Part One
Part Two
Silani and Zorulas exited the Sea Cow, and walked into the port city Polenza: Capital of the Shay Islands. Two weeks had passed since the free Cities of Vilag were invaded by Lahmia. All of the mainland Cities had fallen to Lahmian forces. Word spread that many of the City Fathers, and much of military, fled to the Isles. Silani managed to contact the exiled leadership through one of his four remaining vessels, and arrange for a meeting at the Polenza Forum.
As they entered the Forum, they were greeted by thirty City Fathers, the venerable representatives of the Free Cities' prominent houses. They all sat at a long table made of wood and acknowledged the heroes upon their entrance. Zorulas, to Silani's exasperation, insisted on wearing a thick piece of breast plate armor, that did little to conceal his roaming paunch. Strapped to his side was an old steel arming sword he found in the hold. As they found their seats, one of the more respected fathers, Dominique Demenza, stood up and addressed Silani coldly.
“We are pleased to have at our table, two very worthy men. We salute you Zorulas Sokrekedes and Silani Bastiani.” Dominique paused, and gazed longingly in the direction of Tenger. “As you know, The Free Cities have fallen to the armies of King Baqara. We also have reason to believe that your former nemesis, Roszul, hand a hand in this disaster. What remains of our army is stationed here in Polenza. Our numbers are small, and we have little time to build better defenses. For this reason, we ask most humbly that go on a mission to help restore Vilag once again.”
Zorulas stood up proudly and placed his meaty hands on the table. “Good city father, we are here at your service. Do you want us to kill Roszul or this King first?”
Father Dominique looked surprised. “Why, neither, dear Zorulas Zokrekedes. We need military assistance, and quickly. Which is why we want you to set sail for Falsafa, to request their aid.”
Zorulas Looked perplexed. “A diplomatic mission?”
“Yes,” Said Dominique.
“But I am a warrior. I know how to kill, I like to kill.”
“Yes, dear Zorulas,” The Father replied, “But you and Silani, not to mention your surviving companions Agata and Arlando, are well known throughout Oordia. Sending you will likely secure a favorably reaction from the Falsafans.”
“This I understand Father,” Said Zorulas, “But I want to face Roszul again. You need me to stop him from using his magic.”
The veil of compassion dropped from Dominque's eyes as he responded. “Zorulas, you were once a great warrior. But I must confess, it would be unwise of this council to send you on any military mission. We have younger men who are more than willing take on that role.”
Anger burned in the chest of Zorulas. “Father, send me to kill Roszul, I wont fail!” Silani put a hand on his friend's shoulder to calm his rage.
Dominque was unmoved. “Zorulas Sokrekedes, you are practically a City Father yourself. Accept this very vital role we have selected for you.”
Silani raised a hand to silence Zorulas' protest and spoke in his place. “Father, we are more than happy to go to falsafa on your behalf. We will set sail this evening.”
*
Alando Fantini, a short stocky fellow with silver hair a weak chin and dark leathery skin, woke up as he did every morning and tended to his garden. He lived in a small rural cottage surrounded by a meticulous brick wall he built with his own two hands. In his garden he grew his favorite root vegetables, spicy red peppers, and large quantities of green roughage. Yes, this was his home and, despite the invasion, here he would stay.
As he sat there tending his turnips, he heard the sound of approaching forces. In the distance he saw five massive creatures and a number of soldiers moving toward him. “Ruha Beasts!” He thought to himself.
Arlando hated Ruha Beasts. Large pachyderms with bone breaking beaks, and a thick brown hide, they were the favored steeds of the Rarami. Without a thought the old soldier ran into his cottage and grabbed his two favorite battle maces. Wielding one in each hand, he ran outside and stood with his chest thrust out in defiance.
Thankfully the Raraami soldiers dismounted and closed the distance on foot. The apparent leader came near Arlando and addressed him. “Alando Fantini, give us the head and you may continue in peace.”
Arlando thought for a moment. ‘What head did they want. His head?' He sized up the Raraami's. There were six of them, half with swords and half with spears. He touched the thick scar tissue on his right ear and considered how to proceed.
“Raraami, I don't understand what you want.” He shouted. “You want a head!?”
The Raraami sighed. “Don't play games with us you addle brained fool. You know whose head we want.”
“No I don't,” Arlando Said truthfully. “Go back to your king before I…”
“Give us the head of Roszul before we take it from you.” The soldier interrupted.
“I will not give you the head Raraami.” Asserted Arlando. “You are going to have to come through me to get it.”
“The Raraami shrugged. “Very well.”
The leader stepped aside, and allowed his three swordsman to rush forward. Arlando spun around and let his mace crash into the head of one of his attackers. The soldier fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and the other two immediately attacked. Arlando backed away to avoid the deadly blades. He slipped his head down to evade a spear which had been thrown by another one of the soldiers.
