PROLOGUE:
Sneaking into the antechamber of the throne room, Maeloryn found the secret niche in the wall, using her nails to run along the ridges of the molding and pry open the doorway. No one knew about this spot- no one except her mother who, as Council to the Queen, stood here many a night to listen in on such matters that were supposed to be private, but the Queen wanted witness to should others dispute her will.
When she stepped into the darkness of the small nook, she almost gasped when she saw a boy- at least ten years younger than her twenty, but tall for his age- standing in the spot where the decorative grating afforded a view of the dais and all of the room beyond. He looked at her with soulful eyes, neither surprised nor frightened, and smiled. Though she recognized him as her beloved Evrynn's little brother, the only name she knew him by was Crow-boy, a moniker given to him by Evrynn for his flightiness and mysterious demeanor.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered in his ear as she pulled him up by the collar. "No one knows about this-"
"You look just like your mother," he replied coolly, speaking so softly she could barely hear him.
She looked at him, frowning at his candor. "Never mind that, what are you doing here?"
"My uncle," he replied, nodding his head toward the grating. "He has come for the Queen's reprieve."
Maeloryn loosened her hold on him, squeezing in to see what was transpiring, her shoulder uncomfortably pressing against his.
"I cannot have potential insurgents housed in my Keep!"
"They're not insurgents, Sarhilla- they're my family!"
"Take care how you address me in this court, Valyk!"
Queen Sarhilla was a stern but beautiful woman, the only evidence of her sixty-some-odd years was the white-gold hair that spilled over her shoulders and the small crow's feet around her eyes. She was stocky, short of stature, but no less imposing to those who were in her presence. Her midnight blue eyes glittered with contempt as she surveyed Valyk from her dais, resplendent in the simple, yet elegant dark blue gown and circlet of silver leaves on her brow.
Valyk looked at her with the same glitter in his honey-brown eyes. He was a tall man, elegantly sculpted from the litheness of his musculature to the high cheekbones and full lips, to the flawlessness of his golden skin and his raven hair spilling straight down his back. As First of the Sable Sentry- the Keep's elite guard- he wore a black tunic and breeches, black riding boots, within each was sheathed a dagger.
"Surely Your Majesty has some say in the matter." His deep, accented voice rang throughout the hall as he glared at the Queen. "If they are sent back they will die as traitors to the Hajar."
"What I do for one I must do for all," Queen Sarhilla replied coolly. "Your father chose this war, not me, Valyk."
"Please, Majesty- they have done no wrong. Let Valyk's family stay- for me."
Maeve's midnight-blue eyes pleaded up to the Queen. She was stocky, with broad shoulders and blood red hair, which was braided into one braid down her back. Her vestments marked her as the Second of the Sable Sentry- black breeches over black riding boots, dark brown leather vest that accentuated her cleavage, which was home to two throwing knives, their decorative black hilts resting on her chest.
"She is indeed impressive, your mother." The boy rested his arm on her shoulder, looking at her with those oddly intelligent, knowing eyes- too knowing for his young age.
"She is," Maeloryn replied. She had always held her mother as a bit of a goddess- at once kind and vengeful, but always compassionate to those she commanded.
Yet the woman that Maeloyn had called Aunt, the Queen, had grown cold and arrogant in the ten years she'd held the throne. Maeve remembered the kind, gentle Sarhilla who had taken Valyk under her wing when his father marked him a traitor after he'd opposed his bid to conquer Glynniere- the Sarhilla before Kythos raiders took the life of her son and husband. Now she hoped Sarhilla remembered those times as well and gave Valyk's family reprieve.
"You dare call favors at a time like this?" Sarhilla's eyes blazed. "Maeve, the Kythos are at our very doorstep- they have Maju dogs raiding our villages-"
"Father would not ally with the Maju! They are our sworn enemy!" Valyk made to approach the dais, but a large Guardsman quickly stepped in front of him, his black eyes cool, shaking his head slowly. "Brayden, please, if I could-"
"No one approaches the Queen without permission," the man, Brayden, rumbled. He was taller than Valyk by at least a foot, his long black hair and beard making him seem almost mythical in proportion with his broad frame.
"You did not know?" the Queen laughed bitterly.
Maeve sighed, stepping in front of Valyk. "Sarhilla, please, Evrynn is no threat, certainly not Sashi-"
"We are at war, Maeve!" Sarhilla replied sternly. "Everyone is considered a threat."
Maeve glowered at her, knowing how she loved these little displays of power which were designed to remind Maeve who was truly in power.
Suddenly, the hall's great doors burst open to admit a Guardsman with the body of a young man slung over his shoulders, bleeding down the Guardsman's grey tunic.
"Found this Kythos rabble snooping around the library," the man growled, tossing the man at Valyk's feet. "Put up quite a fight for one so young."
"Evrynn!" Valyk exclaimed, kneeling down to take the man in his arms, who gasped and gurgled, blood seeping form his lips. The young man's face was a mask of bruises and cuts. To Valyk's horror, he saw that Evrynn's stomach had been split open, exposing his innards.
"Brother?" the boy whimpered aloud, struggling against Maeloryn's hand covering his mouth to stifle the cries that emitted from his throat. He was incredibly strong, but she held him fast even as her heart lept in her throat when Maeve's gaze turned to the grate before turning back to the horror before her, even as her own throat threatened to release an enraged scream.
"Oh gods!" Maeve gasped, watching Valyk rush to the young man's side.
"Little shit was trying to copy our records," the Guardsman sneered.
"Only- trying to- help- brother," Evrynn managed to studder, looking up into Valyk's eyes. "Something to- take back- if- she- refu...."
And with that he breathed his last breath, Valyk releasing a scream that nearly shook the hall. Then suddenly, he became calm, dead calm, the air settling eerily still around him. He stood up, stalked over to the Guardsman who was grinning arrogantly, and got nose-to-nose with him.
"Should keep a better eye on your people, Valyk." The Guardsman spat the last word as he glared at Valyk. Then suddenly his eyes went wide, his mouth falling agape as he gasped.
"He was my nephew," Valyk snarled, stepping back and withdrawing the foot-long dagger that he had plunged into the Guardsman's abdomen, a fount of blood spraying his tunic and face, mixing with his tears of rage and sorrow.
Brayden made to rush Valyk, but Sarhilla's voice boomed throughout the hall.
"Enough!"
All turned to face the Queen, who had stood up, power and rage vibrating from her like a tsunami about to break land, her eyes glowing with anger. Her training as an Astru priestess had afforded her more than enough power to rend the hall to rubble in her rage.
"I could have you all executed right now, bringing this bloodshed to my very steps!" she snarled. "Valyk, go tell your father if chooses to fight Glynniere, he will know grief as he has never known. Brayden, instruct your men on proper etiquette for dealing with prisoners and guests of this Keep- else you want a commission other than Captain of this Guard?"
Brayden bowed. "No Your Grace- and yes, they will be re-instructed. With my blade if need be."
Sarhilla nodded curtly, turning to leave. "All are dismissed, now-"
"I will have my family stay, Sarhilla." Valyk's voice was calm, but had an eerie quality to it. "As payment for my nephew's life I demand it."
"You are in a position to demand nothing!" Sarhilla growled, spinning around to face Valyk. "Though your brother's death is a stain I will never wash from these halls, though nothing I can say or do will pay restitution for what happened, I cannot give you what you want."
"Cannot or will not?"
Sarhilla began to shake with rage. "Leave now, Valyk, while you are still able. And I mean the Keep- permanently. I will have not have one of my own Sentry commit treason in my hall! "
Feeling the sting of her power prickle his skin, Valyk knew he alone was no match for her. "As you wish, but know this- you will never be rid of me, this will never be settled. Maeve?"
