Khan Burzin Radpour’s Main Army
Generals, Lords, guests & important chars mentioned, or in his camp.
Khan Burzin Radpour
Lord General Prince Radin (KIA)
Chief Advisor Sam Phanti (in Rida with Duke Reeves)
Advisor Besa Nafi
Master Suharto? (Secretive Aken ‘physician’, ‘Shaman’ & Burzin’s advisor. Identity disputed.)
Lord Knut Osahar (Shao Na-Lan. The Master of Sea and commander of the Combined Fleet)
Admiral Binra-Kot (Rin An-Pur. Married to Princess Rashida. Still bedridden from his injuries)
Chief Engineer Rumen-Kot (Binra-Kot’s brother.)
General Mutobo (fully engaged with the Khanate Marines in the battle of Colle, but had been ordered to return with the fleet. Timor was to receive similar orders very soon.)
General Pourem (semi-trapped with the remnants of the Reserve Army and Birka’s mercenaries in Meertje. Pourem had been ordered to evacuate the port.)
Maluph Erul-Sol (Chariot Leader. The last surviving male of the Erul-Sol family that ruled Que Ki-La. He had lost face due to his father’s failure to defeat the Chiliad, his own plight with Lord Putra, but also because he severely lacked funds and men.)
Mistress Vynia Letakin (Radin’s widow. Last surviving member of the Letakin of Ani Ta-Ne)
Prince Nidar Radpour (Radin’s firstborn)
Loes Valk (would give birth to Radin’s son Narmer* Radpour the last month of summer)
Lady Marleen Van Oord (Horus Mirpur’s Issir noblewoman widow)
Aswad Mirpur* (Horus son. A half-breed)
Mirah (a slave girl)
Api-Nofre (Cataphract. Owed a life-debt to Aswad)
Nar Masud-Rum (Well-known Cataphract Leader)
Senet (Veteran Cataphract)
General Sin Ota-Kmet (Chariot Leader.)
Tar Ota-Kmet (His son. Chariot Leader of the 2nd group.)
Tika Phanti (Cataphract Leader. The Chief Advisor’s son)
Muda-Zeket (Infantry general)
Sepa (A veteran Lancer General)
Ishino Tyfon (Elephant handler and owner)
Muvelo (A veteran Scout Leader, commanding the Khan's Horse Archers as well)
Rumu (A mercenary Captain)
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200+ Heavy scythed-Chariots (under Lord of Torbal Sin Ota-Kmet and his son Tar Ota-Kmet. Maluph Erul-Sol wasn’t allowed to participate as he had a falling out with the wrathful, ailing Khan.)
~500 Cataphracts (Heavy Cavalry. The elite Khan’s Own) – under Cephas Mirpur and Tika Phanti. Notable Cataphracts Nar Masud-Rum, Garai, Api-Nofre and Senet were unable to participate for various reasons.
5000 Jang-Lu (under Muda-Zeket of Chariot’s Birth. Muda-Zeket had argued in favor of keeping Cephas Mirpur in the field. The infantry general’s family were very close with Lord Mirpur and hailed from the same city. Gida was 2nd in command.)
2400 light Cavalry (under Leader Muvelo of Shao Na-Lan. 1800 Horse Archers and 600 mounted scouts. Muvelo was a scout leader primarily, but had enough clout to assume overall command after most of the Khan’s Horse Archers generals Tehenor, Kontar and Larmir had been lost.)
~600 Medium Cavalry (Lancers under Sepa of Rin An-Pur. The veteran Horselord equestrian had an excellent reputation as a general with both the Khan and the Issirs.)
20 White War Elephants -100 crew (Unit of unknown capabilities in Jelin, heavily armoured huge beasts with four-man crews plus a driver, under Master Ishino Tyfon of Nasar, a rare Cofol. His father Hotta Tyfon owned a large traveling circus, but kept a number of stables around Nasar where he trained the beasts for centuries. Kept separately from the Horselords main camps as they feared them. The Khan’s ancestors had faced them in the past, alongside the Swordmasters of Cautara, and Burzin had agreed on bringing them along, without intention of using them in the field. Terrified even the most trained horses.)
