller of the Korebita by the King of Kings, Wenid Kw’Muketi, themself, and I was married to Arrēsa of Faranandūll, the loveliest person in all of Kiswa. My life was perfect. I spent my days traveling across the Korebita, feasting with kings and heroes, and my nights in the arms of my beloved Arrēsa. I had a mansion in Kema, a permanent audience with the King of Kings, and statues to me all over the Korebita. Wherever I went, I defeated those that I had been sent to put down, and the people worshipped me for it. I thought I could do nothing wrong.
And then one day, everything changed. The King of Kings had ordered the death of an outlaw, the notorious Yegin Kw’Haleti. You may have heard of them. They had been hiding out in a mountaintop monastery, protected by the warrior priests that worshipped them as a god. I had no quarrel with Yegin, but the King of Kings had never steered me wrong before, and I owed everything to them. So I climbed the mountain, accompanied by the King of Kings and a dozen guards, and entered to slay the outlaw. It… went poorly. Even out here, you must have heard the tales of Yegin’s Death-Song. I was the closest when they died, and their last screams shattered my eardrums. I was deafened, left in a world of complete silence. And in that silence, I could not protect those I loved. Evil spirits crept up on me in the middle of the night. I did not know of their presence, for the darkness blinded me and my ears were useless. And when I awoke… my lovely Arrēsa was gone. They said they had been taken by the Gluttonous Shadows, but I could not believe them. The Shadows do not steal; their victims are bled dry and left where they fell. No, somebody else had taken my love, but who it was, I could not find out. My hearing returned to me, but the love of my life could not. I travelled all over Kiswa, searching for one who could give me an answer, but nobody seemed to have seen them. It was then that I heard from one of your kin, one of the Galghäl, about the secret cult of Badëmajha, who revealed the secrets of the depths to her followers.
I am an Abiherist, and faithful in my worship, but I was desperate. So I took a canoe and sailed into the great open sea to find out if there was truth to these stories… I remember little of what happened next.”
§§§
Gusuhaz stopped their tale, realizing that the Galghäl fishermen were staring at them in horror.
“He is a profaner of the sacred Depths!” shouted Lehïlali.
“He is cursed by Badëmajha!” roared Phïsambo.
“Send him back to the sea!”
The crowd surged forward, on the verge of tearing Gusuhaz apart, stopping only when Medmäsha stepped in their way. “No! If Badëmajha was wroth against him, she would have dragged him into the Depths herself! The fact that he returned from the deep ocean is a sign that the leviathan goddess has blessed him!”
Phïsambo slammed his fist against the driftwood wall of the hut. “We shall not have a profaner of the Depths in this village! If you are so eager to defend him, then we shall banish you as well!”
Medmäsha was horrorstruck. “Uncle?” Phïsambo remained resolute. She turned toward Lehïlali. “Husband… you are the acting chief of the village. Surely you will not allow this?”
Lehïlali stood, silently, and stared at his wife. “I have put up with your insubordination long enough, Medmäsha. It is not becoming of a wife to treat her husband in this manner. And you are irreverent to boot. Do not return to this village.”
And with that, Medmäsha and Gusuhaz were shoved out of the hut, into the dark and unfriendly night.
Spoiler: Part II: the Korebita
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Part 2: The Korebita
The dice clanked in the narrow clay pot, a hollow, dusty sound. Just like my pocketbook, thought Rasiw Kw’Fikiri, glancing around the table at their fellow gamblers. All of them appeared to be of an unsavory character, although that was hardly unexpected for the Slumtown tavern officially named “Gawapi’s Fountain”, but referred to by most Kemans as “Piss Fountain'' for its foul smell and habit of drawing pests. Serving alternately as winesink, illegal gambling den, and gangster social club, those who frequented the Piss Fountain were almost exclusively those with something to hide. Rasiw was no exception to this rule. They had lost a great deal since Ekaniy’s rebellion and the War of the Blemmaic Succession. Their king had been executed, and many of their friends killed in battle. Then their mansions, slaves, and herds of livestock had been taken from them by that insolent king Wenid, leaving them heavily in debt and without any friends to rely on for assistance. They had survived, in those awful years after the war had ended, by pawning souvenirs they had brought back from their travels to the lands of the Dhraan. And these shady sales had brought them into contact with one Gawap Kw’Anigoli, the owner of the Piss Fountain, and the most successful fence for stolen goods in Kema.
