Kion
The main street was choked with citizens making for the center of Piro. Kion searched for a gap in the crowd that would allow him to cross. He cursed under his breath.
“Inashtar, goddess of war, show your servant a path, so he shall complete his task.” The murmured prayer helped to calm his mind. It wouldn’t do to punch his way through the fearful mob. Especially not with his current companion in tow. He would have to find another way.
“This way!” Kion grabbed the other man’s arm and pulled him into an alley. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but the cheap nondescript tunic that wouldn’t stand out in any of the cities along the Golden Road hid the athletic build he had earned in countless hours on the training grounds. His companion was just dragged along.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t turn back?” The man was visibly scared, his hands shaking as he pointed behind him. “You can stay at my house if you want to.”
Kion ignored him, forcing a fast pace. They made their way through alleys, pushing through the groups of citizens whenever they had to cross a side street. He did not know this neighborhood, but he knew the general layout of Piro. It was good to know such things. You never knew when your sar might send you over the walls to take the city.
“Aren’t we getting closer to the walls?” his companion asked. There was fear in his voice.
You’re just realizing that now, Kion thought? It was unfair of him. The man was an artisan, not a warrior. His life, working and living in the city, had not prepared him for this day. The Crimson Cities were relatively peaceful places to live.
They emerged from another alley and Kion looked around. The street was almost empty of people. A family ran past them. The men and older children were loaded with their worldly possessions, while the women carried smaller children in their arms and on their backs.
Kion turned and decided to follow the family back to the main street. The stream of people had ebbed, and they made quick progress.
When they reached the main street again, they had to stop sharply and let a group of city guards pass. The men were pushing through the civilian stragglers hurrying in the opposite direction, screaming for people to move out of the way. Kion watched them, observing their equipment and, more importantly, their movement. Inashtar please help these fools, he thought, shaking his head.
His companion was wheezing behind him. The man had good strong hands with the calluses of honest labor and a sturdy back. But like so many inhabitants of bigger cities, he rarely moved more than the distance between his home and workshop, the temple, and the marketplace. He lacked the stamina for the rigorous pace Kion had subjected him to. To his credit, he didn’t complain.
“Take a moment to gather your breath, Lomenas. Once the guards have passed, we will move on.”
“Can they hold the wall?” Lomenas asked, catching his breath.
“That depends,” Kion answered, scratching his black short-cropped beard. It really only depended on how serious the other side was about getting in.
A man suddenly sprinted from around the corner and ran straight into Lomenas. Being the smaller of the two, Lomenas hit the ground hard, collapsing onto his arm.
“Watch out, fool,” the man cursed. He reached down to Lomenas
Kion shifted his body, ready to pounce.
But the man just grabbed the bundle he had lost during the collision and ran towards the main street.
Kion relaxed, glad he hadn’t killed the man out of reflex.
“You should get out of here,” the man shouted over his shoulder, ignorant of how close he had been to death. On the main street, he turned towards the city center. An arrow hit him in the back of the neck, and he toppled over.
More arrows fell around him, and people started screaming.
The guards redoubled their effort to push their way through the crowd, hitting anybody who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Panicked citizens rushed in the opposite direction. The resulting chaos injured and killed more people than the arrows.
From his vantage point, Kion could see an older man stumble over. Before he fell, he pushed a boy, maybe his grandson, into a doorway. The frightened mob trampled the old man as the child looked on in horror.
The hail of arrows stopped as suddenly as it had begun but no one even noticed. The people continued to flee towards Piro’s center and the false promise of safety.
Kion helped Lomenas to his feet.
“They’re in the city!” the artisan shouted. “We must leave!”
He wanted to turn around and flee with the crowd. Kion’s bronze grip around his arm stopped him.
“That way,” he said, nodding in the direction of the main street.
“But the enemy….”
“The arrows have already stopped.” Kion pulled his companion towards the street they had to cross. “They are not in the city, yet. Those arrows were arced over the wall. Probably from horseback.”
And they accomplished exactly what they meant to do, he thought, watching the confusion of the defenders.
It was worrying. Looking down the street towards the city gate, it was a short distance but to manage the angle the archers would have needed to get very close to the wall. And it had been a coordinated volley. Just the fact they had taken the risk showed the difference in skill between them and those defending. And they are aware of it and show no respect whatsoever, he thought.
