KW1: Arrival
KIVEDIA, 1522
T
he ground shook with foot-beats. As the beating of heavenly drums, the iron-soled thunder rolled.
From the edge of the river to the sun-baked moors, the land itself seemed to grow heavy, as if the world was bracing itself for a fate resting on the sharp point of a sword.
A company of gylle-riders, headed by a fourfang as ashen as the moon, made its way towards the encampment. A lip curled, a tooth flashed, quills stood, and men.
It was midday, and the arrival of the company was long-awaited.
Far from a Legionary Post of old, the camp was manned by a small battalion numbering a meagre few thousand, alongside an almost equal-sized attaché of non-combatants. The wind-beaten veils of petty servants, the shining velvet of chaplains' robe, all but the backdrop to a symphony of spears.
The knights on their runners rode at a brisk pace, now crossing the stake-walls round the outside, and entered. Many of the riders began uttering reconciliations in the Veddic to soothe the snapping nerve of their beasts, who now found themselves running between lines of strange, well-armored men almost as tall at the shoulder as themselves at the crest.
At the front of the company was an envisored man, a bold-helmeted man clad in silver and skin, who rode skillfully upon the fair and mighty Roisvell. From the intricacies of its markings and the density of its mane-like set of feathers and quills, one could come to understand why such a beast was known as the 'King of Gylles...' Here, astride it, rode a servant of the King of Men and, though he did not quite match the size, or the presence, or the prideful ornamentations of his mount, he more than made up for it with a respectable manner transmitted even through the rich plating of armor he wore.
His was a sophisticated manner, typical of learned kingservants, yet harshened, perhaps from conflict. From his half-blackened cuirass protruded a short collar, neatly folded so that it would not catch his visor, and pinned at the rear to mark the flow of his helm's ornate but long-muted crest of feathers. He wore a long-bladed arming sword over his left faulds, a war-beaten heirloom that bore upon its pommel the Winged Lion of the Wanderers, an ancient symbol, belonging to a race as old as the Continent itself.
The first-rank combatants were, as on the battlefield, the first to greet the incoming cavalry, but rather than couch their pikes, they held them straight to attention, with the first row stamping the ground with the bottoms of the great, flag-bearing arms to honor the newly-arrived and the sovereign they served. The Rider took note of the faces he saw. Most belonged to the Imperial Levies, conscripted pikemen from the Heartlands; humble men, pious as saints but fearful as sinners.
Deeper into the camp, the pipe-smoking, mustached visages of the affluent Ascaniens, the Empire's professional soldiers, dominated. As he rode closer to the rank, he admired the famous wide-brimmed hats of the wild-eyed yet honorable mercenaries, with raptor and ostrich feathers spewing from their cores. Theirs was an impressive array of essentially different, almost individualistic soldiers. He thought of the many-peopled Empire, exemplified in the variation of the soldiering men before him, and wondered if, in spite of their divisions, they would fight as one as the Empire once did. Yet, judging by the contemptuous glares they exchanged with one another even as they stood to attention, doubts began to form in the Rider's head. He looked to the sky. Above them all, above the world, the many hundreds of pikes reached out toward the clouds above.
Yet, in spite of all the iron-legged patience the men so embodied, one could see relief on many faces as the company finally rode past.
'Look at this. They must have been standing in the heat for hours' said the rider, half-hushed, to his companions. 'I reckon if a feather fell onto a head, or if the sun parted the clouds for one moment longer, this entire battalion would collapse where it stood.'
The longest-reaching pikes were those of the Holy Guards of the Lord-commandant, whose helms were more ornamental than protective. From their great arms flew the enormous silken banners of the Provinces, flying as pridefully and colorfully as they had at the Lord-governor's Manor. As the riders at last neared the hedka where the battalion's commanders were to be awaiting them, their leader remarked the tension and unease with which the Holy Guards in its immediate vicinity had been standing in a half-circle.
A crowd gathered at the main path of the encampment, and many around the hedka itself.
'Hei-ya-Hé! Our honored commander!' the men chanted in unison, raising their armaments. A man-at-arms emerged from the circle, the sun's rays shining down onto his battered and dented halusor of armor. In his hand he held a halberd, which he swiftly and firmly embedded into the ground before approaching the commander. Watchful heads turned from the Rider to the soldier, then back to the Rider.