The Swordsman continued their approach and Arlando waited for the right moment. As one of them made a wild swing he seized on the opportunity and shattered the soldier's exposed elbow with his mace. With the other hand he struck his opponent under the chin and savored the loud crunch of bone. Everything blurred in a single instant, when the remaining swordsman sent the flat of his blade crashing down on Arlando's skull. The old veteran's feet felt weak, and he stumbled back, only able to detect the hazy outlines of his enemies. A burning pain followed as he felt a spear sink into his hip, brining him to the ground. The last thing he heard was the horrible roar of the Ruha beasts.
*
Steam poured into the tiled chamber. King Baqara lay face down on a table. His trusted adviser, Wasir LaQudra, sat in a nearby chair with a thick cloth drapped around his body. A Raraami women stood near the king, and pressed with both her hands against the muscles surrounding his spin. The silence was ended by a series of cracks and pops which caused Al Baqara to sigh in relief. He cast a teasing eye at LaQudra. “Do you want try her when I am finished Habibi?”
LaQudra swallowed in embarrassment at the term of endearment. Normally reserved for lovers, ‘habibi' was also used to attack another man's masculinity. He remembered himself and answered the king. “King Al Baqara, I am afraid I am too busy seeing that your will is carried out to indulge in such pleasures.”
The woman had worked her way to Al Baqara's calves and he wiggled with delight. “Yes, Habibi, but it isn't right for a Raraami to work and never taste the fruits of his labor.”
LaQudra looked at the beautiful Raraami woman. Her skin a perfect shade of green, like the swamps of Aqiba. Her hair was black, and moist like the seaweed of Aqiba. It was not as the king had implied, he did desire her. With every ounce of his intellect he desired her. But he knew all too well that he lacked the power to fulfill this desire. “Perhaps, King Al Baqara would like to hear some news of the war?”
The woman had now begun to walk upon Al Bawara's spin, issuing more pops and cracks as she did so. Her strong toes pressed hard against the joints, causing them to snap pleasantly. “Yes! I am eager to hear both news and you plans for that wizard…um…Roshal?”
“His name is Roszul,” LaQudra corrected his king, “He destroyed Tenger and the other major cities with ease.”
“Yes,” Said Baqara “How splendid. It is a shame that you will have to kill him now.”
LaQudra chose his words carefully to remove any hints of treachery. “It is ture, that we must destroy Roszul when the war is ended. But it is not over yet my King.”
The King looked surprised “Its not?”
“Well, no my Lord, the City Fathers have all fled to the Shay Islands. We must crush them entirely before they can regroup.”
As the women forced gusts of air from the King's lungs with her stomping feet, he nodded his head violently in agreement with his Wasir.
LaQudra continued, “I have taken the liberty of sending one of our best men to retrieve the wizard's head. That way he will be of more use to us. After we destroy the last remnants of their government I will purge Roszul's soul from his body, and bring the cadaver to you as a gift.”
“Wonderful!” Said the king. “Now let us discuss that Southern girl I wanted to marry.”
*
Back on the ship, headed for the Capital of North Falsafa, Zorulas sat at a table and ate hunks of aged cheese. “Your only making it worse for yourself,” Said Silani, who was treating himself to a rare treat of turnips and water cut wine. “You really ought to eat something more healthy,” He advised.
Zorulas paid no attention to his friend's suggestion, instead he grabbed a nearby bottle of rum and washed down the fragrant bits of food. His body was hot again. Not a steady regular temperature, but occasional flashes of intense heat that prompted fits of sweat and nausea. Resigned to his fate, he asked “What is our plan?”
“Well,” Silani began, “First we go to North Falsafa and speak with the Malik Falsafia, their political and moral leader. Once we secure military aid form the North we will venture to South Falsafa, or the Satva Republic. There we will speak with Senator Ataneus, speaker of the Eklesia, their governing body.”
“I see,” Said Zorulas, “It could be worse I suppose. We may get a chance to explore local entertainments. Are Falsafan women attractive?”
“Ekretean Women,” Silani corrected him, “are exotic to say the least. But I have never seen one myself.”
The rum improved Zorulas' mood. His spirit lightened, he tried to imagine what ‘Erkiten' women looked like. Perhaps this mission was not all bad.
*
Maiden Agan heard frightful sounds from beyond the trees. She was in the forest gathering wood for her father and berries for their morning meal. Her blue cape was smeared with red berry stains, and her long dark curls had collected a variety of twigs and dried leaves. She ducked down and listened carefully to the sounds. She could her men shouting, and weapons colliding. Long dull roar echoed through the valley walls. Her first thought was to hide here in the safety of the forest. Her second thought was of her aging father. Drawing on the strength he had built in her from the day she was born, Agan stood up and walked back to their cottage.