Lomenas stopped resisting and let Kion drag him across the street.
Light-reflecting off an arrow tip laying on the ground caught the young warrior’s attention. He stopped so abruptly that Leomenas almost ran into him. This is bad, Kion thought, picking up the arrow. He pulled another arrow out of the ground, holding the two tips next to each other.
“What is it?” Leomenas asked fearfully.
Kion ignored him. He broke the shaft of the first arrow close to the tip and stored the remaining piece of metal in his belt pouch.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder.
They continued along the path using side streets to conceal themselves until they reached the next district.
At the end of a wide road framed by more luxurious buildings, a huge space opened in front of them. On any other day, this would have been a buzzing market. Now the wooden stalls lay empty and abandoned.
The only signs of life were people rushing in and out of the gateway of a large building that could be mistaken for a palace by its size alone. It was Piro’s biggest caravansary and the center of the merchant district.
The two men pushed their way through the crowded gateway, entering a large courtyard that formed the center of the impressive three-story building. Each floor had a balcony that ran all around the courtyard. From there, you could access the many rooms where merchants and their retinues stayed. The ground floor housed stalls for the animals, storage space, and a public bath.
The buzzing crowd within stood in strong contrast to the abandoned market outside. Merchants, some in fine clothing others in traveling attire, stood around in groups, anxiously discussing the situation. Servants passed Kion in all directions, sent out with messages, or to gather information for their worried masters.
Only the groups of guards formed islands of calm within the chaos. These men were mostly veterans, hired to defend their employer’s life and possessions. While they made their way through the throng, Kion exchanged nods with some of these men, whose skill he respected.
People addressed him with questions, but he only shook his head and kept moving. They climbed the wooden staircase that led to the first-floor balcony and turned to the right. On the very last door he knocked.
“Who?” asked a muffled voice from inside.
“Kion!”
He waited but there was no further response.
Kion sighed and pushed the door open. “Come on,” he said to the hesitant Leomenas.
His reluctance was understandable. Common artisans like him bought and sold their goods from their stores or the market. He had probably never entered the caravansary, which housed great merchants from faraway places.
The room was spacious with furniture made from expensive wood, imported from the north. It was one of the best in the caravansary. Only the wealthier merchants would be able to afford such luxury.
Kion doubted that its current occupant was made to pay, whatever the cost for a night was. The privilege of the admired and feared, he thought.
“Are they in the city, yet?” the woman standing at the window asked with a heavy accent. Her position allowed her to observe the market outside and cover the door at the same time. She held a curved horse bow in one hand and carried a quiver on her hip.
“Not yet,” Kion said, tossing the arrow tip to her. She caught it with one hand, glanced at it briefly and nodded to Kion. Then her eyes were back on the street.
Omiri understood. They had to get out of the city.
Kion had never seen Omiri fight but he did not have to. The way she carried and the weapons she brandished told him enough.
Under different circumstances, he would have been uncomfortable with a female companion. But the nomads of the steps were an exception. While customs differed from tribe to tribe, all their people were great horsemen and many taught both boys and girls the bow. They made the deadliest mounted archers in the world.
Kion turned towards the corner where several seat cushions made from expensive fabric surrounded a low table decorated with simple but beautiful carvings. It was an all-purpose area, where occupants enjoyed meals, held negotiations, and relaxed during the day
Currently, it was covered with all kinds of clutter. Clay tablets of different sizes lay everywhere, sometimes stacked on top of each other. Scrolls of expensive papyrus hung over the edge of the table. There were all sorts of instruments made from wood, metal, and ivory that Kion could not identify.
In the center of all the chaos sat a figure, crouched low over the table, studying something intently. Every so often a hand shot out to grab another of the tablets or scrolls. A low murmur came from below the white turban, “Doesn’t make any sense…..no sense at all. Old fool…”
“We need to leave the city. Today. Now!” Kion said, after waiting to be noticed for a long moment.
“It cannot both be true,” the figure murmured.
Kion waited another moment before making a second attempt. “The besiegers probed the eastern gate. The city guards reacted with panic and confusion. It will encourage them to try to take the wall without long preparation.”
He paused again. The figure took another tablet.
“Mistress, we….”
“I heard you, Dancer,” the figure said. She looked up. “Who is this?”
The mistress was a woman of undefinable age. She looked to be anything between late forties and early fifties but if rumors and legends were true she had to be much older.
