Chapter-2-1

⁠—⁠—⁠— I ⁠—⁠—⁠—

“Riyaad!” Siba’s voice trembled with unconcealed joy. “Our village!”

Siba looked up at Guin, more than twice his height. Beside the leopard-man stood the mercenary Istavan, also much taller than the Raku warrior, but wiry next to Guin’s impressive form. The three had paused at the entrance to the valley, looking down on the village of the Raku, which lay nestled in a cradle of low hills.

The night was deep. In the other valley, little had stirred but the yidoh and the ever falling wisps of the angel hair, but here above the Raku village they could see small lights moving in many places, flickering like sea-fires on the night ocean. The news of the band’s arrival having reached the village a while ago, the sleepy community had been roused to prepare a grand greeting.

“Huh, their village looks a lot larger than I expected,” Istavan said. The idea of becoming a guest of the monkey-like Raku had rendered him uncharacteristically taciturn, but now, with a whistle, he had broken that silence.

A cluster of flames broke off from the pool of light that marked the central village. It began moving towards them. Several Raku were coming up to meet them, holding torches aloft in their hands as they scurried up the slope of the valley path.

“Riyaad! Riyaad!”

“Siba!”

Their cries sounded clear in the night air. Above the voices of the Sem could also be heard two voices that piped in the human tongue.

“Guin!”

“Oh, Guin!”

Two figures emerged running out of the greeting party and did not stop until their arms were wrapped around the leopard-man, hugging him with all their might. It was Remus and Rinda, the royal twins of Parros.

“Guin, Guin! I’m so glad you made it! We were so worried!” Rinda, forgetting her regal manners, and heedless of all else around her, clung sobbing to the leopard-headed warrior, her beautiful silver hair rubbing against his abdomen. Remus, too, hung affectionately onto Guin’s waist. The two were like lost baby birds returned at long last to the shelter of their mother’s wings.

“There was no need to worry, children,” growled Guin.

Istavan cast a baleful glance at the happily reunited trio. He spat disdainfully, “Ah, so the princess of Parros is just a teary-eyed kid after all.” Rinda lifted her head from Guin’s torso, and as if noticing the mercenary for the first time, looked over at him.

Istavan, expecting the usual curt retort, was surprised when she said nothing. Rinda merely exchanged glances with her twin brother, and the two laughed as if they were privy to some private joke they did not care to share with the Valachian.

“Ech, what’s this?” Istavan sneered. “Fine then, go ahead and laugh. Easy enough for you to do! You’ve been sitting pretty here, royal guests at a monkey banquet table, while my plebian ass was on the brink of death itself!”

“I’m sorry,” Rinda replied, still giggling. “Where are my manners? The whole village has been waiting for you. They’ve prepared quite a feast.”

“Yes, a real feast!” chimed Remus. The twins exchanged looks again, and burst into peals of laughter.

“I see you’ve caught monkey fever and gone mad, ” declared Istavan, but the news of a feast cheered him up considerably. Young though he was, the long string of adventures and brushes with death had taken their toll; he was very tired, and more than anything, ravenously hungry. As they continued down the slope toward the village, surrounded by torch-bearing Raku who lit the path for them, giving them a heroes’ welcome, the Crimson Mercenary softened his scowl. Gazing down at his worn undershirt and leggings, he began to mumble to himself, as was his wont: “Hardly dressed for a feast, am I? True, it’s just a monkey village, but would they have stolen armor, from the Marches patrol or something? Just a breastplate would do. By Sarina Goddess of Beauty’s silver-rimmed mirror, I’m a sight to behold.”

Meanwhile, Rinda and Remus, for whom Guin the leopard-man was already much more than a traveling companion, nearly clung to him as they made their way. Since the three had met in the Roodwood by chance—or perhaps by some design of fate, one could not know—they had faced the Black Count Vanon, witnessed the fall of Stafolos Keep, braved the treacherous waters of the River Kes, and made their way through the dangers of Nospherus. Guin’s past was cloaked in mystery, he himself not knowing who or what he was, but to the twins he was a guardian spirit, and they trusted him with their lives. The twins had lost their parents and their country, but as long as Guin was there to protect them, even the great unknown of the Marches held no true terrors for the homeless orphans.