'The Ciskivede Provinces welcome you, Tirmetski Askei Rhadan.' He knelt, and the rest of the guards followed suit. 'We are honored by your arrival. May our victories under your command be as swift as the River that divides us from the savages.'
"My command?" he wondered. The man had just given him a typical battalion oath, even though he was sent here to inspect the men, not to lead them.
Askei looked round at the awestruck soldiers, then at the still-kneeling halberdier. He lifted his visor to its fullest extent and spoke:
'Stand! The honor is mine. Where are your superiors, man-at-arms? I was told to expect the finest staff the province could muster.'
'It is a strange time. Our previous commanders have departed at Lord-governor Karhuru's behest, save for one Siderook, whom I have been informed is a cousin of yours, sire.
'Strange news indeed. Did Ansuer Karhuru give his reasons for sending away those other commandants?'
'None that I am privy to, sire.' The soldier's air was a nervous one, and Askei was not blind to it.
'Pray tell,' he began, 'where is noble Ecsemis?'
A hushed unease drifted over the crowd. The halberdier seemed to shake under his armors.
'Sire, if you would forgive me for uttering it, his grace has fallen ill.'
Askei and three of his companions immediately dismounted. The fourfang hissed softly, scanning the surroundings.
'That does not answer my question, attendant' he said in reply as he stepped closer. 'Where is Ecsemis?'
The halberdier remained hesitant.
'He is in the hedka, Tirkmetski aie.1'
Askei looked to the huge tent to his left, before which two Holy Guards, both taller than him, and both veiled, stood gravely. He removed his helmet, releasing a few strands of traditionally-affixed and silvered hair, and tried to read the expressions of the allmen around the tent, only growing more confused and alienated. He could neither see through them nor past them.
'Passage!' he cried, pushing past the soldier who had addressed him.
Just as he was entering the antechamber of the great tent, he was stopped again by the same soldier, who took him aside.
'We fear it is Vaijen's.' he said, discreetly such as not to provoke the prejudices of the massed crowd outside. 'Much bile has evaporated since the onset, just after command's departure, and his grace has since fallen mute.'
Askei's eyes widened, and he found to his horror that in that moment he himself was too at a loss for words.
'Not a meagre word in three days. His final order, before the tongue gave, was for me as highest-ranking of the soldiers to instate you as his acting successor upon your arrival. He was adamant, evidently trusting you deeply with his post. Until now, however, I must admit I was unsure you'd come.'
'Višinai!' the Rider finally managed to erupt. 'Is that why you have addressed me as Tirmetsk of this battalion!?'
'Yes, Aie an. This battalion and three others in Marciskas Province.'
Askei was again rendered speechless. He looked back at his knights, imbued with equal apprehension and solemnity. Then he turned back to the hedka.
'Let me through!'
The guards parted, and this time the halberdier did not follow.
The first thing one notices in the presence of an ellurotic body is the Light, followed almost instantly by the Scent. There is nothing on earth like the smell of an ellurose decay. It is not quite foul or fetid, but nevertheless bitter, unnatural and overwhelming. Askei recoiled, and covered his eyes.
'Visin-na-Gata!' he exclaimed. 'What is this morbid glow that so assaults me?'
Not a word. The Lord-commandant Ecsemis appeared paralyzed, limply reclining on his side, supported in an unnatural position by several cushions and sticks that carried faint whispers of the light of the dying.
'What has become of you, cousin?' he asked, knowing that he would not receive a reply. Only the eyes moved in response, and their bitter melancholy was apparent. The beard had grown patchy and white, and it hung down the sides in a tragic fashion, as if the body was surrendering, and down rolled its pale flag.
Askei looked around in search of a nurse or attendant to interrogate, to no avail. Aside from the sad, reclining figure of the Lord-commandant, the hedka was void of life. Even the rats and the ants had forsaken the ground beneath his feet, beneath the half-dead, faintly glowing body.
'Višin be merciful.'