Gawap was very, very good at their job, and had put Rasiw in contact with dozens of buyers. When the supply of Dhraan goods had run out, Gawap had introduced them to a loose alliance of burglars, setting them up to pilfer the mansions of high-ranking blemmyae who were elsewhere in the Korebita. The proceeds from these robberies had been enough for Rasiw to survive on, and by the time they realized that Gawap was ripping them off for more than nine-tenths the value of their burglaries, the treacherous innkeep had too much dirt on them. If Rasiw complained, or tried to hold back a portion of the profit for himself, they’d simply be handed over to the royal guards, probably framed with a few of Gawap’s own crimes for their trouble.
The sound of the dice clattering onto the table snapped them out of the cloud of resentful memories and forced their attention back on the game. Two sixes. Excellent. Rasiw pushed forward another gambling token, a sliver of flint engraved with Gawap’s symbol. On their left, a ragged-haired, light-skinned human pushed forward one of their own with a grin. Obviously bluffing Rasiw had seen them in the Piss Fountain many times before, and suspected they were one of the many Kw’Kuli bastards floating around the town. The Bel-Dan vizier had plenty of decent children, of course, but the offspring that they didn’t know about could be found in any winesink in the city, hovering around the members of the criminal underground. A shame, Rasiw thought. Cul themself seemed noble enough, even if they sided with the lickspittle King of Kings. It was a real pity that their clan’s reputation was so poor.
On Rasiw’s right was a gambler they had never seen before. A tall and slim Kywamma, wearing two gleaming daggers strapped to a black gown, the gazelle woman’s eyes glittered with intelligence. Rasiw didn’t like those eyes. They’d never met a Kywamma before, but distrusted anybody who could walk into the Piss Fountain in clothes like those without being robbed or cheated. Either she was a major underworld figure from another city, or they’d paid Gawap for protection. But why would anybody who could afford the security offered by the biggest gangster in Kema want to spend time dicing in the Piss Fountain? Rasiw didn’t understand the Kywamma, and Rasiw didn’t like anything they couldn’t understand. The gazelle woman hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head. “I’m out,” she said in a thick Sewune accent.
The fourth player, sitting across from Rasiw, stared coldly into their face. This was the one to beat, thought Rasiw, sizing up their employer. “You’ve had some good luck tonight, Gawap,” Rasiw said mildly.
“Aye, that I have,” Gawap grinned, but their eyes remained cold and calculating, watching Rasiw for any potential tells. “I’ve always said I have the luck of Anigoli, you know.”
More like a pair of loaded dice, Rasiw thought. They kept their eyes emotionless and grinned in turn. “Well, Anigoli’s luck ran out for them in the end, didn’t it? How was it they died? Thrown off a cliff in punishment for their criminal behavior?”
Gawap’s toothless maw stretched wider, but Rasiw thought they had seen a flash of anger behind the facade. Good, good. Break him slowly. “Aye, well, I have no intention of being thrown off a cliff. Besides, let’s see that slobbering King Wenid try to catch me!”
“I’ll drink to that!” shouted the light-skinned gambler to Rasiw’s left. “Or I would if I had a drink…”
Everyone else at the table ignored them. “Aye, Gawap, the royals are no threat to you. If anyone manages to off you, it’ll be one of your rivals in the Slumtown. Weyinel Kw’Haleti or Red Gaatrhaj, maybe. But of course, they don’t know enough about your activities to truly pose a threat.” Not unless I tell them, thought Rasiw, making sure to let a slight hint of a threat sneak into their voice.
The gazelle woman seemed to pick up on the subtle threat, glancing back at Rasiw with interest. “Who’re these people?” she said softly.
