“What…may I ask what is going on?” Leomenas asked from behind as Kion watched a group of twenty guards cross the abandoned marketplace heading in the direction of the western gate.
Not daring to approach the window, the nervous artisan stood forlorn in the middle of the room where Bel’Sara had left him.
Kion turned to the door. “The city will fall sooner than expected.”
“Sooner…,” Leomenas stammered scarred. “You’re saying we will lose?”
Kion didn’t answer the man’s question. There was no sense in explaining that the defenders never stood a chance. The enemy had approached during the night and without warning. They didn’t even fly the crests of their god and their royal house.
The regular guards just didn’t have the numbers needed to hold the walls and the enemy hadn’t given them time to organize and arm the citizens.
And they had enemies within. Kion could see it play out in his mind. The caravan guards would cut down the defenders at the western gate. The enemy would storm in and hit the dispersed defenders one group at a time. I would have given it two or three days, he thought. He had assumed the attackers would have needed more time to prepare an assault on the wall.
“Leomenas”, Bel’Sara waved the artisan closer, “it is time for you to return home. Take this.” The sage handed the man a couple of coins.
Leomenas accepted the coins hesitantly before bowing deeply. Only then did he notice that he had been given gold. He paled and dropped even lower to the floor.
“Hurry!” Kion said. He threw a saddlebag over one shoulder and pushed the overwhelmed artisan towards the door. “I will ready the horses!”
“Kion,” Bel’Sara said from behind.
Kion looked over his shoulder just as Leomenas was pulling the door open.
“We did not hide our identity when we arrived here, and Kion the Dancer is known,” Bel’Sara said.
Kion frowned.
An arrow slammed through Leomenas’ chest. The artisan made a sound of surprise.
“Damn it!” Kion screamed.
A second arrow pieced through the man and he stumbled backward.
Kion pulled him back and slammed the door shut. Four, he thought. One bowman on the opposite balcony. Two shields. One spearman. One glimpse had been enough.
Pulling Leomenas deeper into the room, Kion ignored the man’s groans. Blood spurted from the artisan’s chest when he coughed, a red pool collecting on the floor.
Kion dropped the bag and leaned against the door. “The table! Bring it over here!” He pointed at the floor two steps away from the door.
Bel’Sara didn’t hesitate. Omiri gave him a doubting look but followed her mistress’s lead. The two women lifted the low table and carried it to the indicated spot.
Somebody threw himself against the door.
Looking at Omiri, Kion pointed at a spot on the other side of the room. “From there! Shoot the third that comes through!”
Omiri hesitated. They hadn’t been companions for long. She hardly knew him.
“Do it!” Bel’Sara said, retreating to the same corner.
Kion jumped over the table and took a stance, readying his spear. Feeling the familiar weight of the shaft in his hand he grew calm. This was what he did best.
A thump rang from the door. The wood cracked. Another kick opened it all the way and a man pushed in. Facing Kion and his spear he immediately brought his shield up and ran right into the low table, tripping and falling forward.
Kion read the fall and made a small step to the right adjusting his position. The moment the man’s chest hit the table, his spear’s bronze blade pierced the side of the man’s neck, cutting the major blood carriers.
Kion twisted the spear as he pulled it out for maximum damage.
Seeing his companion fall, the second shield carrier circled the table. Armed with a bronze axe, he had to close the distance to make up for his lack of reach.
Kion received the man with a quick stab to the face, but he blocked the attack with his shield.
Omiri’s arrow rushed past. With all his focus on Kion, the third man never saw it coming.
Dropping his shield to chin level, the second warrior noticed that Kion had shifted to his left. He turned to follow him.
Kion had read the man’s movement, provoked it, and lowered his stance in unison.
As the man’s right leg stepped forward, Kion’s spear met it in midair, slicing along the bone and calf muscle.
The warrior gowned in pain and surprise. Reflex made him bring down his shield to protect his legs. A mistake. Kion’s spear pierced his throat right under the chin. The veteran’s eyes widened as he realized the setup.
Withdrawing the spearhead, Kion watched as a gurgling sound escaped the man as he dropped to his knees.
