Chapter Twenty Four - Warparty

Sapphire awoke, clambering out a small tent and onto soil still cold from desert night. From the east, dawn arose over the dark peaks of the surrounding rocksides. A new dawn. He greeted the sun as it warmed his bones.

A few serviles were busy cooking, slowly stirring large kettles hanging over smoky fire. A group of armed men left the encampments on a patrol. There was a soft blowing of the wind - always present in the great desert - and for the rest silence. None spoke, no man conversed with the one besides him.

The merchant awaited, glancing at the large tent of Semiramis; The various colours and fabrics of accumulated travel-supplies and camel-blankets revealed themselves in the morning light. Greens, reds and yellows, striped and plain, all held together with stitches and rope. It sagged, bulged, stood uneven, a large expansive conglomerate of amassed cloth.

Sapphire did not dare approach. If she had need of him she would send for him. His fellow caravaneers he had not seen since last night, the details of which were difficult to remember. He had vague memories that smelled of burning flesh and brought back a paradisiacal surge through his veins.

The merchant wandered to the well to drink and refresh himself. The locals did not seem to wash their bodies, but Sapphire prefered to keep himself clean given the chance.

The grim-faced serviles he passed no longer followed him with long stares. Instead they ignored him. An improvement, Sapphire decided, uncomfortable in the presence of these ragged silent men.

He washed, dressed, rewound the dark blue turban around his thinning red hair and cleaned the silver rings on his fingers. He polished the Sapphire until he could see his own reflection in the sparkling gem and secured it on his forehead.

WIth the passing of morning the camp became busy with men, all focussed intensely on their own tasks. In military fashion they came and went, collecting and carrying supplies, sending out forays and sentries, mute and untiring like a host of ants.

Noon arrived before Semiramis finally emerged from her grand pavilion. Her auburn head caught the rays of the sun, lighting up the deep dark red in the silken strands of her long hair. She raised her dark eyes to the blue sky, the deep heavenly ocean devoid of impurities. An all-encompassing blue, sighing heat down on the parched land below.

Semiramis wore a long white dress. Her wrists held bands of gold. She inspected her serviles, all of whom had their heads turned towards her while their hands continued working. The eyes of the tall woman moved through her camp until she noticed the Sapphire merchant. She gestured for him to come before re-entering her tent again. Sapphire sprung forth with eagerness, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Inside Semiramis awaited him on a high chair of carved wood, hands folded over her lap.

‘Dan Sarpa, tell me your worth.’ She calmly asked.

Sapphire’s brows raised in confusion. ‘I serve… you.’

‘Your profession?’

‘I'm a merchant. A traveler of the world.’

‘And what use does a merchant have for me, do you invision markets in these barren hills? We are surviving, just, and nothing more. Is there anything else you can do?’ She asked kindly, but her eyes were hard.

‘I'm a poisoner.’ Sapphire tried. ‘I carry many and know of more.’

She gave a slight nod. ‘Poisoner, very well. Today we depart, we go to the…’ Semiramis frowned. ‘Karkid!’ She screamed. The slave woman with long curling hair soon arrived. ‘Inform the men today is a warday. I want them armed. Pack everything.’

‘Of Course mistress.’ Karkid replied, casting a quick glance at Sapphire. Her eyes quickly darted from his face to his gemmed turban, and back. Her eyes tried to warn, and in them he also read, perhaps, a glimmer of hope. She left quickly.

‘That little whore gets on my nerves.’ Semiramis complained, massaging her temples. ‘Now, let's get back to the task at hand. This world of sand and rock offers little, but those that look carefully can find the means of escape. There are men living in these wastes. Few in number - Hard to tame, but resilient. During my exile I have busied myself with subjugating the natives of the desert. Loose groups of families, small clans hidden in the dunes and the nomads that wander through my domains. Hard work for few fruits, but you can see that over the years my following has grown. With one mistake however, I could lose it all. This dry soil is unforgiving, and I cannot raise the dead. - Not yet at least. -’ She added with a white smile.

‘I have wandered and collected. Fresh prey has led me here, in this sordid rocky corner of the desert. Not far from here lives a tribe that has shown exceptional resistance. My will is for them to bow but they refuse. And unlike the others, either choosing to serve, produce tribute or wholeheartedly flee, they remain where they are. My fanatics have tried to destroy them but they have, so far, been unable to complete their task. I figure you are the diplomatic man. I will have you try and negotiate for me, use that mercantile guile of yours. We go west, deeper into the mountains. We will cross the massif through the high passages, emerging on the other side of the range. Pack whatever your brought and prepare your camels.’