Not a major underworld player, then, Rasiw concluded. “A couple of nobodies. Oh, they’d like to take over from Gawap here, make no mistake of it, but without information about the dealings that go on in this tavern they’ve got no chance to deal with them.” They threw their own set of dice, and to their glee, one of the dice came up a six. “I believe that makes me the winner of this round, my friends,” they gloated, scooping the pile of tokens into their pouch and taking a swig of palm wine from the mug in front of them.
The front doors to the Piss Fountain swung open, and two more people entered the tavern. Both were humans, dressed in the seagrass skirts of the Galghäl fishermen. One, a broad-shouldered and muscular woman, had a necklace of shark’s teeth hanging over her chest, while the other wore a roughly carved wooden mask. “Two cups of palm wine, please,” said the masked figure. Drinks in hand, the two approached the gambling table. “Any room for me to come in on this game?” they said as the other fisher glowered from behind them.
“I was just leaving,” said the Kw’Kuli gambler, pocketing what few of their tokens remained on the table and stepping away. The masked person sat in their chair, opening a pouch to reveal a fistful of shining white pearls.
Rasiw rubbed their hands together, sizing up the new competition. They didn’t know much about the Galghäl… but it had never been their impression that they frequently wore masks. “What’s your name, strangers?” they asked, shaking their dice pot rhythmically. “What brings you to Kema?”
The woman spoke this time, while the masked figure remained suspiciously silent. “My name is Medmäsha Tänata, of Galghälani. This is a friend of mine. We seek information of an… unsavory nature.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that,” said Gawap Kw’Anigoli, grinning in what they thought was an endearing smile but in actuality was an unsightly leer. “Ask away… if you’re willing to pay.” They snickered at their own cleverness.
“What have you heard of the princess Arrēsa?” asked the masked character. “They went missing several months ago, with no sign heard since. Have you heard rumors from any kidnappers that may have stolen them?”
Gawap outstretched their greasy fingers until the Galghäl placed a glistening pearl into their hand. The innkeep smirked hideously. “As it happens, I can help you with that. It was those Sikarians that snatched them. The Kro, if I remember correctly. Some feathery ne'er-do-well wants them for their queen.”
The masked Galghät gasped audibly and slammed their fist on the table. “Thrice-cursed crows! I’ll boil them alive and pluck them like chickens! Thank you for that information. You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be needing a way out of the Korebita, then. A secret way, where we won’t be asked to reveal our identities.”
The gazelle woman across the table, who had been listening intently to this conversation, took this moment to speak up, extending her hand for each of the Galghäl to shake in turn. “Hello, I am Kywamma Cdyppan, of the Lehydy Plains. I can do that for you. I know ways where the agents of the King of Kings will not follow.”
“I assure you, you will be paid well for the service,” said the masked figure, standing up. “Well, I think that’s all we need, right, Medmäsha?”
“Not so fast,” Gawap smirked, clicking their fingers. From the upper balcony of the tavern, four of their thugs appeared, clutching knives and heavy cudgels. “First let’s see that face… and I’ll be taking those pearls, too.” They ripped the mask away, but pulled back in horror when they saw who they had been talking to.
“No,” said Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi, the Warcaller of the Korebita, as they glared at the cowering gangster. “No, I don’t think you will.” Grabbing Gawap, they twisted the greasy-fingered traitor’s hand until the wrist snapped, releasing the pearl Gusuhaz had handed them earlier. Gusuhaz snatched it and ran for the door, only to find it blocked by another set of club-waving thugs. They dropped back, pulling a copper knife from beneath their skirt, while Medmäsha drew her own shark-tooth dagger.
“It’s nine on two,” screamed Medmäsha. “What were you thinking, coming in here without weapons?”
“Well, it got the information we needed, didn’t it?” said Gusuhaz. “I’ll admit, it’s unfortunate that we’re probably going to die for it, but…”
“Nine on three,” a thickly accented voice said from behind them. Cdyppan stood, her narrow fingers wrapped around the hilts of her knives. “It is an honor to meet you, Warcaller. I will help you to rescue your kidnapped princess.”