Kion felled him with a quick kick and stepped passed, taking care to avoid the growing pool of blood forming around the table.
The third man had gone down under the doorway. Armed only with a spear, Omiri’s first arrow had hit his unprotected chest. A second arrow through the throat secured the kill.
In battle, Assan’s warriors wore expensive scale armor made from bronze plates and leather. Incognito, these men had forgone the conspicuous equipment. And paid the highest prize for it.
“There is at least one more bowman,” Kion said over his shoulder, noticing Leomenas’ still body. At some point during the fight, the man had taken his last breath.
Kion picked up the first man’s shield and moved towards the door. The oval shield was made from wood and wicker, and covered in thick leather. It would stop arrows at a distance. For the most part.
He took up position at the door and listened. The courtyard seemed to be in an uproar. Men shouted. Animals screeched in protest as they sensed the fear all around them. Good, Kion thought. Lots of distractions.
Omiri took position behind him.
“I will move out first. If the bowman is still there, I will draw his attention away from the door,” Kion said without looking back.
“I understand.” The young woman’s voice only hinted at her excitement.
Kion nodded.
With one fluent movement he darted through the door. Running along the balcony, he stayed low, covering himself with the shield. An arrow hit the wall behind him.
The bowman had taken position on the balcony on the opposite side of the courtyard. Kion would have to run all the way around to get to him.
He could drop below the balustrade, but then the bowmen would either shift his attention back to the door or move.
An arrow hit the shield, piercing it slightly above his hand.
“Got him!”
The shout had come from Omiri.
Kion risked a look without stopping. The bowman was down.
Chaos filled the courtyard. Some merchants were desperately trying to flee from the caravanserai. Others had ordered their guards to build improvised barricades in front of whatever chamber housed their wares.
A couple of bodies lay strewn near the gate, left for dead. Kion couldn’t be sure what had happened. Had someone tried to stop the group of warriors from leaving? Whatever had happened, the four men seemed to have been the only Assanaten that stayed behind.
Kion turned to rush back to the room but mistress Bel’Sara and Omiri were already coming his way. Both carried saddle bags.
“Time to go,” the sage announced. “Do we have a way out of the city?”
“The northern gate,” Kion said, nodding in its direction. “The defenders might have already abandoned it. If not, your authority will ensure they will open it for us.”
Very few people would dare to oppose a magi, never mind one of the seven sages.
Omiri handed Kion his bad. “You fight well.”
“And now you know why he’s called the Dancer,” mistress Bel’Sara said. “You will have to tell me how your Gift works sometime.”
Kion kept quiet. No fighter liked to share his tricks.
Bel’Sara kept walking. “The city guards at the gate will listen to me when they see the smoke over the city.”
Had there already been fires? The Assanaten should reach the eastern gate just about now. Then Kion noticed the first smoke coming from their room.
He stared at the sage’s back.
“There isn’t enough time to return everything,” she said.
Kion swallowed. While he had searched for traces of Mel’Chor in the city, the sage had spent her time gathering manuscripts from several public and private collections. She probably didn’t want to risk the Assanaten finding her research, whatever it was.
When the bodies were found, the blame would likely fall on the invaders.
“Come,” Bel’Sara said, following Omiri down the stairs.
“After we have made it out of the city, we’ll split up,” mistress Bel’Sara said, as they crossed the yard to the stables.
She raised her hand, forestalling any protest. “Omiri and I will take the Golden Road northeast along the mountains. We will probably run into patrols, but I doubt they will dare to stop me. I want you to head into the mountains. Follow the way Leomenas described. Find Mel’Chor.”
Kion held the stable door open for her.
Somebody had noticed the flames and the shouting intensified. Men ran past calling for water buckets.
The sage ignored the chaos around them. “From the Half-Moon-Valley, Riadnos is the only other place to travel to. Meet us there. If you cannot find Mel’Chor... . Find out what you can.”
Riadnos marked the end of the Golden Road. It was a Helcenaean colony, a harbor city founded on the shores of a large lake that connected to the sea. Most of the wood and tin from the north came from there.
“Mistress, what is all this about?” Kion asked. “We should be on our way south to Saggab.”