***

From the surrounding hills dark-haired men streamed into the valley, their skin the colour of stone, caked in dirt and accumulated filth. Their gnarled rigid hands held spears, at their hips long knives, and over their shoulders bows and arrows. Serviles, far greater in number than Sapphire previously had thought, amassed around Semiramis’ grand pavilion. The tall woman emerged from her tent when the sun receded away and the valley was submerged in shadow. Her slave-woman followed behind, dwarfed by her mistress.

Semiramis spoke no encouraging words to her servants, she barely gave her fanatical warriors even a worthy glance. She wore the same white dress, and a flute was in her hands. She brought the flute to her lips and started playing; a simple yet pure tune. The tones sounded far into the rocks and jagged peaks, luring even the deepest servile from his post.

As Semiramis walked the mass followed. Sapphire, perched atop his camel, followed suit. He was anxious for her dark gaze but received no attention.

Under the guide of the flute the troop moved forward. Sapphire saw carts and wagons pulled after the warparty. Fabrics and ropes fell, and the pavillion of the tall lady collapsed. Loaded on the man-pulled wagons were the entire possessions of Semiramis. Her sparse luxuries, carefully guarded by tattered men, and further along, more primitive matters; Meat. salted carcasses and stacks of ribs. With sudden disgust Sapphire realized it was human flesh that was stacked upon the carts, quickly covered under tarps.

They traveled through a land of sculpted rock, over rocky uneven paths that wound through the shadows of weathered mountains. Semiramis walked the stony path dexterously, bare feet choosing suitable ground in swift, intricate, dance-like movements. Her lips and fingers still held the flute. The simple, pure tones that the tall woman played echoed against the bland rocksides. Besides her feet the path ended in depths, showing far below a thin dry valley.

Behind their red-haired mistress stumbled long lines of silent men dressed in rags and grime. Their usually expressionless faces now showed a rare instance of emotion; facial muscles stretched back in tension, lids of their eyes pulled back. The expression of imminent murder.

On the hard windscaped hills smaller packs roamed. Further away, on high crests, an occasional lone watcher.

***

Sapphire had taken to riding ahead of the tall lady and her main host, sometimes alone, at other moments a silent servile scout at his side; the pathfinders coming and going, clambering up and down seemingly impossible rocksides.

Firmly in the saddle, the merchant calmly took up the visages of his new surroundings. Accustomed to far travels, the encounter with this new land did not excite him. It had a certain ruggedness that could be called beautiful, but mostly it was empty like the desert from which the mounts had sprung. The path led them higher and higher, into arid mountain passes inhabited by inhospitable cold winds.

To continue the travels into colder heights Sapphire had wrapped himself deeply in multiple robes. His face was likewise covered in cloth, only a pair of attentive silver eyes visible.

The days passed uneventful, valleys and hills coming and going, a blocking boulder or crumbled road here and there, a solitary mountain eagle high in the sky - circling for sparse prey. The type of traveling that made the mind wander and allowed mind to soar amongst the cold frosty peaks.

Sapphire halted when he sighted an anomaly in the featureless landscape. Faint snow fluttered around him. His camel stood on a downward descending path. Before them was a headless torso impaled on a splintering stake, well preserved in the cold air.

Undoubtedly servile work, the marks of efficient cruelty visible on the tortured body. As he squeezed his eyes he saw bite-marks on the limbs.

Half hidden around the death-marked passage, serviles crouched behind nearby stones like dark-haired mountain-beasts, calculating predatory eyes following the approaching camel-rider.

Sapphire kicked his heels in Medif’s flanks and the camel reluctantly continued. It gave a wary growl as they passed the mutilated, impaled body. The serviles allowed them to pass and the path lowered from elevated lands into warmer regions. The cold mountain winds remained in the passages above, whilst the warmth of the sun returned to the traveler.

He passed a second body. It was naked and impaled. Head, hands and member were missing, the half-eaten remains marking the edge of Semiramis’ territory. The path widened and quickly descended. Stony hill-land, where the hazy heat simmered over the surface. Hardy bush grew amongst the rocks and vipers slithered between the stones.

He followed servile trackers into a valley where a thin stream of melt water trickled through the stones. He saw the remains of hutts, now burnt out. Blackened wood-beams and collapsed walls, undoubtedly the work of his mistress.

Sapphire dismounted and decided to wait for Semiramis.

It took a while before the flute came trailing down the higher passes and Sapphire was able to see the warhost descend into the valley.

He was on his knees by the time Semiramis neared him. She removed the flute from her lips.

‘Sarpa.’ She said, stopping to address him. The long columns behind her ground to a halt. ‘-We have not much further to go. This already is tribal land, though the locals seemed no longer willing to walk their own soil. Come with me Dan Sarpa and I’ll bring you to their hold. I expect you have worked on a proposal for their submission?’

Sapphire gave a nervous smile. Patience was not one of his mistress traits. ‘I need to see what we are dealing with first.’

‘Then see.’ The flute continued and tall Semiramis passed him in long strides.