Maeve nodded wordlessly as he blew her a kiss, tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched him exit the hall.
When he was out of sight, Sarhilla sighed wearily, sitting down on her throne and leaned back "Whew! Haven't let that much power flow through me in a while. You said Evrynn wasn't a threat, Maeve? Humph, well at least you now have your promotion."
"Keep your damned promotion!" Maeve took her signet ring- white gold with a garnet cabochon which was inset with a raven in flight in onyx- from her finger and tossed it at Sarhilla's feet, eyes burning with rage. "I'll go back to my father's stables before being a party to this madness!"
With that, Maeve walked out of the throne room. Sarhilla picked up the ring and put it on her own finger, looking at the way the jewel glinted in the light.
"Better at mucking stalls anyway, dear Maeve- always were."
Maeloryn held the boy tightly as he sobbed uncontrollably, barely noticing when her mother opened the niche and looked in, the fire still burning in her eyes cooling when she saw her daughter's eyes flowing with tears of her own.
"Why, Mother?" she asked, choking on her words.
Maeve motioned for them to come out, putting a finger to her lips to shush them both. Taking Maeloryn's hand, and Maeloryn taking the boy's, they made their way quietly through the Keep to the kitchens below. There Maeloryn nodded to the cook- a surly man in his fifties- who simply nodded back in understanding, shooing all of his helpers out and shutting the large oaken doors, latching them behind.
"You heard it all?" she asked them.
Both nodded quietly.
"Saw how much?"
"I saw my brother gutted and my uncle take his vengeance," the boy replied in a deadly tone as he locked Maeve in his gaze, his dark eyes turning an odd shade of blue in his anger. "Is that enough?"
Maeve gasped, feeling her skin prickle with the strength of his ka, seeing the eyes burning a blue fire the likes of which she had only read about in the tomes of her studies.
"I must get him to the Ziyan." Maeve began preparing a bag of foodstuffs, enough for a long journey. "They will protect him and know what to do with-"
"My power?" the boy chuckled- a far too adult, too chilling sound to come from one so young. "No one knows what to do with my power."
Maeve turned to face him, putting her hands on his shoulders and frowning sternly. "You don't either, boy- and that can be dangerous for everyone."
He looked into her eyes, eyes shimmering with rage and tears, and sighed. He leaned his forehead upon her shoulder, still just a boy despite his maturity, his tears staining her tunic. "What of my family?"
"You need to be safe- that is what they will want," Maeve held him close, smoothing his hair, ever the mother to all children that came within her presence. "My daughter will send word of where you have gone."
"After I have taken down this Keep brick by brick." Maeloryn shook with her barely contained rage, her voice a deadly calm that chilled Maeve to the bone.
"You will go to Pawpa's and stay there til I return!" Maeve gathered Maeloryn into her arms, hugging her tight and close. "I know Evrynn was your friend, your love, but I will not have my daughter taking matters into her own hands when it will only get her killed!"
Maeloryn clung to her, taking in her scent, her softness underneath her muscled frame, memorizing ever part and parcel of her. She had a deep foreboding, one that told her this might be the last time she got to feel her mother's heartbeat against her cheek, her breath across her shoulder. "I love my Momma."
Maeve smiled- she had not said that since she was a small child, in that voice, with that same phrase that melted her usual disciplinary demeanor. She kissed her on the forehead, looking deep into her eyes. "And I love my Mae-mae. Now go, please, do not look back, do not think twice, and reign in your temper. Bide your time, dear one, this outrage shall not go unavenged no matter how many moons pass."
The sound of voices outside the kitchen brought them out of their reverie and Maeve quickly finished packing the rucksack.
"Tell Papaw to get word to Valyk- tell him that he may not see me for a while and that I love him and-"
"Go, Mom- and be careful." Maeloryn kissed her mother's hand.
The boy took Maeloryn's hand in his, large hands bigger than her own, and smiled, a smile that sent tremors through her. "I will always remember you, Maeloryn."
With that, Maeve ushered him out the back door to the kitchen, Maeloryn watching briefly before walking out the main kitchen entrance to bump into Brayden, who was questioning the cook and his staff.
"Girl!" Brayden caught her by the shoulder, turning her roughly to face him. "Where is your mother?"
"What? Do I look like her keeper?"
Brayden glared at her, insolent child.... "Would you tell me if you did know?"
"Probably not." Maeloryn smiled sweetly as she skipped down the hall to her quarters, disguising the rage and fear she had at losing her lover, masking the tears that threatened to flow like a river down her reddened face.
FIVE YEARS LATER:
"For every one who goes below, one stands above- soul to heaven, body to earth, spirit to sky."
Maeloryn's tears flowed freely as she cast the small flowers of the j'des to the wind, watching as her Pawpa's carved wooden casket was lowered into the ground. She was now Bayt'arja, last of the D'Harr bloodline save for her mother, whom she had no contact with since she left Glynniere. The Estate, the Herd, the j'des was now all hers, yet she did not want it. What she wanted was her mother, her life in Glynniere, the whole of the Maju Throng dead at her feet.
It was them that killed Pawpa, in a raid on the Herd just below the Plateau. She had ridden with the Herdsman still left at the Estate to counter the attack, but she had come too late to save Pawpa, who had taken a Maju arrow in the back.
So enraged, so grieved was she, Maeloryn opened her throat to the sky and sang a song of destruction, of hailstones with sharpened points to pierce the Maju where they stood.
And they came, those hailstones- with black clouds and howling winds, falling from the skies like icy daggers, the Maju wide-eyed with fear and dismay, her own men cowering under their shields even though the hail did not touch them, not one. Yet instead of feeling empowered, victorious, Maeloryn felt afraid and saddened, the Herdsman giving her wide berth even though she had come to regard most as brothers- especially the Lead, Farkir. It was agreed on that day that what happened should not be spoken of, that whatever had caused the hail to fall was most likely divine providence of the Spirits.
Maeloryn knew, though, felt the power swelling inside her when she Called the storm. Even now, as she began to sing a dirge, felt the gloom surround an otherwise sunny day, grey clouds appearing to shower the mourners with a gentle, soft rain, as if the Spirits themselves grieved for Pawpa. All of Dakkar had heard the inevitable rumors, and all that stood in respect for Sedeth D'Harr now looked upon his granddaughter with a mixture of respect, fear, and loathing. All but her wife Lina, who took her hand and squeezed it tight, joining in the song.
She would not give in to the scorn of others, into the remarks that a young woman was not fit to be Bayt'arja, that she was too weak to lead Dakkar. Her Pawpa's legacy, her family's legacy rested on her shoulders now and she would bear it well or die in the deed.
PRESENT:
The hot summer winds blew off the plateau, searing the sand so it felt like so many tiny embers against the skin. His white and lavender robes billowed about him like mist, keeping him from feeling its sting, his silver braids flowing free of the lavender shemagh which left only his honey-brown eyes exposed and squinting against the sun and sand.
Miya gazed down at the trading center of Dakkar, the tall limestone buildings gleaming like pillars of pearl in the desert sun, most in the central market taller than the tower gates themselves. It had been over ten years since he had passed this way, looked out over this very plateau, then a mere boy wondering where his journey would take after being led into the care of the Ziyan. How little had he known how his life would change, how much he would learn about himself and others, learn about his power of Seeing that was infinately more powerful than any blade or bow that he trained with.
He turned on his booted heel and grabbed the reins of his dapple grey stallion to swing gracefully up into the saddle, turning the steed toward the trail that led to Dakkar, wondering for the second time where his journey would take him.