The Raku had spared no luxury in welcoming the twins. By nature a warm people, they were all the more hospitable when they heard that Rinda had saved the chieftain’s granddaughter, Suni. For the first time in the interminable days since the fall of Parros, the twins were able to wash their hands and feet and eat their fill of good food. Yet until Guin was with them, they could not relax.

“Everything will be fine now that you’re here!” Rinda oozed. Laughing, she skipped along and led Guin toward the Raku village by his giant hand. But a cloud fell over her smoky violet eyes when she saw the fresh scars on Guin’s arms and chest. She stopped, and in a worried tone asked if he was hurt.

“It is nothing,” Guin assured her, and spoke no further. His thoughts were on the Mongauli army, and his leopard eyes burned with an impatience that he could not hide.

“Riyaad!”

A new group of Sem, also bearing torches, approached them. At their head trotted little Suni, and her grandfather, Loto, the high chieftain of the Raku. Loto’s graying fur glistened like silver needles in the torchlight.

In the cultured words of the Middle Country, Loto said slowly and formally, “Brave warriors, our village and all its people welcome you. We are forever grateful.”

Guin raised a hand to interrupt him. “We must save formalities for later, high chieftain. I need you to summon the leaders of all the Sem tribes, now. Send out word, and may the messengers be quick. The lives of your people, and of all the Sem, depend on it.”

Loto’s eyes went wide. “Of what do you speak?” he demanded, falling back into his native tongue. A tremor ran through the crowd of torches around him. “You mean not only the Raku, but the salt-valley Karoi, the black-haired Guro, the spotted Rasa, and the yidoh-kin Tubai?”

“That is so,” Guin replied, continuing down the gentle slope toward the village, the twins of Parros clinging to his sides.

Flustered, Loto sped up his pace so he would not be left behind. As he trotted along he looked at the leopard-headed warrior carefully to see whether this was some sort of jest, or whether Guin was truly serious.

“Riyaad! Tell me. What is happening?”

“The Mongauli are marching on Nospherus,” came the leopard-man’s stern response. “An invasion army has already crossed the Kes, ten-and-five thousand in number. They camp on this side of the river and wait for dawn. General Amnelis, the Lady of Mongaul herself, leads them. Judging by that, and by the store of gear they carry and the array of their camp, I believe that they plan to demolish all the Sem of Nospherus: to hit you so hard no Sem will ever cross the river into Mongauli lands again. Once they have done this, they will likely stay and claim the lands of Nospherus for their own, thereby pushing the border of Mongaul many tads to the northeast.”

“Ten-and-five thousand!” Loto rasped under his breath.

A great commotion went up among the Raku who had pressed around them to hear the exchange.

The high chieftain silenced them with a gesture. “Then, the Sem are finished. Riyaad, the Sem will be destroyed.” His voice was strangely calm.

It was Guin who raised his voice in anger: “Do not let them! You Sem may be subhuman, or primitive, but to assault a peaceful tribe like yours to satisfy a lust for expansion—no, Mongaul does not have the right. We must fight, Loto! And to fight, we need all the Sem tribes!”

“Yes, Riyaad,” Loto concurred softly. And for a while, they walked on in silence.

They were now at the entrance to the village. The Sem community, lit here and there by torches, was comprised of simple dwellings, little more than mounds of shaped earth, like bowls turned upside down and lined in orderly rows that stretched to the edges of the valley bottom. In most of the doorways, Guin could see Raku tribespeople huddled in clusters, peering out at the unusual visitors as they passed.

They proceeded along a road that had been hard packed by the passage of many feet, through what appeared to be the center of the village. The glittering eyes of the Sem followed them all the way. One word could be heard clearly in the high-pitched chittering, the Sem word for “leopard.” Waves of whispers followed them down the street.

“Riyaad… Riyaad… Alphetto-son!”

“I don’t believe this!” said Istavan, who could not remain silent for any stretch of time. Looking around uneasily, he drew close to Guin and whispered in the leopard-man’s tufted ear: “Hey, Guin…”

“What?”

“Welcome to monkey town! Phew, what a sight! Don’t tell me you seriously believe these guys stand a mouse’s chance against fifteen thousand Mongauli soldiers! I don’t think you do, Guin. Just be nice and tell me you don’t!”