She calmly led him to a ledge where the rock suddenly disappeared into a deep, dark chasm.

The earth had been split and the rocks opened, pulled apart by greater forces. The other side of the canyon was inaccessible; a good fifty paces of nothing separating the two sides. Looking left and right, Sapphire could see the canyon snake its way through the surrounding rocksides, no clear beginning or end in sight, the chasm only disappearing from sight as it curved around higher cliffsides.

He peered over the edge, seeing the depths shrouded in darkness.

‘In here the defiant live.’ Semiramis stated, pointing down into the black pit at their feet.

As Sapphire continued to look into the chasm he discerned caves hewn in the rockside walls deep below. Down in the shadows men emerged from their holes and raised their weapons.

‘Begone, she-demon!’ An old voice called out from below, echoing through the depths.

Semiramis’ men soon swarmed at the edges of the canyon, bows aimed down. They were silent and held their arrows on the strings. Other servile groups went to work to set up the encampment with grim efficiency. They emptied carts and wagons and utilized tools to hammer fastening lines in the hard soil. Within a short span of time the first parts of the mistress’ pavillion already arose. Eager to get out of the hot sun, Semiramis entered her nomadic home.

Sapphire made strides to follow her but a hand clasped over his shoulder. Fear struck him. He was forced to admit he was frightened by Semiramis’ men, servants eternal or not, and he had already wondered if they would somehow turn on him. The feelings that had him curl his toes in dread quickly dissipated when he turned to see Karkid. The slave-woman was dressed in simple trousers and tunic, though the band with the golden pendant still hung from her neck.

‘Wait, merchant-man. Let me speak with you for a moment.’

Sapphire glanced impatiently at the pavilion entrance, then faced the Karkid.

There was beauty in her face, if one was able to look through the lines of worries and exhaustion. ‘Fine… but make it quick.’ He growled.

Karkid stepped closer to speak with him in hushed tones. ‘I was the leader of these people once. And then she arrived; Semiramis, with just a tiny band of wretched followers. She came to my tribe and I offered her food and water. She left and returned in the night with blades. That night our tribe died. The men she drove mad, the women she had sacrificed to heighten the attention she herself would receive. And me she chose to keep, the sole surviving woman, no longer recognized by the men she had seen grow up. I was put in chains. These things Semiramis creates, … they are no longer human. The men that I see bear the faces of my brothers, my friends, the sons of the tribe, but their inner-light has been dimmed, the flames of their hearts nearly extinguished. They are empty husks to be used to serve her will. They only have two emotion: anger, furious, murderous black anger that brings their hands to do what was done to their own. They kill men, women, children. They return in the night covered in blood. When not evoked for grim murder they are meek workers, never complaining; and I am to serve them. This land has sickened, it is a place of despair. Our race has been brought low here. You must go, traveler from the east. I beg of you, leave while you still can.’

Sapphire allowed time to have her words sink in, mulling them over as he carefully prepared his answer. ‘Because the apparent confidence you place in me, and the worry you seem to have for my well being, I will not speak of this to the great mistress.’ His tongue grew bitter. ‘But you have no knowledge of what I had to do to get here and be in her presence, and I won't hold this against you. Woman of the sand, the world is larger than the desert you grew up in. Be grateful you are so close to the Divine. Now get out of my sight, I must speak with the holy one.’

Karkid’s fiery eyes had dulled to a teary glaze. ‘At least I tried.’ She sighed softly, and allowed him passage into pavillion.

Inside he found Semiramis drinking wine with a lustless expression, her long body slouched in her seat, one long pale leg stretched out carelessly. ‘Karkid spoke with you, didn't she? That girl ought to get her tongue removed.’

‘Its alright, magnificent lady - may the earth be blessed that such a beautiful creation as you walks her soil - She was no bother. Instead, tell me of those that inhabit the canyon.’

Semiramis gestured irritatedly with her silver goblet, red wine spilling over its edges.

‘My mood suffers under them, Dan Sarpa. I sense that I have to smoke them and their families out of their little pit. Heaven knows how many of mine lay broken at the bottom. These people can't be threatened into subservience and they apparently can't be bought. I’ve already tried with stolen caravaneer coin, entire chests I have had delivered to their narrow approaches. They only refuse. If I can’t subvert even these cave-dwellers, what hope do I have of returning to my birthplace?’

She drank deeply. ‘Kingdoms and Empires await and I am rejected here already, stranded in nowhere, while my bitch-of-a-sister sits contently in Uruk, commanding uncounted masses, quenching her thirst in rivers of devotion and faithful affection.’ Semiramis pale face turned red with anger. ‘And I sit in rocks and sand! - In a damned tent!’

Semiramis emptied and refilled her goblet. Calm returned to her voice. ‘How so very pleased I would be if you could deliver this tribe into my hands. See what you can do, Sarpa.’