He knew he was overstepping. Confronting a magi as famous and powerful as Bel’Sara was stupid at best and dangerous at worst. Besides that, his lord had given his service to the sage.
Yet, Kion could not stop himself. He needed to know why he was being sent so far away from his lord’s side.
Bel’Sara regarded him with an unreadable face. Kion felt himself sweating under the woman’s gaze, but he stood his ground.
Finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by Bel’Sara’s sigh. “Very well, Dancer”, she said, regarding him with a benign smile, “I shall share with you what you need to know to understand why I am asking this.”
She waved and Kion followed her inside the stables. Bel’Sara did not start talking right away. Instead, the sage seemed to have fallen deep into thought, barely paying attention to her surroundings.
Conscious of his position, Kion kept quiet, waiting for the sage to address him. He knew he would have to accept whatever she shared with him and be happy with it. There was no choice.
Still, Kion walked upright. He had made his point. He would serve the mistress, but he was his sar’s man.
They reached the stalls that housed their horses. Four animals stood side by side, their coats shining, their large, dark eyes staring out. Three were kept for riding while one was used as a pack horse. Omiri had already readied her mistress’s mare and was currently preparing her own. As he watched her careful handling of the animals, Kion saw the horsemanship of the step people.
Bel’Sara handed her bag to Omiri and turned to Kion. “Have you ever heard about a prophecy of the chosen champion of the gods who is destined to oppose the Great Upheaval?” Bel’Sara asked.
“Is that the story about the child that slays a dragon?” Kion asked.
Like any child, growing up in the cities of the Saggab empire, he had heard tales about gods and heroes. Their actions were supposed to write the past and future of the world. Kion had never paid much attention. It was his strength that had let him survive the slums. That had made him useful to his lord. Gods were for the priest and magi to deal with.
“The god Nemki prophesized that his disciple would find a young child with the potential to become a great champion. It would fall to the disciple to teach and guide the champion,” Bel’Sara said. “Mel’Chor has always been obsessed with this particular prophecy. His dreams and studies convinced him that he might be destined to be the one to find and guide said child.”
The magi paused and looked at him expectantly.
Kion didn’t really know what to say. Gods and prophesies, this was far beyond him. It was the realm of magi, priests, and sars. “So, this is not the one with the dragon?”
The sage arched an eyebrow. “It is, actually. Slaying a dragon is one of the prophesized deeds. Also, you might be more interested in the tale about the striving empires and the fall of the old order of the world.”
Kion’s eyes widened in understanding. “How does this story go?” he asked, silently.
Bel’Sara shook her head and turned to her horse. “That’s not important now,” she said, picking up the reigns. “What is important is for you to find Mel’Chor!”
Leading her horse, she followed Omiri out of the stable.
From what the magi had said Kion understood the importance of Mel’Chor’s mission for the Saggab empire and his lord. But if he has been searching for this champion for years, why do we have to find him all of a sudden, Kion thought? He wanted to ask but he stopped himself. The sage would share what she wanted to and nothing more.
Kion readied his horse as quickly as he could and followed the two women.
Outside, the merchants and servants had organized a bucket chain. Others busied themselves with saving the goods from the storage rooms on the ground floor before the flames spread there. Most had no time to take notice of them. The ones that did, quickly looked away when they recognized the sage.
Some guards were standing nervously at the gateway staring across the marketplace while others had to drag the corpses of their comrades over to the side and out of the way. They all carried grim expressions on their faces.
When they noticed the approaching riders, they stiffened. They too recognized mistress Bel’Sara.
Any common man would immediately associate the presence of a magi with any out-of-the-ordinary event around. Be it a building catching fire or a city being attacked out of nowhere.
That does not mean it was a good idea to challenge them about it.
One of the guards, a leader of ten Kion recognized, stepped forward and bowed to the sage. “Mistress, you are leaving?” he asked, not meeting the magi’s eyes. “The messengers say, Piro is completely surrounded.”
Courageous man, Kion thought.
“Keep everybody inside the caravanserai,” Bel’Sara said, ignoring the man’s careful inquiry. “Have the merchants form a welcome committee out of those that come from the Assanaten empire. They should leave the caravanserai alone, but it might help to have them greeted by their countrymen.”