With a sudden, almost imperceptible movement, Cdyppan’s wrist flicked, and a gangster collapsed, a dagger suddenly buried in their eye. Cdyppan threw her second knife, and another of the thugs fell. As she reached for more projectiles, Gusuhaz slammed into the guards blocking the door, plunging their knife through their chest and kicking another in the knee, smashing the joint and knocking them to the ground. A moment later, Medmäsha followed them, slamming the third guard’s face into the wall repeatedly until they fell unconscious. As Cdyppan walked backward slowly toward the doors, tossing knives at the thugs on the balcony, they smashed through the doors and exited the Piss Fountain, rushing through the doors and out into the bright Korebita sunlight.
Gawap gaped at the wreckage as the dust cleared from the tavern. “Just perfect,” they said to themself. Five of their thugs were sprawled dead on the ground, with two others seriously injured. “Those mercenaries don’t come cheap.” Then an idea struck them. “Although,” they whispered, “I’m sure the King of Kings would like to know that their Warcaller is trying to sneak out of the Korebita in secret. They might pay handsomely for that. Very handsomely indeed…” Gawap began to laugh to themself, chuckling with glee at the thought of being rewarded with a legitimate title. Oh yes, they thought, this could turn out to be very lucrative for Gawap Kw’Anigoli. Very lucrative indeed. Then their thoughts turned away from speculating about the wonderful rewards they were expecting, and towards the sudden, very sharp pain in their side. There seemed to be something dripping from beneath their ribs, where the pain was suddenly flowering to nearly unbearable levels.
“Rot in hell, you miserable bastard,” said somebody behind them, and that was the last thing Gawap ever heard.
Rasiw Kw’Fikiri wiped the blade of their dagger on the skin of the former mob boss in front of them. That knifing had been a long way coming to Gawapi, they thought. It had felt good to deal with them. For the first time in over ten years, Rasiw into the sunshine as a free blemmyae. It felt good not to have anything weighing on them. Perhaps they’d go find that Gusuhaz fellow and see if there was anything they could do to help them on their quest. Rasiw had a feeling that the Warcaller might be a more generous patron than Gawapi had been. They hummed a little song to themself as they jogged along the roadside to catch up to their prospective employer. Yes, things were really looking up for Rasiw Kw’Fikiri now.
Spoiler: Part III: Fei Dang
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“Not another blasted river?” shouted Rasiw. “There’s a few too many rivers in this blighted wasteland, if you ask me!”
Gusuhaz smiled slightly. Fei Dang was difficult to describe as a wasteland by anybody’s standards. On the contrary, it seemed to be a place of great beauty and abundance. The river that had so irked Rasiw was a clear, cold brook running through a rocky bed. Speckling the sides of the stream were green spruce trees, their branches blanketed in glittering crystals of snow. On the hills behind them, a thin layer of mist barely obscured the emerald hills and tranquil rice paddies beneath the grey-cloudy skies. If it wasn’t so cold, Gusuhaz thought, Fei Dang might well be paradise.
Medmäsha shrugged, wading into the stream. “I don’t mind the rivers, myself. It’s been too long since I was able to submerge myself. Say what you will about your homeland, but it’s far too dry and dusty.”
Rasiw grunted. “If we were meant to spend time in the water, Haleti would have given us fins and gills. I take pride in always staying safe on dry land.”
“Always?” Gusuhaz asked, raising an eyebrow. “You never go in the water at all?”
“Only when you make me wade through rivers,” Rasiw said grumpily, dipping one toe cautiously into the water and shivering with the cold.
“What about bathing?” asked Cdyppan in her soft Sewune accent. Gusuhaz jumped: they hadn’t even realized that Cdyppan had been listening to the conversation. The Kywamma had proven herself useful a dozen times over, helping them evade border patrols and find safe lodging using her web of underworld contacts, but her habit of sneaking up on people still unnerved the others - with the odd exception of Rasiw Kw’Fikiri.
Gusuhaz frowned. While Medmäsha Tänata had become loyal to a fault, and Cdyppan was invaluable due to her contacts, Rasiw had contributed little to the success of the quest across Kiswa so far, and their constant complaining got on Gusuhaz’ nerves. Gusuhaz had remembered Rasiw from the Wogir Rebellion, and their reputation had been as a formidable warrior and battle leader. This unwashed criminal seemed to have little in common with the Rasiw Kw’Fikiri of legend, but they had followed Gusuhaz this far and the Sewi hero needed all the help they could find for a task as difficult as storming the castle of the Kro.
