Amazonia - Funeral Games

"Az, are you ready to go?"

Today is Prince Timur's 'funeral', and the guest of honor's wearing a dark blue tunic with red trim at the cuffs and hem, with matching trousers. He's got the cuffs tucked into his boots. As per tradition, he's wearing a heavy gold chain as a protection against magic, but no sword or even a knife. However, his other two Bloodguards and I are in full armor with bladed weapons in case of trouble.

Right now the only trouble's between Greywolf and his mother. "I'm not leaving Wysper," he says from one side of the beaded curtain before I can answer Timur. "She needs me right now and you don't. Besides, I've watched you fight more times than I can count; I don't need to watch you and Titan pound on each other."

"Fine," Asena growls back from the side closest to the door. She's in full armor, leather and chainmail, with a blunted longsword in one hand and a blunted fighting axe in the other. I didn't even know she owned an open faced steel helm until she came out wearing it this morning. "As soon as Wysper wakes up, get her dressed and fed so we can shake the dust of this place off our heels."

"It's your fault she's this way. What were you thinking?"

Asena makes a disgusted noise and stomps out the open doorway into the brisk air, leaving a trail of sour wine fumes behind. Prince Timur watches her leave, then turns to me with his eyebrows raised. "What's that all about?"

"After they left Ishtar and her cronies, Asena took Wysper on a tour of every wine shoppe in Bukhara, including a few real dives." Timur rears back in surprise and I smile. "When Asena returned Wysper here last night, I asked if she was drunk, and Wysper replied: 'A Celt is never drunk if she can hold onto a single blade of grass and not fall off the edge of the world'."

Timur reminds me of a baffled bear as he shakes his head. "That makes no sense."

Remembering last night, I can't help but chuckle. "The girl thought it so witty she giggled over it until Greywolf put her to bed."

"At least this means I will not have to suffer Greywolf's presence this morning." He glances back behind us and lowers his voice. "Is that the Daemo agent of the Eastern Empire spy?"

The smile leaves my face as I glance back as well. In the far, shadowed corner of the room, a manlike Daemo with a bald head and lumpy skin the color of ground mustard seed, is sitting on a cushion at one of the low tables. A piece of parchment is in front of him, which he's writing on with a stylus and ink. Little Paulus sits beside the Daemo, speaking quietly, with the Nomads on either side of him, while at the next table, Balthazar's four burly guards, who delivered a large chest packed with several more small wine casks this morning, are eating breakfast.

I turn back to Timur. "It is. Since Balthazar's supposed to be a merchant making sure Little Paulus is well, the Daemo's taking down a letter chronicling our adventures in a general way."

Prince Timur frowns. "I'm uncomfortable with the Eastern Empire knowing so much about our plans."

"My prince," his Bloodguard Gur says, "I was drinking last night in a brothel with Troll and the Lycaon brothers, and we overheard several merchants arguing over when we will march south."

"I've heard the same," Argat adds. "My prince, by spring the news of our upcoming campaign will have traveled all the way to Tesiphon and beyond."

"I'd march us earlier," Timur growls, "but this is going to be a wolf winter." With a hand he motions towards the west. "Yesterday, I rode with Porthos to a sheltered valley not far from the city, which the Sasnayam governor used as his private hunting estate. It would be perfect for the People to settle into were it not for the stubborn old fool's pride."

"I may have a solution," Lys' voice says from the open doorway. She's dressed in new brown robes matching Karl's tunic and trousers, sitting on his shoulder and lightly kicking his chest with her bare feet. "Walk with me out here where eager ears cannot hear us." I glance over my shoulder.

The Daemo's stopped writing to watch us instead. His dark eyes meet mine and quickly look away, his misshapen head turning back towards Little Paulus with an apologetic smile and quiet words. My eyes narrow. Behind me, Timur and the other two are following Karl and Lys out the door, but I remain to beckon the Nomads over. They rise to their feet and join me. "Domina?"

"Keep a wary eye on the Daemo," I breathe into their ears. "Something about it doesn't feel right."

"We will, Domina," they reply in unison. I nod as they head back to the table and I turn toward the door, closing it behind me as I step outside.

Grey clouds are hanging low over the area, threatening rain, but at least it's a little warmer than it's been as I adjust the Rune sword sheathed at my back and join the others. Karl pulls out a folded piece of parchment and hands it to Timur. "The priestess Akbal found this when she was going through the chambers belonging to the head priest of Bukhara's Ghash-Kimil temple." Timur unfolds it as Karl adds, "It's a map detailing the weak spots between the worlds, each one marked with the symbol of a dead tree, and a building symbol around the tree indicating the size of the ruin that once guarded it."

