Fires of Mastery (The Tale of Azaran Book 3) Read online

  Most of all, they spoke of their home cities of Hadraraj, which to the Eburreans were a byword for mystery and licentiousness. Hadaraj, where great pyramid temples rose above teeming streets filled with uncounted millions. Where a thousand smoky pavilions hid ten thousand untold vices, where the women were hot-blooded and the men passionate. Hadaraj...to the Eburreans a threat and a temptation, that most wondrous of combinations. The sailors were more that happy to feed their hosts imaginations, though the captains had ordered them to avoid any local women interested in finding out the truth of such tales directly - they last thing they wanted was an angry mob out to burn their ships.

  Factors and captains dickered with the locals, trading bolts of fine cloth, sacks of spices and jars of sealed wine for the produce of the land, replacing one set of goods with another. They were almost done now, a fact impressed on late arrivals. The holds were nearly full and the captains keeping an eye on the wind, which tended to blow southwards as summer turned to autumn. Yet they could no leave just yet. Even as the factors finished up their transactions, men went riding north on borrowed horses, keeping an eye on the roads. Utar-pashti was due back any day now. If he was late, the captains of the other ships had made clear, then they would leave without him and the Ninth Son of Tereshab would have to brave the voyage to Arqassa alone. And though the power of the Teregi corsairs may have been broken in the past year, there were plenty of other waterborne brigands on the Great Green Sea who would look on a fully laden trader sailing alone as a gift from the gods.

  So it was with some relief that two days before the deadline came, Utar-pashti came into Isrunin. Accompanying him were two men. One was an Eburrean, one of their Rhennari priests. The other was a man whose type the Hadaraji did not recognize, a tall fellow whose hair was cropped short, his face freshly shaven. Branded across his torso were runes and symbols strange to their eyes.

  Utar-pashti met his crew with some relief, ordered that places be made on the ship for the two strangers. Hammocks were set up in the hold for both men to bed down in, profuse apologies given for the lack of anything better. "I fear that my humble vessel is ill-suited for the passage of such illustrious men as yourselves..."

  "Quite all right," said Segovac the Rhennari. "Believe me when I say, I've slept in worse."

  "Wonderful! We leave with the morning tide."

  Utar-pashti went on his ship to make preparations. Segovac turned to his companion, who was staring out at the sea. "Did you hear him?"

  "The morning. Yes." Azaran looked at that great expanse of water, towards the horizon were each and sea met, the colors melding together so that it was difficult to tell where they separated. He glanced up at the sky, where the blue-and-white face of the Mansion looked down at him, round like the moon but a dozen times larger, its face covered with whorls and striations.

  "Having second thoughts?" Segovac asked.

  "About what?"

  "You know what. Gwindec would welcome you back. There is much work to be done, a place for you here. He was not happy to see you go."

  "Eburrea is your land," Azaran replied. "His kingdom to rule. My task here is done. Staying here...it's just not an option."

  "So it's off to Kedaj?"

  "That is where the answers are." His missing memories...pieces to his past. Some had returned, giving a hint to a picture that was dark and he dreaded what else might follow. Yet he needed to know, needed it like a starving man needed food. The truth, no matter how hard or bitter it might be.

  "It might be a trap," said Segovac. "It probably is a trap! He sent you a letter, Azaran, telling you to find him. A man doesn't do that unless he's dug a pit filled with spikes for you to fall in."

  "And when it opens I'll jump over it. A trap only works until a man knows its there."

  "Unless that's what he wants you think."

  Azaran pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come, Segovac. As I recall, Gwindec was almost as upset to see you leave as I."

  "Yes. He spoke to me about it. At length." Segovac smiled ruefully at the memory. "It got...heated."

  "And your brothers?" Azaran asked. "Surely they had something to say about it as well?"