The wind seemed to blow even more fierce as Maeloryn walked toward the stalls to secure them against the gale, thankful of her thick boots, breeches, and duster that kept her from feeling the full brunt of the force. She had gone to see that all the horses were gathered into the stalls by her Herdsman- though she trusted them to their task, it was her duty as Bayt'arja of the Province to be sure the Compound was in order and the steeds that brought Dakkar village and her house the wealth evidenced by their comfort safe from harm. It was a task she had taken without question and with some from the Herdsmen as a woman has never been seated at the High Seat of the Tabels, yet her Pawpa had left no heirs save her and her mother, and her mother was long since thought dead.
Gradually, she gained the respect and admiration of the Herdsman, proving herself a strong fighter against the Maju raids that were getting more bold and fierce as of late. Being skilled warriors- so needed to protect the Herd from thieves and desert lions- they were unlikely to stand with a leader that could not hold their own, so she used every skill she learned from her mother and some she had perfected by training with her Lead Herdsman Farkir. Soon she became like one of the group, dressing in men's clothes instead of ladies' finery, and training with them in the morning light like any war captain.
She frowned now as sand caked her hair and coated her lips when her broad-rimmed hat and scarf flew off her head, letting her blood red hair flow free in the storm. As she spun her head around, squinting against the flurry of sand to see where her hat had blown, she was greeted with the vision of a dapple-grey stallion riding full tilt toward her, the rider's cloak giving the impression both had wings as they galloped against the wind.
Upon seeing the whirlwind of the sandstorm chasing after them, she quickly opened the barn, the rider deftly turning his steed into the doorway, ducking under the crossbeams and dismounting just as Maeloryn secured the latch behind her. She squeaked when he pushed her onto the floor of the barn, covering her with his body and the robes just as the storm slammed against the wooden structure, making it creak and shake in response to the storm's angry roar. Yet it stood fast as it always did- her great grandfather had built the stalls strong and sturdy to house the best steeds in the Steppes and withstand the desert's fury, so it had yet to fall in ninety some-odd years since its construction.
"A grand entrance that was, sir," Maeloryn quipped, raising her eyebrow at the rider, who loomed above her. "Now would you kindly remove yourself from my person?"
"Begging you pardon, Lady, I only wished to protect you."
Miya shook off his hood to reveal his long, ebon hair set off by the silver braids that framed his beautiful face- silver braids that marked him as a Ziyan warrior-priest. The Ziyan were revered and feared for their power and wisdom, and as such were often called on to be meditators between the oft-warring factions of the Steppe Nations.
"Thank you," she replied softly, accepting his large, fine-boned hand as she rose to her feet. His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled down at Maeloryn, who stared in wonder and in fascination, her heart skipping a beat upon seeing the man before her, his boyish smile lighting up his beautiful face, his honey-brown eyes beaming. "Seems you brought quite a storm with you."
"My hopes were to still the coming storm, not agitate it." He ran his hands along his silver braids, pinning them back with a silver rod he produced from the folds of his robes.
"You are the Ziyan attending the treaty talks with the Kythos?"
He bowed to her, lean frame moving with a grace seemingly impossible for his height. "I am called Miya."
A shiver went down her spine- here before her was the Ka-Ziyan himself.
The Ka-Ziyan was a prodigy, learning all but a few disciplines in a matter of months, the rest perfected over only a couple of years. Though he respected the Ziyan order, he answered to no one- though he respected authority, he had no qualms calling leaders into question if he felt necessary. His power, his ablity to Read a person's chi, led him to be the most powerful Ziyan since the Kaer-Ziyan V'norr. Yet he refused the position of Kaer-Ziyan- a title only given to those in the order that reached their highest pinnacle- so he could continue his studies in solitude, believing himself to not be yet ready for such a distinction. So intead he was dubbed Ka-Ziyan, or "little elder," much to the amusement of his detractors.
He disappeared totally from the order, telling the followers he had gained through his many lectures and debates with the Elder priests, that he "must go alone on my thorny path," but they would always be with him in spirit. He kept contact through various letters, telling of his various revelations and spiritual quests, and so prolific were these letters that they began to be published and distributed to novice and Elder alike, somehow finding their way to Dakkar by way of devotees outside the Temple and into Maeloryn's hands. She had read them almost grudgingly when Farkir had brought them to her as she had no use for philosophic rabble, yet soon she grew to relish the times when a new one was released, growing concerned and impatient when he would go silent for any amount of time. His words were a source of strength and encouragement when he Pawpa had passed, and she felt strangely like he had sensed her pain and unsureness of her newfound authority.
What had caused him to surface here, now, was beyond Maeloryn's comprehension.
"You're smaller than I imagined." Maeloryn folded her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow, hoping that he could not see that her hands were shaking in excitement and dred.
Yet when he laughed, her eyes sparkled with the hearty musical sound that came from him, his smile lighting up his whole face as he again beamed at her. "Many tell me just the opposite."
"Well, I am not like many." She cocked her head, pursing her lips. "Forgive my rudeness, I am-"
"Maeloryn, I know." Miya walked over to his steed, who was whickering and nudging one of the stalled mares, and took the reins to walk him over to her. "I was hoping that you could house my Windsprint for the time I will be in Glynniere and loan me one of your fine steeds? I fear that he is weary from travel and would not be appreciative of the crowds gathered for the Treaty."
"How do you know me?" Maeloryn eyed him curiously, noting the smirk that played about his lips, as if he was holding a secret.
"I know much about you, Maeloryn Lilan D'Harr." His smiled widened as he moved closer, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Much that you do not even know about yourself."
A chill ran down her spine as she shuddered, his warm breath somehow both frightening and intoxicating. The sense of familiarity about him disturbed her, the tug at the back of her mind that she knew this man maddening.
"Do you know my mother, then?" she asked, hopeful. "She travelled to the Ziyan Temple many years ago- she would have been the only one who knows my full name."
"Apologies, Lady Mae, I have no message," Miya replied, taking the reins of his steed and placing them in her hand. "And I simply know what I know."
Snapping out of her reverie, her steel walls went up in an instant, anger replacing the warmth of his presence as she refused him entry into her psyche. He had Read her uninvited, without cause or permission and that was simply unacceptable.
"You pay up front," she snapped, her expression cold and hard. "Fees double if you go over the time alloted by your pay."
Miya chuckled, producing a black bag jingling with coin and tossing it up at Maeloryn, who caught it deftly with a frown. "Should be enough for two weeks, eh?"
Maeloryn weighed the bag in her hand- this was what she had become, horse trader to the Steppes, expert at what a bag of coin should weigh for what service, not the warrior her mother once was and what she had hoped to be. "Two weeks to still the bloodlust between the Kythos and Glynniere? Tall order even for the Ka-Ziyan, hmmm?"
"Perhaps." Again that unnerving smirk. "Don't suppose that would be journeyman's stew cooking in your pot?"
Damn, his nose is as sharp as his wit, Maeloryn thought. "That, Ka-Ziyan, will cost you extra."
"This is a mistake- the Kythos would as soon cut our throats as sign a treaty with us."
"The Maju will cut the Kythos' throats if they do not ally with us, Brayden- they have lost too much territory to the Throng as is."
The past ten years had changed Sarhilla little: more silver to the gold hair, a line here or there, but still the same sharp eyes and aura of strength albeit the ache in her shoulders from sitting all morning at her desk, working out the details of the speech for the Treaty Council. She leaned into Brayden as he massaged her shoulders- they had been lovers since her husband had died, both knowing that to be Joined was not possible- Sarhilla needed him as Commander of the Sable Sentry as well as her eyes and ears of the Court. They kept up a ruse that had people thinking that they despised each other, bickering constantly and Brayden constantly questioning her in open Court at which Sarhilla would threaten to dismiss him, all to hide the fact that after one of these escapades, they would go to her quarters through a secret entrance to make love all night.
