Part Two
Zorulas Sokrekedes awoke. His long unfit body curled under the thick blankets as the sun illuminated the cluttered room; his room. He sighed and cracked his neck as he rose to meet yet another day of grueling work on the docks. Dizzy with sleep, he stumbled to his hearth and warmed a tin of Kahwa juice. The fragrance of the stimulating drink pried his eyes open, and he downed it in a hurried gulp. Then he waited. As twenty minutes passed, his disappointment grew.
'No movement today' he thought. His body felt hot, and tense with the realization. It would be another uncomfortable and sluggish morning of hauling and lifting. 'Poor Zorulas Sokrekedes,' he mused 'once you conquered the greatest evil in all the land, and now you cannot conquer your own bowels.'
As the late morning sun cast a feverish ray on the streets of the city Tenger, Zorulas mustered some courage and began the long walk to his morning duties. Silani, the owner of the Tenger Trade Company, and a former companion in travel, would be waiting for him at the Pickled Eye Tavern.
*
"Zorulas!" called his old companion through the morning chatter. The Pickled Eye was filled with its regular customers. Drunkards, louts, and women of dubious distinction crowded around old tables or at the bar. "You're late again Zorulas!"
"I know Silani. My knees were in a world of hurt this morning," he lied.
Silani looked his friend in the eye sternly. "When I gave you this job, it was to help you get back on track, not assist your decline."
"And I appreciate it old friend. But my body is not what it once was."
"It is not just your body that needs repair. Look at you! You're dressed like a beggar. You smell like drink. Your belly grows more bountiful each day. I frankly cannot stand the sight of you like this."
Zorulas sighed. He hated making conversation in the morning. He hated arguments even more. His brain was just too mellow to handle the complicated process of thought.
"Look, Silani, I appreciate you giving me a hand. Without you, bless the lady's name, I would be in the gutter. But I cannot handle this conversation right now."
"Typical!" his friend sneered. "No wonder Agata left you for that half-Rar," Silani paused to shudder at the thought of beautiful Agata coupling with a green-skinned half beast. Raraami were a vile race of savage hedonistic entities who dwelled in the eastern river valley beyond the mountains. Walking abominations with warty skin, and green mottled jowls, the Raraami indulged in every pleasure accessible through the five senses. Even half of one was too much as far as Silani was concerned. Sure, they could sometimes pass for a human, but how did Agata see beyond the Half-Rar discolored skin, and bulging eyes set in a slouched face? "Why can't you pull yourself together?"
A look of longing filled Zorulas's eyes as his mind clutched at the distant memories.
"Do you remember when we cornered the wizard lord Roszul on the parapet of Dunlar palace? And we took his head?" asked the aging hero.
"Yes, Zorulas, how could I forget? How could all of Vilag forget what we did for the free cities?" Silani's tone darkened, "But those days are over my friend. We are getting older now. Look at me. I have ten ships, and a prosperous trade venture. You squandered your riches on Agata, and when she ran off with that creature you sank into a sea of self pity. Summon yourself! And stop trying to unclog your body with Kahwa juice!"
Zorulas' eyes burned with anger. He stared menacingly at his old friend, but said nothing.
"Look, I am sorry. But you were once a great warrior, perhaps the best in all of Vilag. Now you haul carts and barrels into ships. And you wouldn't even be doing that if it weren't for me."
The old warrior fumed. Hate began to form like an acid in his belly. "I am taking the day off Silani. I will see you tomorrow."
Silani sighed as his best friend turned venomously, and strode out of the building. 'Poor Zorulas Sokrekedes' he thought.
*
Zorulas strolled along the pier. Its wood was water logged, but still creaked under his weight. He looked at the city of Tenger. Its beautiful cobblestone streets supported a network of houses, and tall gray buildings. 'Those homes would be ash if it weren't for me' he thought to himself. His thoughts turned to his time spent with Agata and Silani. Back when the kingdom was invaded by the villainous wizard Roszul and his army of Ruha beasts. Those were the days. When pure brawn was appreciated, and used for more than hauling crates and carts. When women in alluring chainmail armor were commonplace and filled with generosity for men such as Zorulas. He thought about the Half-Rar and Agata. His neck was tense, and his chest felt as though it would burst.
Once Zorulas had believed he would marry Agata. She was beautiful; a sleek specimen of athleticism and femininity. Like most people from the Free Cities of Vilag, she had long dark hair, bronze hued skin, and a lean statuesque frame. By any measure she was brilliant woman. Her ability with a blade was beyond the reach of most men. But she possessed another, more exotic talent: magic. The Divine Lady had deemed her worthy of that precious gift, and bestowed unto her large reserves of magical potential. And that, Zorulas mused, was precisely why their love was doomed from the start.