  "There are few Rhennari left among the Eburreans, it is true." Barely a handful, in fact. The two decades of rule under Ganascorec had not been kind to his order. The Ghelenai witches had hunted his brothers down with a particular ferocity. Those who escaped the black knives found refuge in other lands...or in Segovac's case, several years of slavery on Tereg, until Azaran was pulled from the sea and everything changed.

  Now the Rhennari were back, but their numbers were small. Apprentices had been taken, but the training was years in length. Losing even one of the survivors were a hard blow to take. "They also had words to say about this. Not as harsh as the King, but they made their point. But I explained the matter in full and they had no choice but to go along with it."

  "Segovac, if this about your oath, then as far as I am concerned you more than held up your end..."

  "That is not for you to decide," Segovac said, an edge entering his voice. "On Tereg, I promised to help you find you memories, to find out who you are. By Saerec the one I swore and only Saerec decides when I have met my obligation."

  "So you leave your people, follow me to what will certainly be a violent welcome across the sea?"

  "There is no promise that it will be violent, though with you violence is more than likely." Segovac shook his head. "Understand this, Azaran. There is a will that moves the Universe, that drives it forward to whatever ultimate end there is. Everyone who lives, man woman and child, beast, fish and fowl, things long dead and things yet to be born, all of it plays a role. All men have a purpose in life, a reason why they were brought into this world. Some work the land, some fish the sea. Some take up the sword and fight and some are meant to die on the end of those swords. My purpose, it seems, is to follow you to whatever end will come. And I must admit, I am curious to see how it turns out."

  "Even if it means your death?"

  "If that the will of Saerec. I do not fear it."

  Azaran sighed. "So, this argument is a waste of time."

  "Not if it prevents us from having it again." Segovac turned back to the village. "Some of the fisherman have asked for a blessing on their families. They have offered to share their dinner. Care to join?"

  "No...I don't have much of a liking for fish."

  "As you wish. See you on the ship."

  He went towards the village. Azaran remained on the beach, looking towards the ocean, dark and worrisome thoughts filling his head.

  Chapter Two

  The green hills and fields of Eburrea kept to the left side of the little fleet for the next ten days after they left Isrunin. Sails were reefed and oars run out, the crew taking shifts hauling on them to the timing of drums, beat after beat and stroke after stroke, the ships crawling their way across the waters of the Green Sea. Isrunin disappeared into the distance, other villages taking its place along the shore. Every so often the captains would call for a halt and drop anchor, while the fisher folks rowed out in small boats to trade the produce of the land and their own dried catch for trade goods, replenishing the supplies of food in the hold. But they did not make for shore to engage in a more extending bout of trading, for there was little room left. It had been a most profitable voyage for all the crews and there was great anticipation at the wealth they would see upon their return home and the shares each man from the captain down to the lowliest deckhand would receive.

  Twelve days out, the fields and beaches were replaced by rocky headlands. Trees appeared in growing numbers and soon the ships were rowing past a forest of oak and ash that grew right up to the edge of the sea. By sunset the trees extended east and west as far as the eye could see. The ships did not make for shore to rest, as was their practice before, instead the crews rowed to a set of small rocks jumping out from the ocean, dropping anchor on the leeward sides. No lamps were lit and men went about their bu
siness with a wary eye cast towards the shore.

  "The Forest of Tenorec." Segovac explained the reason for their caution, as both men wolfed down a meager dinner of dried fish and brackish barrel water. "The greatest in all the North. We will see nothing by trees to our north for at least the next three days and when night comes expect much the same as this." He waved a hand at the sailors on watch, staring out into the darkness with hands on sword hilts.

  "What's the danger?" asked Azaran.

  "The forest is not claimed by any clan or tribe of Aelen's Folk. Kuyei live there, like the Iturai of the west, but they speak a different language and have different customs. And their attitude towards strangers is not as welcoming...sometimes they trade, sometimes they fight and it's hard to tell which will be case. And even at the best of times...they tend to view the possessions of others as rightfully belonging to themselves."