Kion nodded unconsciously. During the storming of a city, anything could happen. Sieges were hard and bloody work and once the walls were broken, the attackers’ frustration often turned to rage. The inhabitants were always the ones paying the price. Kion had seen it before. He had been in it.
“The Assanaten?” the man asked, shocked.
Bel’Sara ignored him. On her signal, her horse trotted forwards as if she had only stopped to accept the man’s greeting and dispense some gracious advice in return.
The guards parted immediately to make way for Kion and Omiri, who guided their horses to follow the sage.
Once they had crossed the gateway, Kion could hear the leader barking out orders. Without a doubt, they would follow the sage’s advice. And if everything goes well, this will add to her fame, Kion thought.
The streets were empty. Anyone remaining would be hiding in their houses, but most people had fled to the inner city, close to the harbor.
“Kion!” Bel’Sara said and waved her hand, without turning around. He moved his horse up to ride next to her.
Kion studied her face from the corner of his eyes. Most people would not be able to glean anything from the powerful woman. But Kion was different than most.
The tension in her shoulders. The flexing of her jaw muscles. The way she was holding the reigns just a bit too tightly.
“Are you reading me, dancer?” she asked.
Kion quickly looked ahead. “It is not my gift to read people’s thoughts,” he said, evading her question.
The sage smiled, letting out a sigh and relaxing her shoulders a bit.
“In my dream”, Bel’Sara began, speaking in a low voice, “in my dream, I saw Mel’Chor die.” She paused, allowing for her words to sink in.
Kion stared at her in shock. Mel’Chor of Menida, maybe the most legendary magi of their time, dead? What could kill a man like that?
Bel’Sara looked deeply disturbed as Kion murmured his response. “How?”
The sage nodded, acknowledging his self-restraint. “I don’t know. Sometimes my dreams show me possible futures, sometimes I see what’s happening in a different place right at this exact moment. I’ve even seen the past before. Whatever has the gods occupied at the time.” She made another pause, gazing into the distance deep in thought.
Kion did not dare to interrupt. The sage talking openly about these things filled him with awe and amazement.
As they rounded a corner, the northern gate finally came into sight. Kion could see guards on the wall and in front of the gate. Very few, and on edge, he thought. They slowed the horses down to a soft walk so as not to make the guards even more nervous.
“Sometimes the dreams do not seem to come from the gods at all. Sometimes they are… like an echo of a significant event that reverberates through the realm beyond.” Bel’Sara faced him. Whatever she saw brought a small smile to her face.
“You don't really understand, do you?” she asked, a little bit of the seriousness gone from her voice.
“I am sorry mistress,” Kion said.
“You do not have to apologize. This is far beyond a mere soldier, even a Gifted. But I think you need to understand this to be prepared for your task.”
Kion nodded. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “You really don’t.”
She halted her horse and Kion followed swiftly, making sure not to go ahead.
“Look, Dancer”, the sage pointed at her right ear, “in this ear I can hear the gods’ chattering of what we call prophecies. I hear of important events that will change the course of this world. Of the great Upheaval.”
She pointed at her left ear. “In this ear, I can hear the death cry of one of the most important protagonists of this story.”
Bel’Sara shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. It is chaos. The order of things is starting to unravel. Even the gods…” The sage stopped mid-sentence. She looked ahead to the gate where the group of guards was nervously looking their way.
“Follow Mel’Chor’s tracks. If…if he is dead, try to find the champion and bring him to Riadnos,” she said. “I do not know what you will find in the mountains. I would prefer to be there, but this is the only way. You must travel fast. Be careful!”
Bel’Sara straightened in the saddle and drove her horse forwards to meet the guards. Omiri followed her instantly.
Kion stared after them for a moment. He had been sent into danger many times before, but this was different. His gaze wandered up to the mountain range that loomed beyond the walls of Piro. What awaited him there?
It did not matter. He had been given a task - Find Mel’Chor, or learn of his fate. He would fulfill it to serve his lord. May Inashtar guide me.
Filled with grim determination he kicked his horse forwards.