25 Scorpios (About fifty crew and two hundred slave workers under Rumen-Kot. The majority of his machines were near Colle with Timor and at the hands of Legatus Merenda after the battle of the great lakes.)
200 demoralized slavers (under the injured slave-master Bedas of Sidhyr and the ailing Hamadi. The slave-master Cardus of Wotcheki Castle –a very rich slaver also- retired upon reaching the capital. He had been traumatized after months of struggle near late Lord Putra and wanted to help Lady Marleen make it back to Chariot’s Birth. ‘A guide’s job is surely safer than this absurd calamity,’ the disgusted by the horrid ordeal Cardus had famously commented.)
~100 mercenaries (Under Birka’s 2nd in command Rumu. He had stayed back because of high fever and heavy cough, then had sought help at Rita’s Inn when his condition deteriorated. Sister Rita Jung dabbled as a medic and operated an Uher’s church charity guesthouse/hospital there for those in need of assistance, but mainly to accommodate the many orphans of the Issir Capital.)
Nerot Unit (also N’Rot). Unknown unit of foot soldiers. Mostly Issirs, but with Lorians and Horselords in the mix. These male and female warriors appeared out of nowhere in the field. Under an Issir named Brill ‘Three’, rumored to be yet another ‘variation’ of the late Sir Brill to appear the year after his untimely demise according to the Church’s records. Led according to several witnesses by an Aken named Suharto. A difficult to believe tale as the ancient Aken general Suharto is mentioned visiting Prince Atpa in Rin An-Pur that same month, a fact confirmed by Imperial agents monitoring the event. The same unlikely rumors mention the ‘presence’ of Zilan ‘operators’ during the battle. The Nerot unit was around a hundred strong, but this number is disputed as well.
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3500 Cavalry (20 Cataphracts stayed near the Khan)
5300 Infantry (minus around one thousand Jang-Lu who were guarding the lake road to the Capital from Merenda and weren’t present in the field. 4000 Halberd masked infantry, 200 slavers, 100 mercenaries.)
100 Elephant crew (20 drivers, 40 archers, 40 javelin throwers/lancers)
600 Charioteers (200 Crossbows/Archers, 200 javelin/sword/maces, 200 drivers/infantry)
50 engineers
100? Nerot soldiers. (Various weaponry and armour, from spears/halberds, to axes, different swords, daggers/knives and staffs/scythes.)
2300 slaves with Bedas
600 slaves with Rumen-Kot
9650*** total fighting force
2900 slaves
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*Aswad and Narmer (Catfish in Cofol) were both dark-skinned half-breeds.
**Nar Masud-Rum, Ramses ‘Tuksa Lar’ and Senet weren’t there at the start of the battle. Khafra joined Garai near Colle. Khafra was at the previous engagement against Duke Ruud at the Pavilion and reached Garai after navigating the wilderness for months.
*** The Khan could field only about ten thousand of his initial close to thirty thousand army and despite several units (Timor, Pourem) still being operational, this was a staggering amount of attrition the Horselords had suffered. Midlanor had been bled dry as well and was able to support only the 3rd Foot instead of both the 2nd and 3rd (though both always had extra recruits from the capital and the other Issir cities.)
Red Bridge | A part of him
updated map, with troops
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22nd of Sextus 195 NC
The ‘mighty’ Burzin sat on his throne, a makeshift seat of hides and timber, appearing as if he were caught in a dream. The armrests sparkled with vibrant beads and intricately carved ivory, yet the old Horselord leaned forward, his eyelids heavy and drooping. Only his right eye remained clear, while the left was clouded and weepy from a recent stroke. Before him, in the expansive area of the tent raised on a wooden platform, stood the tensed Besa Nafi, the Khanate’s second advisor, just a step below that snake Sam Phanti.
It was never easy, or comfortable, to stand under the other Horselords hostile scrutiny, when you haven’t been that good on the saddle yourself. Besa Nafi hadn’t, but he was smarter than those staring him down now.