Askei could no longer bear the sight, and turned to leave. Had Ecsemis had use of his tongue, he would have begged him to return, but it was limp behind his teeth. Had his throat not withered, he would have screamed, whimpered even. But the ellurose had run its course, and both men knew that the grim ellurote would kill before the Lordsday. Ecsemis tightened his eyes around the silhouette of his cousin leaving the tent, then shut them entirely.
The halberdier took a step back.
'Sire-'
'How could you let this happen?!' yelled the Tirmetisk, seeming not to address one soul above the rest, but rather the universe itself. His shout echoed across the rock-hills. The soldier that had stopped him answered in the world's stead.
'We have tried the various Therapies, aie, to no avail. It seems there is no Dinoranian alive who can save his grace.'
Askei dreaded hearing those words, but he knew they were to come. Ecsemis was his cousin, and, as half of Dinorania knew, the Elluroses oft recur in a bloodline. Was he next? His frustration was magnified by the dull glares fixed on him.
A foreign voice came as if to reassure him, tonal and sighing. There followed a glut of insults from the men, quickly and mercilessly pushing forward a blindfolded man in blue robes, whom fell to the ground. His head had been shaved, half his fingers were broken and his back was scarred deeply. A minute but unmistakable sense of pride was intact, however, and the captive stood swiftly upright to face the master of his captors.
Askei recognized the shades and patterns flowing down his robe. A Kurajed mercenary, perhaps on the Archduchy's ducat. Or perhaps a bandit, not unlike the others he'd encountered in Kivedia.
'What did this man say?'
An Ascanien named Ruiti came forth to translate.
'He said that the world is a better place with those Dinoraenes dead.'
The Tirmetisk's brows shot up at the courage of the unhidden, but possibly mistranslated remark.
'...and that though there may not be many Dinoraenes, there are certainly many Men alive who can cure such maladies.'
A glimmer of hope stirred the commander, and his voice fell to a whisper.
'Tell me where to find this cure.'
When the captive did not respond, Askei clutched his sword. 'Out with it, or out with your tongue!' he roared, and even the most jaded of the pikemen flinched.
The Kurajed, blind to the commander's threatening gesture, heard only an angered voice, something he was used to. He released a long breath from his nose, then muttered another phrase in his native language, gesticulating lamely with his half-broken fingers. The mercenary translated.
'There are men nearby, on the other side of the river, in the Mvarnar Duchy, that know the cure.'
There was an air of disagreement and reluctance in the crowd, and murmurs circulated before the Tirmetsk, who, after pacing thoughtfully for a moment, approached the captive.
His stopping was followed by an uneasy silence. When he spoke, his tone was far calmer, but not yet totally reassured.
'What is your name, Kurajed?'
The captive let out another, labored expiration. He answered in Dinoranian.
'My name is Kkani. I am a man.'
'...and are those on the other side of the river men also?'
'More human than thee.'
Askei laughed half-nervously, his hand still on his sword. The pikemen exchanged concerned glances.
'Take me to these human men, and perhaps I will not hang you from the heights of your gall!'
The halberdier was so incensed by the entire exchange, that he threw himself between the two men, spreading wide his arms.
'Aie, I implore you, do not listen to this bandit! He could lead you into an ambush!'
'Let it be so. We will send an incursion to destroy whoever dares fashion an armed approach!' He looked around. 'Is ours not among the finest battalions this side of the river?'
The men dared not protest. Some of them, especially the Ascaniens, even relished the prospect of battle. But almost all, with the exception of the young and the stupid, doubted his assessment. It was simply too soon to say for sure whether they were the indeed the finest.
'Men-at-arms, I, Askei Rhadan of the Tenth Sideri House, was sent to Ciskivedia precisely to assess the combat readiness of this 17th Pike Battalion under the grace of Ecsemis Evredi-Rhadan, a man of my House, who now lies rotting in this tent. If he dies, I will be forced to direct my own assessment! Brave soldiers of the Holy Crown, is there no greater a drill than live combat?'
'Aie...' the soldier began to protest.
'I am, as you so insist, the acting commander of this battalion, and, until Ecesmis the noble is revived, you will obey me under pain of death.'