"I want to live my last years in peace, not war," she sighed. "I am so weary of this conflict- what will hurt giving them back the Territories anyway?"
"Those Territories include the Dakkar Plateau," replied Brayden. "We rely on them for trade and our steeds."
"Dakkar is neutral- they will not side with Kythos and Kythos will not dare force the issue- you forget the Kythos thier love for j'des."
J'des was a succulent plant that grew mainly in the Dakkar region. Its thick, dark purple leaves held tiny, mint-green flowers with three, rounded petals that looked like delicate buttons upon an elegant velvet frock. The leaves were dried and smoked- the toxins in the leaves that made insects think twice about making it a meal inciting a connection to things unseen- mostly by Kythos Mindwalkers on their Paths and by some not so spiritually inclined. Most precious, though, was the honey, collected from the combs of the khmer wasp that fed exclusively on nectar from the flowers. Crystallized, it made for a potent resin that was both smoked and used as incense, filling the air and lungs with a sweet, sensual scent and powerful opiate.
"You have a point, my Queen, yet what makes you think that Kythos will keep its word?"
"Valyk is Chieftan now," Sarhilla replied. "Lucky for us, he has not the ruthlessness of his father- he was the one who approached us, remember?"
"Perhaps." Brayden circled to the front of the desk, sitting in the over-sized chair across from Sarhilla, his green eyes glittering. "Yet I do not think he has forgotten Evrynn."
Sarhilla waved her hand dismissively. "That was long ago- forgotten by now I am sure by the general populace if not Valyk."
"Yet I do not believe that it has ever been forgiven." Brayden leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, looking deep into Sarhilla's eyes. "He may be looking for revenge in the guise of peace talks."
Sarhilla smiled, reaching out to caress Brayden's cheek. "Well that is what I have you for- to protect me to the death if need be."
"It is the Sentry's Creed, My Queen." Brayden took her hand and kissed her palm tenderly.
Yet he knew it was more than just his oath that would keep her protected at all costs- the fact was that he could not bear to lose her.
D'Harr Compound was as rustic as the stables themselves- a sprawling oasis just on the desert's edge, traveller's palms and succulent plants surrounding each of the three, one-story compounds shaped like long houses. The main house was constructed of banded, desert stone, making it look like it was carved straight from the outcrop of the plateau with its alternating shades of grey, pink, dark purple, white, and ruddy reds. The other two houses- one which held the kitchens, laundry, and herders quarters, the other the bathhouse- were construced of sheer limestone, the white keeping out the daily heat and keeping in the warmth during chilly nights. The whole estate was a design both in beauty and function, even the interior of the main house held a simplistic, if not cluttered quality with Maeloryn's collection of blades, books, and odds and ends from her travels, all of which Miya looked over with and appreciative eye before sitting down to the stew that she spooned form the iron stewpot resting on the fireplace.
They spoke little, an uneasiness overcoming Maeloryn as he complimented her on his meal, that glimmer in his eyes unnerving as it was enchanting. She was hoping that he would make his way to Dakkar village to stay the night, but no such luck.
The Ziyan had plenty of coin to stay quite comfortably in Dakkar village, yet here she was laying out fresh blankets and pillows, puttering about like an innkeeper. Yet the way he yawned sleepily after his meal, the way he smiled sweetly when he suggested he wished he did not have to traverse down to the village, which was not but a fifteen minute walk if that, tugged at her sense of hospitality and general politeness like no other had. When she caught his lips turn up into that already-familar smirk as she left to ready the spare bedroom, she knew he had played her like a well-tuned lyre and that made her fume with exhasperation. How dare he come to her estate, uninvited, unwarrented, and inconvienience her so! She was no inkeeper- she was Bayt'arja Maeloryn D'Harr- decendant of the most honored horse breeders and Cheiftains in the Steppes!
Yet as a Bayt'arja, tradition and protocol required her to offer hospitality without question, even if it was to a known or unknown enemy, friend or stranger.
Still, that did not reconcile the unnerving sense she had when around him: even now making ready his bed she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, as if there was an unseen force surrounding her, watching her.
Miya had asked for the bathhouse to scrub off the grime of the day's long ride, inquiring if his robes would also be washed. After directing him to the bathhouse, she went to ready his quarters, and now headed to the baths to gather his garments for the washerwomen to handle. In her arms she held one of her Pawpa's robes- a simple, yet elegant purple garment that she had kept out of sentimental value more than necessity- and the thought of this stranger, this Ziyan, wearing it was to her both odd and intriguing. Yet she had nothing else that would fit his tall frame, and he was almost Pawpa's height, so she had nothing else to offer.
When she entered the baths, she was unprepared for the sight before her. He lay in the large, steaming wooden tub, long arms resting on the edge, head laying back, his ebon hair floating in the water, eyes closed in repose. She stood there, marveling at his golden skin, the sigils tattooed on his torso and arms, the three large ones emblazoned around his neck, the way his long eyeslashes rested upon his sculpted cheeks like butterfly wings. He was quite possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
"You wish to join me?"
Maeloryn jumped, startled out of her reverie by his blanant suggestion. She frowned when she saw his lips turn upward slightly, eyes remaining closed so he could not see her childishly stick out her tongue before replying.
"I brought you some clean robes, Ka-Ziyan." She went over and lay the clean robes on the bench beside the tub, picking up the ones he wished to be laundered, pretending to ignore his suggestive remark. "And your bed is ready when you wish to retire. As for myself, I will be looking to my herd- if you want of anything, my housekeepers have been instructed to provide."
She turned to walk away and he grabbed her hand, pulling her gently to the side of the tub. Maeloryn turned to see his eyes flutter open, his eyes locking with hers.
"Thank you," he said, a sober look upon his face. "You have been kind."
"It is my duty to be hospitable," she replied, hoping that he could not see how she was trembling.
"It is more than your duty, Mae." He squeezed her hand before lacing her fingers with his. "You are genuine in your service- it comes from your heart, not from some notion that you will get ahead by what you do and who you do it for."
"Don't pretend to know me, Ziyan." Maelorynn shook her head, eyes narrowing, the feeling of his hand locked with hers pleasantly unsettling. "I have done things, made deals with the devil himself to keep my herd alive and safe from Maju raids. I am not as kind as I seem."
"Yet your aggressiveness still comes from caring enough to fight for that which is yours, from protecting you and your own."
"And if that involved turning the sands red with the blood of Maju raiders?" She stepped back a bit, yet he would not let go of her hand. "If I have cursed both Glynniere and Kythos openly for not providing security simply because I am in disputed territory? Would that not insult your peaceful, Ziyan sensibilities?"
He smiled up at her, that brutally enchanting smile. "I am not fully Ziyan, you see. I have tread upon my own path, yet you know this, you have been following my tales since the day the first letter was delivered to your hands by your own mother. So, I will say to you, I am not as nice as I seem."
She gasped when she saw his honey-brown eyes turn to ice blue, the same ice blue she saw that horrible day when Evrynn was so brutally slaughtered.
"Oh, my...." Tears welled up in her eyes, her other hand going to her mouth to stifle a sob- she had not known where the letters Talik brought her had come from, only that she had began receiving them about four years ago.
"I told you I would not forget you, Maeloryn."
Maeloryn tossed and turned in her bed, the presence of someone else in the large house after so long having it to herself at once disturbing and enjoyable, making it hard for her to close her eyes.
