Chapter 9: To Lands of Scands
‘Unless something is lost or forcefully taken away, its owner cannot appreciate the impact it has or had on his or her life.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume II: Scholar).
1
Sixteen seasons, Ganis discovered, had been lost to her in Initium Keep. It was ample time for revolutions to happen and be countered. Time, it seemed, had run slower than she had felt, yet faster than she had hoped. Regardless, her journey back would have to be swift.
It took her a series of short swims from islands scattered between Initium Keep and the mainland, a set of mountain climbs, and a great deal of running to reach flat land. It was a forest west of Scyldur, and far to the north of any other town or city she knew of – which counted to a handful of landmarks.
Ganis’ capture made her task develop from a mere mission to a personal vendetta, one that she intended to achieve with the Parthans’ help, if they had survived so far.
The sun set and rose many times while Ganis traveled, in seclusion once more, but its movement did not dictate the nature of her activities, for she was not bound by light of day or cover of night. The Dark Gift made her a formidable adversary of nature, yet it would not be enough to face Naa’tas. She needed the strength of the Ona. She needed to assimilate.
As she traveled one day, reaching what she remembered to be the borders of Scyldur, Ganis met a lone familiar figure. She could not recognize her at first, but a closer look revealed a familiar woman’s figure clad in soft white clothes.
“Ganis, it has been some time.” Kismet smiled at Ganis. Her eyes changed, they were a calming light blue which dulled the shine of sun.
The changed eyes made Ganis stumble for a moment. It was an unimportant development. “Kismet, I did not expect you to visit me in my world.”
She smiled. “I always have.”
Ganis continued to walk, gesturing Kismet to join her. “Do you know about my destiny?”
“I know of many different destinies for many different people.”
“And what will be of mine?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
Ganis grunted, though she welcomed the company.
“Destiny,” Kismet continued, “is not a simple thing to explain in your tongue.” She extended her arm to feel the leaves and trees crossing their path. It was uncommon for Kismet to appear in this world in such way. “It is like a grand hall with many doors, each leading to another grand hall with even more doors.
“The outcomes are limitless, and if I had twice as much time as the world is old, it would not be enough to explain the contents of the doors in one such hall.”
“Yet you know of them?”
Kismet offered a gentle nod, still smiling. Her clothes brushed against the dirt, leaves and trees, but nothing would leave a mark on the white gown.
“Is there any path in which I defeat Naa’tas?”
“There are many paths in which you do.”
Then it is possible, Ganis though. The feeling of hopelessness was slightly lifted.
“And,” Kismet continued, “many paths in which you fail.”
“How often does he kill me?”
“Some destinies show him killing you, others show you killing him, and some show no such exchange between both of you.”
“And in how many destinies does someone else kill him?”
Kismet looked at Ganis and touched her; in the same manner she touched the trees and leave. She wanted to know what touching Ganis felt like. “Very few.”
“Then I am meant to kill Naa’tas.”
“In some destinies only.”
Ganis huffed in frustration. She would achieve nothing by asking Kismet about her destiny, but there were other things she wondered about. “Kismet.” Ganis paused. “What are you?”
“I am one of the Three Hands of Fate.”
She replied!
“Three Hands of Fate?” In all her studies and experiences Ganis had never come across such term. She knew about Fate, a deity to some and a natural occurrence to most, but she never knew how real or meaningful it was.
“Each of us is responsible for choice, destiny or death.” She paused for a moment, picking up a fallen leaf with still some green left. “We are ageless, immune to the harsh treatment of time. Much like you, Ganis.”
Much like me!
“Yet Fate,” Kismet continued, “rarely commands us to appear to others. We are like air, surrounding everything. Even things like rocks and trees have fates and are often the subject of our interest, Ganis.”
“How does a rock have a fate?” Ganis took note of the next breath she drew. It was a strange thing to be aware of what came to her so naturally, breathing.
“The king Kahr’Aman, a man with great deeds and conqueror of many lands, met his death when his horse stepped on a loose stone and fell atop him. This stone’s destiny was to kill a man whose name toppled entire civilizations.”
“You are destiny.” Ganis finally understood how Kismet knew her so. “Don’t expect me to start worshipping Fate.”
Kismet laughed. It was a strange laugh, a mixture of an aged woman and a child’s, yet pure. “Fate cares not for being worshipped. She is a force that simply is and will always be, regardless of your actions.”
“Yet you speak of her as a god.”
“Gods are silly things, some even shorter lived than you, and Fate rules over them just as she rules over mortal men and things. Even I have power over the gods.”