She arrived to find her father slumped against a wall. He mumbled incoherently to himself as she approached. Blood was caked to his head, and still flowing from his side. Tears burst filled her brown eyes, and she ran to cradle the man who reared her. “Father! Who did this to you? Can you speak?” Her voiced trembled and water streamed down her cheeks.
Arlando Fantini looked up at his lovely daughter, his eyes blinking many times. “Raraami,” He whispered.
Agan laid her father gently on the ground and inspected his wounds. He had been struck in the head rather severely, but it was not life threatening. Over the years he had received many blows to the head, both as gladiator and soldier. She then looked at the deep wound on his hip. It had been pierced by a blade or spear. The Raraami responsible had retrieved the weapon. Agan could see that it had been driven into the bone, which concerned her. The wound was not a fatal one, but the damage to the hip could prove deadly for a man her father's age, at least in time it could.
Her father gave her a reassuring smile, “Don't worry Agan,” she was named after her mother, “I will be fine. Just help your father inside.”
Maiden Agan softly lifted her father to his feet, and spotted his two battle maces on the ground. “Father! You tried to fight them off?”
Arlando grumbled “Shouldn't have been there!” He said as if in reference to both himself and his attackers.
“Oh father,” Agan admonished, as she placed him on his bed. “I will get some salve for the bleeding, and then make you some Kahwa Juice. Now tell me, why did the Raraami soldiers attack you?”
Arlando thought for a moment. They had a reason, but he could not remember it.
Recognizing her father's confusion, Agan offered “Did they want something from you?”
Yes. Now he remembered. “The head! That damned wizard's head!”
A chill gave Agan pause. She silently put the herbal salve on Arlando's wounds, and brought him some Kahwa. She then began to pack their belongings, and helped herself to some berries.
“Why are you packing?” Arlando asked his daughter.
“Father, you know that we must bring this news to the City Fathers in Exile.”
“Let them sort it out,” He resisted. “We have a life here, and they wont be back to bother us now that they have the head.”
“You don't know that father,” She said between pieces berry. “They may come back to finish you off. Besides, we have to warn the Fathers that they have Roszul's head.”
Arlando, who trusted his daughters judgment more than his own, smiled at Agan, and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Agan, you shouldn't eat so many berries all at once.” He said only half joking, “You will grow fat, and then no Vilagian will want to marry you.”
“Oh Father, you can't get fat from berries. Besides I know how much my body needs.”
Her father eyed her suspiciously “When did your hips get so round? Good lord, no one will marry you with a rump like that?”
Agan put her father's boots on his feet and helped him get ready for the coming journey. “Father, a woman should have curves. It helps the birthing process.”
Alando waved his arms in protest “I don't want to my daughter being involved with birthing anything.”
*
LaQudra sat in his opulent lounge, with a large mahogany box in his lap. He disdained luxury. He thought bred idleness and dulled the mind. But as the King's most trusted Wazir, such lavish décor was expected of him.
A headless body was escorted into the room by General Qamar and five soldiers. The General stood at attention and spoke to the Wazir, “Wazir LaQudra, The Wizard Roszul.”
The Wazir met the General's gaze. He respected, and even trusted, Qamar. He was a true military man. A Raraamii worthy of admiration, unlike so many of his peers who insisted on fornicating their lives away. LaQudra, a learned scholar, knew that the Raraami were not always so indulgent. They were once a glorious race. “General Qamar,” He began, “Thank you for your service. Is he still under the control of the Talisman?”
The General stepped forward. “Yes sir. I have it in my possession now.”
“Hand it to me.” Said LaQudra.
Qamar placed the golden Talsiman into the palm of the Wazir. It was a brilliant item, circular in shape and festooned with small diamonds. “You may leave us alone General.”
A look of fear appeared on the General's face. “Is that wise, sir?” He asked.
LaQudra waved his hand dismissively. “We are safe. I have the talisman.”
The General nodded and obeyed. The two figures stood facing one another, alone. LaQudra was suddenly struck by the other's height. Even without a head, Roszul was an imposing man. Not only was he approaching seven feet tall, but his shoulders were unusually wide. His hands were large, and dangled weakly fom his wrists.
“I am going to give you your head back, and give you this talisman.” Said LaQudra.
“You may kill me for desecrating your body. I deserve nothing less. But know that I did all this to elevate you to the highest position in my land, and hopefully become your student.”
The Wazir then unlatched the box, and removed Roszul's head from within. He placed it between the Wizard's shoulders, then put the talisman on the ground before him. A vibrant light burst from inside the man's body, and the desiccated head began to fuse with his neck. Blackened tissue slowly restored to life as the light continued to emanate from Roszul's heart. He opened his eyes, and saw his captor for the first time.
“What is your name?” Roszul asked Sincerely.
“LaQudra Sageer. And I study the art.”
Roszul breathed for the first time in many years. “I gathered that. Tell me more about this plan of yours.”
***
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