Guin was silent. Ahead of them, Loto had stopped. He was signaling now for everyone to gather around him. They were standing before one of the inverted bowl-like dwellings, which, though only dimly visible in the darkness, was clearly considerably larger than any of the others surrounding it.

“Brave heroes, guests of the Raku, I welcome you. Allow us to show you our hospitality,” Loto pronounced. Then he grasped Guin’s arm with a small furry hand and spoke more quietly. “Riyaad, this way, please.”

Guin nodded.

“I’m starving all right,” Istavan informed no one in particular, but first I want some water to wash my hands and feet—and some wine to wash my mouth.” Ducking his head, he went into the dark hut first after the Sem.

The twins, who seemed familiar with the place, followed. Rinda turned around at the threshold and looked at Guin as though she wanted to tell him something. But she thought better of it and just flashed a lovely little smile. With Suni at her heels, she stepped in after her brother.

Soon enough, the guests’ voices rose up merrily. Istavan’s rang above all others, and his voice was full of glee. Their high spirits spilled to the street.

Guin, who had gone in last, glanced over at the mercenary and chuckled. “He is truly a remarkable man, that Crimson Mercenary. How he resisted becoming the guest of the Sem, how he complained! Yet now that he is here, he behaves as though he has lived in this village all his life. It is a rare man who can be at ease in that manner. I would think he is fated for a kind of greatness.” He said this more to himself than for Loto, who sat at his side and looked up at him questioningly. The leopard-man’s eyes had taken on a stern, resolute look by the time he returned Loto’s gaze. The mysterious warrior lightly raised his hand and pointed in the general direction of the arid plains beyond the hills—and the threat that moved there.

“Loto, every minute is precious.” Guin’s voice was crisp, leaving no room for debate. “Send your messengers, and in the meantime, assemble all the Raku chieftains.”

The aged high chieftain nodded, then gestured to an attendant who scurried outside the hut to send the runners out through the torchlit streets. Then he and Guin stood up and left the hut and the sounds of merriment behind them.

The moon rose over the forsaken no-man’s-land of Nospherus. Aeris’ pale gemstone shone with a clear, lonely smile, beaming down on the dark, oppressive rocks and empty sands of the landscape below. Her light fell, too, on the Raku village, clustered deep in the folds of its hidden valley, but the soft radiance brought no peace. Tonight, there was tension in the air; it was a sleepless night for the Raku.

At the very center of the village, surrounded by rows of mound-huts, was a large, circular clearing. This was the village heart, a space for gatherings and ceremonies. The domed dwellings immediately adjacent to the clearing were considerably larger than those around them.

Guin was ushered into the house on the east side of the clearing. Once inside, he saw that the floor—which was no more than the dirt of the valley itself—had been hollowed out, and a charcoal pit had been dug at its center. A fire burned in the pit, casting wavering light around the room and across the faces of the lesser chieftains and warriors who sat along the edges of the hut. Loto had summoned them to hear the leopard-man’s report.

Guin’s huge frame seemed out of place in the Raku dwelling, and he had to walk nearly bent in two, but once he reached the fire pit and sat, legs crossed, he seemed much at home.

“The other guests will be well cared for by our women,” said Loto, sitting across from Guin. There was not a single ornamentation within the room or upon its walls—it was a simple hollow carved out of the earth and supported with timbers—but several wolf skins had been laid out by the fire’s edge. The Raku women brought jugs of wine and delicacies in an endless stream.

Guin and the Raku high chieftain sat talking, heedless of the feast being laid out before them.

“Riyaad,” said Loto, with much seriousness. “In the history of the Sem, bands of the painted demons of Mongaul have crossed the river to threaten us many times. Every time, we have fled deep into the wilds of Nospherus. Of course, some of our kind have also crossed the river many times to attack them. These are the Karoi and the Guro. But we, the Raku, we have never faced the painted demons. Why do they not leave the Raku unharmed? Why can it not be that the humans live on their land, and we Sem on ours?”

“Mongaul wants Nospherus for its own,” Guin replied.

“Why would they want this place? They themselves call it a no-man’s-land more foul than their Marches… They could not settle these rocks, could they? They could not live here?”