“What…may I ask what is going on?” Leomenas asked from behind as Kion watched a group of twenty guards cross the abandoned marketplace heading in the direction of the western gate.
Not daring to approach the window, the nervous artisan stood forlorn in the middle of the room where Bel’Sara had left him.
Kion turned to the door. “The city will fall sooner than expected.”
“Sooner…,” Leomenas stammered scarred. “You’re saying we will lose?”
Kion didn’t answer the man’s question. There was no sense in explaining that the defenders never stood a chance. The enemy had approached during the night and without warning. They didn’t even fly the crests of their god and their royal house.
The regular guards just didn’t have the numbers needed to hold the walls and the enemy hadn’t given them time to organize and arm the citizens.
And they had enemies within. Kion could see it play out in his mind. The caravan guards would cut down the defenders at the western gate. The enemy would storm in and hit the dispersed defenders one group at a time. I would have given it two or three days, he thought. He had assumed the attackers would have needed more time to prepare an assault on the wall.
“Leomenas”, Bel’Sara waved the artisan closer, “it is time for you to return home. Take this.” The sage handed the man a couple of coins.
Leomenas accepted the coins hesitantly before bowing deeply. Only then did he notice that he had been given gold. He paled and dropped even lower to the floor.
“Hurry!” Kion said. He threw a saddlebag over one shoulder and pushed the overwhelmed artisan towards the door. “I will ready the horses!”
“Kion,” Bel’Sara said from behind.
Kion looked over his shoulder just as Leomenas was pulling the door open.
“We did not hide our identity when we arrived here, and Kion the Dancer is known,” Bel’Sara said.
Kion frowned.
An arrow slammed through Leomenas’ chest. The artisan made a sound of surprise.
“Damn it!” Kion screamed.
A second arrow pieced through the man and he stumbled backward.
Kion pulled him back and slammed the door shut. Four, he thought. One bowman on the opposite balcony. Two shields. One spearman. One glimpse had been enough.
Pulling Leomenas deeper into the room, Kion ignored the man’s groans. Blood spurted from the artisan’s chest when he coughed, a red pool collecting on the floor.
Kion dropped the bag and leaned against the door. “The table! Bring it over here!” He pointed at the floor two steps away from the door.
Bel’Sara didn’t hesitate. Omiri gave him a doubting look but followed her mistress’s lead. The two women lifted the low table and carried it to the indicated spot.
Somebody threw himself against the door.
Looking at Omiri, Kion pointed at a spot on the other side of the room. “From there! Shoot the third that comes through!”
Omiri hesitated. They hadn’t been companions for long. She hardly knew him.
“Do it!” Bel’Sara said, retreating to the same corner.
Kion jumped over the table and took a stance, readying his spear. Feeling the familiar weight of the shaft in his hand he grew calm. This was what he did best.
A thump rang from the door. The wood cracked. Another kick opened it all the way and a man pushed in. Facing Kion and his spear he immediately brought his shield up and ran right into the low table, tripping and falling forward.
Kion read the fall and made a small step to the right adjusting his position. The moment the man’s chest hit the table, his spear’s bronze blade pierced the side of the man’s neck, cutting the major blood carriers.
Kion twisted the spear as he pulled it out for maximum damage.
Seeing his companion fall, the second shield carrier circled the table. Armed with a bronze axe, he had to close the distance to make up for his lack of reach.
Kion received the man with a quick stab to the face, but he blocked the attack with his shield.
Omiri’s arrow rushed past. With all his focus on Kion, the third man never saw it coming.
Dropping his shield to chin level, the second warrior noticed that Kion had shifted to his left. He turned to follow him.
Kion had read the man’s movement, provoked it, and lowered his stance in unison.
As the man’s right leg stepped forward, Kion’s spear met it in midair, slicing along the bone and calf muscle.
The warrior gowned in pain and surprise. Reflex made him bring down his shield to protect his legs. A mistake. Kion’s spear pierced his throat right under the chin. The veteran’s eyes widened as he realized the setup.
Withdrawing the spearhead, Kion watched as a gurgling sound escaped the man as he dropped to his knees.