“Then I am glad you are on my side, Kismet.”
“I am on no one’s side. I simply am, as you are.” Kismet stopped Ganis and placed both hands on Ganis’ shoulders. Still smiling, she spread her arms apart while staring at the sky and dissipated with the coming wind, her face last.
Ganis was alone once more, on her way back to Hearthdale – where she thought she should be.
2
Ganis reached the borders, if little has changed in that regard, where a guarded narrow passage separated the dominion of Scyldur from that of the Midland villages.
From their attire, crude iron chainmail covered by a brown leather vest and coupled by pointed helmets, Ganis judged the soldiers to be Scylds. Killing them would allow her some weapons and a poor replacement to the armor she left behind in Initium Keep, tools she noticed missing when it was too late to go back, yet she thought it more prudent to avoid a confrontation, for the sake of the plan.
The six men wasted no time in stopping the woman approaching them. “Identify yourself!” a large man said. His accent was thick and bore the marking of the Midland villages – a convert in need of proving his faith still.
Ganis took a moment to scan the men who surrounded her. She noticed their stink first, an unappetizing lot in spite of her hunger. Even without the repulsive smell it would be difficult for Ganis not to look at them with disgust and contempt.
“I’m but a mere traveler. May I pass?”
The men mumbled amongst one another. Their leader took a step closer the Ganis, the same man with the accent, and pointed behind him with his thumb. “Over yonder are heathen lands. What business do you have with them heathens?”
“My business is my own.” She lowered her head, hoping it would make her appear weak and discourage them from preparing themselves should she decide to attack.
“Actually, it’s not your own. We’re all quite fond of order, and you violate it.” He smiled, an ugly grin showing more fallen teeth than the remaining decayed ones. “Not only do you disgrace the men of your village by wearing an unfitting outfit for a woman, but you also venture into the lands of the godless.” The man then looked around. “You see, lass, we’re enforcers of these laws that govern our faithful society.”
Her contempt grew. A lifetime of soldiery, the once-domain of men alone, made her experience many men who forced their women into submissive roles. It was an unforgivable thing to Ganis. “Why would you care?”
The man’s face grew serious, and the others reache
d for their belts, not to their weapons of steel but for their disciplinary wooden sticks. “Being the faithful servant of Rayogin I am, it’s my duty to care.”
“And you’re forbidding me of going into these lands?” She pointed straight at the man, hoping to send a message that he was merely an obstruction in her path, nothing more.
“Do you defy the will of Rayogin, citizen?”
She smiled, took a deep breath, and stared straight into his eyes. “Rayogin is a false god!”
“How dare you say such things?” He raised his open palm and attempted for Ganis’ cheek. She caught his falling hand.
The man’s eyes raged with anger. He pulled his hand free and gestured the soldiers to attack her. With wooden sticks raised, they approached Ganis, encircling her and separating their leader behind them. Their sticks fell and Ganis struck.
Ganis reached for the mace hanging from one of the Scyld guards’ belt, ripping it free, and struck at his knee, all actions she did before the first stick was flung. Knee shattered, the man fell and screamed, holding his broken extremity in both arms.
Another swing met the mace’s pointy butt with the gut of a guard, going through his armor and spine, felling the man in one swoop. The sticks got too close for Ganis to strike once more. She tumbled to one side, tripping another guard while doing so.
Guards no longer separated her from their captain. She swung her mace brutally onto his left foot, crushing bone and ripping skin. He kept standing, screaming in shock. She reached to his belt and drew a dagger, stabbing his other leg and dropping him. She pulled it free and flung it at the third guard who had encircled her. It struck his heart.
The guard she had tripped regained his footing. She jumped towards him, swinging her mace as she fell on his head, splitting it in a thousand small pieces. Ganis scanned the area for the guard with a broken knee. When she spotted him, crawling away, she threw the mace at his head. It struck and he stopped moving.
“Now,” Ganis said, approaching the captain, “where were we?”
The man cowered away, clumsily moving his damaged legs in an attempt to distance himself from Ganis. “Rayogin is a false god,” he shouted.
“So quick to forsake your god,” Ganis noted. She reached for the man’s neck and lifted him from where he lay soiled in blood and excrement. “You had your chance once, now you know too much to be kept alive.” With a snap, the man was no longer among the living.
Ganis crossed into friendlier lands, leaving five corpses soiled in blood behind.
3
A column of smoke rose into the sky from Hearthdale’s direction. The town was still a day’s march away, too long for Ganis to endure. She tapped into her Dark Gift and ran towards Hearthdale.