Uhum.
Yep.
“Lord Anker hasn’t moved from Balworth River for months, and but for the small frequent forays beyond the Red Bridge, nothing indicates an imminent attack prodigious Caliph,” Besa explained and gestured for the slave Leshehu –who wielded the stick- to point on the new map Rumen-Kot’s people had created, the river’s exact location.
Which everyone knew already!
Ahm.
Just get it over with!
The familiar voice touching the membranes of his head, its slither feeling like an oily adder’s skin and its timbre carrying a similar hiss.
‘Thirteen?’ Suharto queried from afar. ‘Where the fuck are you?’
‘Not now,’ Tin retorted twitching on his staff and causing a Cataphract to turn a shiny, metallic face towards him, the smile carved on the mask unnerving the jumpy Aken.
‘Is this a Horselord tent? You’re not in Scaldingport?’
No it’s a pergola I use to bivouac in nature.
‘Something came up. I have it handled,’ Tin replied vaguely.
‘Um. Atpa talks with the Imperials. We might need you.’
Tin cursed his maker for still breathing and not leaving him alone.
Oppressive motherfucker, he thought frustrated and the desert leopard turned its cat eyes on him.
Worms in your furry arse! Tin cursed the large cat with a friendly smile –never an easy expression to pull off for a construct- and the leopard made a pass over its whiskers with a long pink tongue afore letting out a jaw-splitting yawn.
Probably a quiet fart as well.
Ahum.
“I’d like to learn the source of our Intel, famed kin of Radpour,” Sin Ota-Kmet, the Chariot’s Leader, said stepping forward.
Better that you don’t.
Burzin sucked at his old gums, blurry eye examining the charioteer and Lord of Torbal, who had backed Besa Nafi’s objections. Muda-Zeket, the Jang-Lu general, grimaced opting to remain neutral on the matter and the other generals present followed his lead, but for Lord Osahar and Rumen-Kot who had their reservations voiced earlier.
For different reasons.
Burzin reached with a shaky hand to pat the yawning leopard between the ears. “I call him Nout,” he rustled and the large feline twisted its body to sniff at the Horselord’s hand. “For remaining vigilant at all times and quick to act.”
Sentimentality.
Tin felt nothing, but his own bowels moving due to nervousness.
“Great Caliph, Timor won at 3Roads,” Besa Nafi tried again, looking nervous as well. “Pushed the Issirs back and damaged Van Durren’s Foot.”
“Garai did most of the work and Robert’s Foot has been damaged afore,” Burzin argued crooking his mouth. “Beaten to within an inch of life, besieged and hunted through the desert,” the Horselords shifted on their feet at the Khan’s angry tone. “Yet there he stands again with Lord Dhin-Awal dead and my own son butchered like a pig in a public square!”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“That’s just a rumor inordinate Tsar,” Besa Nafi replied quickly and Burzin gestured for him to stop.
“That vicious black mongrel Anker shall attack,” Burzin rustled sitting back on his throne. “He’d have done it even without us knowing what we know. As for the other matter, Timor finally got us half-a-win, after Dhin-Awal and his kin lost me another son and almost two armies. But is Colle in our hands Lord Osahar?”
“The port can’t be safely used great Khan,” the naval leader replied. “Not with enemy forces so near and even inside the town.”
“There,” Burzin hissed. “Timor wants more men. I say we keep the men and use them in the summer campaign. Deal with the insolent bitch later, when reinforcements arrive.”
“Sam Phanti wrote us again,” Besa Nafi informed them. “He needs at least six to eight months. First to finish building the new ships and then transport the crews and men Lord Reeves raised here.”
“What about Prince Atpa?” Lord Ota-Kmet probed.
He talks with Imperials. Sneaky cunt, Tin thought, a severe tick marring his face. It startled the leopard that froze with ogling eyes to stare at the spasmodically twitching Aken all curious.
“Atpa might take a while to give help,” Burzin replied sourly. “Given his history.”