Kion felled him with a quick kick and stepped passed, taking care to avoid the growing pool of blood forming around the table.
The third man had gone down under the doorway. Armed only with a spear, Omiri’s first arrow had hit his unprotected chest. A second arrow through the throat secured the kill.
In battle, Assan’s warriors wore expensive scale armor made from bronze plates and leather. Incognito, these men had forgone the conspicuous equipment. And paid the highest prize for it.
“There is at least one more bowman,” Kion said over his shoulder, noticing Leomenas’ still body. At some point during the fight, the man had taken his last breath.
Kion picked up the first man’s shield and moved towards the door. The oval shield was made from wood and wicker, and covered in thick leather. It would stop arrows at a distance. For the most part.
He took up position at the door and listened. The courtyard seemed to be in an uproar. Men shouted. Animals screeched in protest as they sensed the fear all around them. Good, Kion thought. Lots of distractions.
Omiri took position behind him.
“I will move out first. If the bowman is still there, I will draw his attention away from the door,” Kion said without looking back.
“I understand.” The young woman’s voice only hinted at her excitement.
Kion nodded.
With one fluent movement he darted through the door. Running along the balcony, he stayed low, covering himself with the shield. An arrow hit the wall behind him.
The bowman had taken position on the balcony on the opposite side of the courtyard. Kion would have to run all the way around to get to him.
He could drop below the balustrade, but then the bowmen would either shift his attention back to the door or move.
An arrow hit the shield, piercing it slightly above his hand.
“Got him!”
The shout had come from Omiri.
Kion risked a look without stopping. The bowman was down.
Chaos filled the courtyard. Some merchants were desperately trying to flee from the caravanserai. Others had ordered their guards to build improvised barricades in front of whatever chamber housed their wares.
A couple of bodies lay strewn near the gate, left for dead. Kion couldn’t be sure what had happened. Had someone tried to stop the group of warriors from leaving? Whatever had happened, the four men seemed to have been the only Assanaten that stayed behind.
Kion turned to rush back to the room but mistress Bel’Sara and Omiri were already coming his way. Both carried saddle bags.
“Time to go,” the sage announced. “Do we have a way out of the city?”
“The northern gate,” Kion said, nodding in its direction. “The defenders might have already abandoned it. If not, your authority will ensure they will open it for us.”
Very few people would dare to oppose a magi, never mind one of the seven sages.
Omiri handed Kion his bad. “You fight well.”
“And now you know why he’s called the Dancer,” mistress Bel’Sara said. “You will have to tell me how your Gift works sometime.”
Kion kept quiet. No fighter liked to share his tricks.
Bel’Sara kept walking. “The city guards at the gate will listen to me when they see the smoke over the city.”
Had there already been fires? The Assanaten should reach the eastern gate just about now. Then Kion noticed the first smoke coming from their room.
He stared at the sage’s back.
“There isn’t enough time to return everything,” she said.
Kion swallowed. While he had searched for traces of Mel’Chor in the city, the sage had spent her time gathering manuscripts from several public and private collections. She probably didn’t want to risk the Assanaten finding her research, whatever it was.
When the bodies were found, the blame would likely fall on the invaders.
“Come,” Bel’Sara said, following Omiri down the stairs.
“After we have made it out of the city, we’ll split up,” mistress Bel’Sara said, as they crossed the yard to the stables.
She raised her hand, forestalling any protest. “Omiri and I will take the Golden Road northeast along the mountains. We will probably run into patrols, but I doubt they will dare to stop me. I want you to head into the mountains. Follow the way Leomenas described. Find Mel’Chor.”
Kion held the stable door open for her.
Somebody had noticed the flames and the shouting intensified. Men ran past calling for water buckets.
The sage ignored the chaos around them. “From the Half-Moon-Valley, Riadnos is the only other place to travel to. Meet us there. If you cannot find Mel’Chor... . Find out what you can.”
Riadnos marked the end of the Golden Road. It was a Helcenaean colony, a harbor city founded on the shores of a large lake that connected to the sea. Most of the wood and tin from the north came from there.
“Mistress, what is all this about?” Kion asked. “We should be on our way south to Saggab.”