As if at the Tirmetsk's will, the gylles of the company reared up their heads and showed their rows of teeth. The knights of the company on gylleback, except Isai, his second, raised their fists in salute to the Commander. One, an eager young knight named Eison, drew and brandished his sword. 'The soldiers will accompany us to the river! We will strangle the cure out of those swine!' he cried.
In a single glance, Askei read the sense of reluctance and exhaustion on the men's faces, and, having fallen back into the ancient, familiar role of rational and empathic leader, almost instantly contradicted both his subordinate and his own outburst of stark confidence.
'The Kivedon is far, and these soldiers have stood like statues for hours, young knight. Let them stay, lest exhaustion spell the end of many a soul on the road.' His eyes glimmered. 'I will go to the river with my knights, and with me I shall take three carts of supplies, with which we shall barter for the antidote.' He turned to the halberdier. 'Our well-tongued translator, as well as your finest Arquebusiers and mounted skirmishers will accompany us, to protect the carts from ambush, and keep our friend Kkani in tow. Bring powder and shot for the arquebuses, and hellblazers to signal back to the encampment should we be assaulted.'
'It will be done, Tirmetski aie' replied the soldier. Attendants scrambled to obey the Tirmetsk's commands.
'Should there truly be an ambush, or should the attested physicians be unwilling to shed cure, the men of the Mvarnar will soon see the might of the army we have amassed before them, and they will surrender their knowledge or perish! Then, no matter our troubles on the path, we will cure the Lord-commandant of his ails before the Lordsday, and then all will resume as planned.' He donned his helmet, and it seemed to raise him a good foot taller.
'And shall we wait for your return?'
'Take your leave, you and your men, but remain alert. If you see the hellblazers burning in the sky, or if we are not back by sundown, tell Lord-governor Karhuru that he has his second war, and, awaiting his response, make full preparations for a march north. Make them pay dearly, and inform the Governor of our sacrifice in the name of the noble Lord-commandant, for the King, and for the Holy Empire of Dinorania.'
The halberdier saluted with a closed fist. 'Gods save Dinorania.'
'Gods save Dinorania.' Askei repeated, kissing the flat of his hand before mounting again the broad-shouldered fourfang. Orders were transmitted to the men, and those who were chosen were swift to load and mount the carts. At once they set off, leaving a cloud of fine dust in their wake. The pikemen stood as they had been standing, and waited for the the riders to be out of sight and earshot, then, in the blink of an eye, the formation they had held since the dawn dissolved into chaos. Many a soldier fell into the arms of his mistress that afternoon, and into the larders of the camp, whence cakes, meats, rich stews and strong cheeses were prepared for them for their troubles. It is Dinoranian tradition, after all, to feed one's soldiers well, for, as the Prophet himself once said; 'Victory never falls idly to the empty-stomached.'
Past rocky hills and across barren velks, the company of Gylle-riders led the way, and the carts and skirmishers followed closely. The Arquebusiers, most of whom were near-westerners drawn from the Lutrian Provincial Armée, rode behind the knights in the mule-drawn wooden carts, each laden with supplies and shot. A small detachment of the battalion's skirmishers and cavalry followed the rest at the rear of the column, while the Holy Guards remained in the encampment to protect the withering body of the Lord-commandant. Meanwhile, Kkani was tied to the saddle of a revder and made to follow a small cart not far from the front of the Tirmetsk's armed procession.
As the greybacks trod through the sand and silt of the road, Askei dwelled on his prospects. He recalled with grim despair that his grandfather's father, too a firstblood Siderius, was struck by an ellurose in the height of his life, and faded from life almost overnight. It was a cruel thing among those of holy line, taking them in a flash, like lightning from the Iron-god Visin's fingertips, without warning or mercy. It could not be predicted, it could not be cured. It was the great tragedy of the near-immortals that they could die at any moment. Were they then so immortal?
He shuddered. In such a state, even the Empire's thundering war-drums, and the eternal sound of a thousand tramping feet that followed could not stir him from his trance.
"One moment salim, the next, saïn. Gods above." he whispered to himself. "What if it strikes my children?"