“If the High Regent wants to attack, then we could move behind the Mid Bridge,” Sepa offered. The Cavalry leader had just returned from King’s Forest and the capital. “Rest and replenish our forces from a safe position.”
“First time I hear of a new campaign about to start with a retreat,” Burzin scolded the Cavalry leader. “Your horses will rest for as long as it is possible and Rumen-Kot shall keep his machines to use, when it is prudent, or needed. The rest of the army has rested enough. I won’t allow the Est Ravn to dictate this affair, we shall hit them on the move.”
“Great Khan, the Regent hasn’t moved in months,” Ota-Kmet argued respectfully. “Where is this strange certainty that he would do it now, even coming from?”
Ah. Um.
Damn it.
“Over there our old friend stands,” Burzin rustled turning to eye the Aken. Wrong. Yep. Guess again, blind old goat. “Tell him as much as you can,” he added and Tin plastered his mauve lips together annoyed.
Everyone’s attention now centered on the discomforted Aken. Tin was a private person, not particularly comfortable around other living species, or his compatriots. Anyone with a brain you don’t control might land you in trouble, he thought and clasped at his staff tightly.
To be unpredictable was a serious character flaw to others. The trait better reserved for Tin himself.
“Ahm,” Tin started, closing first the left eye and then the right. Opening the latter wide open and grimacing before adding. “Ehem… we have… a direct line of communication. Yep. Very smooth. Sneaky. Um.”
“Desert Spirits,” Tika-Phanti gasped. “What is he talking about?”
Your small dick.
Nailed with an iron pin.
Tin’s voice ruptured by a violent hiccup, his body still suffering from the poisons he had imbibed to finish in time. “Prick…eh… being prickly won’t help. Trust is better.”
“Master Suharto has a man inside Anker’s camp,” Burzin explained and Tin shook his head negatively.
“Uhm… not,” the Khan’s stare now turned stern and unamused. “Not quite… but very close. Aha. Yep. Very close,” Tin paused, trying to get the facial spasms under control and then added defensively with a croak, under the sober Horselords weirded out guises. “But… not quite.”
“Ancient Hells,” Sin Ota-Kmet grunted sounding mystified. “I didn’t understand a bloody thing.”
“Enough talking,” an irked Burzin interrupted. “Our friend will do his part, the rest we shall do ourselves. Leave my sight, so I can spent time with my grandson.”
“What about Ishino Tyfon’s proposal great Caliph?” Besa Nafi queried diplomatically.
“You already have my answer,” Burzin retorted angrily. “Keep Tyfon away from the plaguing horses.”
Tin nodded and started walking through the departing Horselords to leave the Khan’s tent, but Burzin called on his back and forced the grimacing Aken to pause, and then pivot on his axis.
“Suharto,” the aged Khan said.
“Um,” Tin murmured and pressed an index finger under the soft skin of his right eye, where a round blister had formed.
“Something’s different with you,” Burzin noted. “You are not yourself, these last couple of years.”
“We are older… ayup. Ah. Years… matter.”
“That’s true,” Burzin agreed with a nod. “Will they perform... your soldiers?”
“Eh… who knows? They might… um, do fine, or they might not,” Tin retorted and grimaced, as he didn’t intent to reveal as much. “You need to stop the Assayer. Nay, I’ll do that. Yes. Uhum. Everyone else… you can defeat.”
“Are you certain?” Burzin queried tiredly.
“Yep. Aha. Yes! He’s the only dangerous factor,” Tin flinched mid-words as if startled by some internal voice –or noise, which of course was more, or less, the truth.
‘Master, can you talk?’ Atae asked in his head.
Tin could, but as far as the other matter was concerned, the Aken was wrong.
-
Samblar
Days earlier
The busy docks at the doab’s edge of Serpent’s Tongue, the ‘Fork’, which is part of the outer Riverdor countryside. The docks connect -via the river, the city of Riverdor with Smallake and the capital. The only ‘direct’ way, as the nearby swamplands and forests are impassable.
(Issir jargon for Small Lake. One of Kaltha’s Great Lakes. Chinos River south leg linked with Smallake and the lake itself connected with Serpent’s Tongue River that reached as far southeast as the river docks of Riverdor.)