Ganis’ eyes fell upon a horrifying sight when she reached her destination, the ruins of Hearthdale. Remnants of burnt buildings produced a strong smell of fresh ash engulfing Ganis’ senses. If she was quicker, Ganis thought, the disaster might have been averted.
In a bout of despair Ganis fell on her knees and wept. Utyirth had struck yet another blow to Ganis’ naive hopes. The longing she had to be surrounded by her past allies, the oblivious people of Hearthdale with their children’s innocence, was no more a longing she could satisfy, it seemed to Ganis at the moment.
She raised her head to check for anything that escaped the destruction, but there was nothing left but rubble. The absence of corpses gave her hope, and the will she needed to investigate. All forms of destruction, Asclepius had told her, left a trace of their origins.
The Heart of the Hearth, she remembered, always escaped the assaults. She ran towards the central building, where she had met the Hearthwarden, and came to another difficult realization. This attack was not like the others. It was meant to be the last.
The Heart of the Hearth was in shambles. The structure had not been burnt, but it suffered a similar fate. A toppling roof made the inside inaccessible. Ganis encircled the Heart of the Hearth, seeking any windows or openings leading inside, but instead came upon another horrific sight.
Dozens of burnt corpses hung on wooden beams impaled into the ground. Men, women and even children suffered the terrible fate, being burnt alive. Her knees could no longer support her weight and she fell crying. For a time she remained there with her head resting on the ground, eyes down in morning for the unidentifiable victims of the massacre.
When she raised her head, tears no longer flowing, Ganis found a pack of large hounds surrounding her. She wanted to die, but not yet. Ganis slowly stood and prepared herself, shrugging off the overwhelming sadness. This was not a time to mourn - it was a time to fight.
Ganis looked at the beasts in the eye, making a statement to them. She was not going to run or cower. A large hound accepted the challenge and leaped towards her with bared fangs.
As the hound fell, she pushed him aside and onto the ground. “Wait!” she shouted in an incontrollable burst. Hounds could not speak!
The hounds waited. It was not how beasts reacted. Then she remembered Monolos’ pups. Did he really succeed at teaching them our tongue?
She stood erect, abandoning her stance, and asked, “Watchers?”
The hounds growled and barked, but uttered no words. Yet they did wait as commanded.
“I am a companion of Monolos and Hephaestion.” She continued to stand idly, with knees straight and arms falling to her side.
One of the hounds took a step towards Ganis. His grimace faded and his eyes were freed from violence. The hound hesitated for a moment then looked up, revealing a faint glow emanating from beneath the fur covering his neck. He looked back down and stared at Gains. “Is what you speak true?” the green-eyed hound asked.
“Aye.” She noticed the accent she picked at Initium Keep return. It was more obvious now that she was no longer surrounded by those who spoke in such manner.
“Then you must be one of the ten.”
“Indeed I am, but the others might not be aware of my survival.”
“In my ten season of life, I have seen only eight of the ten. Of the two I have not seen I was told that one perished before I was born, and the other was captured shortly afterwards. Are you the captured one?”
“Indeed I was.” She paused. “I am Ganis.”
As soon as the hounds heard her name they lowered their heads in what appeared to be a canine bow. Their leader was the first to end the gesture. The others followed.
“Are the others safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then they can continue to manage without my immediate return for a bit longer. I have to investigate the destruction of Hearthdale. What do you know about it?” Ganis naturally fell into her former self’s mannerism, the cold Peacekeeper who prioritized her task above all other things.
“Attacks similar to this one have been occurring lately, Ninth. We tracked down the source to Aurae Keep.”
“Aurae Keep,” she whispered the name. It was a strange name to her, one that she could not recognize even after uttering it. “Where is this Aurae Keep?”
“Southwest of here.” The hound turned his head, pointing his snout to the general direction he indicated.
“Thank you, Watcher. Let my companions know that I will be joining them shortly.”
Without allowing the Watcher to respond, Ganis leaped towards Aurae Keep. The people of Hearthdale will be avenged!
4
Aurae Keep, a solitary bastion of power by the southern edge of the mainland, broke the horizon with its pointed dark grey towers. Vines clung to the stones of the outer wall, a natural decoration to the otherwise bleak sight, and crows claimed its peaks.
A single large iron gate barred Ganis from entry, a minor obstruction to her. She crept around, sizing the castle and attempting to determine the size of the force housed within, till nightfall, after having reached it at noon.
Other than its size the structure had no defensive gaps. It would be a difficult target for an unprepared force - one not accompanied b
y experienced engineers specialized in the building of war machines. But Ganis was not an army and she suffered from none of their handicaps.