That boy was now a man, a man with obvious power and a hidden agenda that she could only guess at. She knew that Brayden was against the Kythos stepping foot in Glynniere, especially since Valyk was now Cheiftain, yet she wondered if Valyk was the true threat now.
At the same time, she could not help but think that there was something
else besides revenge on Miya's mind. He seemed too cool, too casual about the whole business of seeing Glynniere again. Maybe he was indeed there to make a statement, that even the most cruel of atrocities could be forgiven and peace attained. Yet the fire in those eyes told her that all had not been forgiven- she could only wait and bide her time and hold her tongue.
There was no love loss between her and Glynniere, given the way her mother had been treated and Sarhilla's cruelty to her Pawpa for refusing to provide her information on her and her relations with Valyk. And then she was garnered the same treatment for simply being who she was, her mother's daughter, decendant of what Sarhilla saw as a treasonous family deserving of whatever the Maju dealt to those not in her favor.
So, she decided to keep her peace, say nothing even to her most trusted of allies there in the Keep. If he was indeed there to advance the Treaty, then she would do more harm than good revealing his identity.
Suddenly, she heard the strains of her mother's dulcimer, a sound she had not heard since she was a child, and it sent chills running from the top of her head down her spine. When she realized it could only be Miya playing, she smiled, his rich voice singing a Kythos ballad she had often heard Evrynn sing causing a calm to settle over her like gently woven blankets. She closed her eyes, sighing as she drifted to sleep, thinking it odd she smelled sweet spice even though there was certainly no one in the kitchens at this hour.
Miya sat cross-legged upon his bed, pipe clenched in his teeth, taking in the heady smoke of the j'des as he played the tune. He knew Maeloryn to be strog-willed, but not stupid- if he asked for her aid, showed her what Glynniere was truly planning for the Steppes and Dakkar, she would gladly accept his offer to aid him.
Then he would awaken her power, awaken her to who she truly was, and shake the Steppes to the very core.
Maeloryn had dreamed of storms- violent tornadoes and torrents of rain that had not been seen in the Steppes for decades. There were ten tornadoes, all lined up like soldiers marching in for the assault, bearing down on the compound and she had raced to the corral to guide the herd into the barn, securing the latch just as the first twister approached the main house. She ran into the house and was thrown down behind the divan, Miya laying at her back, placing his body between her and the windows that shattered around them.
"I will always be here," he whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her earlobe, "we will face these storms together."
She had woken to the smell of roasting meat and baking bread, wondering if Miya had the skill of a cook as well- she had dismissed the cooks for the week as the herders were heading to the Treaty Council, having requested to have the time off to witness the fiasco and participate in the festivities. Maeloryn had acquiessed, knowing that the herd would stay close during the mating season, prefering the rich bushes that now thrived before the drought period and the feed she would put out to the rough vegitation higher on the plateau.
So, there he was, in his freshly laundered robes, roasting a sand hare on the spit and checking on a round iron cooking pan filled with the dough he no doubt found in the cooler pantry. He smiled when he saw her enter the den, rubbing her eyes sleepily and tying a kercheif she took from inside her robe pocket around her hair.
"Almost done." He picked up the kettle sitting in some embers and took one of the rounded ceramic cups from the mantle to set it on the table in front of the divan. "Please, sit, I have some tea you might like."
"Aren't I supposed to be the one serving the guest?" Maeloryn stifled a yawn.
Miya chuckled, extending his arm, motioning her to sit. Maeloryn sat and watched with facination as he took a small, ornately carved rosewood box from his pack, setting it carefully, almost reverently on the table and opening it to reveal what looked like dried red flower petals in one compartment, a wooden whisk in the other.
"Bloodflower tea?" She closed her eyes as she took in the heady scent of berrys and spice that the blooms gave off as he poured the hot water and sprinkled the petals in the cup before her.
He then took the whisk and, humming a mystic tune, began to stir at first slowly, then rapidly, creating a crimson froth in the cup that sparkled in the morning light. The way his hand moved so precicely, rhythmically, the ritualistic way he removed the whisk and tapped it once, twice on the rim of the cup, made her eyes gleam in wonder. When he took the cup and offered it to her with a slight nod of his head, completing the tune when she took the cup, she smiled, blushing when their fingertips touched. He gazed at her as she took the cup slowly to her lips so as not to burn them, sipping delicately and sighing when the warm liquid exploded with a slight sting of spice in her throat.
"You like?" he asked, smiling.
"Very much," she replied, resting the cup on the table. "I have heard much about the bloodflower and the tea made from it, but never could afford the price of importing it here."
"I have a generous acquaintance that would be more than happy to provide you with a few ounces." Miya went back to the hearth to retrieve the bread and the hare, carrying the pan and spit carefully in the mits that Maeloryn had beside the mantle and resting the rabbit upon a platter he had set on the table, the pan upon a towel.
"You don't have to do that." Maeloryn got up to get butter for the bread, but Miya motioned her with his hand to keep seated as went into the pantry, ans she flopped down upon the divan, smiling as he searched the cooler for the butter.
She was not used to being served, catered to, by anyone let alone a man. Her life as the head of the D'Harr family after her Pawpa passed and her mother had gone to wherever she was now had not afforded her the luxury of seeking a mate- not to mention the few that had interested her were quite put off by her intense, war-like nature and stocky, solid build.
"You lied to me by the way," she said, eyeing him coyly as she sliced the bread from the pan, picking it up gingerly to place onto the platter beside the hare.
"And how is that?" Miya frowned, unwrapping the butter and handing her the knife he brought.
"You said you did not know of my mother," she replied, taking the knife and slicing off a pat of butter as he held it for her to spread upon her bread.
"I said I had no message from your mother," he smiled, tearing off a hindquarter and placing it on the platter near her bread. "And indeed I did not."
"So, why all the secrecy? Why not just tell me-"
"I had to be sure I could trust you." He tore into the breast with his fingers, delicately placing the morsel in his mouth and dipping his fingers into the shallow bowl of water beside him to wash away the grease. "I did not know if you would go running to the Queen to tell her that the brother of the man she murdered had returned for vengeance."
"Is that why you have returned, then, Ka-Ziyan?" Maeloryn took a piece of meat and folded it into her buttered bread, taking a bite and gazing at him expectantly.
He lowered his eyes, that smirk of his returning to his lips. "I am here to help negotiate a treaty, Mae."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more."
"Now I know you are lying."
"Your mother joined Valyk in Kythos after she delivered me to the Ziyan." The artful way he changed the subject both impressed and told Maeloryn that she would get no more out of him on the matter. "She did not retain contact with you as she knew that would mark her a traitor and put you in danger. She did, however, send the letters as she said that would give you hope."
"Oh, and they did." Maeloryn's eyes shimmered with tears. "It was almost as if you were speaking to me. After Pawpa died, I was left this big estate to run on my own- young as I was and a woman at that, I had to build the D'Harr reputation almost from scratch. There were times I almost gave up, walked away from the whole thing, but your words gave me strength, made me what I am."
"I could not give you what you already had, Mae." Miya took her hand in his. "You were always the strong one- that day in the passage told me that- my words only awakened that part of you that had been sleeping since that day, waiting for when you needed it the most."
Maeloryn smiled, his eyes were so kind, so soulful, she could sink into them and gladly drown.
"I must be going." Miya rose, walking to his pack and placing it upon his shoulder to walk out the door.
Maeloryn snapped out of her trance and saw the tea caddy still on the table and picked it up, walking out to give it to him.
"You forgot this!"
Miya turned around from guiding the mare out of the stall, smiling as she approached him. She handed him the box, and he pushed it gently back to her.
"Keep it," he said. "As thanks for your hospitality."