  "Do they attack ships?"

  "It has been known." Segovac glanced at the dark woods to the north. "They are out there. Whether they have seen us is to be determined. Best sleep lightly and keep and eye on the water."

  Azaran said nothing more. He found a spot near the mast and squatted down, leaned back and letting the rocking of the ship as bobbed on the ride lull him into a half-awake doze, from which he could rise at any minute,

  His eyes snapped open, moments before men boiled out from below decks. Utar-pashti shouted orders in his native tongue, still clad in a linen night shift, a lantern on one hand and a cutlass in the other. One of his officers scrambled into the bow with a speaking trumpet and bellowed something at a neighboring ship. "To the north! The north! Wake up, you gelded fools!"

  Azaran looked northwards, where several small boats had slipped out from shore, sculling silently across the water. One of them was just under the bow of the ship, a grappling hook being slung upwards. The men in them could not be seen clearly in the darkness, but as lamps lit on all the ships he caught glimpses of coppery skin, darkened with soot and mud, eyes wide with shock at being discovered.

  "Archers to the rail!" Utar-pashti commanded. Azaran found himself shoved back as crewmen pressed up against the port side, fitting bows with arrows. Out on the water, the kuyei raiders shouted and pointed, many unlimbering bows of their own.

  "Nock!" the captain bellowed. Arrows were notched into bowstrings. Utar-pashti's crew looked a rough lot, but they were well trained and disciplined, Azaran saw.

  On the other ship, a pair of men hustled forward, holding what looked like a round stone by a length of rope tied about it. The surface of the stone glistened with tar and a man followed behind with a torch.

  "Draw!" The archers pulled back their bowstrings. On the water, the raiders shouted warnings to each other. Several jumped out of their boats into the sea.

  "Loose!" A volley of arrows whistles out, raking the boats and cutting down half the raiders at once. Screams of pain sounded. Several men toppled into the water, shafts in their throats or chests. Those bobbing about in the water found no relief as the archers picked them off, aiming at the froth kicked up as the churned the water.

  The men in the bow of the other ship raised the stone they carried. Firelight flared as the torch touched against the tar. The men hurled the burning stone over the side, dropping it into the boat below. They laughed as the raiders tried to stop the burning stone rolling around the boat, setting it ablaze. One man jumped into the water and was stuck by an arrow just as he went in. The others followed after, and last Azaran saw they were swimming for shore, arrows and insults following in their wake.

  The grappling hook still clung to the bow. One of the men on the other ship pulled it free and hauled the rope in, coiling it around his arm and taking it away. No need to waste a good rope, Azaran thought to himself.

  "Double watches!" Utar-pashti ordered. "All lamps to be lit. And someone keep an eye on the coast! The moment the sun tops the horizon we weigh anchor!"

  The night passed without further incident. When the morning came a pair of bodies floated face down in the water between the ships with arrows in their backs. No sign of trouble from the shore, but some claimed they could hear drums beating in the trees as the ships dipped their oars into the water and continued northward, though Azaran didn't hear anything.

  A light northbound breeze picked up, weak and first, then strong enough so that the crews on all three ships could pull in their oars and raise the large square sails. By dawn of the next day the woods thinned, emptying out into a rolling country dotted here and there with small fortified villages. Horsemen paced the ships every so often, many sounding horns as if calling them in to trade.

  "Aulercam." Segovac gestured northwards. "A strange place. They are kin to the Eburrean's, men of Aelen's blood...but they hew to strange customs. They spend to much time on horseback, in my opinion. A man who spends his days off his feet tends to forget that he is mortal."

  "It is the country for horsemen," said Azaran. Even from the sea he could see the wide meadows, on which grazed large herds of sheep, watched over by herders on horseback.