Pushing back a strain of her wavy black hair, she studied Kion and his companion.
“This is Leomenas, a carpenter from the artisan district,” Kion said. “Leomenas, this is mistress Bel’Sara.”
Leomenas went white. He looked back and forth between Kion and the mistress before remembering himself. He bowed deeply before mistress Bel’Sara.
“I am sorry wise sage,” he said, with a high voice. “It is an honor to be in your presence.”
It was understandable. Leomenas might have expected to possibly come across an important person in a place like this. But not to meet a legend. Not again.
Mistress Bel’Sara smiled, accepting his reverence. “Thank you, Leomenas.”
She was not a beautiful woman, neither was she plain. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They were deep and dark. Her gaze always moving, assessing.
At this moment they moved from Leomenas to Kion, transmitting the question without having to voice it.
“Leomenas is Helcenaean,” Kion said, starting with a fact that was obvious from the man’s looks and name. “His wife is from a place called the Half-Moon Valley, a Riadnian colony in the northern mountains. About a month ago he was approached by an old man, carrying a magi’s staff. The man offered him gold to guide him there.”
“Master Mel’Chor?” Bel’Sara asked.
Kion nodded. “According to the description you gave me, yes.”
“You did not guide him?” Bel’Sara asked, addressing Leomenas.
“No, mistress.”
“He sent his son Livadios,” Kion said. “Leomenas trades wood with his wife’s people.”
“Yes, he has been traveling the route with me since he was a child,” Leomenas said. “We cannot bring much with a wagon, but it is much cheaper than the wood sold at the harbor.”
Kion nodded. Wood, especially cedar, from the north was one of the most valuable trade goods that came through Piro. It reached the Crimson trade cities via ship and was sold to the caravan merchants traveling the Golden Road before being used for building materials and making furniture. The South had an endless appetite for the strong timbers of the north, which own lands didn’t grow.
“Your son, has he returned, yet?” Bel’Sara asked.
“No”, Leomenas said, concern in his voice,” he was supposed to be back a week ago. He was to guide the master to the valley and then come right back.”
Kion, who had heard the story before, started to walk around the room and pack.
After looking to Bel’Sara and receiving a short nod, Omiri joined him. The two warriors traveled light but collecting the sage’s pile of clutter took more time and prudence.
Kion left this task to Omiri, who had traveling with Bel’Sara for a while. The young woman worked around her mistress with practiced hands. Quick, quiet, and diligent.
Kion focused on their supplies. They wouldn’t have to replenish much. What they had, had been intended to last for a much longer journey during which they would have had to make camp outside most nights.
Two days ago, they had been on a road to the east of Piro. Night had gradually fallen and suddenly the magi had awoken with a scream that pierced the darkness. Kion had been on guard and could still remember the expression on her face right after she had woken up. Shock, sorrow, confusion - her clothing and skin drenched in sweat.
Omiri had been by her mistress’s side in a heartbeat. With care, she had helped the older woman to sit up and drink from the water bag.
For more than an hour, the sage had just sat there, staring blankly into the night. Kion remembered that he had wanted to ask questions but had not found the courage.
At some point, he had gone to sleep, leaving the night watch to Omiri.
When he woke up the next morning, Bel’Sara had regained her vigor. Walking around the campsite in circles, she had talked to herself quietly. Had she been talking to the gods? Kion could not say.
She had only stopped to eat a simple breakfast of bread and dried meat.
Afterward, she had ordered a change of direction and they had continued their journey now heading towards the Crimson city Piro. Kion had protested but his lord had ordered him to serve the sage. He had no choice in the matter. Whatever Bel’Sara had seen, it had convinced her that she had to find her brethren, the legendary Mel’Chor.
Mistress Bel’Sara lifted her hand, silencing Leomenas’ descriptions of his wife’s home. She jumped to her feet with surprising agility and hurried over to the window.
“Kion, where did they attack?” she asked surveying the city.
“The gate in the southwest of the city. Where we entered,” he said, placing the last of the saddlebacks at the door.
“From where did they approach the city?”
“Everywhere,” Kion answered and nodded to Omiri. The young woman interrupted her work and handed her mistress the broken arrow.