Merchant warehouses square.
Samblar, the Zilan merchant and half of the renowned Ryfon & Samblar leather amenities, took a moment to rest by the stone bench, his gaze fixed on the river boats making their way back from the morning's fishing endeavors. Across the expansive dock, the larger passenger vessels sat motionless, waiting for their next journey.
The area buzzed with a diverse crowd—numerous Issirs mingled with a fair share of Lorians, and surprisingly, a notable presence of Northmen. Trade had indeed ventured further south than anyone had anticipated and had bridged old differences.
The brutes have found civilization, Samblar thought and cleaned some of the dirt from his pink and yellow comfortable robes, whilst adjusting the large hood over his head. The attire hot for the time of year, but less hot than it would have been in Regia. He had to make a detour at the border, when a Cofol Merchant approached him with ‘an urgent mater of Imperial concern’. Now Samblar wasn’t a man of action, but when a mandate reached a lawful citizen, then he dropped everything to comply. The small scroll to be delivered to anyone capable of tackling the task, or failing that -said citizen himself.
The task mysterious in its wording, but the directions were pretty clear to ignore. So Samblar and his laden Ostriches had made the journey north towards Riverdor and was just about to board a boat to smuggle him near the capital. After that he’d no idea on how he was supposed to be of service.
“I have to leave the trade goods behind,” he murmured to himself, trying to locate the boat captain. A Lorian port thug, but could have had a bit of Nord in him, approached at that point the talking with himself Zilan.
“Hey there mister Samblar,” the man said in a friendly manner. “Heard ye talking with the port master at the warehouse. Are you a trader sir?”
Samblar pursed his mouth and eyed the human with suspicion. “I’ve the merchandise insured mister…”
“Sergio Burns,” Sergio replied, thinning blond hair moist with sweat. The humidity and heat uncomfortable near the river’s shores. “It’s a moniker. Had an accident in me youth and the name stuck.”
“You don’t appear scarred. Had a healer work on it didn’t you?”
“The fire damaged another person,” Sergio replied with a sigh. “No healer could save him.”
Samblar nodded unsure. The man was armed with a shortsword, strapped leather belt around his waist.
“So… what do you trade for?” Sergio asked in a friendly tone.
“Various garbs and accessories,” Samblar replied and before he could stop himself added. “All manner of quality hand-crafted leather amenities. Samblar & Ryfon out of Abarat. Since 2950 IC.”
“That’s a lot of years,” Sergio agreed and seeing Samblar’s constipated expression, the man smiled. He didn’t have the teeth for it. “I know where you’re from Mister Samblar. You are an Imperial.”
“I’m just a lawful foreign citizen.”
“A merchant.”
“And craftsman. Am I being robbed?” Samblar queried a little annoyed and looked about them.
“Not in Riverdor, but venture closer to the Lakes and you might find yourself in trouble. Come to think of it, you might get yerself in trouble irregardless of yer origins,” Sergio replied and then breathed out thinking about it. “Well that’s it. I don’t suppose you can tell me where you’re heading, or why you’ve left all them goods behind? Your chickens even.”
“They are Ostriches,” a peeved Samblar corrected him and Sergio nodded diplomatically.
“Thought they were a different breed. Ha-ha. Their meat any good?”
“They are mounts, you philistine! No different than mules! You’ll eat a mule?” Samblar admonished him, but Sergio didn’t appear too-bothered with the admonishment.
“Yeah, I’ve tried worse than that. Now, all I’m saying mister Samblar, is that perhaps you should look to exploit the fact,” Sergio expounded in an advisory mode. “You do possess the largest chickens in town by a lot. Ayup.”
Samblar bristled at the thought, but decided not to continue the discussion with the human.
“See to use Harry’s boat to head up the river,” Sergio advised and turned to leave, but Samblar stopped him.
“How did you know?”
Sergio sighed and then pursed his mouth in thought. His weeks old beard was not particularly thick and some red hairs mixed in with blond.