Arai rode up to the estate just in time to see Miya swing into the saddle of the roan gelding. He spied her, walking his mount over to meet her, a twinkle in his honey-brown eyes that made Arai catch her breath.
"I am Arai- Leader of Raptor Squadron." She touched her hand to her heart, bowing her head in greeting. "I am to-"
Miya took her chin and raised her eyes to meet his, smiling as he looked into her green-grey eyes.
"We've met before and we will meet again, Arai, but the outcome will remain the same"
With that he turned his steed toward Glynniere and galloped off, leaving Arai speechless and annoyed.
Maeloryn smiled as she saw her friend Arai come around the stables, her back mare in tow, and skipped over to grab her into a bear hug, tea caddy still firmly in her hand.
"What brings you here, Ara?" Maeloryn released Arai to hook her arm within hers and walk her toward the house.
"I was supposed to be escorting him." Arai inclined her head to the direction Miya had taken. "But I guess he had plans of his own."
"Oh, dear, won't Brayden be pissed?"
"Fuck Brayden." Arai rolled her eyes. "I can take him any day and he knows it."
Maeloryn giggled. Arai was no taller than her, but she was tough, fast, and clever- no one in the Sentry could stand against her and there were rumors that Brayden was grooming her for Commander, yet her defiant attitude always kept them at odds.
Arai looked at the box in Maeloryn's hands and frowned. "Where did you get that box?"
"Oh!" She had almost forgotten it was still in her hand. "Mi- the Ziyan gave it to me. It's bloodflower tea."
Arai cocked her eyebrow. "And where does a Ziyan get a Sytharkh carved box?"
Maeloryn's eyes widened- she had not looked closely at the box, yet as she now examined it, she saw the delicate whorls and carnelian inlay that was signature of the Sytharkh- a tribe of nomads reknowned and feared for their magics and brutality. They were abhorred by all of the Steppe Nations so much so their goods were forbidden to be sold in any market.
"I have no clue...."
"Oh! This came for you the other day."
Arai and Maeloryn sat on the divan, drinking bloodflower tea and eating the rest of the bread and roast hare. Arai handed Maeloryn a parchment she had tucked inside her sand-colored tunic- which was emblazoned with the black falcon in flight outlined in red on the shoulders, symbol of the Sable Sentry. She had removed her stiff black riding boots and unlaced the legs of her grey breeches up to the calf so she could sit cross-legged on the cushions beside Maeloryn. Maeloryn took the parchment and squeaked when she saw the writing within.
"Lina! She is on her way back from Ghoresh!"
"Prodigal wife finally coming home, eh?"
Lina was indeed Maeloryn's wife- in Dakkar culture, it was tradition that women were allowed both wives and husbands, as it was believed that women could be spiritually married to one of the same sex as well as physically married to a man. There was also a practical side, as most men of the Dakkar were merchants or Herdsman, therefore given to long absences from their home, and it was believed that a woman could be a more trusted companion than a man could. Though some unions were indeed physical as well as spiritual, Lina and Maeloryn were more like sisters, soul mates, than lovers. When she had met Lina a week after she arrived to D'Harr Estate in the market the Dakkar Outpost- in reality a large city with a market rivaling even Glynniere's expansive marketplace, having apartments and workshops, even an arena where people traded stock as well as fought in contests during festivals. She felt a connection to her as she had never felt to anyone before.
Lina ran a small storefront that sold incense, spices, herbs, fancy scarves and filmy robes for the gentile ladies of the Outpost and desert regions. Maeloryn had wandered into her shop, looking much like she did at the Keep- men's tunic, breeches, and hair in a warrior's topknot. Lina coaxed her into trying on a beautiful purple sari- a filmy thing that brushed past her ankles, the fabric feeling like feathers against her skin, making her feel self-conscious even though it draped her stocky frame like a mantle of amethyst mist. Lina situated a matching scarf around her hair, a diadem of silver coins to hold in place, a choker and anklet of the same, and walked her over to the mirror.
Being raised in the Keep, her mother a warrior and not given the luxury to be gracious with her dress, Maeloryn had emulated her mother in every way- from her Spartan dress to the way she wore her hair, very plain and utilitarian. When she looked into the mirror, she hardly recognized herself, the way her red-gold hair peeked out of the scarf delicately, the way her body flowed with the fabric, accentuating rather than disguising her ample curves.
"My Desert Princess," Lina had remarked, yet Maeloryn felt like nothing of the sort until Lina had showed her that being a woman and a warrior could go hand in hand. It was out of this love for her revealing what Maeloryn had all along that led her to accept Lina's proposal and vowing to be hers forever.
Maeloryn sighed as she clutched the letter to her- it had been three moons since Lina had gone to Ghoresh market to acquire new goods for her store and stock up on the rare spices found there- she was glad that at last she was coming home. She needed someone to tell about Miya, and Lina was the only one she could trust not to think her mad for feeling what she did, not to shout Miya's return from the rooftops.
"Miss her, don't you?" Arai asked, smiling.
"Yes, I do." Maeloryn blushed.
"So, tell me about this Ziyan." Arai sipped her tea, wondering if it was the tea or the fact she was exhausted from helping with the preparations ofr the Treaty Council that made her feel like she was floating.
"Nothing to tell really." Maeloryn avoided Arai's eyes as she made herself another cup of tea. The stuff was addicting, yet she had not Miya's skill of the whisk and she more often than not got a few droplets on the table.
"Come on, Mae, I know when you're lying." Arai got one of the cushions from the divan and threw at Maeloryn, almost making her drop her cup as it landed in her lap.
"Not lying, Ara, just.... I don't know he was so...."
"Annoyingly mysterious?"
Maeloryn giggled. "Did it to you too, eh? Tell me, what prolific declaration did he make to you?"
"Something about we had met before and would meet again blah blah blah...." Arai leaned back on the cushions, closing her eyes sleepily and putting a small throw pillow over her face.
"Careful, there, if you fall asleep you'll miss the grand entrance of the Ka-Ziyan himself."
Arai threw the pillow to the side, looking at Maeloryn, her eyes wide. "Ka-Ziyan?"
"Yep."
"The Ka-Ziyan?"
"The one and only."
Arai threw the pillow at Maeloryn, who laughed as she caught it deftly in one hand. "That was what you were not telling me! Damn you, woman, now I know why Lina is prepared to towel you half of the time!"
Maeloryn snickered at the joke that she, Arai, and Lina had from the night that all three encountered some undesirables at a local tavern- one of them tried to make unwarranted moves on Lina, so she had taken the barmaid's towel as she walked by and proceeded to wrap it around the man's neck, threatening to tear it off with her bare hands if he did not "vacate the premises" while he was still able.
"You did not ask," replied Maeloryn batting her eyes sweetly.
Arai grumbled and glared as she rose from the divan, hurrying out the door as Mealoryn snickered uncontrollably. "One of these days....."
"Ka-Ziyan, I am honored you accepted my request."
"'Twas my honor, my Queen."
Miya took Sarhilla's proferred hand and kissed the signet ring reverently, locking her eyes with is. After freshening up from the days ride, he was now dressed in a light grey hooded cloak over a calf-length mauve tunic lined in silver, black suede boots and grey leggings completing one of the Ziyan's many official costumes. His ebony hair was pulled back into an elegant half-ponytail with two hair sticks holding it in place, his silver braids framing his face gracefully.
"I could think of no one better to officiate this Council."
