I wandered west. From time to time, I would be sought out. A child lost in the jungle, a highwayman haunting a road, a beast grown hungry for the flesh of humans. Any problem solvable by a wanderer with a magical spear and a tenuous grasp of mortality. I would handle it for the price of a bit of food and a quiet place to sleep. By morning, I would be but a memory. After Pelesamatu, the thought of growing close to a place, to a people, was still a raw wound. Love, even acceptance, would only irritate it.
I crossed from Lixha into an area known as the Ocaital, a land of petty kingdoms, free cities, and remote villages that bear no greater allegiance. Though often treated as a country it is not. It is a noted absence of such, a place without law, but with order of a sort. There are always those who seek to unite the Ocaital, but none were successful for long. The people there are too accustomed to their freedom.
I thought of Ixem often, the memories coming to me whenever I tried to sleep. I longed for her warm body pressed to mine, the soft sound of her breath. Ixem was peace, and now she was forever out of my reach. As much as I tried to leave her in the past, it would take time.
One late afternoon I was in the boughs of a tree, enjoying the last of the food I'd been given as a reward for slaying an ogre, when I heard voices in the jungle. They spoke a language I could not identify, but their tone was casual. I felt no particular danger, and was content to let them pass by without ever announcing my presence.
The owners of the voices appeared through the trees below me. A strange pair they were, not the kinds to be walking in the wilds of the Ocaital. My first impulse was that they were adventurers, for no one else would be so motley.
One was a woman, Kharsoomian from the looks of her deep crimson skin. She was tall for a woman, her limbs powerful. She was in a hearty late middle age, her short hair gray, her face lined, her body covered in a wealth of scars. Her breasts, belly and thighs were laden with fat, but I bore no illusions that this might make her less dangerous as a warrior. She was dressed more modestly than most Kharsoomians, in a loincloth and a pair of sandals, a leather harness over her broad torso. She carried two blades on her belt, a longsword and shortsword, both perfectly straight in the Kharsoomian fashion. A sling hung from her belt, and she wore a waterskin over one shoulder.
Her companion was tall and lean, and though dressed for the outdoors, his costume was finely tailored. He wore a fine kilt and a vest embroidered with a complex repeating design. His earrings were gold, and more gold flashed from his wrists and fingers. He carried a slender bow upon his back, and a pair of long knives on his belt. He looked to be local, with brown skin and dark eyes. His hair was long and streaked with silver, bound in a tail with a golden broach. His face was angular and handsome, bearing the lines of middle age.
The Kharsoomian looked up at the trees, as though she knew I would be there. I can only imagine what I looked like. My hair and beard had grown long and wild. My jungle-hardened body was clothed only in a loincloth I presently wore as a kilt, and a pair of boots. A small sheath, secured to my back by a leather strap, completed my costume. Our eyes met, and I saw an easy respect. "Hail," she said in accented Huyu.
"Hail," I said.
"You are the Blackspear, are you not?"
"The Blackspear?"
"We have heard stories of an outlander wielding a spear that cuts like obsidian but does not break. He has protected roads and found lost children. He saved a village in Lixha and slew a great wyrm." Her eyes went to Ur-Anu, propped up on the branch next to me, ready to be taken up. "Yes, you are the Blackspear."
The well-dressed man said something in a language I did not know. The Kharsoomian shook her head, and kept her attention on me. "I am Anil-Isu, boldisar of Kharsoom." I did not know the term
boldisar
then, but I would come to know it quite well in the later parts of my exile. "This is my companion Yoro Colclatue of Lixha."
"I am Ashuz."
"Ashuz the Blackspear," Anil-Isu said. "Good. We were looking for you."
"Why?"
"We have been retained..."
"We've been hired," Yoro broke in. His Huyu had an accent I immediately understood as aristocratic, far more affected and precise than the plain way my Ixem had spoken. "A village is troubled by bandits."
"Bandits. I have dealt with bandits." In a place like the Ocaital, bandits were thick on the ground, though I noted the difference between a bandit and the agent of a local ruler often came down to who was describing them.
"Not like this," Anil-Isu said. Yoro said a few words, and I knew he was scolding her. She held a hand up. "He deserves to know. Ashuz, it is more than bandits. It is a bandit army. The leader, Texomoc, is a petty warlord who looks to unite the Ocaital under his banner and the village of Tlaican is his first target. He came to them to take all those who could fight and all of the village's crops to fuel his army. They refused and he slew twenty of them, vowing to return."
"I see. How many of them?"
"Hundreds."
"And how many of us?"
"Six," Anil-Isu said. "You will make seven."
I nodded. The feel of Ixem crept through my memory, then the cries of my hetairoi, begging me to kill them. Xeiliope calling me a coward. "This is folly," I said.
"He has some sense," Yoro said wryly.
"Ashuz, you are a warrior," Anil-Isu said. "We need warriors like you. Please."
I picked up Fate, leaping from the branch to land easily before them. "I did not say I wouldn't go," I said.
"Don't you want to ask about the pay?" Yoro asked.
"If I live, pay me then."
The Kharsoomian's face split in a smile. "I am not the only boldisar it seems," she said. "Come, Blackspear. The village is a hard half day distant."