At that moment the ground began to shake and fire fell from the sky in hurtled masses. He looked up and saw the familiar dark swirling clouds. The city was ablaze as Herculean meteors hurtled into the red brick buildings. "Roszul has returned!" shouted Zorulas. He ran to get his old companion Silani and felt a wonderful rumble in his gut. The wizard had returned to bring vengeance on the city of Tenger!
Tenger was the central trade city and defacto capital of the Free Cities of Vilag; a loose confederation of independent mercantile cities in the North Western region of Oordia. Its people were mostly of human stock, and prided themselves on their robust work ethic and ascetic appetite. Since the end of Roszul's strict rein, commerce and life had largely returned to their normal state. The region, and Tenger in particular, was completely unprepared for a violent assault from either of its two neighbors: The Easter Land of Lahmia, and the Southern Kingdoms of Falsafa.
Lahmia was in every way the opposite of the Free Cities. Its population consisted mostly of Raraami. Raraami, or Rar for short, were a race of humanoids with large bulbous eyes, thick rubbery noses, and green muculent skin. They pursued with fervor, the gratification of all the senses. Generally disregarded by the other kingdoms as insignificant, they ruled river valley east of the Free Cities.
To the south was the divided land of Falsalfa. Ages ago, the once strong kingdom, was cut in two by civil war. Its inhabitants were a race called the Ekrate. An intelligence race of beings, who pursued knowledge to its furthest limits, the Ekrate were rumored to have the most beautiful and productive cities in all of Oordia. Rumored, because few ventured into their lands from either of the two Northern Kingdoms. Foreigners were both unwelcome, and disliked in Falsafa. Those few who had ventured and returned from this puzzling place, reported that the Ekrate were similar to humans in everyway, but taller, more lean, and of a slightly bluish tint.
*
The Sea Cow was Silani's prized trade ship. A proud galleass with thirty six oars, four masts, eight iron forged cannons, and a single mighty falcon cannon, the Sea Cow was designed both business and war. As the free city of Tenger succumbed to a growing storm of fire, a cold sickness coursed through Silani. He gazed though the plumes of smoke into the outskirts of the city and, to his horror, witnessed an oncoming legion of Raraami soldiers. The Captain, Lorenzo, who observed this as well, shouted at the crew "All hands above board! All Hands above board!" Like a variegated swarm of ants, the crew busied itself readying the ship for a speedy departure.
"Silani! Silani!" Screamed the familiar voice, as Zorulas helped himself up the gangplank.
Silani hurried to his old companion and directed him below deck. "Come with me to the safety of the officer's quarters," he commanded.
The old warrior brimmed with delight as he followed the shrewd merchant down the hatch into a tight hallway. The thick odors of wood, mildew and brine hit his nostrils. Normally such scents would intensify his irritated disposition, but today they reminded him that he was alive. It had been many years since he felt so.capable. Zorulas slapped Silani on the back as they crowded into the aft portion of the ship. "He is back my old friend. We must come up with a plan of attack."
Silani looked puzzled. At that moment the ship began to move sluggishly out into the harbor, and expression of relief tempered his growing exasperation with Zorulas. "Who is back? And what do you mean we must devise a 'plan of attack'? Against whom?"
"I mean he is back." Excitement, pleasure, and a hint of discomfort flashed across Zorulas's face. "Our old enemy Roszul has returned and we are the only ones who can stop him!" Zorulas paused as if struck by a brilliant thought, "Does this ship have a latrine?"
"It is over there," Said Silani, motioning to a discreet chamber wedged between the navigator's office and his own.
Zorulas strolled into the room his friend had indicated, shut the door and continued to speak, "We need to find a group of hearty men, men built for action, and then lay waste to him!"
Displeased, but not surprised by his friend's uncouth manners, Silani spoke to him through the very thin wooden door, "First, we do not know that this is Roszul. Any man, kingdom or tribe could be responsible for what is happening. Two, since you cut off Roszul's head, and I was there to witness, it is highly unlikely that he was involved in any way with this attack. Three, even if it were him, and that is granting a lot, why do we have to do anything?"
Zorulas thought deeply for a few moments, as he often did in his current occupation, and replied "It couldn't be anyone else. No one hates the Free Cities more than he, and he is the only wizard powerful enough to throw fire from the sky in the past thousand years. And only Roszul uses Raraami as soldiers."
"And the matter of his missing head?" Queried Sinali skeptically.
"I don't know," Zorulas admitted, "He is a wizard. They do all kinds of strange ungodly things. Only the Divine Lady, Anoma, knows for sure, but I suspect he used some kind of magic to survive having his head removed by my sword."
