Kalac, son of Duham

Ana e Iliwe Sulwao

Part I

-It fits as well-

Kind Eyes neighed weakly to let him know someone was near. Kalac narrowed his eyes and searched the rich undergrowth, ears trying to discern any sound hiding behind Eroshin River’s uproar. He’d send a scout to hug the huge gulf –a volcano crater according to the rangers- further south, through the thick jungle in search of the massive Eodrass Temple complex, or its rumored ruins. The scout had returned a week later half-dead and on foot, as that part of the jungle was impossible to traverse on land and expect man or horse to survive it.

Nimra and the Rangers had crossed to the other side of Eroshin, the idea being to travel keeping near its west banks against its flow towards Snake Mount, but on its blind side and sort of closer to Serpent’s Canal. That was their goal per Hardir’s instructions. Reach the ancient massive Teleniel Bridge -now in ruins supposedly- and bring back as much reconnaissance as possible.

Kalac’s main party had camped westwards of the Unscaled Overhang, but not too close that rather ornately sylvan plateau’s –fabled- many caves located directly to their south and the jungle. Twenty days later, two months into their expedition, no one had approached the white marble and stone still-standing bridge, in all that time, neither Cultists, or Kalac’s forward scouting party.

No one they had seen, because this was a well-trotted part of Wetull.

Remote, but not unlived.

Kalac had found trees bunched up in forests, grass pregnant fields and animal paths, along some valleys roamed by many dangerous beasts. No sign of Cultists.

Tarn, son of Badal, dashed across a richly grassed area between the banks of the river and their copse, stooped to avoid getting spotted and a permanent scowl on his face for not being able to use his horse. Kalac kept the animals close but at the rear, as they brought noises in the forest, according to Wylinor, one living in it isn’t familiar with.

As if someone would live up on those trees, Kalac thought eyeing the approaching Horselord. Even Pelleas has a village built on Snake Mount and no tree dweller ever came down his branch to break rocks and build himself a hundred and fifty meters long bridge.

“What is it Tarn?” Kalac rustled and the experienced Horselord twisted his mouth afore replying. “Are they back?”

Nimra and the scouts was his meaning.

“Looks like it,” Tarn said. “They’re trying to get a raft built again. Our line is still there, but the ol’ raft got carried away from the water.”

“Belec, hand me the spyglass,” Kalac grunted and using a low cut branch, climbed a couple of meters up the rough trunk of an Ipe tree. Belec tossed him a spyglass and Kalac caught it with his good hand, after wedging the bronze one in the knee of a branch. He looked at the river banks, first to the south where the Zilan Rangers and Nimra’s scouts where busy gathering and cutting wood for a custom raft and then to the north, towards the ancient, still-standing stone bridge. The columned top portion of it still largely untouched near the west bank, the collapsed roof of the bridge long cleared out with no debris left to block the way. Five great arches underneath it, still dressed with cut pale pink marble and polished stone rails fashioned in a rounded manner.

Then a rider appeared out the columned top part of the bridge. The rider paused his -or her- horse, the sun rays blasting man and animal too strong to the eyes. The stranger turned on the saddle and made a sign that everything was fine to someone unseen and standing beyond the bridge on the river’s banks.

“Nimra had no horses wit him,” Kalac grunted and tossed the spyglass to Belec so he could climb down. The Horselord frowned, but Tarn who was drinking water from a flask turned his weathered face his way and answered despite this not being a query.

“He still hasn’t any. I just saw them across the river down the other way,” Tarn said just as Kalac landed on the soft ground with a grimace. “What did you see?”

“There’re riders on the bridge,” Kalac grunted and signed for the Horselords waiting a hundred meters away near the animals to approach.

“Ah, have they returned then?” Tarn asked. They had discovered old footprints a week back, a big group of men, or women, heading towards Snake Mount, but the bridge itself remained unguarded for whatever reason.

“They stand at the Canal side of the bridge,” Kalac said and Tarn frowned and glanced towards the banks he’d just come from.

“Ride back to Nimra,” Kalac ordered and whistled for a horse to be brought near fast. “Make sure he stops cutting trees down and circles around towards them. Will ye get the word across the river?”

Tarn nodded. “No attack, cut off their retreat,” he said just so they were on the same page.

Nimra wouldn’t risk an attack on his own.

Unless they were seen that is, but the two groups were hundreds of meters apart.