Rasiw chose to ignore Cdyppan’s question. With a scowl, they stepped into the stream and waded to the other side as quickly as possible, clambering out with a groan. Smiling slightly, Cdyppan simply leaped across the river in a single bound.
“If the people we talked to at that last town were correct,” said Gusuhaz, “we should be only a few miles away from Tangtzi.”
“The directions were correct,” said Cdyppan, gazing into the distance. “The city is within my line of sight.”
Crossing the river, Gusuhaz squinted into the distance. “Indeed it is. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Tangtzi was beautiful indeed. Obscured by a slight haze of mist, the roofs of the buildings were just visible above the great wall surrounding the hilltop city.
“Make sure to mind your manners in the city,” said Gusuhaz, staring pointedly at Rasiw and Medmäsha. “We’ll need a guide to get us through the rest of Fei Dang and into Lhungo Saar, and I don’t want anyone accidentally offending the locals. Be on your best behavior.”
§§§
They joined the line of travelers outside the gates of Tangtzi, waiting to be let in. In front of them was a silver-grey haired Vygra, her robes billowing in the chill wind. Gusuhaz frowned. “Excuse me,” they said, tapping the Vygra on the shoulder, “but do I know you from somewhere?”
The Vygra turned, and on seeing their face Gusuhaz blanched. “Wait… I do know you! Were you at Zemena Monastery, on the night of the Death-Song?”
“Yes, I was,” said the Vygra cautiously, squinting at Gusuhaz. “I recognize you too. You… you were the one who tried to kill Yegin Kw’Haleti!”
“It was a mistake, I freely admit that now,” said Gusuhaz, feeling the blood rush to their cheeks. “Perhaps we should pretend that we are complete strangers, and introduce ourselves anew. I am Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi, of the Korebita Foothills.”
The Vygra did not entirely seem to trust Gusuhaz, but bowed to them nonetheless. “I am Shire, of Vyterrat. I seek passage to the lands of Sikar, to learn more about the strange people that live there.”
“What a coincidence!” burst in Medmäsha. “We are also going to Sikar! Our intention is to find a guide to take us into the lands of Lhungo Saar, and to hire a ship in Kincany to-” She was cut off by a glare from Cdyppan and realized that she’d said too much.
Shire didn’t notice Medmäsha’s sudden halt. She was busy being checked into the city by the guards at the entrance gate.
“Name?” asked the first guard in a bored drawl.
“Shire of Vyterrat,” Shire answered.
“What is your purpose in Tangtzi?”
“I am looking for a guide to take me to Lhungo Saar, and provisions for the journey.”
“You may enter,” said the guards in unison, evidently irritated at the monotony of their task.
Gusuhaz stepped up to meet them. “I would like to enter the city, please.”
“Name?” drawled the guard, her eyes nearly shut as she leaned against the wall.
§§§
The group split up as they entered the city. While Rasiw and Cdyppan went to look for a guide using their expertise in criminal negotiations and Medmäsha selected provisions from the marketplace, Gusuhaz ran to catch up with Shire.
“Shire!” they shouted.
The silver-haired Vygra looked at them with interest. “What do you want from me?”
They smiled at her. “I thought, perhaps you would accompany us to Sikar? We are going the same way, after all, and it would be a shame to tie up two guides where one could do. Besides, I wish to prove that I am more than just the one who tried to kill Yegin Kw’Haleti!”
For a moment, Gusuhaz was sure Shire was going to turn them down flat, but after a short pause, she slowly nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I shall accompany you, but only to observe. Whatever your purpose in Sikar is, I will have no part of it until you have proven yourself worthy.”
§§§
“It’s a ****ing disaster!” Rasiw groaned. “Every single guide in this cursed city is busy already! There must be hundreds of travelers passing through this month, and not a single person I spoke to wants to lead a group as small as ours!”