A heavy sigh escaped Silani's lips as he shrugged, "But why, my poor Zorulas, must we, middle aged-retired-men that we are, get involved?"
"Because the Free Cities need us. And if the Free Cities fall, so does your little trade empire."
Silani was surprised, for all his business acumen he had not thought the scenario through yet. Zorulas was correct. He relied on the Free Cities' control of the Shay Islands, and their resources. "Very well Zorulas. What do you suggest we do?"
"Like I said, we gather ourselves a band of men, and find out where Roszul is hiding himself. We will also need to seek the Divine Lady, Anoma's blessing."
*
The Raraami was cold and tired. He dragged a heavy waft of smoke into his brittle lungs with a long drawn out breath. A bitter sweet flavor lingered on his tongue as the Kamiil leaf burned inside his hookah. A vague expression of contentment swelled in his large froglike eyes. He reclined comfortably across his satin sofa and momentarily considered his next course of action. As pleasure flooded his body he contemplated what activity would best compliment his present condition. With a flick of his long skilled fingers, he sent a servant to retrieve his current favorite from the harem. But the palace was large, and it would take time for her to arrive.possibly one tenth of an hour. What should he do in the mean time? He despised moments of idleness, moments without pleasure such as this. The need for deliberation was ended when the Raraami's general was escorted before him.
General Qamar, a thick husky specimen, stood at attention before the Raraami and issued his report, "King Al-Baqara, I wish to report on the progress of our advance into the Western Free Cities."
Fog lifted from the Raraami's lazy eyes and he perked his body into a more attentive pose, "You may proceed good general."
"Thank you King Baqara. May Hajja bless you and your offspring." The General paused in order to allow the compliment to sink in. "We have received word that our soldiers have crushed the Free Kingdom of Vilag in the time it took them to move across the western lands. That is sir, they were entirely uninhibited by the weak defenses of the West. We destroyed the Capital, Tenger, and have managed to track down most of the City Fathers. In its place we will construct a new, improved, Raraami city bearing your great name."
This news was indeed what the king had hoped. His mind, straining greatly under weight of the Kamiil Leaf, reflected on his recent acquisition. All the Land West of the Tevor Mountain range was his. The formerly free cities of Vilag, now gems to adorn his beautiful treasury. His mind swirled with delight, and he detected the shadowy outline of one his brides entering the room. He had to act quickly or he would sink into sleep. He had stretched his body to the breaking point. Achieving the perfect balance of all five senses was very difficult to achieve, even for a king. Sleep would deprive him of his final indulgence for the evening. He tried desperately to hold on to consciousness, thinking of all the things he knew. Even familiar things eluded his sluggish brain. He draped his body across the sofa, defeated by the Kamiil leaf. He did know one thing (or perhaps two), his name was not Roszul, it was King al-Baqara.
King al-Baqara ibn Baqara was the fifth descendant of the great Wrain King al-Hamaar, who had unified Lahmia into a single kingdom. Al-Baqara, like his descendants before him, ruled by whim. Surrounding himself with a competent array of advisors and military men, his role was merely to point the kingdom in a direction.any direction. The details were managed by Raraami more competent than himself. This proved most effective, and allowed the King to pursue the appeasement of his senses.
*
His name was Roszul, or it at least that is what he believed it to be. A gaunt figure, with lanky limbs and an ungainly gait, he stood on the battlefield and directed the fires of heaven against the city. It had been many years since life filled his aching joints, and the breath of existence dwelled in his chest. He remembered the magic; how it was wielded and shaped. He knew that it allowed him to cultivate existing energy, and conduct toward the object of his will. As the vast masses of flame careened into Tenger's unsuspecting hordes, a surge of recollection filled his spirit.
He remembered he was once a wizard of paramount importance. He had also ruled the Free Cities of Vilag. But his rein was cut short, but the swords of a clever band of heroes. A name surfaced in his thoughts: Zorulas Sokrekedes. Other names: Agata, Silani, Fabian, and Arlando. As these memories swirled in his mind, his senses detected the dynamic flow of infantry and cavalry all around him.
As he realized he was in the midst of a great battle it occurred to the wizard that lacked four of his five senses. He could feel the earth beneath him, the wind against his parched flesh, and the heat of a flaming city, but he could not see, hear, taste, or smell anything. Yet somehow he was able to perceive the happenings around him. In a flash he was able to deduce that his body lacked a head and all the accoutrements thereof.
But if he did not possess his head, and therefore a mind; how was he able to think and will his body to action? Someone must have used dark magic to re-infuse his departed soul into his remains. Anger billowed within as he mused on the subject. Who possessed the hubris to defile his body, exploit it for a cheap military victory? More importantly, who possessed his lost head?
***
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