Sarhilla sat in the chair behind her, extending her hand for Miya to sit as well. They were in her drawing room- really a library with shelves of books and tomes from floor to ceiling, the picture window centered by French doors that lead onto a balcony overlooking the Keep's gardens. Miya marvelled at the gilt molding around a ceiling painted with visions of the conquest of Glynniere by the late King Hroagarth. The chair in which he sat was decidedly uncomfortable, being of stiff gilt wood and equally stiff cushions, but he was glad for the tea which the servant boy poured over ice and a cube of sugar even if he wished for the less formal setting of Maeloryn's residence.
"I fear you put too much stock in my talents, Your Grace." Miya waited politely for Sarhilla to pick up her cup before picking up his and sipping the sweet rasberry tea. "Kythos may not be so willing a participant given your unreasonable terms."
Sarhilla frowned, eyes widening briefly. "How do you know of the contents of the Treaty?"
"You forget who I am, Your Grace." Miya's grin was neither pleasant nor malicious. "I had to know what I was getting into before making the decision to come here. I do not like walking into a hornets nest blind- no disrespect, mind you."
"Understood." Sarhilla made note that she was going to have to have a talk with the young Ziyan novice that came to the Keep. He requested to see the Treaty, acting like an excited child just wanting to see an historical document, and through his charms convinced her to show him. "So, Ziyan, what about the Treaty do you find unreasonable?"
"The fact that the Dakkar Plateau is remain open to Glynniere troop movements, even though there has been no active outpost in the area for years." Miya set down his cup, folding his hands in his lap. "The fact that you prevent Kythos from patrolling the Plateau- even though it will in a sense be theirs- to stave off attacks from the Maju raiders."
"Dakkar will remain neutral, Ziyan," Sarhilla replied, waving off the servant boy's offering of pastries. "They will not wish Kythos interferrance."
"Then let Dakkar make that decision, not the Treaty." Miya looked over the tray of pastries, and chose a flaky buscuit with a dollop of jam in the center, placing it on the small plate in front of him.
"But Glynniere will protect...."
"Repeated requests from the D'Harr Compound have been all but ignored." Miya broke off a piece of the buscuit and dropped it in his mouth delicately, savoring the buttery taste and light texture. Oh! How he had loved these as a boy..... "And Kythos has been unable to protect them for fear of reproach from the Crown."
"D'Harr approached Kythos?" Sarhilla exclaimed. "Preposterous!"
"After repeated failures of support from Glynniere, do you truly fault them?" Miya was cutting the Queen no slack- she had asked him to be here for his "wise council" and he was going to give it, no holds barred. "The Maju have stepped up their activity in the area, and even though Maeloryn D'Harr is a formidible warrior in her own right, she and her cluster of Herders are not a match for a full-on assault when it happens."
Sarhilla leaned back in her chair, her years showing as her fingers massaged her brow. "How do you know the Maju want Dakkar anyway? It is nothing but a scortching wasteland half of the year, the other half freezing, not to mention it only rains three months out of the year."
"They want control of the j'des," Miya replied. "It is that simple. Control of the j'des trade means power and stability- something that the nomadic Maju have had none of in their centuries of raiding and pillaging."
"Then the question is, why do nomads all of a sudden want stability?"
Miya looked up to see Brayden walk through the doors of the drawing room, looking bigger, rougher, and a sight older than Miya expected with his greying temples and streak of grey in his goatee.
"The new Hajar, Garrick, is a power-hungry brute, but he is no fool," Miya smiled. "He knows to expand the Maju Empire, his Horde will have to be more precise in their conquests."
"Hmmm, interesting theory," replied Brayden, taking his place beside the Queen. "I must apologize for my Lieutennant's tardiness in escorting you- she is quite often, well, difficult."
Miya chuckled. "It is I who must apologize- she indeed met me at the D'Harr Compound, but I fear I took off without her. She seemed eager to see her friend Maeloryn, so I gave her leave to do so."
"You yourself said the Maju have been more active in the region lately," Brayden frowned. "Why risk travelling without at least one escort?"
"I'm a big boy, sir," even though he was seated, when Miya drew himself up to his full height, eyes flashing, Brayden noted he was an imposing individual. "Ziyan are more than capable of taking care of themselves."
"Still, if something had happened-"
"Pay him no mind, Ziyan." Sarhilla chuckled, putting up a hand to still Brayden's protest. "My Commander is often a bit over protective."
Miya opened himself up to See Brayden and Sarhilla, but the way they interacted told him already what his Reading indicated, that they were lovers. He frowned inwardly, though, at the black gauge that appeared on Brayden's heart- usually a sign of treachery. He searched Sarhilla's heart for the same, yet only found the age-old scar from when Evrynn was killed. He almost felt sorry for the weariness that permeated her soul, for the guilt that ate her up inside ever since that day, but his attention turned to Brayden. He could not sift through the quicksand of his psyche, which told him that Brayden or someone else was maintaining a Ward on that part that he tried to access, more than likely someone else as Brayden's chi was not strong enough for that task to be accomplished alone.
"It is quite alright, Your Grace." Miya popped the last bit of pastry in his mouth and dabbed his lips with the cloth napkin beside the plate. "Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to take a walk in the gardens before I retire- it will be a long day tomorrow."
"Of course." Sarhilla rose and held out her hand, Miya rising and kissing the ring with a smile. "Have a good rest."
"You as well, my Queen." Miya nodded slightly to Brayden before turning on his heel and walking out of the drawing room.
"Find out what he was doing at D'Harr." Sarhilla said to Brayden. "I am curious why he did not meet Arai at the Fresada Crossroads as planned."
Maeloryn paused on the trail that led around her fields, the small sprouts of corn, beans, carrots, and other foodstuffs that supplied her and half of Dakkar Outpost with rations for the winter just coming up through the parched earth. She frowned, feeling that with the lack of rain, these might not last until harvest and that she could not allow. She stood straight, closing her eyes and opening herself up to the night air around her, feeling the humid air that was ripe for moisture, yet sensing the lack of coolness to bring it forth. Reaching deep within her chi, she filled her lungs with air and her voice with song.
"Rain and cloud
Hear my song
You have been away
Far too long
Shower my fields
With your precious dew
Make them live again
Make them sprout anew."
She felt the clouds forming above her, answering to her Call, heard the rumble of thunder as lightning snaked through the clouds in the heated atmosphere, then finally felt the first drop of rain upon her cheek and she smiled, whispering a thank you to the clouds for hearkening to her plea.
"You could have waited til I got home, wife."
Maeloryn's heart raced with joy as she turned to see Lina's tall, stauesque form approaching her, the wind billowing around her blue sari, making her long, chestnut hair flow about her like a cape. She skipped over to her, giggling, and threw herself into her arms, hugging her tight and kissing her lips tenderly.
"I missed you," Maeloryn beamed.
Lina chuckled, stroking Maeloryn's hair. "As did I you. Now, let's get inside before we're both drenched."
As if to agree with Lina, a crack of lightning follwed by a crash of thunder announced a deluge of rain that indeed had them soaked as they ran laughing into the house. As Maeloryn stoked the embers back to life and placed the kettle upon the hearth, Lina sat and picked up the box Miya had left her upon the table before the divan.
"Sytharkh woodwork?" Lina mused, opening the box to inhale the contents within. "And bloodflower tea? Where in lands did you get this?"
"The Ka-Ziyan himself." Maeloryn said proudly, plopping herself beside Lina and tweaking her nose.
"Ka-Ziyan?" Lina raised her eyebrows. "I am jealous- I hear he is quite handsome."
"Beautiful." Maeloryn replied, lowering her eyes and tracing the patterns on the divan's jaquard cushions.
Lina took Maeloryn's chin and raised it to meet her eyes. "Ah, my dear Mae, what did he do to you to make you so enamoured?"