He knew he was overstepping. Confronting a magi as famous and powerful as Bel’Sara was stupid at best and dangerous at worst. Besides that, his lord had given his service to the sage.
Yet, Kion could not stop himself. He needed to know why he was being sent so far away from his lord’s side.
Bel’Sara regarded him with an unreadable face. Kion felt himself sweating under the woman’s gaze, but he stood his ground.
Finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by Bel’Sara’s sigh. “Very well, Dancer”, she said, regarding him with a benign smile, “I shall share with you what you need to know to understand why I am asking this.”
She waved and Kion followed her inside the stables. Bel’Sara did not start talking right away. Instead, the sage seemed to have fallen deep into thought, barely paying attention to her surroundings.
Conscious of his position, Kion kept quiet, waiting for the sage to address him. He knew he would have to accept whatever she shared with him and be happy with it. There was no choice.
Still, Kion walked upright. He had made his point. He would serve the mistress, but he was his sar’s man.
They reached the stalls that housed their horses. Four animals stood side by side, their coats shining, their large, dark eyes staring out. Three were kept for riding while one was used as a pack horse. Omiri had already readied her mistress’s mare and was currently preparing her own. As he watched her careful handling of the animals, Kion saw the horsemanship of the step people.
Bel’Sara handed her bag to Omiri and turned to Kion. “Have you ever heard about a prophecy of the chosen champion of the gods who is destined to oppose the Great Upheaval?” Bel’Sara asked.
“Is that the story about the child that slays a dragon?” Kion asked.
Like any child, growing up in the cities of the Saggab empire, he had heard tales about gods and heroes. Their actions were supposed to write the past and future of the world. Kion had never paid much attention. It was his strength that had let him survive the slums. That had made him useful to his lord. Gods were for the priest and magi to deal with.
“The god Nemki prophesized that his disciple would find a young child with the potential to become a great champion. It would fall to the disciple to teach and guide the champion,” Bel’Sara said. “Mel’Chor has always been obsessed with this particular prophecy. His dreams and studies convinced him that he might be destined to be the one to find and guide said child.”
The magi paused and looked at him expectantly.
Kion didn’t really know what to say. Gods and prophesies, this was far beyond him. It was the realm of magi, priests, and sars. “So, this is not the one with the dragon?”
The sage arched an eyebrow. “It is, actually. Slaying a dragon is one of the prophesized deeds. Also, you might be more interested in the tale about the striving empires and the fall of the old order of the world.”
Kion’s eyes widened in understanding. “How does this story go?” he asked, silently.
Bel’Sara shook her head and turned to her horse. “That’s not important now,” she said, picking up the reigns. “What is important is for you to find Mel’Chor!”
Leading her horse, she followed Omiri out of the stable.
From what the magi had said Kion understood the importance of Mel’Chor’s mission for the Saggab empire and his lord. But if he has been searching for this champion for years, why do we have to find him all of a sudden, Kion thought? He wanted to ask but he stopped himself. The sage would share what she wanted to and nothing more.
Kion readied his horse as quickly as he could and followed the two women.
Outside, the merchants and servants had organized a bucket chain. Others busied themselves with saving the goods from the storage rooms on the ground floor before the flames spread there. Most had no time to take notice of them. The ones that did, quickly looked away when they recognized the sage.
Some guards were standing nervously at the gateway staring across the marketplace while others had to drag the corpses of their comrades over to the side and out of the way. They all carried grim expressions on their faces.
When they noticed the approaching riders, they stiffened. They too recognized mistress Bel’Sara.
Any common man would immediately associate the presence of a magi with any out-of-the-ordinary event around. Be it a building catching fire or a city being attacked out of nowhere.
That does not mean it was a good idea to challenge them about it.
One of the guards, a leader of ten Kion recognized, stepped forward and bowed to the sage. “Mistress, you are leaving?” he asked, not meeting the magi’s eyes. “The messengers say, Piro is completely surrounded.”
Courageous man, Kion thought.
“Keep everybody inside the caravanserai,” Bel’Sara said, ignoring the man’s careful inquiry. “Have the merchants form a welcome committee out of those that come from the Assanaten empire. They should leave the caravanserai alone, but it might help to have them greeted by their countrymen.”