“I’ve met one of your kind recently,” he finally said. “Tensed lass, fine-looking, if you prefer some spice wit yer women.”
Samblar furrowed his brows. “What is she doing in Riverdor?”
“Looking for a way towards Canlita Sea and the lands of the Wolffish. The new one.”
“What for?”
“Search Hag’s Fenlands, or some other malarkey. Listen, I was willing to help and all initially, since I know some of the local boys there, but then the matter popped up,” Sergio admitted and shrugged his shoulders. “Hags is where I draw the line. Aye.”
“Is she still around? The girl?” Samblar queried and Sergio grimaced. Ah. “Did she ask you to check on me?”
Sergio puffed out in frustration. “I want to get paid.”
“Is she shy?” Samblar asked and checked the docks again with his eyes. He caught a lonesome hooded figure standing in the shade of a tall stack of wooden containers. She was watching them. Probably listening in to their conversation, if she had the skill for it.
Samblar raised his left arm in a traditional greeting and the female figure moved lithely behind the boxes.
“I wish to speak with her,” the merchant told the still skeptical Sergio Burns.
“Ah, I can’t betray her whereabouts,” Sergio started looking uncomfortable, but Samblar cut him off.
“She was standing over there. The end of the warehouses, where those fish are piled up.”
Sergio blinked and stared that way confused. “That’s fifty meters away mister Samblar, you can’t possibly know that,” he stopped as a determined Samblar was already marching across the open area of the docks towards the warehouse.
The sun was hidden behind the tall brick windowless building. A chill greeted Samblar when he rounded up the odorous boxes to reach the shaded corner. Right after that an angry arrow whistled past his head, pushing the hood back and then nailed itself on a wooden box, jam-packed with river fish.
Samblar froze on his feet and eyed the tall, but shapely figure confronting him with a longbow. Another arrow already nocked at the taut bowstring.
“The next one goes in your eye,” the Zilan female warned with an indignant hiss. Samblar could see part of her austere face behind the raised bow, though even that part was shaded by her hood.
“To the heavens above our greetings sister,” Samblar started, but he was summarily cut off.
“I’m not your sister Samblar.”
“Obviously.” The tensed Samblar replied and checked the burn on his cheek, where the arrow had touched him. “A great shot. Too close for comfort though.”
“I did that on purpose.”
She had an old Imperial accent in her voice, quite pleasant to Samblar’s ear, especially after months surrounded and listening to pompous Lorian Common, or the even more monotonous and curt Issir variant.
“I’m a skilled merchant. And an even more talented craftsman,” he assured her, trying to keep it modest.
“Yet you parked your wares and are heading west,” the female replied and lowered her longbow. “Why?”
Samblar pursed his mouth. “I’ve received a mandate.”
“You’re an Imperial.”
Ah. This is a pleasant surprise.
“You’re not. Now I understand.”
“I doubt you do. Answer my query.”
Samblar licked his dry lips and then wiggled his nose. “The air is foul where I’m standing…”
“Aeleniel,” the female replied and signed for him to step away from the fishes. “It is foul from here as well.”
A heavy breathing Sergio Burns arrived at that point and paused abruptly upon witnessing the scene. “Oh my. Something amiss?”
“Stay at the corner,” Aeleniel ordered the human and dug out a square gold coin from a pouch secured on the weapon harness. The Zilan female tossed it at him from where she was standing. Her aim true. “Watch for any curious onlookers.”
“Aye ma’am,” Sergio replied with a smirk and a wink.
“That’s a lot of coin to waste. The man’s half-blind,” Samblar cautioned walking towards her, but Aeleniel snapped that same arm in warning to keep his distance. “Are you alone?”
“What is the mandate?” Aeleniel hissed, not even an iota friendlier.
Samblar sighed and sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. “I’m not certain you’re qualified Aeleniel for political reasons. I don’t doubt your skill. It’s a lovely name by the way,” he added and scrutinized her clenched chin, before examining her face. “I’ve visited Crimson Palace in my youth,” Samblar continued reminiscing. “There was a scene painted on the walls of the memorial hall, depicting the First Era masters and their pupils.”