He thoughts continued down their dizzying spiral, when, just as they returned to the memories, he was pulled from the void by Isai (it was not the first time Askei had fallen into himself in such a manner, and Isai was appreciative of his superior's peculiarities).
'Sire?' he called.
'...'
'Sire!'
'What is it?' Askei lifted his visor halfway to better hear.
His loyal second-in-command drew closer on gylleback, but was careful not to intrude on the other. These breeds of mounts were unpredictable, and fiercely competitive. They would snap at each other if in close proximity for too long. Isai, as fortune would have it, was a man endowed with gifts of speech and tonality. He could hold his voice between the thundering of command and the faintness of whisper, and it is with this hushed but plainly audible tone did he address his superior from across the gap between the two creatures' backs.
'You'd bet your life, the lives of these men, and that of the Lord-commandant, on the word of a whip-beaten bandit.'
Askei thought for a moment, but could not deny the absurdity.
'That may be true... But it is a necessary risk.'
'Forgive my judgement, but such a risk is not like you to run. I may intrude when I say this, and again I ask for your forgiveness, but...'
'But?'
'...could it be that we ride here at your command, out of your fear for your own life? An Ellurose of your own?'
Rhadan looked ahead.
'If only the Siderii had minds like yours, Isai. Never does that which is ulterior pass you. We would have seen through many lies, many deceptions. As I said, I have deemed this risk necessary for the Lord-commandant's hopes, and for the Empire's interests. Imagine, a cure for highblood mortality!'
'I suppose we are soldiers, after all. It is we who must take the mortal risks in service.' A touch of resigned bitterness was in his tone.
'That is for certain, my brother. But what too is certain, is that I would much sooner die in an ambush, far from home, than in Ellurose. I can see it, Alsu. Prone on my side, eating through a fistula and sh*tting down a pipe, my daughters attending to my bloated corpse, hoping, praying that I'd finally pass and relieve them of the burden of even seeing me. No, I will not burn with that wicked light. A hero's death for Rhadan, a mercy upon his children. The commendation, the support and protection of the King. They'd erect a statue in my name, as they have done for martyrs since the Askaronate. And I, in death, needn't ever fear for the safety of my children again. No, Alsu, I do not fear for my own life. No noble man does.'
There followed a silence marked by inner monologues from both men. Isai spoke first:
'Should we die here, I will die fighting side-by-side with you.' he said, after the bulk of the thoughts had passed.
'That is why you are my brother, Alsu, and why I would not trade ten legions of levied pikes for your boundless but ever-inquiring loyalty.'
'For Father and Faith, for Balad and Brother, I pledge my blade to mortal end.2'
They fell silent again. Looking round at the open lands, Askei grew tired of the quiet solemnity, and desired a change of topic. He recalled in his head the words to a patriotic song, of title not dissimilar to a line from Arjad's Oath, the cauda of which his second had just recited.
'The mercenaries are known for their singing, I am told.'
'Of course. Ascaniens sing like canaries. Though perhaps they are not yet comfortable enough with our command to so grace us.' Isai shook his head slightly. 'Did your Immortals sing?'
'Never.' Askei laughed. 'Not if their lives depended on it.'
Kkani was not far behind. A cart trailed the company of riders, pulled by a large mule with long-protruding ears. Two gendarmes, a Dinoranian Ciskivede and a Lutrian tightly gripping an arquebus, sat atop the boxes of shot and powder, watching the captive. They had mounted him on a small vedrer, the neck and muzzle of which they secured to their own cart by loose rope. Kkani himself was tied and bound, and the blindfold had not been removed since the battalion set off for the river.
They watched his every move with great suspicion, typical of Kivedes in the years since the savage brutality that was the Arkic War.
'You know, Kkurije,' the Ciskivede said mockingly, 'if you are lying to us, your guts will feed the gulls.'
Kkani responded in his native tongue.
'I have no cause to lie when my heart is righteous. Your leader will be cured. It is his fate. I cannot speak for the other.'
The ambiguity was lost on the soldiers, neither of whom spoke a word of Kuri, save for the term for fate, which, in fact, had passed into the easterner's language from the Dinoranian.
'What's he saying, Garel?' asked the Lutrian, lifting the brim of his rather oversized burgonet.