While Bel’Sara studied the arrowhead Kion continued. “According to the last travelers that made it to the city, riders showed up on the roads to the south and east first. The main army approached the city from the west, but they only used the road for the last stretch. Probably, to avoid forewarning the city.” He took up the spear that leaned on the wall. “They succeeded.”
“And the attack?” Bel’Sara asked, testing the point of the arrow with her thumb.
“Arrows were launched from horseback. They suppressed the guards on the wall and launched a volley right into the streets behind the gate. It caused quite the panic.”
Kion could not quite keep his disgust of the guard’s performance from his voice. The Crimson Cities were famous for their seamen and merchants, not for their warriors. Over centuries they had paid tribute and provided fleets to a succession of empires, rather than trying to establish one of their own. Their warriors were enough to defend against raiding tribes. But against a coordinated assault from a real army, they would stand no chance.
“This is a bronze tip”, Bel’Sara said, holding up the arrowhead, “of good quality.”
Kion nodded. They had finished packing and it was time to leave. “It has to be the Guard of Assan.”
Bronze was expensive. It could not be won from the ground but was made by combining two other metals - copper and tin. Because of its rarity, bronze was only used for a select number of purposes. The main one was weapons. Spears and axes but not usually arrowheads.
The people from the step used bone tips, others used stone. Civilized societies mostly used copper. Only the Assanaten sar’s elite guard was known to use bronze. The ability of their arrows to pierce through the shields, armor, and flesh of their enemies alike was one of the foundations of their fearsome reputation.
“If you are correct, and I believe you are, then you are probably in the right place to serve your lord after all,” Bel’Sara said.
Kion perked up. They had been on their way to meet his lord when the sage’s vision had thrown them off course. If he had not been bound by his lord’s orders, he would have abandoned her upon her decision to make for Piro. Maybe Inashtar guided me again, he thought. I will have to atone for my lack of trust. He murmured a quick prayer under his breath.
“Of course, there are more implications”, Bel’Sara continued, “if it is the Guard of Assan.” She pointed out of the window.
With two long strides Kion was next to her. What he saw made his hand tighten around the spear shaft. Indeed, he had been impressed with several of the caravan guards.
“Cunning,” Bel’Sara said dryly. “Typical for the Assanaten leaders.”
Kion cursed.
Kion
The main street was choked with citizens making for the center of Piro. Kion searched for a gap in the crowd that would allow him to cross. He cursed under his breath.
“Inashtar, goddess of war, show your servant a path, so he shall complete his task.” The murmured prayer helped to calm his mind. It wouldn’t do to punch his way through the fearful mob. Especially not with his current companion in tow. He would have to find another way.
“This way!” Kion grabbed the other man’s arm and pulled him into an alley. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but the cheap nondescript tunic that wouldn’t stand out in any of the cities along the Golden Road hid the athletic build he had earned in countless hours on the training grounds. His companion was just dragged along.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t turn back?” The man was visibly scared, his hands shaking as he pointed behind him. “You can stay at my house if you want to.”
Kion ignored him, forcing a fast pace. They made their way through alleys, pushing through the groups of citizens whenever they had to cross a side street. He did not know this neighborhood, but he knew the general layout of Piro. It was good to know such things. You never knew when your sar might send you over the walls to take the city.
“Aren’t we getting closer to the walls?” his companion asked. There was fear in his voice.
You’re just realizing that now, Kion thought? It was unfair of him. The man was an artisan, not a warrior. His life, working and living in the city, had not prepared him for this day. The Crimson Cities were relatively peaceful places to live.
They emerged from another alley and Kion looked around. The street was almost empty of people. A family ran past them. The men and older children were loaded with their worldly possessions, while the women carried smaller children in their arms and on their backs.
Kion turned and decided to follow the family back to the main street. The stream of people had ebbed, and they made quick progress.
When they reached the main street again, they had to stop sharply and let a group of city guards pass. The men were pushing through the civilian stragglers hurrying in the opposite direction, screaming for people to move out of the way. Kion watched them, observing their equipment and, more importantly, their movement. Inashtar please help these fools, he thought, shaking his head.
His companion was wheezing behind him. The man had good strong hands with the calluses of honest labor and a sturdy back. But like so many inhabitants of bigger cities, he rarely moved more than the distance between his home and workshop, the temple, and the marketplace. He lacked the stamina for the rigorous pace Kion had subjected him to. To his credit, he didn’t complain.