  "Flat as a board." Segovac pointed in an easterly direction. "Head towards the sunrise. If you keep going, eventually you will reach a river called the Mier. On the other side is the steppe. Nothing but grass for who knows how far. The nomads who live there are a savage lot. The Auleri have fought them for as long as anyone cares to remember. And when you fight the same enemy long enough, you pick up some of his ways. The folk of this land are half-nomad themselves." After a pause he added, "Good fighters, though. Tough as old tree roots."

  The wind kept it's strength for the next two days, long enough for them to reach a large town built by the mouth of a river flowing into the sea. The place was called Ambarec and it was by far the largest such place Azaran had seen in his journeys, though from the way the Hadaraji on the ship scoffed it might as well have been a village by their standards. Stone buildings roofed with sod clustered along the western bank, surrounded in turn by a high wall made from rammed earth and topped with stone. The banners that flew over the great hall of the place showed a black rearing horse on a red background, the sigil of the local clan. There was no King in Aulercam, no paramount chieftain, but those who ruled Ambarec held greater sway than most due to the trade that flowed through their town. Boats along the river brought down the produce of the countryside. Pens outside the walls were filled with sheep, while warehouses within held pallets of wool for export. Ships crowded the docks, Hadaraji in the main, and the waterfront was full of men from all their cities. For a hundred years Ambarec was the first port of call for ships headed northwest or south. Those who'd braved the journey north across the Middle Sea, or were about to make the southward journey home, stopped here to resupply. The chieftain grew rich from the business, as did the foreign factors who actually handled the money.

  There was hope among the crew that the captains would give them leave for a final carouse along the waterfront before they put to sea. Alas, Utar-pashti and the others killed that hope in its cradle. The season was growing late. In late summer the winds blew southwards, making for a quick crossing. But in a matter of weeks they would shift about, coming from the east and bringing with them foul weather. They remained behind only long enough to refill the water casks and replenish their food stocks. Two days later all three ships were back at sea, putting the green lands of the north behind as they struck for open water.

  "Two weeks." Utar-pashti told them. "Give or take a few days. Nothing but open sea between here and home, so water will be rationed. Two quarts for each man in the morning, and two more at night. If you get thirsty for more, best pray for rain."

  He left before man could argue. Azaran glanced up at the sun, then sighed. "Try not to sweat," he said to Segovac.

  "Did I ever tell you how much I hated boats?" came the reply.

  "Bit late for that now, wouldn't you say?"

  Days passed on by. Both men stayed below decks, avoiding the bright sunlight and the heat, though the constant
southbound breeze cut that enough so that it was not a hardship. At night they went up on deck, eyes wide open at the sight that greeted them. Far from land, the open sky greeted them in all its nighttime glory. The face of the Mansion looking down on the world, filling half the sky. The stars twinkled to the west of it and among them the round white-green face of the moon.

  "Breathtaking," said Segovac on the third night out. "At times a man comes to doubt the existence of something greater than himself. But a sight like this is enough to restore my faith."

  Azaran frowned at that. "What do you mean buy that?"

  "Well..." Segovac thought on his answer. "Well, look upwards. See the wonder."

  Azaran looked up. "I see it."

  "No, you are looking at it. What do you see?"

  "Well...I see..." Azaran sighed. "I see the sky. I see the Mansion. I see the stars and all the rest. But I also see the ship we stand on. I see the mast behind us and the sea surrounding us. I know them to be real. I look up and see all that the same way. Nothing beyond them."

  "That is an odd perspective," Segovac replied. "Is that what your people think? Maybe that memory is returning as well?"

  "It might be," said Azaran.

  "Do you remember what gods they worship, then?"

  "I don't think they worship gods," Azaran answered.

  "No gods? They what do they hold sacred?"

  "What they see and touch." And as he said it, Azaran knew it to be true. "At least that's part of it. There may be more to it, but that much I am certain of."

  "Nothing sacred." Segovac shook his head. "Now that is something to ponder."

  Later that night, as Azaran drifted off to sleep, the silent passenger whispered to him. They are wrong.