Cdyppan nodded. “My questioning has revealed much the same.” They walked side-by-side down a narrow alleyway. “The question now is, do we keep looking without much chance of success, or give up and try to find our own way to Lhungo Saar?”
They stopped, the narrow alleyway in front of them blocked by two Fei youths. Apparently assuming the blemmyae and Kywamma’s strange appearance was indicative of inferiority, they pointed knives at them. “Hello, travelers, and welcome to Tangtzi. This part of the city has a tax, and we’re here to collect it. Empty your pockets!”
Rasiw glanced at Cdyppan. While either of them could easily overcome these low-grade muggers, they weren’t sure whether fighting the locals would cause problems with the city guards, and Gusuhaz had said to avoid offending the townsfolk…
“All right, don’t do anything hasty,” Rasiw said, reaching slowly for the pouch at their hip. “You want money? I can give you money…”
“Don’t give them anything!” shouted somebody from the rooftops above them. In unison, the blemmyae, the Kywamma, and the two Fei glanced upward, squinting into the sun. On the roof, standing with their coat fluttering in the wind, stood a silhouetted figure, their features impossible to make out, but their noble posture and the drawn bow in their hands were unmissable. “Put down the knives and get out,” the archer commanded, “and don’t ever try to rob somebody again.”
The youths glanced at each other, then dropped the daggers and ran full pelt away from the alley. The archer slowly brought the bowstring back to resting position and slid down to the street level, facing Rasiw and Cdyppan. They were younger than expected, apparently no older than the would-be muggers he had scared. In addition to their bow, a copper-tipped spear was slung over their back. “I’m sorry about that. I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression of Fei Dang from those two. This land is very beautiful and criminals like that don’t represent the rest of us.” Realizing how quickly the situation had progressed for the others, they blushed. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I am Yaozhong Gun. Pleased to meet you.”
Cdyppan smiled ethereally at him. “Pleased to meet you, Gun. My name is Kywamma Cdyppan, and my ignoble friend here is Rasiw Kw’Fikiri.”
Gun looked at them with obvious interest. “What brings you to Fei Dang? I’ve never seen anybody like either of you before.”
“We are just passing through,” said Rasiw, allowing their hand to slip off the hilts of their daggers. “We’ve been trying to find a guide to lead us to Lhungo Saar, or on a boat down the Sur, but so far it seems nobody is willing to take us.”
Gun’s eyes lit up with joy. “You’re… going to some far-off land, then? On an adventure?”
“Aye, that we are,” said Rasiw, glancing interestedly at the lad, who was nearly jumping into the air with excitement. “I don’t suppose you know anybody who could guide us through the mountain passes?”
Gun grinned, their hands shaking with gleeful anticipation. “Actually, I might know just the man for the job.”
“Who is it, then?” demanded Rasiw, suddenly hopeful. “Come on, out with it! I’ll pay you very handsomely for the name!”
“Rasiw…” said Cdyppan slowly, “I think he might be referring to himself.”
Gun’s smile grew even wider as they shook with happiness. He nodded, his head bobbing up and down frantically.
“...Oh,” said Rasiw. “****.”
Spoiler: Part IV: Kincany
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All of Kiswa was celebrating, for at last the Womb of the Gluttonous Shadows had been destroyed and the blightspawns’ reign of terror that had held Kiswa for over a decade was finally at an end. It was just a coincidence, really, that the triumphant Oyem Kw’Mesihafi was passing through Kincany at the same time that Gusuhaz’ motley crew of adventurers arrived in the dwarven capital. By chance, the ferry taking Oyem across the Sur and the riverboat hired by Gusuhaz made landfall at the same wharf at nearly the exact same time.
“Oyem?” said Gusuhaz incredulously, staring at the boat pulling in alongside them. “Is that really you?”
“Gusuhaz, my friend!” shouted Oyem. “What are you doing so far away from home?” The pair leaped onto the wharf and embraced, Oyem slapping Gusuhaz hard on the back.
“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Gusuhaz with a grin. “Suppose we dine together tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
§§§
Oyem set a good table, that Gusuhaz could not deny. The spread of mixed Anbroch and blemmyae styles was nothing if not impressive, but the Warcaller of the Korebita didn’t feel like eating. Their stomach twisted as they sat listening to Oyem telling their stories.