'Something about fate, methinks' said the Ciskivede, scratching his ear.
The Lutrian, a short, red-faced man by the name of Mekron, sneered at the captive.
'I had forgotten how superstitious the oriental peoples can be... this 'Cure' just might be another proverbial swanfold, doing Lord-commandant as much good as a reading of the papiers...'
Garel bit into a peach, shaking his head.
'Careful, or you'll breach the seed and lose a tooth' warned Kkani in Dinoranian.
'Er, this here is an apple' said Garel, with bits of peach still in his mouth, hiding the fruit in his breast-pocket as if the Kurajed could somehow see it.
'He's got the ears of a Jack, he has' whispered Mekron. 'I reckon he could hear an arrow coming straight for his head from the moment the bow was loosed.'
'Aye.' replied Garel. 'They say the other six senses become stronger when one's lost. Man-here could hear a cannonade from the lighting of the matches.'
'He must've smelled the peach before you plucked it from the tree, then.' The Lutrian laughed wheezily.
Isai appeared before the two, having halted his runner until the cart reached his side. He berated them, and insisted on their continued focus, before cutting loose the little white-feathered vedrer, which whistled quietly as it followed the Gylle with Kkani still upon its back.
'The Tirmetsk requests that the captive ride alongside him' the knight proclaimed.
He led the revder towards the front of the formation, and the soldiers shook their heads and returned to menial conversation. The cart-mule brayed in alarm as the sharp-toothed, feathered beast trotted past with its wide, birdlike eyes focused on the pack ahead.
'Why do you pull me from the gentlemen?' asked Kkani, in between mouthfuls of dust. 'I trust you Dinoranians know your own way to the Kivedō.'
'Of course we do. We simply request your ear in conversation.'
'The two men on the cart said that ear is strengthened in absence of eye.'
'Let us hope it is so' Isai said as he rubbed his beard, still watching the captive with suspicion and a hint of amusement.
As the knights parted to allow the blindfolded man passage to the front, Askei, with one hand still on the reins, gripped again his well-girded sword's hilt.
'Lost?' inquired Kkani. Askei did not reply, or even look back.
'We would like to know with whom we shall be negotiating for this cure, as well as to be privy to its name and nature' said Isai on his behalf.
'Ah.' He emitted another characteristically lengthy sigh. 'The Fruit of the Arkkel. It is said to have glow-stabilizing properties.'
'The Arkkel?' Isai interjected. In his head, that name was similar to Arckbāl, the Orsine name for a ridiculous little desert shrub, barely growing above the shin, and producing truly minuscule, bitter berries that were neither good for eating nor fermenting, let alone curing ancient and annihilating scriptal maladies.
'It is a sacred tree in my homeland.' continued Kkani. 'When the Archduke, curses and misfortune upon him, took from us the Holy Islas of Kurajeda, he ransacked our forests for cure, for as you know, many Northals suffer from the Ellû.'
'Of course, it is the Gods' wrath upon them!'
'Maybe, maybe, maybe. Wherever it came from, in their fear and madness they broke my country's spirit, and instated a dukelet, a mean-faced man, a Dinoraene like you here soldiers.'
'Matuske of Finéras. A traitor, of the sort beneath even the gallows.'
'Truly. He is a savage, like all the Northal puppets. They are recruited precisely for their savagery.'
'Why is it, then, that you serve those conquering xenoïthes,3 instead of resisting in our ranks? Your Dinoranian is as good as that of any one of these Lutrians.'
'Have you no memory of the Arkic Wars? We Kurajed levies are tortured if we are not loyal, and our families are kidnapped and branded like the rest of us.' He showed the knight his brand, a cross with half-crosslets burned into his breast. 'The Northals are cruel, and they think us subhumans. Were it not for our usefulness to them as slaves and war-fodder, there would be nothing stopping them from massacring every one of us! Their Inquisitors, wicked feathernecks they are, have ways of tracking us down when we escape, like the althveri vultures... You Dinoraenes are not much better than them!' He shook his wrist in anger, grimacing. 'My back burns still from your man's lash, and when these fingers heal, they will be corkscrewed!'