As we begin walking towards the main street, I glance at the map over his shoulder. It shows all the lands of the Sasnayam empire and its satrapies, along with part of the Eastern Empire's provinces and the independent kingdoms north of the Sasnayams, with the major cities and roads clearly marked. The dead tree markings go from tiny to huge and there's a lot of them scattered around the map. Timur frowns as he looks up. "What were they doing with such a map?"

"And is it accurate," I add.

"Akbal showed me documents hinting that Ghash-Kimil planned something similar to what we are doing," Lys says in a sly voice, "and while I have no idea if the map is accurate or not, I have no reason to doubt it. Prince Timur, do you see the tree symbol close to the border where the lands of Bukhara meet Amul to the west and Marakanda to the south?"

Timur nods. "There's a large tree symbol surrounded by the symbol for a large ruin."

Karl says, "When I asked Porthos about the place, he gave me a long tale about a fortified Babylonian temple complex that was abandoned during a time when the Shadowlands spilled over into the real world, bringing the Shadow creatures with it. He claims it's still haunted."

As we reach the main road and turn left, Timur hands the map back to Karl, who tucks it away as Timur strokes his beard. "Haunted or not, the location's perfect as a staging point." He frowns. "However, if the Shambler army is spotted going south, our enemies will find out."

"Not if we march them by night," Lys says, "especially if it is raining. The map indicates there are enough stunted trees close by to act as way stations, where we can hole up during the day and replenish the troops."

"I'll have to lead them," I say in a sharp voice. "Does that mean I'm spending the winter with the dead?"

"Not at all," Lys replies. "You and I will get them down there along with Cermet, who will then control the hundred or so we leave as guards and watchers. The rest will remain hidden away while you and I return to Bukhara."

Relief washes over me even though my face remains impassive. Timur glances at me with a knowing smile, then turns his head towards Karl. "Does Porthos know about this map?"

Karl shakes his head. "Only the six of us and Akbal, who's almost as close mouthed as Inanna's corpse." A smile touches his lips. "You should see that corpse fight, though. What it lacks in speed it makes up for in sheer brute power."

Timur smiles. "Excellent. That reminds me: where do we stand with arming and armoring the dead-"

They go on speaking about logistics and the disruption of trade, but I lose what they're saying as we get close to the entrance plaza between the main gate and the road leading to the Temple district. Vendors with wooden carts or just blankets laid out on the paving stones are waving and shouting at the members of the White Horde streaming in through the open city gates. I frown as I remember something Greywolf said last night. "My prince, I thought the games were supposed to be held on the other side of the river."

"They were," he replies, "but after the betrothal ritual ended in such a disaster, the old fool rode out to the small village just beyond the bridge with his guards, and we talked as rational men. Nothing was decided except to hold the games here as a way to desecrate the Sasnayam's sacred temples and spit in their eye, in a sense."

The noise of the crowd's getting too loud to talk without shouting ourselves, Timur having to raise his voice at the end, and it only gets worse as we join the mob of people gawking at the buildings or lingering over the wares. Timur seems to be in no hurry, accepting well wishes from practically everyone, dressed either in leather and fur or linen and wool cloaks. Today the noble women are also wearing wide bands of thin gold plate across their foreheads, each with strings of multi-colored beads hanging off them. Eventually we walk through the Temple district gateway, and continue on until we reach the central plaza, where the four largest pyramids still stand.

In the center of the plaza, a stone platform the size of the fighting area in a small arena has been put together, rising up several feet above the plaza's paving stones. Stone stairs on either side lead to the top. The White Horde nobles are being directed to sit on the steps and ledges of the largest pyramid to the far right, which is to the west, while the commoners get the other three, though most are going for the two closest pyramids on either side. Everyone's doing business with more vendors selling grilled meat or filling wooden cups from their large wine flagons.

Looking around at the spectacle, I shake my head in disbelief. Timur stops as well. "Az, is something wrong?"

I shake my head no. "Apologies, my prince, but for a moment it was like being back in the arena... except, on the wrong side."

"Not only the wrong side," Lys says from her perch, "but you get to sit in the emperor's box as well. Look straight ahead."

A stone platform painted dark red, rising up as tall as Titan and about as wide and long, overlooks the fighting area. "It's actually the funeral bier," Timur says in a sardonic voice. I can't keep the look of shock off my face and he chuckles. "Blame the first khan of the People for starting this tradition."

Karl says, "Prince Timur, once you're burned in effigy, you'll be able to begin traditions of your own."

Timur claps him on the shoulder. "Now that, my friend, is a worthy thought. Where will you sit?"

Before Karl can answer, Lys points at the far pyramid. "I can see Dancer and Fox sitting together. Let's join them."

Karl squints as he looks up. "They're almost at the top. If they go any higher they'll get nosebleeds."

"You're just being fussy because you don't want to climb the stairs."

"Do you blame me?"

"You need the exercise." Lys grabs his braid and shakes it. "Come on, horsey, up those stairs."