Kion nodded unconsciously. During the storming of a city, anything could happen. Sieges were hard and bloody work and once the walls were broken, the attackers’ frustration often turned to rage. The inhabitants were always the ones paying the price. Kion had seen it before. He had been in it.
“The Assanaten?” the man asked, shocked.
Bel’Sara ignored him. On her signal, her horse trotted forwards as if she had only stopped to accept the man’s greeting and dispense some gracious advice in return.
The guards parted immediately to make way for Kion and Omiri, who guided their horses to follow the sage.
Once they had crossed the gateway, Kion could hear the leader barking out orders. Without a doubt, they would follow the sage’s advice. And if everything goes well, this will add to her fame, Kion thought.
The streets were empty. Anyone remaining would be hiding in their houses, but most people had fled to the inner city, close to the harbor.
“Kion!” Bel’Sara said and waved her hand, without turning around. He moved his horse up to ride next to her.
Kion studied her face from the corner of his eyes. Most people would not be able to glean anything from the powerful woman. But Kion was different than most.
The tension in her shoulders. The flexing of her jaw muscles. The way she was holding the reigns just a bit too tightly.
“Are you reading me, dancer?” she asked.
Kion quickly looked ahead. “It is not my gift to read people’s thoughts,” he said, evading her question.
The sage smiled, letting out a sigh and relaxing her shoulders a bit.
“In my dream”, Bel’Sara began, speaking in a low voice, “in my dream, I saw Mel’Chor die.” She paused, allowing for her words to sink in.
Kion stared at her in shock. Mel’Chor of Menida, maybe the most legendary magi of their time, dead? What could kill a man like that?
Bel’Sara looked deeply disturbed as Kion murmured his response. “How?”
The sage nodded, acknowledging his self-restraint. “I don’t know. Sometimes my dreams show me possible futures, sometimes I see what’s happening in a different place right at this exact moment. I’ve even seen the past before. Whatever has the gods occupied at the time.” She made another pause, gazing into the distance deep in thought.
Kion did not dare to interrupt. The sage talking openly about these things filled him with awe and amazement.
As they rounded a corner, the northern gate finally came into sight. Kion could see guards on the wall and in front of the gate. Very few, and on edge, he thought. They slowed the horses down to a soft walk so as not to make the guards even more nervous.
“Sometimes the dreams do not seem to come from the gods at all. Sometimes they are… like an echo of a significant event that reverberates through the realm beyond.” Bel’Sara faced him. Whatever she saw brought a small smile to her face.
“You don't really understand, do you?” she asked, a little bit of the seriousness gone from her voice.
“I am sorry mistress,” Kion said.
“You do not have to apologize. This is far beyond a mere soldier, even a Gifted. But I think you need to understand this to be prepared for your task.”
Kion nodded. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “You really don’t.”
She halted her horse and Kion followed swiftly, making sure not to go ahead.
“Look, Dancer”, the sage pointed at her right ear, “in this ear I can hear the gods’ chattering of what we call prophecies. I hear of important events that will change the course of this world. Of the great Upheaval.”
She pointed at her left ear. “In this ear, I can hear the death cry of one of the most important protagonists of this story.”
Bel’Sara shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. It is chaos. The order of things is starting to unravel. Even the gods…” The sage stopped mid-sentence. She looked ahead to the gate where the group of guards was nervously looking their way.
“Follow Mel’Chor’s tracks. If…if he is dead, try to find the champion and bring him to Riadnos,” she said. “I do not know what you will find in the mountains. I would prefer to be there, but this is the only way. You must travel fast. Be careful!”
Bel’Sara straightened in the saddle and drove her horse forwards to meet the guards. Omiri followed her instantly.
Kion stared after them for a moment. He had been sent into danger many times before, but this was different. His gaze wandered up to the mountain range that loomed beyond the walls of Piro. What awaited him there?
It did not matter. He had been given a task - Find Mel’Chor, or learn of his fate. He would fulfill it to serve his lord. May Inashtar guide me.
Filled with grim determination he kicked his horse forwards.