“And then,” said Oyem, “with one swing of their knife, Nikara sliced the bastard open from gullet to thorax! I nearly died laughing!” The feasters around them laughed raucously. Gusuhaz wasn’t in the mood for jokes but managed a brief chuckle to avoid upsetting the Curator. “Ah, but enough stories about that quest of ours! I’m still dying to hear what you’re doing here in Kincany; I hadn’t heard the slightest whisper of what you were doing ever since your wife went missing.”
Beside Oyem, a charcoal-haired Vyrka blushed fiery red. “Aye, stop telling stories about me! I’ll hear a story from the one who beat me to Arrēsa’s bed, and enjoy not being the center of attention for a change!”
Gusuhaz nodded sadly. “Very well. After Arrēsa disappeared, I traveled over Kiswa for months, distraught with worry for their safety. I took pains to evade the sight of the King of Kings, for I knew that if they found out where I was I would be forced to cease my search for Arrēsa. I hope, if I return from my quest to Sikar, that they will forgive me for deceiving them.” Gusuhaz paused, apparently unsure what to say next. “I had heard of a mysterious ocean spirit off the coast of Galghälani that I thought could answer my questions. I found no such spirit, but I did find Medmäsha Tänata, who sits across the table from you. See them, in the grass skirt? They are a stalwart and loyal companion who has accompanied me this entire way. In Kema, I discovered that it was Kro Karael, that pestilent bird-prince of Sikar, who had stolen my love. I passed through the Sewune and Vygra lands with the help of criminals and spies, two of whom accompany me still today. To be entirely honest, I don’t know why they are still following me. The Kywamma is named Cdyppan, and the blemmyae is Rasiw.”
“Not Rasiw Kw’Fikiri?” Oyem gasped. “I know of them by reputation… but they died after the Wogir Rebellion, certainly?”
“It seems they survived, and became a criminal to avoid the executioner’s spears,” Gusuhaz replied. “I do not entirely trust them, but perhaps they seek a chance to redeem themselves for their past crimes. In any event, we then found our way into the secret vale of Fei Dang, a place of wondrous mountains and cool, clear streams, where we met the final members of my quest: Shire, a Vygra who was witness to the Death-Song, and Gun, who I fear may be too young to endure with the hardships that we may face. But they are eager enough, and perhaps they have depth beyond what I have seen so far. We sailed up the Sur, intending to take a boat from Singhön and sail to the coast of Sikar, but our port of call was shut down due to raids from the Bel-Dan pirates. We were forced to go north, to make landfall here in Kincany. There may be fewer ships on offer here, but at least we will be able to set sail tomorrow rather than in a month.”
“That’s quite a tale,” said Oyem interestedly. “Tell me, what do you intend to do when you reach Highnest?”
“I will demand the freedom of Arrēsa, and a tribute to be paid in recompense for the suffering that they have caused to my wife and myself. If they refuse I shall demand to face the spineless Karael in single combat and slice their miserable head off. The worms shall feast on their fetid corpse for the crimes they have committed!”
Oyem and Nikara pounded their mugs on the table and roared. “That they will! Do you know, Gusuhaz, I hope you succeed. I really do. In fact, I’d like to give you a going-away present for your first quest.” Oyem reached for the scabbard at their hip and, with a single fluid motion, unsheathed the Crimson Blade of Yedem Kali.
The air hummed, seemingly with the sound of whispering voices. Copper runes inscribed on the bright red sword glowed, pulsing with sanguine light. The whispering grew louder and louder, sounding to Gusuhaz like bellowed battle cries heard from a long distance. They stared in Oyem in awe.
“But… the Crimson Blade is your weapon! You’re the Crimson Curator!” Gusuhaz cried, astonished. “You would give it away?”
“By Haleti, do you take me for an idiot?” said Oyem, laughing. “Absolutely not! I expect it back, in perfect condition, as soon as you’re reunited with your wife.”
“Well, thank you, Oyem,” said Gusuhaz, still awestruck.