Karl rolls his eyes but starts towards the far pyramid as we reach the red platform and climb up. Timur sits down directly in the middle, then motions for me to sit at his right hand, with Argat taking his left and Gur sitting directly behind the prince, guarding his back. As people continue filing in, we talk about the upcoming combat as I scan the area for any threats. Karl and Lys have joined Dancer and Fox on the ledge just below the top, Lys motioning at Dancer, who nods, takes off his cloak, and begins throwing it over Fox, probably for warmth as Daemo hate the cold.

My gaze leaves them and wanders down to the space between their pyramid and the largest one across from us. Individual wooden pens have been built there, each stall holding one of the Warghorses the khans will use in the upcoming race. The beasts are being fed a mixture of raw meat and fruit, which Timur told me Warghorses love, by two young men carrying a large wooden bucket and a third scooping out each portion into their trough. They feed the silver muzzled Warghorse of Khan Khingla and move on.

A grey mist forms behind them as a pale arm tosses a purple piece of fruit into the trough. I blink.

Nothing is there, just the old Warghorse trotting up to the feeding trough and sticking his head in. I whip my head around towards Dancer.

Fox's sitting there beside him, Dancer adjusting the cloak as Fox looks in my direction and frantically begins to wave. Dancer waves as well, and I raise my hand in acknowledgment as Timur chuckles. "For a Daemo, she's certainly enthusiastic. We know where the twins are and Dancer, but where are the other two?"

Gur replies before I can. "Passed out in the brothel where I left them, early this morning, my prince."

I snort. "At least that'll keep Troll out of trouble for a while." Horns blow and a roar goes up among the crowd as Titan and Asena stride out from opposite sides toward the platform. As they approach the stairs on either side, my gaze goes back to the silver muzzled Warghorse. Did I actually see something? I'm not sure. I could mention it to Timur, but then he'll be honor bound to say something to his father, which will cause an uproar. The Warghorse is acting no different than before; if anything, he seems friskier, trotting around the pen as if he can't wait to begin racing.

Breathe, Az. Breathe, remain stoic, keep silent, and forget you saw anything at all.

Titan's in chainmail with steel chest and back plates, a closed faced helm, a tower shield of wood banded with iron in his left hand and a blunted metal sword in his right. I motion towards him. "My prince, Titan's never had this much protection in all the fights we had in the arena. There's no way he can lose."

"I don't know," Argat says, leaning forward to gaze at me. "The Wolf-mother looks hungry."

I extend my right arm towards him. "Gold to silver that Titan wins."

Argat grins. "Tengri knows you've been letting us drink for free, so I'll hate to take your coin."

"If you take Az's coin," Timur says, "then you can use it to buy Titan a round." Having Timur's blessing, Argat and I clasp forearms, sealing the bet as Prince Varsena climbs up the stairs behind Titan. The crowd quiets as he inserts Muzen's device into his ear, taps it once, and begins speaking to them in their harsh language. After a little while he pauses.

Then he begins speaking again. "People of the Eternal Sky and our friends of Bukhara," he says in Greco-Roma, "be welcome, and accept our thanks for helping us pay a final tribute to my dead-to-us brother, Timur. Although the Great Khan said the games would be held on our side of the river, he felt showing the Sasnayams the degree of contempt all of us hold for them, justified having the games take place here."

"He called me 'prince' when he spoke to the People," Timur grumbles. "He just had to get one last dig in."

I trade a look with the other two Bloodguards but say nothing as Varsena goes on for a bit about their traditions, before asking the warriors if they have anything to say. Titan shakes his head, but when he looks at Asena she growls at him, and Varsena says, "The warrior Asena asks if her son Greywolf is among those watching." Khingla, wearing what looks like riding leathers, calls out something from the opposite side. Varsena nods. "The Great Khan thought Greywolf should be here as well, and sent his son, Crown Prince Avitohol, to find him and bring him here."

Asena turns towards the largest pyramid and raises her sword in salute. The old man raises his hand in acknowledgment as Varsena turns and heads towards the stairs, Timur muttering something about Avitohol being called crown prince as a storm cloud darkens his expression. I'd best do something to distract him. "My prince, what are the rules of this combat?"

Timur leaves off muttering and glances at me. "If you're knocked off the platform, you have to climb back up on your own or be eliminated. Otherwise, the fight continues until one is knocked out, too injured to continue, or dead."

Obviously no thumbs up or thumbs down. "My prince," I say as Titan and Asena begin circling each other, "regardless of what happens, remember you have two of the greatest living fighters on Earth battling each other in your honor."

"More like a grudge match," Timur says with a sour smile.

"Maybe so," Argat says from his other side, "but when the events of the day are recorded in history, it will be remembered who the fighters were, not why they fought. My prince, today your legend begins.

Timur begins stroking his beard, his expression thoughtful as Asena attacks.