“Indeed, they could not,” Guin agreed, nodding. The firelight shone on his giant leopard head, casting a round, wavering shadow on the wall of the hut behind him. “I have considered this question for a long time, too. Why would Mongaul turn its eyes towards the wastes of Nospherus? One answer is that, if they were to march on the Middle Country, they would need to ensure that their back was well protected. Should one of the lands in the Middle Country form an alliance with the Sem, Gohra would have enemies on both sides. Even if there was no alliance with the Sem, all it would take is a poorly timed invasion, such as the attack on Stafolos, to deal a hard blow to an undefended Mongaul. Still—”

“Yes?”

“The Mongauli host that Siba and I spied from the ridge was no last-minute gathering in response to the attack on Stafolos. The scale was far too great for that. The bridge across the Kes was quickly built, but very strong and wide, and the soldiers were building a stronghold on this side of the river. Smoke rose from the forest roads that lead to Alvon, Talos and Tauride, and I can only guess that there were many messengers and a supply line, set to support their host for many days, weeks even.

“This was no host that could be assembled in one day and night!” Guin continued. “But why? Why would they assail Nospherus now? Mongaul has defeated Parros; they are at the pinnacle of victory. Normally this would call for a strengthening of their hold on the crystal city. They must organize their occupational forces, hunt out the remaining Parros loyalists. This would be the time for such things…

“Know too that the invasion army is being led by none other than the Lady Amnelis, right hand of Archduke Vlad! She should be the one overseeing the occupation of Parros. It was her white knights that led the invasion!

“Why would she leave the job half done and turn her back on Parros for the invasion of Nospherus? There must be some other, greater reason, something to make the conquering of Nospherus a necessity for the armies of Mongaul.”

Guin held his chin in his hand, turning possibilities over in his mind. “I do not understand—what is in Nospherus? What secret does this no-man’s-land hold, for Mongaul to be driven to this?”

Loto and the Raku warriors huddled nearby said nothing, as if afraid to interrupt the thoughts of the great leopard-headed warrior. Half of what Guin said had no meaning for Loto or the others, but all the Sem who were present sensed from his speech that Mongaul’s latest campaign posed an unprecedented threat to their future. Even as they talked, the vanguard of the Mongauli host might be moving into the hills like a slow but inexorable tidal wave, searching for the Raku village. The wildlings’ fur-covered faces were clouded and set with tension. For the first time, they realized the severity of their situation.

Guin sat deep in thought for a while. Then, as though he had just noticed that the Sem were waiting for him to speak, he lifted his golden head and looked at Loto. “Regardless of their reasons,” he said, his voice more forceful, “we must deal with the situation at once. The Mongauli have invaded in earnest. Not one of the Sem tribes, not the Raku, Karoi, or Guro, would stand a chance if it were to fight the Mongauli host on its own. Worse, from where the Mongauli crossed the Kes, this is the first Sem holding. Unless the Mongauli are unusually lucky, it will take them several days to find this village without maps or guides, hidden as it is in this valley; yet we cannot hope for such luck that they will miss the village entirely and proceed into inner Nospherus, leaving us in peace.”

Guin paused, still looking at Loto. “The Mongauli are ten-and-five thousand, and all the able-bodied fighters of the Raku together are only two thousand. We could flee deeper into Nospherus, or burst out of these mountains and fight them here—but either path would be futile. All that is left to us—”

“But, Riyaad…” interrupted Loto, the shadow of fear dimming the sparkle of intelligence in his eyes. He shook his head as though he meant to say something but did not open his mouth again.

“We should leave the village now, escape!” One of the lesser chieftains standing along the wall behind Loto suddenly came forward. “It is the only way! The painted demons ride horses, they have weapons that hurl stones great distances!”

“Rinno!” shouted Loto, sternly scolding the younger Raku.

But Rinno would not stop. “Also, what Riyaad suggests, this is very, very impossible. The Raku cannot join forces with the Karoi, nor shall we fight alongside the detestable Guro. The Guro capture our folk and eat them alive! They eat our flesh, even though we are both Sem! And the Karoi, how many of our women and children have they stolen and made into slaves?”

“That is not all!” another lesser chieftain exclaimed. “The Karoi are only two thousand strong, and the Guro about the same. Even with the Rasa, the Tubai, and all the smaller tribes on top, we would not come close to matching the Mongauli demons in number!”