“Take a moment to gather your breath, Lomenas. Once the guards have passed, we will move on.”
“Can they hold the wall?” Lomenas asked, catching his breath.
“That depends,” Kion answered, scratching his black short-cropped beard. It really only depended on how serious the other side was about getting in.
A man suddenly sprinted from around the corner and ran straight into Lomenas. Being the smaller of the two, Lomenas hit the ground hard, collapsing onto his arm.
“Watch out, fool,” the man cursed. He reached down to Lomenas
Kion shifted his body, ready to pounce.
But the man just grabbed the bundle he had lost during the collision and ran towards the main street.
Kion relaxed, glad he hadn’t killed the man out of reflex.
“You should get out of here,” the man shouted over his shoulder, ignorant of how close he had been to death. On the main street, he turned towards the city center. An arrow hit him in the back of the neck, and he toppled over.
More arrows fell around him, and people started screaming.
The guards redoubled their effort to push their way through the crowd, hitting anybody who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Panicked citizens rushed in the opposite direction. The resulting chaos injured and killed more people than the arrows.
From his vantage point, Kion could see an older man stumble over. Before he fell, he pushed a boy, maybe his grandson, into a doorway. The frightened mob trampled the old man as the child looked on in horror.
The hail of arrows stopped as suddenly as it had begun but no one even noticed. The people continued to flee towards Piro’s center and the false promise of safety.
Kion helped Lomenas to his feet.
“They’re in the city!” the artisan shouted. “We must leave!”
He wanted to turn around and flee with the crowd. Kion’s bronze grip around his arm stopped him.
“That way,” he said, nodding in the direction of the main street.
“But the enemy….”
“The arrows have already stopped.” Kion pulled his companion towards the street they had to cross. “They are not in the city, yet. Those arrows were arced over the wall. Probably from horseback.”
And they accomplished exactly what they meant to do, he thought, watching the confusion of the defenders.
It was worrying. Looking down the street towards the city gate, it was a short distance but to manage the angle the archers would have needed to get very close to the wall. And it had been a coordinated volley. Just the fact they had taken the risk showed the difference in skill between them and those defending. And they are aware of it and show no respect whatsoever, he thought.
Lomenas stopped resisting and let Kion drag him across the street.
Light-reflecting off an arrow tip laying on the ground caught the young warrior’s attention. He stopped so abruptly that Leomenas almost ran into him. This is bad, Kion thought, picking up the arrow. He pulled another arrow out of the ground, holding the two tips next to each other.
“What is it?” Leomenas asked fearfully.
Kion ignored him. He broke the shaft of the first arrow close to the tip and stored the remaining piece of metal in his belt pouch.
“Come on,” he said over his shoulder.
They continued along the path using side streets to conceal themselves until they reached the next district.
At the end of a wide road framed by more luxurious buildings, a huge space opened in front of them. On any other day, this would have been a buzzing market. Now the wooden stalls lay empty and abandoned.
The only signs of life were people rushing in and out of the gateway of a large building that could be mistaken for a palace by its size alone. It was Piro’s biggest caravansary and the center of the merchant district.
The two men pushed their way through the crowded gateway, entering a large courtyard that formed the center of the impressive three-story building. Each floor had a balcony that ran all around the courtyard. From there, you could access the many rooms where merchants and their retinues stayed. The ground floor housed stalls for the animals, storage space, and a public bath.
The buzzing crowd within stood in strong contrast to the abandoned market outside. Merchants, some in fine clothing others in traveling attire, stood around in groups, anxiously discussing the situation. Servants passed Kion in all directions, sent out with messages, or to gather information for their worried masters.
Only the groups of guards formed islands of calm within the chaos. These men were mostly veterans, hired to defend their employer’s life and possessions. While they made their way through the throng, Kion exchanged nods with some of these men, whose skill he respected.
People addressed him with questions, but he only shook his head and kept moving. They climbed the wooden staircase that led to the first-floor balcony and turned to the right. On the very last door he knocked.
“Who?” asked a muffled voice from inside.
“Kion!”
He waited but there was no further response.
Kion sighed and pushed the door open. “Come on,” he said to the hesitant Leomenas.
His reluctance was understandable. Common artisans like him bought and sold their goods from their stores or the market. He had probably never entered the caravansary, which housed great merchants from faraway places.