'Forgive us,' said Isai truly regretfully, 'the man or men who inflicted these punishments did not know of your predicament.'
'I have no choice but to forgive you, O Dinoraenes who are both men and monsters! I cannot return now. If my duciku found out I was supporting Darkmen,4 he would flay the flesh from my feet! My side is chosen for me once again, it seems!' He snapped his teeth like a gylle, and the revder upon which he rode gave a little snap itself.
Ignoring the slights against his people, Askei was somewhat reassured by the man's hatred of the Northals, and he lifted his visor to its peak to look back at him, relaxing the grip on his hilt.
'Kkani of Kurajeda.'
'Kirmisoto. My clan is the Kirmisoto.'
'Kkani Kirmisoto-'
'Kirmisoto Kkani!'
Askei sighed.
'Kirmisoto Kkani. I, Askei Rhadan of the Tenth Devode, hereby swear that you shall be repatriated to Clan and Country, should the Northals ever be driven from Transkivedia and the Isles of the Hand by Imperial and Native force, or otherwise.'
The captive gave a shrill laugh. 'The Northals are deeper embedded in our land and this one than the Arkkelu Trees themselves. I trust your word, Dinoraene, like the lemming trusts the leopard!'
'Trust, as with all precious things, is earned, of course. I shall hope to prove it to you someday.' Askei looked ahead, as if searching for a savage riding-northal he could behead on the road to prove himself to the broken-fingered skeptic. 'For now you have to make do on nothing but an old leopard's word.'
'At your service, Dinoranian!' Kkani smiled a toothy smile, the stained azure of his robes and his blindfold darkening in the shade of a thicket of bamboo.
The river, judging by the fresh moisture of the air, and the faint rushing of its waters, was nearing, and the men on the carts prepared themselves for what should have been a trivial but vital meeting, a quick barter, and perhaps a minor disagreement that would, if anything at all, be forgotten the day after. Instead, a brief exchange of words at the river-front would soon prove one of the most significant moments in Kivedian and indeed Dinoranian history...
Chapter 1 of the Chronicle of Kivedia
Chapter 0 <-- --> Chapter 2
1: Tirmetsk(i/eise) aie translates to 'my commander.' A Tirmetsk or Tyrmex was a commander of a military division numbering between 1000 and 3000 men, from the Sannavic Tir, 'three,' -met, '(a) small battalion, and the Dinoranian masculine suffix -skijon (tiuskized to sk/shi) denoting a unit's commander. Aie is a Dinoranian honorific. 2: Arjad's Oath, also called the Sideric/Akshasian Pledge, is an oath of unconditional loyalty taken by Dinoranian Knights and Soldiers since prophetic antiquity. It is named after Arjad Siderion, the first Immortal to swear loyalty to the Prophet Deijen, circa 3730 BCE. 3: 'Alien-men.' From Terran Greek ξένος (xénos), meaning an alien or outsider, and Dinoranian Itheì, referring to humans or human-like races. 4: Originally a derogatory term for Innic Sithenians, based on Dkéírjkhāga, meaning 'Dark-eyed men.' In the late 15th and early 16th centuries the term also applied to Dinoranians due to their alliance with the Sithenian Protectorates, and doubled as a mockery of the sacred Radiant Iris of Dinoraenic Highbloods. The term may have also originated from Dkéírhaùhon'llu, literally 'dusky' or 'dark (looking) people,' a term used by the Northals to refer to Sannawi, Ostretians and other (comparatively) dark-skinned peoples of the Great East, including Dinoranians. Duciku is a Kurajism that translates to 'Servant of the Duke.' It referred to petty commanders and sergents in the Ducal Armies of Transkivedia. A hedka (or, in the Kivede dialect, hedkem) is a large, many-chambered tent first used by both sides in the Sannavic Wars that took place during the 2nd Century CE. The medical terms salim and saïn refer to the states of an ellurotic body before and after the beginning of its disintegration. The former comes from the semitic root Š-L-M, meaning 'to be unharmed, to be intact' while the latter is simply Classical Dinoranian for 'torn away.' Links for context: Tirmetiski Ciskivedia Roisvell Fourfang Askei Rhadan Ellurosis Holy Dinoranian Empire
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