Devryn - "New Identity"
We made our way out of Windruck
Valley. Signs of life returned to the far-reaching countryside.
Sand finches darted from bush to bush, appearing as brilliant blurs of color
chasing about the hillocks. Further out, patches of wildflowers painted
the landscape in deep blues and bright yellows. A small herd of arroz
grazed on a section of spotty grass with a large buck, great horns twisted to
the sky, scanning the horizon. The steppes would be a serene setting if I
hadn't just escaped being left like a table scrap on a filthy floor, to be
fought over by some depraved mongrels.
The Principalities of Tressekia
were known to have sweeping, barren lands in the north. These territories
stretched out onto open plains with the occasional jagged mountain range
breaking the monotony, which differed from the lusher farmlands and wilderness
in the south. Both had their allure, but I found the early hours out in
the open to be the most pleasurable, even in this dreary mood.
I have traveled the main caravan
routes through here a few times, but never this far off the main causeways in
the north. Having that cloud of isolation from civilization wrapping
itself around my being was not an unfamiliar numbness but this extended sense
of detachment fought to overwhelm. And, my thirst was growing by the
hour.
Loose sand kicked up behind my
heels, passing through the natural grooves that split the brushy mounds.
Seth walked ahead with his head down, lost in his thoughts, while Tae-gron was
to the rear humming a quiet tune. At least Tae-gron didn’t seem phased.
The plan was to make our way
towards the Restorae Road, then west, in the direction of Inna Bojarta.
The people there have little love for the Cherriza Lords or their brutish laws
in Gurda Churrac. The Principalities were broken into four
territories after the king’s death. His two sons took the two southern
principalities while a cousin took the northwestern most lands. Isolated
in the mountains to the northeast was the fourth hold, Gurda Churrac, controlled
by a council and its ‘False God’.
“Seth, are we in a rush?” The
fatigue from the ordeal was weighing me down and my legs screamed for a short
pause. “You think we can take a break?”
Seth continued in his daze… no
acknowledgment.
“Seth…! Hey!”
Seth stopped and turned.
“Ah?” His hands were twisted up underneath his shirt, attempting to keep
them warm.
Shaking my head, “I need to sit for
a few,” and collapsed on a high spot next to a brush-mound. There was no
complaint.
We spent the afternoon relaxing and
building a bit of makeshift shade. The sun seemed extra bright in the
cloudless, deep blue sky. It beat down steadily, mindless of the chilled
wind that continually strafed the land. I wanted the warmth but the glare
was intense.
Tae-gron cleaned and cooked the
skiver as Seth and I lounged, dozing off for short intervals. Eventually,
we ate half of the stringy beast while smoking the rest for later.
“That was almost suitable,” Seth
looked at me with a greasy smile.
“Yes, a king’s feast.” I had
my fill.
“I can’t wait to lie back in a real
bed.” Seth pulled off the last bits of meat from the bone and slung it
into a neighboring shrub. The nub was repelled back by a wiry branch and
hit the ground nearby.
“I haven't passed through these
lands in over five years, so things may not be so friendly. Gurda Churrac
proved to be not much different other than being swarmed with those Mannab
shits.”
Gurda Churrac stands as the
principal city of the ‘False God’ Innakza, considered a fringe holy place since
the death of Motradon Dunche Guldren II, the last king of Tressekia. In
recent months, the Cherriza Lords pushed other noble families out and filled
the vacant council seats, then elevated Innakza’s status among the Vetro Mannab
Ohsutra, the ‘Mannab Pledges’. I could care less about all the religious
propaganda floating about, but the city was filled with mindless
fanatics. My business there was done… and proved to be a poor choice on
my part to linger afterwards.
“I hope Inna Bojarta hasn’t lost
its love of debauchery.”
“Agreed, my friend. Would be
a shame,” smiled Seth.
“You Tressians do enjoy yourselves
to excess,” Tae-gron said while looking over his thatched smoking stand
and checking the rear haunches sitting on a lower wooden platform. It was
an odd image to see such a large man act so careful, moving about the stand as
if it were a delicate flower arrangement. “We will have to be here a
while longer. Cooking slower with this hougdna.”
“Did I just hear you curse, Tae?”
Seth gleamed with mischievous intent.
Tae-gron just gave him a quick
glance, not to be goaded.
Later, I walked around gathering
all the bones to bury, trying to avoid as much encouragement for scavengers to
invade our little, quiet space. As I stepped over to collect Seth’s
arrant bone from early, it was nowhere to be found. Must have already
been grabbed by Seth or some rodent ran off with it as a prize.
We waited until Tae-gron was
satisfied, and then decided to stay the night due to the late hour. As I
lay there watching the sky change as the sun sat on the horizon, my stomach
slightly ached from eating too much. Or, it could have been the lack of
food over the past few days, and then eating something so rangy.