"Nothing!" Maeloryn's face turned beet red. "He merely stayed the night and-"
"Stayed the night!" Lina giggled. "Now I truly am jealous!"
"Oh, wife, it was nothing like that!" Maeloryn poked Lina's arm. "I- I know him, Lina."
"Well, of course you'd feel that way from reading all his manuscripts, dear."
"Mother sent me those." Maeloryn's eyes glimmered with tears. "Miya- the Ka-Ziyan- is that same boy, Evrynn's brother, he is the one that Mother took to the Ziyan fifteen years ago. He is the one officiating the Treaty Council."
Lina's face darkened. "You did not tell Arai?"
"No, no, I-" Maeloryn searched for the right words. "I couldn't. He has every right to avenge his brother's death if that is what he has come to do."
"And send the Steppes in more chaos than it is now?" Lina shook her head. "No, Mae, you want him to do this for your own self satisfaction, not his."
Maeloryn galred at Lina briefly, then her eyes softened. Lina had always known how to read her innermost thoughts, ever had a way of dragging out the truth even if it hurt.
"Maybe." Maeloryn sighed, laying her head in Lina's lap. "But he says he is here to negotiate a treaty, nothing more- that he is there to promote peace and not war. Oh, Lina, if you could see his eyes! Hear him sing...."
"He sang to you?" Lina stroked Maeloryns hair, chuckling. "Maybe I should file for divorce?"
Maeloryn pinched Lina's knee. "He was playing Mother's dulcimer, singing in the room I made for him- far from mine, mind you. And the smell of j'des- it was so strong yet soothing in concert with his voice. And there was the dream."
"You dreamed him?"
"Ten tornadoes, all set to strike the Estate."
"Ten trials, ten traitors." Lina's green eyes went milky white, her Seer's Sight taking over spontaniously as she listened to Maeloryn's description, stroking her hair methodically.
"He told me that he would protect me- whatever storm may come- that he would help me....."
"He knows of your Talent for Calling the storms, knows that you will somehow play a part in the Council." Lina's eyes shifted back to their green-gold hue. "He was sent to you, wife- sent to aid you in controlling your Gift, sent to help you hone it and perfect it- though for what end I do not know and that makes me frightened."
"What should I do?" Suddenly, the butterflies were again hatching in Maeloryn's stomach.
"He is a Dreamwalker," Lina replied, "and Ziyan- a most precarious and dangerous combination any way one looks at it. Let him teach you- to resist his forays into your dreams will prove to be futile and perhaps unhealthy for both of you- learn from him, take what you can of his knowledge, but be careful your emotions do not get the best of you."
"Wise council as always, wife." Maeloryn cuddled closer to Lina, closing her eyes sleepily. Calling the storms always took a lot out of her, why she did not do it that often.
"And if he dares harm you," Lina bent down to kiss Maeloryn on the forehead. "I will towel him without question or regret."
At five-foot-ten, Garrick was an imposing man with his dark, feline eyes ever glimmering with the fire of a mountain cat on the prowl and his golden skin that looked as if his face had been wrought by the gods of war themselves. He stood before the long pistachio wood table in his tent- an ostentaniously luxurious thing with brocade cushions in gold thread all around the peremiter and in front of the black lacquered dining table set with mother of pearl from his raid on a merchant's convoy from the Q'izsad Sea- which showed a map of Glynniere and the Dakkar Plateau, plotting his next move. His long, ebony hair was woven into many cornrows which terminated at the nape of his neck for the rest of his locks to flow freely in ringlets down his back, all held in place by the intricately beaded red and gold headband settling upon his brow, ties of which dropped across the shoulders of his crimson tunic. His riding boots were barely visible under the long, flowing, gold-hued breeches that cooled him in the harsh desert sun.
"Hajar, you have a visitor."
Garrick glared at the Maju warrior- his black cloak and robes not disguising the brute strength that lay in his bulk, scarred face devoid of the white warpaint and masks he and his comrades donned before battle, making him look older than his true age.
"You were instructed that I was not to be disturbed," he barked.
"I believe you will want to see me, Hajar Garrick."
Only one man was brave and fool enough to muscle his way past his guards. Garrick looked over at Brayden, who smiled and bowed gracefully as he could given his size and age, and tilted his head, then motioned the warrior to leave and for Brayden to proceed through the flap in the tent.
"You will indeed pay for your insolence one day, Brayden." Garrick moved to sit upon the cushins on front of the lacquered table, closing his eyes and opening them, then motioning Brayden for him to join him. "Take care it is not with your life."
Brayden chuckled as he sat down, gazing at the women who came through the back of the tent carrying trays of sweetmeats and cactus berry wine- a potent concotion of the fermented purple berries of the Dakkar cactus, an ugly, spiny plant which grew in the poorest of soils and produced a berry both tart and numbing to the senses from the toxins that seeped from the thorns onto the skins.
The women were equally as tart with their black, filmy robes and eyes flashing beneath their veils. These were part of Garrick's Throng, Called with but a thought from their Hajar, having been cleansed of every free will and thought of their own by the Hajar's own power and that of his Scourge- the misshapen Priests who Washed clean the minds of those captives the Hajar found useful and molded them into efficient members of his Throng. Brayden hated giving Garrick access to his mind in any way shape or form, but he knew that the ward the Scourge had set into his psyche was the only way he knew he was safe from the discovery of his treachery.
"The Queen has called upon the Ziyan to officiate the Treaty Council," Brayden said, taking a sip of the wine and enjoying the sensation of his tougue and throat going briefly numb.
"Tell me something I do not know, Brayden." Garrick smiled up at one girl, no more than twenty, who offered a sweetmeat to him between two fingers, which he took into his mouth, along with her fingertips, nibbling on them before taking her hand and pulling her down to the cushion beside him.
"That Ziyan is none other than the Ka-Ziyan himself."
Garrick stopped short of taking a sip of the small glass of wine, eyes growing wide, then downed it in one gulp, waving away the girl's hand as she offered another sweetmeat. Then a grin spread across his full lips, widening as he burst into hearty laughter.
"Sarhilla thinks that the Ka-Ziyan is a match for me? Oh, my, Brayden!" Garricks wicked chuckle sent chills through Brayden's spine. "Tell me- did he try to Read you?"
"Yes, I felt him, but the ward held fast," Brayden replied. "Still I don't think we should underestimate him."
"I need to set a trap." Garrick stroked the girl's shoulder and arm absently, deep in thought. "Gauge his powers- stir things up a bit."
"Not a bad idea, Hajar, but....."
"You question my talents at subterfuge, Brayden?" Garrick took on a dangerous tone, eyes flashing. "You would do well to forget your prejudicial stereotypes of my people- we are not uneducated brutes as your Steppe brethren have long believed."
Brayden knew this to be true, despite his long-held beliefs that were taught to him by his own father about the "Daemon Horde of the South." Garrick himself was not only freakishly intelligent, but his chi was more powerful than any he had ever encountered: it was rumored he could kill with but a thought, that the very Elements were at his command. It was said that the only reason he had not launched a full-on assault on the region was that he was gathering his Throng, gathering such a massive force that he could take both Glynniere and Kythos down with one strike.
The Maju Throng even now was as mighty a force as Glynniere- thousands of captured warriors from his slow conquest of the Southern Desert, Washed by his Scourge, now served him as blindly as any fanatic that joined his cause willingly.
"Fear not, my treacherous one." Garrick smiled as he motioned for one of the women to join Brayden, who stirred uncomfortably as she curled up beside him, stroking his hair. "As long as you keep our bargain, you will enjoy the spoils."
Brayden could only smile and nod wanly, wondering if he had gotten in far deeper than he could handle.