Kalac smacked his lips and glanced at Belec, the Horselord already checking the bindings on his harness and the small extra quiver he carried with him always. Belec shrugged his shoulders once.

“Aye. I’ll hit them from the front,” Kalac decided. “Pray it’s a small group and hopefully we’ll catch ourselves a prisoner.”

The rider had crossed the bridge, but paused at the edge of it, the beautiful white destrier half-turned around, its handler worried with what was happening on the other side.

Kalac returned the spyglass to Belec and grimaced eyeing the open field between them and the bridge. The old tiled road leading there covered in overgrowth, short bushes and tall grass. Parts of it heavily walked on and dried up, but the rest of it clear of trees. A good two hundred meters offering little cover for a sneak approach, Kalac decided. A jaguar snarled hidden somewhere behind the tall grass making fun of his notion.

“I have a shot,” Belec murmured stooped next to him. The horses kept further back and into the last of the trees, not to give them away.

“What if ye miss?” Kalac grunted, furious he couldn’t use the bow himself. “He’ll be back across the bridge and on the other side, afore we approach. Alert the others.”

“I can aim for the horse,” Belec said, but grimaced knowing Kalac would never assent to that. The animal was beautiful and well-cared for.

It also wasn’t Kalac’s enemy. You don’t fight horses.

“I’ll approach the bridge casually,” he decided. “See if I can get close enough to distract him. You follow me through the overgrowth, mind the jaguar and ditch that saber. I need a horse that makes a lot of noise,” Kalac finished and Delkra, one of Belec’s two cousins smiled. His bone saddle adorned with everything he’d gathered in their long trek across Eplas, from jewelry, bones and iron cuffs, to a Cataphract’s chainmail and face mask helm.

“It’ll do,” Kalac grunted.

‘Silent Brood’ snorted as they approached to warn the white destrier, as if all the jingling and creaking of the material Delkra had accumulated weren’t noisy enough. The clopping of the hooves covered from the ruckus they created. Kalac raised his arm in greeting and stopped less than forty meters from the stranger that had heard his approach.

She’d spotted Kalac almost as fast as her horse.

Tall and gracious, clad in a tight wrapped-front garment colored a light blue with intricate gold details and a large ornate broad sash at her waist. It resembled the Kimono dresses Lady Sen-Iv wore at times, the same long cuts at the sides reaching the hips and long square sleeves. Her extremely long cobalt hair pushed back behind the atypical ears, meticulously braided at the temples, but left to flow freely and straight down her nape and shoulders.

Kalac had seen attractive Zilan females aplenty back in Goras, but this one seemed like it had stepped out of a fairytale. Untouched by the catastrophe, dressed in fresh expensive attires, clean and pure. The glow in her sapphire eyes mesmerizing.

Damn, he thought suddenly unsure and conflicted.

The Zilan blinked, a wave of recognition in her carefully painted face –another first for Kalac- and raised her delicate arm to respond to his greeting, index and middle finger pointing upwards, the thumb open creating the letter L.

To the heavens our greetings, the elders used to say around the fires of the Steppe. The old Imperial salutations of their ancestors. Hearing it sang from a Zilan centuries later almost unnerving Kalac completely.

“Ana e Iliwe Sulwao,” the female said curious and added in rusted but well pronounced tongue of the Steppe, seeing as Kalac had turned into a mute plinth all of a sudden. “What is a Cataphract doing in Wetull?”

“I got lost,” Kalac rustled nervously and lowered his bronze hand on the saddle. Belec would be approaching fast, concealed in the bushes and arrow nocked. “The horse brought me to the river.”

“Yet, the river you were seeking,” the regal Zilan pointed raising a perfectly trimmed cobalt eyebrow. “Why lie child of the Steppe?”

Kalac frowned and glanced at her expensively decorated leather saddle. Hundreds of thin silver strands sewn at its edges, resembling a gleaming dancing curtain down the horse’s belly, but only a dagger as a weapon, sheathed on the trilateral polished-leather bags.

“Got scared,” Kalac replied, tongue lodged behind his lower lip, trying to figure out a way to avoid bloodshed.

“Silly man,” she replied with a smile. “I’m Darunia, of Olonelis. I’m not scary.”

“I’m Kalac, son of Duham,” he rustled, sweat forming on his forehead and Darunia crooked her neck to the side examining him.

“Does it move?” she asked him perceptively.

Angrein’s bronze hand was her meaning.