The room was spacious with furniture made from expensive wood, imported from the north. It was one of the best in the caravansary. Only the wealthier merchants would be able to afford such luxury.
Kion doubted that its current occupant was made to pay, whatever the cost for a night was. The privilege of the admired and feared, he thought.
“Are they in the city, yet?” the woman standing at the window asked with a heavy accent. Her position allowed her to observe the market outside and cover the door at the same time. She held a curved horse bow in one hand and carried a quiver on her hip.
“Not yet,” Kion said, tossing the arrow tip to her. She caught it with one hand, glanced at it briefly and nodded to Kion. Then her eyes were back on the street.
Omiri understood. They had to get out of the city.
Kion had never seen Omiri fight but he did not have to. The way she carried and the weapons she brandished told him enough.
Under different circumstances, he would have been uncomfortable with a female companion. But the nomads of the steps were an exception. While customs differed from tribe to tribe, all their people were great horsemen and many taught both boys and girls the bow. They made the deadliest mounted archers in the world.
Kion turned towards the corner where several seat cushions made from expensive fabric surrounded a low table decorated with simple but beautiful carvings. It was an all-purpose area, where occupants enjoyed meals, held negotiations, and relaxed during the day
Currently, it was covered with all kinds of clutter. Clay tablets of different sizes lay everywhere, sometimes stacked on top of each other. Scrolls of expensive papyrus hung over the edge of the table. There were all sorts of instruments made from wood, metal, and ivory that Kion could not identify.
In the center of all the chaos sat a figure, crouched low over the table, studying something intently. Every so often a hand shot out to grab another of the tablets or scrolls. A low murmur came from below the white turban, “Doesn’t make any sense…..no sense at all. Old fool…”
“We need to leave the city. Today. Now!” Kion said, after waiting to be noticed for a long moment.
“It cannot both be true,” the figure murmured.
Kion waited another moment before making a second attempt. “The besiegers probed the eastern gate. The city guards reacted with panic and confusion. It will encourage them to try to take the wall without long preparation.”
He paused again. The figure took another tablet.
“Mistress, we….”
“I heard you, Dancer,” the figure said. She looked up. “Who is this?”
The mistress was a woman of undefinable age. She looked to be anything between late forties and early fifties but if rumors and legends were true she had to be much older.
Pushing back a strain of her wavy black hair, she studied Kion and his companion.
“This is Leomenas, a carpenter from the artisan district,” Kion said. “Leomenas, this is mistress Bel’Sara.”
Leomenas went white. He looked back and forth between Kion and the mistress before remembering himself. He bowed deeply before mistress Bel’Sara.
“I am sorry wise sage,” he said, with a high voice. “It is an honor to be in your presence.”
It was understandable. Leomenas might have expected to possibly come across an important person in a place like this. But not to meet a legend. Not again.
Mistress Bel’Sara smiled, accepting his reverence. “Thank you, Leomenas.”
She was not a beautiful woman, neither was she plain. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They were deep and dark. Her gaze always moving, assessing.
At this moment they moved from Leomenas to Kion, transmitting the question without having to voice it.
“Leomenas is Helcenaean,” Kion said, starting with a fact that was obvious from the man’s looks and name. “His wife is from a place called the Half-Moon Valley, a Riadnian colony in the northern mountains. About a month ago he was approached by an old man, carrying a magi’s staff. The man offered him gold to guide him there.”
“Master Mel’Chor?” Bel’Sara asked.
Kion nodded. “According to the description you gave me, yes.”
“You did not guide him?” Bel’Sara asked, addressing Leomenas.
“No, mistress.”
“He sent his son Livadios,” Kion said. “Leomenas trades wood with his wife’s people.”
“Yes, he has been traveling the route with me since he was a child,” Leomenas said. “We cannot bring much with a wagon, but it is much cheaper than the wood sold at the harbor.”
Kion nodded. Wood, especially cedar, from the north was one of the most valuable trade goods that came through Piro. It reached the Crimson trade cities via ship and was sold to the caravan merchants traveling the Golden Road before being used for building materials and making furniture. The South had an endless appetite for the strong timbers of the north, which own lands didn’t grow.
“Your son, has he returned, yet?” Bel’Sara asked.
“No”, Leomenas said, concern in his voice,” he was supposed to be back a week ago. He was to guide the master to the valley and then come right back.”
Kion, who had heard the story before, started to walk around the room and pack.