“Don’t lose it, though” said Oyem, suddenly serious. “If you lose it I’ll break all your ribs.”
“I won’t lose it, have no fear.”
“You’d better not.”
There was a brief and awkward silence. Finally Oyem said, “You know, now I’m beginning to get concerned that you’re going to lose it.”
“I’m not going to lose it,” said Gusuhaz. “I don’t make a habit of losing sacred magical weapons, you know.”
“Still, just to be sure…” Oyem considered for a moment, thinking. “Nikara, I know you must be eager to get home to Singhön, but would you mind going with Gusuhaz, to make sure they don’t lose my sword?”
Nikara blushed. That seemed to be a habit of theirs, Gusuhaz thought. “I… I suppose so, Curator.”
“Right. Gusuhaz, if they let you lose the sword, break all their ribs. And the same goes for you, Nikara.” Oyem looked back and forth at the two of them before finally handing the Crimson Blade to Gusuhaz. “My friend of Sewi, could I have a word with you in private, please?”
§§§
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not going to lose your sword,” said Gusuhaz exasperatedly as Oyem pulled them into the silence of the night.
“I know you won’t. I brought you here for a different reason. Gusuhaz… whatever they say about me in the Korebita, they’re wrong. I’m not perfect. I’ve lived… well, to be perfectly honest with you, I’ve lived a life of lies. They all think I’m the perfect one. The crimson god walking the earth. But I’ve made mistakes, mistakes I regret to this day.” Oyem stopped, their eyes hazy with tears. “When I was in Kincany, all those years ago, there was a dwarf. A youngling, barely out of childhood. I mentored them, tried to be a good role model to them. Tried to teach them how to be a hero. I thought I knew what it was to be a hero back then. Well, they were an apt pupil, and they learned quickly. I’d groomed them into the perfect ruler… or so I thought. You might know… well no, it was before your time. Before you were even born, I expect. Their name was Charlie MacGill.”
Oyem paused, letting the bittersweet name slip past their lips. “I’d encouraged Charlie to take the throne, to rule over the Anbroch, as was their birthright. I advised them on how best to do it, how to get support and overthrow the current regime. But in their most desperate moment, when they sprang the plan I had devised for them… I was not there to help. I abandoned them, ran off on some other adventure. I didn’t raise a complaint when the rebellion failed, and Charlie was thrown ignobly into prison. Oh, I may have felt some slight pang of guilt then, but as the years went past, and my youthful ignorance began to fade, I realized just how careless I had been. Just how… evil I had acted. Yes, Gusuhaz, evil! I used them as a tool, and discarded them as soon as they served no further use!”
A tear welled in Oyem’s eye, shining in the clear moonlight. “I have regretted it ever since. Even if their cause was hopeless, better to have died standing by their side than to live in this guilt. It consumes me. I tell you this, Gusuhaz, for two reasons. The first is that you may avoid making my mistake. Do not abandon those that you call friend, do not shy away from honor in the name of self-preservation, and by all means do not allow yourself to forget your past when you are swept up by the desire for fame and fortune. If you can do this, you are a hundred times the hero I could ever be.”
“But the second reason, Gusuhaz, is that you may, perhaps, allow me to redeem myself somewhat for the horror I have caused. Charlie has been released from prison, to avoid the MacTir rebels from using their name as a rallying cry. But where can they go? If they stay in Kincany, their head will be on a spike within a month. And even if they would accept my help, I could not bring them back to the Korebita. Muketi forgive me for speaking ill of our King of Kings, but as likely as not they would turn Charlie back over to Rosie MacGill to curry favor. But I will not allow them to be abandoned again. Therefore, Gusuhaz, I must ask a favor of you. Take Charlie with you to Highnest. Keep them safe, and listen to their words of wisdom. They are old now, and will not be much use to you in a fight. In fact they may slow your group down. I do not desire to hamper your quest for justice, but I feel I must ask this of you, for the sake of the dwarf whose life I stole. Will you accept the task that I once failed in, Gusuhaz? Will you do this for me?”
Re: Empire 6: Embers of Dawn IC
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