We arrived at Tlaican as night was throwing its velvet cloak over the purring jungle. We crossed a bridge running over a narrow, but swiftly-flowing river. The bridge was wooden, with stone pillars on either bank, decorated on the tops with statues of jaguars. One look at the water, and I saw the danger. Anil-Isu followed my gaze.
"Fall in there and you will never be seen again," she said. She pointed to the north. "A league that way, this river is a hundred feet from bank to bank. Here, it's squeezed into this. The waters are so swift that to even touch them here is death."
Beyond the bridge, a winding path went through the jungle into the village itself. Built on the wetlands, the wooden buildings stood on slits over the soggy ground. The people cultivated rice in paddies and berries in bogs, clustered around the northern side of the town. The looming trees, with their wide and drooping branches lent this place a funereal air.
Lanterns were lit along the village's boardwalks. As we climbed up into the village itself, the inhabitants watched us with open curiosity. They looked much like the people of Pelesamatu, but lacked the distinctive tattoos. Their loincloths were tighter around their nethers, and many of them wore vests or short cloaks. Their jewelry was a fascinating combination of sculpted wood and amber, the most prized displaying a complete creature within.
Anil-Isu escorted me to a fat building on the south edge of town, built, I suspected, where the ground was its firmest. It was a wide hall, a place for the town to gather. Benches and tables took up one end, and on the other, an altar dedicated to the local deities. The rafters were hung with ropes of preserved food and furs, the communal stores of the town. As we came in, everyone turned to look at us. Their expressions held both hope and resentment, the knowledge that we would be needed to help them, but with the anger and shame of needing it.
Most of the people were locals. All except one group of four, who I knew instantly would be my companions in this defense. They had the bearing and distinctive appearance of adventurers.
"Our last recruit," Anil-Isu announced to the room as she brought me to the table of four. "Blackspear, meet your comrades."
"The only others as foolish as you," Yoro remarked with a grin.
Anil-Isu introduced each in turn.
First was a young woman, her features and tattoos marking her as Lixhan. She wore a cloak of feathers, a vest, and a long loincloth. Her features were fine, and her large eyes met mine only for a moment before she looked away. I would learn later that she was an alchemist, trained in the finest school of the Lixhan capital of Matchuwar. Her name was Ixtli no Xihui.
Next to her was a massive man. He stood at least a head taller than me, his arms like tree trunks. He wore a loincloth in the local style and nothing else. His features were pleasant and broad, his nose flattened from an old break that had never properly been set. I would find that while he had no real training in fighting, he was as strong as three men and eager to defend this place. He was Tzunapu.
A young man sat across from him. He was slender, shorter than me, with a soft face and softer eyes. He wore a simple loincloth with the stone symbol of the sun god Koya about his neck. I would find later that he was a priest from a town not too distant from this one, and he was well out of his depth. He was Ququmec.
The last was a woman with pale skin, long red hair, and icy blue eyes. I knew she was from Chassudor, and when she spoke it was with a Svarl accent. She had not retained the styles of her homeland of course, as the Ocaital was far too hot. She had adapted, wearing nothing but a simple loincloth and bindings for her breasts. I would learn that she was an archer, and her name was Valfrid Evarsdóttir.
"Good," said Ququmec. "Another weapon can turn the tide."
Tzunapu grasped my forearm. "Well met."
"Do you know how to use that thing?" Valfrid demanded, nodding at Ur-Anu.
"Well enough," I said.
Ixtli turned to Anil-Isu. "Will you get more?"
The boldisar shook her head. "We have no more time. We need to firm our plans and finish our defenses. Now we have one who can drill them in spearwork. Everyone, eat your fill. We have much work to do."
I ate. Tzunapu, Valfrid, and Ququmec tried to engage me in conversation, but I had no desire to forge friendships there. Soon they turned to each other. Valfrid flirted lightly with the two of them, and Ixtli was as taciturn as I. Anil-Isu and Yoro, our elders, spoke easily with the others.
When I had finished my food, I rose without a word and left the great hall. The presence of all those people had closed in around me like a vise. I needed to breathe outside air, where I could be alone and in the cool dark of night. I found a tree with boughs that would support me and settled in for a night's rest.
The seven of us gathered on the south end of town. Tzunapu messily ate a piece of fruit. Ixtli held a strange contraption of metal and rope that I would find later flung her alchemical creations. Valfrid picked her teeth with an arrow. Between us was a sketch in the dirt of the town, with different stones representing each one of us.
"There are three pathways into Tlaican," Anil-Isu said. "There is the main road in the northwest." She indicated a wide path between the paddies and the bogs and the harder-packed earth of the jungle. "There is the smaller path in the southwest." She indicated a trail through the thicker jungle that was a bit wider than a footpath. "And there is the bridge to the east." She pointed to the bridge that we had crossed on the way into town.
She picked up a piece of wood the size of her forearm and set it on the northwestern path. "Texomoc will make use of the main path for his attack. It is the only place where he can march his men in proper ranks and use his numbers advantage. He is, however, much too savvy not to use the other avenues. He will likely send small skirmishing forces to the southwest and the east, thinking to flank the main defenders or at the very least, keep us from concentrating our own forces. Thus, we will separate into three main groups."
"Seven people and three groups?" asked Ququmec. "Is that wise?"
"Nothing about this is wise," Yoro said.