After looking to Bel’Sara and receiving a short nod, Omiri joined him. The two warriors traveled light but collecting the sage’s pile of clutter took more time and prudence.
Kion left this task to Omiri, who had traveling with Bel’Sara for a while. The young woman worked around her mistress with practiced hands. Quick, quiet, and diligent.
Kion focused on their supplies. They wouldn’t have to replenish much. What they had, had been intended to last for a much longer journey during which they would have had to make camp outside most nights.
Two days ago, they had been on a road to the east of Piro. Night had gradually fallen and suddenly the magi had awoken with a scream that pierced the darkness. Kion had been on guard and could still remember the expression on her face right after she had woken up. Shock, sorrow, confusion - her clothing and skin drenched in sweat.
Omiri had been by her mistress’s side in a heartbeat. With care, she had helped the older woman to sit up and drink from the water bag.
For more than an hour, the sage had just sat there, staring blankly into the night. Kion remembered that he had wanted to ask questions but had not found the courage.
At some point, he had gone to sleep, leaving the night watch to Omiri.
When he woke up the next morning, Bel’Sara had regained her vigor. Walking around the campsite in circles, she had talked to herself quietly. Had she been talking to the gods? Kion could not say.
She had only stopped to eat a simple breakfast of bread and dried meat.
Afterward, she had ordered a change of direction and they had continued their journey now heading towards the Crimson city Piro. Kion had protested but his lord had ordered him to serve the sage. He had no choice in the matter. Whatever Bel’Sara had seen, it had convinced her that she had to find her brethren, the legendary Mel’Chor.
Mistress Bel’Sara lifted her hand, silencing Leomenas’ descriptions of his wife’s home. She jumped to her feet with surprising agility and hurried over to the window.
“Kion, where did they attack?” she asked surveying the city.
“The gate in the southwest of the city. Where we entered,” he said, placing the last of the saddlebacks at the door.
“From where did they approach the city?”
“Everywhere,” Kion answered and nodded to Omiri. The young woman interrupted her work and handed her mistress the broken arrow.
While Bel’Sara studied the arrowhead Kion continued. “According to the last travelers that made it to the city, riders showed up on the roads to the south and east first. The main army approached the city from the west, but they only used the road for the last stretch. Probably, to avoid forewarning the city.” He took up the spear that leaned on the wall. “They succeeded.”
“And the attack?” Bel’Sara asked, testing the point of the arrow with her thumb.
“Arrows were launched from horseback. They suppressed the guards on the wall and launched a volley right into the streets behind the gate. It caused quite the panic.”
Kion could not quite keep his disgust of the guard’s performance from his voice. The Crimson Cities were famous for their seamen and merchants, not for their warriors. Over centuries they had paid tribute and provided fleets to a succession of empires, rather than trying to establish one of their own. Their warriors were enough to defend against raiding tribes. But against a coordinated assault from a real army, they would stand no chance.
“This is a bronze tip”, Bel’Sara said, holding up the arrowhead, “of good quality.”
Kion nodded. They had finished packing and it was time to leave. “It has to be the Guard of Assan.”
Bronze was expensive. It could not be won from the ground but was made by combining two other metals - copper and tin. Because of its rarity, bronze was only used for a select number of purposes. The main one was weapons. Spears and axes but not usually arrowheads.
The people from the step used bone tips, others used stone. Civilized societies mostly used copper. Only the Assanaten sar’s elite guard was known to use bronze. The ability of their arrows to pierce through the shields, armor, and flesh of their enemies alike was one of the foundations of their fearsome reputation.
“If you are correct, and I believe you are, then you are probably in the right place to serve your lord after all,” Bel’Sara said.
Kion perked up. They had been on their way to meet his lord when the sage’s vision had thrown them off course. If he had not been bound by his lord’s orders, he would have abandoned her upon her decision to make for Piro. Maybe Inashtar guided me again, he thought. I will have to atone for my lack of trust. He murmured a quick prayer under his breath.
“Of course, there are more implications”, Bel’Sara continued, “if it is the Guard of Assan.” She pointed out of the window.
With two long strides Kion was next to her. What he saw made his hand tighten around the spear shaft. Indeed, he had been impressed with several of the caravan guards.
“Cunning,” Bel’Sara said dryly. “Typical for the Assanaten leaders.”
Kion cursed.