The next morning, we were up early
and moving. Once on the Restorae Road, we turned west towards Inna
Bojarta, a city built on a raised plateau, making for a steady climb to the
gates once there. It can be an imposing sight to a new visitor. To
add, the stone walls only made the city reach closer to the heavens… but that
did not promise anything better beyond those walls. Cur-Motradon Mesra
Guldren, cousin to the two sons of the dead king, ruled this northern passage,
which was the wilder of the territories and lacked plenty of civility.
The first day went by
quietly. On the morning of the second, we finally quenched our awful
thirst at a slender, running stream. The water carried some silt so we
headed up stream at Tae-gron's insistence to find a better spot.
Looking around the shoreline, I
found a plant with large leaves, to create makeshift bowls. Pulling
leaves, I caught a glimpse of carrion birds circling above in the water’s
reflection.
I passed Seth a handful of leaves,
“I’ll be right back.”
I made my way through the cut and
up a steep embankment, in their direction. The ridge looked down on two
bodies dumped below. I climbed down, chasing away a couple of the
buzzards in the process.
They were Tressian, dressed in
formal messenger garb. The sharp shoulder cut and burnt orange color of
their coats marked them beholden to a particular manor, one I was unfamiliar
with. Kneeling down to get a closer look, they appeared to have been thrown
from the ledge above, possibly to hide the bodies. The smell was strong
but they looked like fresh kills. Both were peppered with arrows, some hafts
snapped from the tumble. Nothing on the arrows to mark them unique.
One of the messengers took them all in the back. Sucks to die when
running for your life.
A large raven glided down and
landed on the back of a body. It gave me a wry look and pecked at the
twisted neck.
“Shoo!”
The bird only sat there and gave
out a caw and continued to stare back.
“Get, you damned bird!” waving my
hand as I wobbled in the loose sand.
It released another caw and bounced
to the side. The immediate jump sent me back onto my butt. A
squeaky laughter distantly echoed but yet seemed unnaturally in my head.
I looked about but saw no
source. The bird twisted its head and then the body seemed to
shimmer. The feathers appeared to retract back into its body and the beak
was replaced by a tiny muzzle filled with needle-like teeth. Where the
bird once was, an impish creature stood with a grin… then faded away from sight.
I heard rocks sliding down the
escarpment from behind. Seth climbed down and looked at me with a
questioning glance. "Well, seems we have been gifted with a change
of clothes." He yelled up to Tae-gron, "Sorry big guy, nothing
in your size down here."
Not sure what to say about what
just occurred, I decided on a more silent approach. Helping Seth,
we stripped the two bodies. I noted that neither had a messenger satchel
of any kind. We made our way back to the stream and scrubbed the garments
to be more presentable and wash away some of the rotten stench.
We got back on the road heading
west, which was little more than a trail at this point. The aged causeway that
once ran through the steppes was now a dirt and gravel track. The stone bricks
that paved the way have been scavenged over the past century for building
material or been long buried with time.
On the third day, Seth spotted a
faint dust cloud to our rear. “Think we got visitors,” pointing
eastward. He scrambled up a nearby mound for a better view.
“Riders.”
I looked at Tae-gron for
thoughts. He had a scowl. “I’m not feeling hospitable”
“Too far to tell who… but getting
awfully close… looks like soldiers. We need to make haste, boys.”
Seth slid down in quick jumps.
“Should we get off the road and let
them pass?” I asked.
“We say 'no',” came a voice from
behind.
We turned in unison to find two
Tressians fitted in hardened leather, bows knocked and aimed. A black
emblem of a roaring Tressian lion adorned their chests.
In half a breath, Seth darted
behind the nearest mound, with arrows loosed into the sand where he last stood,
missing their mark. Tae-gron rushed one of the archers, smashing into him
with a shoulder, sending the archer off his feet. The other watched,
pulling an arrow from his quiver, as his companion was struck. I sprinted
in low and grabbed the bow, pulling it downward. The archer followed the
jerk, his nose meeting my elbow’s backswing as he came forward. His face
exploded in a gush of blood and fell to the ground limp.
The other archer swung his bow
around while on his back, to keep Tae-gron at a distance. I moved to
flank the stranger as Tae-gron grabbed at the flailing bow. The archer’s
wild eyes skipped back and forth, trying to see an out.
Hooves pounded all around, horses
began to fill my vision. Damn.
A thick-chested man slid out of his
saddle, landing in the now formed circle of riders. His dark hair was
pulled back into a high knot, a fashion among Tressian horselords. His
face was weathered from continuous exposure and a scar followed along his
jawline. He wore similar hardened leather armor with the same lion
emblazoned on his chest. His hand pulled a saber free of its sheath with
practiced skill. His dark eyes looked directly at me, smile twisting one
corner of his mouth. “Shoute in fou un’shetan,” he said. He spoke
in Perussian, something that completely surprised me. It was a simple
greeting used when meeting the Fate of Death, something from my people’s
folklore.