’‘Who are you?” Guin asked, turning to look at the new speaker.

“Ebu,” the Raku stammered in reply. “I am Ebu, Riyaad.”

“Now, Ebu—you, too, Rinno, and the rest of you—listen. I have been thinking upon this a long while. On the way here, the warriors who accompanied me told me of the friction between the tribes. Also I know that if all of them gathered, there would still be no more than seven thousand Sem, or perhaps eight at best. Our disadvantages are many: we have no pellet bows, nor horses; Sem warriors are but half the height of the shortest Mongauli; and we cannot say for certain if the current invasion force of ten-and-five thousand is truly the entire army. Since they have gone through the trouble of setting up supply lines and a base camp on this side of the Kes, we can probably assume that they have ten to twenty thousand more troops ready as backup. However—”

“We are doomed,” shouted a voice of angry desperation from among the lesser chieftains.

“The Raku are finished,” another chimed in.

“We will become slaves of the demons!”

“It is over.”

Loto craned his neck to see who was speaking, ready to chastise, but a high voice spoke before he could get the words out.

“We must fly! We must leave the village and hide the women, children, and the aged in the mountains.”

“Sebu!”

“What else can we do?!” The Raku called Sebu stared around wildly at the others. “That is the only way we can escape death. Let us go north, to the mountains. Yes, we will cross the Dog’s Head to Ashgarn in the north.”

All at once the Sem clamored, their voices shouting in agreement with Sebu. Guin looked them over. Every face was filled with confusion, distrust, and fear. They were ready to begin their flight there and then—to gather all the food they could cany and leave their homes behind, setting out into the night for the unknown dangers of the north.

“Listen, please,” said Guin, rising up and moving forward, but a loud “No!” from the back of the crowd stopped him.

A young Sem was shouting to be heard above the others. “We should fight first! If we lose, it will still not be too late to escape to the north!”

“What?” Sebu snarled, turning around. “Ah, it is you, Siba!” The lesser chieftain scowled and thrust his finger at the ground. “Sit. This is not the place for the outbursts of youths. This is a meeting of chieftains.”

“What would you do once we went north?” continued Siba, undaunted. “Would you wait for the Mongauli demons to lose interest and give up? What would you do if they built a fortress here, in our valley? We would never be able to return!”

“They will not stay in Nospherus long. We will only have to wait a winter for them to give up and leave.”

“But there is no food in the northern mountains. What if the Mongauli set up camp here and followed with an attack on us in the mountains? Then, truly, it would be the end for the Raku.”

“What difference does it make? We cannot fight them and win,” Sebu declared with finality.

Seeing Siba ready to reply again, Loto stood up slowly. Spreading his arms, he quieted the two. “There is no time for this quarrelling.”

“Indeed,” Guin added in a low growl. “We have precious little time, and much to decide. Now, listen. I have an idea.”

Loto, Siba, Sebu, Ebu, Rinno, and the twenty or so other Raku leaders gathered there all fixed their eyes on the leopard-headed man who now loomed above them in the half light of the firepit.

“I suggest—” Guin began slowly, measuring his words, but a commotion near the hut’s entrance cut him off. A young Raku warrior pushed his way between the chieftains standing there.

Bowing quickly to them, he turned to Loto and Guin.

“The chiefs of the Tubai and Rasa head this way. They will be at the entrance to the valley shortly.”

“That was quick,” Guin observed.

Loto nodded. “The Tubai and Rasa are close to the Raku. The Rasa have a village on the mountain that rises above this valley.”

“This hut is too small for our meeting, now,” Guin declared loudly. “Let us move to the clearing, where we can speak not only to the chieftains, but to all of the Raku. Outside!”

The Raku chieftains nodded and began to move toward the exit. Siba stayed close to Guin, looking up at him with concern in his eyes. He nodded to the leopard-man as if to beseech him not to worry.

Guin’s voice came in a low growl through his feline mask. “The Tubai and the Rasa are here… the Karoi and Guro are the problem. Will they join forces with the Raku…?”

“Riyaad?” said Siba.

Guin shook his head. Bending low, he stepped out of the hut into the cool night air.