Aeleniel raised her longbow again, nimble fingers nocking the arrow back in its place and the string creaking as it was drawn back to touch her chest.
“Whom is it about?” She hissed frostily.
“Not an Exile. My words were perhaps inappropriate earlier. These days are officially over,” Samblar assured her. “Arguen Garth rules in Wetull. Hardir O’ Fardor returned. Still a measure of caution is surely hinted on military matters.”
“You dodge clumsily merchant and speak of things you know little about,” Aeleniel pursed her mouth. “Show me the scroll.”
Samblar reached carefully for the crumbled scroll, his eyes on the pointy arrowhead, not two meters away. “I don’t know the name. There is no name. Just a mark. It’s not a real mission per se.”
Aeleniel lowered her bow and reached to take the scroll from him. “Don’t move, whilst I read this.”
“I’m not that fast, nor inclined to find out,” Samblar teased her to break the ice, but the female’s face left little room for hope. After months on the road, the merchant was feeling a bit lonely. He thought of the lovely Cofol he had kissed on the road and smiled, Aeleniel’s eyes turning his way curious.
“This is Aquilan’s mark,” Aeleniel said matter-of-factly. “Where did it come from?”
“Scaldingport.”
“The Cryptae unit is in Jelin?” Aeleniel queried with a grimace. “Where is the rest of the Phalanx?”
Samblar used a couple of fingers to scratch at the back of his sweaty neck. “I’ve no idea. They are all over the place these days. Ani Ta-Ne, Dia Castle, Taras… obviously.”
Aeleniel showed him the scroll’s scribblings. “You are tasked with sniffing out a Bonemancer. Have you ever done that?” She asked the nodding along Samblar. The merchant blinked when her words registered.
“Wait a minute. Are you certain?” He queried now worried. “You read too much into it. It says an Aken. The lad could be an explorer for crying out loud! Goodness me, the bigotry! I’m a Zilan, do I know how to use a bow? No I don’t. But give me a cutter, a long needle and good string and I’ll stitch you a great pair of shoes in no time!”
Aeleniel, who was depicted handing a fresh arrow to Faelar on that wall relief, much older now, narrowed her eyes and then tended the open scroll in front of Samblar’s face. A long nail pointing at the glyph markings next to the script. “This is Suharto’s code name from back in the day. The ‘misplaced ware’ a euphemism for a stray construct operating behind our lines.”
Samblar gulped down nervously. “Surely this isn’t permitted. And Suharto was killed in Plague Isles by Faelar.”
“A part of him,” Aeleniel spat frustrated, her voice breaking and she had to stop in order to collect herself. “Faelar… was clear on the matter, everyone knew what was going on, but the populace needed to be fed some wins. Plus he was seen some time ago in Rin An-Pur’s palace.”
Well, the Khan is here, so it is highly likely the Aken might have followed after him.
More firepower was desperately needed.
“Uhm. Is your old teacher around?” Samblar asked hopefully, while Aeleniel secured the longbow on her shoulder and walked a couple of steps away to stare beyond the shaded part of the warehouse. The direction of the Canlita Sea.
“Faelar fell to a different Aken some years back,” Aeleniel murmured sounding torn between forgotten camaraderie to an old common foe and the plans of the present. “You can’t deal with this merchant. Aquilan just looks to flush it out using you as bait. Then he’ll send someone to deal with it. But it will be too late for you.”
A visibly unsettled Samblar nodded, a shiver running down his spine. He had his reasons for steering clear of army matters, and they were as clear as day. “We were all Imperials once,” he ventured carefully, but the old Imperial Ranger merely shook her head, dismissing his attempt to draw her in.
“Am I qualified now then? I trust you’re a better shoe salesman than a recruiter, Samblar.”
“Our shoes practically sell themselves. Just ask Ryfon, my partner. He’s got a Legatus as a client,” Samblar replied, determination shining in his eyes as he sought to win her over. “They’re that impressive. But they don’t hold a candle to Aeleniel O’ Faelar.”
And that did it.