“It does,” Kalac croaked and heard Belec’s low bird-sounding call warning him. The Horselord was about to fire an arrow. He clicked his tongue and ‘Silent Brood’ started towards the white stallion and his alluring rider.

“Who made it, Kalac, son of Duham?” Darunia asked him smiling.

“Angrein, o Mecatan.”

“Noble Goddess,” she replied sounding impressed. “Is he the one making funny noises of birds not native in the area?”

Eh.

“DON’T SHOOT!” Kalac barked, his head hurting, arm bothering him where he’d tied the heavy bronze prosthetic and his face turned into a sweaty mask.

Darunia opened her expressive eyes wide, the large stallion snorting disturbed at his warning and Kalac got the chance to reach with his good arm before she could turn away. He grabbed the reins she loosely held and Darunia’s worried expression turned to fear. She dropped her other hand to get a better hold of the reins, but found Kalac’s calloused hand instead.

She felt warm to the touch.

Almost burning.

That warmth spreading, penetrating his skin and riding up tired aching muscles. Old injuries and new. A pleasant numbness poured into his veins that chased the pain away and calmed his heart down.

“Chief?” Belec asked perturbed, wild head popping out of the tall undergrowth, but Kalac kept staring into Darunia’s eyes shocked.

“It’s just a soothing spell,” she blurted out an apology. “I’m a healer. Academy certified.”

Kalac frowned, gulped nervously and then grabbed her hand, Angrein’s construct coming alive with a clicking snort.

The Horselord hated when it did that.

“Come down from the saddle,” he told her with a half-awkward, half-apologetic smile. “I’m afraid yer under arrest milady.”

Darunia glanced at her trapped hand unsure and then at the lined Horselord’s face.

“My line has a permanent chair in the Council of Twenty,” she told him more astounded than angry. “I serve in it alongside my mother. You can’t arrest me without the Queen’s consent.”

“Yeah,” Kalac had no idea what she was talking about, other than that there was no Queen calling the shots anymore. “I have to Darunia. The alternative is killing ye.”

“Kalac, son of Duham!” Darunia admonished him civilly. “Ulovir will be here shortly,” she added conspiratorially. “It’s better if we pretend this didn’t happen.”

“How many?” Kalac grunted and glanced at Belec that had approached bow still in hand.

“My escort?” Darunia queried just to be sure. Kalac thought she wouldn’t answer, but she did without much thought. “Four. They are with Elwuin, out to investigate some sound across the river. Ehlark, Luvoel and Folwin I can influence, but Ulovir is an Imperial Hoplite and only answers to Roran.”

Kalac blinked, then gave a quick glance to Belec so he would run to warn the others, Nimra might have gotten himself in trouble, afore returning his attention on the unassuming Zilan that was trying to free her hand from the bronze prosthetic’s grip.

“It won’t budge,” Darunia complained.

“Any others at the near I have to worry about?” Kalac grunted and helped her climb down from the horse after lithely jumping down himself. He never had a more cooperative, or more clueless prisoner. Waiflike beautiful, alike a Naiad.

“We were waiting for Onas to return, but he’s late,” Darunia explained, turning his maimed arm around so she could examine the injury, when he released her. “Onas might be more difficult to negotiate than Ulovir.”

“We’re not here to negotiate,” Kalac rustled and Darunia looked in his face amazed.

“You’ll have to Kalac,” she explained. “You can’t have me silly man. I’m promised to Lord Rothomir.”

Ahm.

Kalac grimaced at the worrying, as much as uncomfortable detail and twisted around hearing hooves approaching led by Belec. He turned his head to yell at them to make less noise, but Tarn came galloping fast from the river banks waving his hand over his head. Fist opening and closing tightly.

Nasty fight, the Horselord warned.

Right now.

Damnit, Kalac cursed.

“Over the accursed bridge!” he yelled at the approaching Horselords and glanced at the impressive white destrier. The great horse prize enough to fight it out, even without the female. He had the numbers. “Will it take us both?”

“He will,” Darunia replied.

“What’s his name?”

“Olossae Nyndari,” Darunia said in her singing and incomprehensible Court Imperial.

“What does it mean?” Kalac asked and she attempted to elucidate speaking slowly.

“Olo-ssae…”

“Sweet girl, I’m in a hurry!”

“Snow Nymph,” she blurted out with a blush.

Aye, Kalac thought and jumped on the stallion’s saddle, afore tending an arm to the appealing Zilan.

It fits as well.

read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms

& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms

Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/

& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/