With surprise on her side, Ganis knew that it would be necessary for her success to strike suddenly and fast, before the Scyld force within could get a chance to react. Yet the odds were against her, for she had neither advantage in numbers nor in weaponry, she only had the Dark Gift and a single mastered word of influence.
It was midnight when Ganis decided to attack. She crept on the vines to climb the wall. A single guard patrolled the section, with no eyes on him other than Ganis’ – an easy target. Ganis whispered to him, causing him to approach curiously. When he was in her reach, she grabbed a knife she had picked up from Hearthdale and stabbed him in the throat. He tried to scream, but his voice betrayed him. The man died choking on his own blood, hidden behind some barrels on the wall.
Ganis climbed and immediately crouched once atop the wall keeping her head down. She subtly rushed to one of the towers with a single torch-lit window. She made out the shadows of two guards; flames making them dance on the walls behind. Continuing her subterfuge, she climbed the short spiraling stairway and pressed against the wall once only the gateway separated her from the two Scylds.
“…and that was it, by Rayogin I swear,” one of the guards said and the other laughed.
Still with only the knife in hand, Ganis drew a deep breath before attacking. With two deadly swoops the guards fell with throats slit. It was the only way she could keep them from shouting. Three down.
Ganis did not know how many they were, but she knew their numbers would not recuperate by the time her assault was done, unless by some twisted turn of fate reinforcements arrived. She looked at the knife, bloodied by the three it felled, and examined its make. Its sharpness would not last for long, even if it never made contact with steel, and steel they wore.
A sword and a mace lay tucked into the fallen guards’ belts, weapons she deemed useful. Ganis took the armament and continued away to the next tower. A patrolling guard on the wall met the same fate as the others, a cut throat slit from behind. The next tower, with three guards of which two slept, offered Ganis little deterrence, and her blade would still not last.
Ganis felled a few over two dozen before a guard eluded her stealth. The man was alert, unlike the others, and loudly yelled “who’s there” when he suspected an intruder, turning the eyes of many others to him. He met the same fate as his dead allies, but not without revealing Ganis.
Many shouts erupted, all leading the guards towards Ganis, and a fight began. She still did not know how many remained and hoped to find out before her strength betrayed her.
Two guards, quickly climbing the stairs from the courtyard to the wall, charged at Ganis. She dodged their blows with ease and struck at their sides with her mace, dropping them to their deaths. A horn sounded and the inner gate of the keep opened with seven more guards emerging from within before it was shut.
She tumbled, dodged and parried the many blows directed at her, avoiding and diverting maces, swords and flails. Her skills were far beyond her foes’ and they soon realized the difference. Another shout emerged, which Ganis could not identify the signal it gave, and four crossbowmen appeared from a window within the keep. They released repeated volleys of bolts, with no coordination and poor aim. Ganis avoided as many as she could, but one hit her shoulder. She suppressed her pain and continued swinging like a ferocious beast.
Blood trailed on her arm to her palm, making the mace’s handle slippery. In one attempt to strike a Scyld the mace escaped her grip after crushing the man’s skull. She dropped to another stance and used her arm to push and shove instead of wielding a weapon she could not wholly grip.
Then another wave of three Scylds was released from within the keep, gate remaining unclosed, and charged at her. It was her chance, and an indicator to the dwindling number of Scylds. Ganis dispatched of the men, but not before one managed to strike her side. She yelped in pain and leveraged the force to swing her blade at his head. Its dullness made a large shallow cut, but still claimed the Scyld’s life.
Ignoring her pain and soreness, she rushed into the gate, avoiding the rare bolt, and made her way into the keep. It was faintly lit with low-burning oil lamps, enough to grant her unhindered sight, another advantage she had over the remaining Scylds.
The keep was small, three tiers high and having no more than two dozen rooms without the halls. A short rush towards the window led Ganis to a trap. The four crossbowmen barred a door to a room which Ganis assumed they were barricaded within, and she carelessly hammered at the obstruction with her mace.
From behind her three bolts were shot – the last of their ammunition – and one grazed her back while another lunged itself into her hip. She yelped in agony as the force tripped her. The four guards then rushed towards her with maces raised.
As the weapons fell, two directed towards her head, she rolled towards the aggressors, taking the hit from one mace with the wooden handle instead of the steel, another painful strike yet not as deadly. She grabbed at the handle as the Scyld pulled it back and pushed his knee away, dropping the man. She then stood in one graceful swoop and crushed his knee with her new weapon.
The remaining guards charged in an uncoordinated manner. She produced the Hearthdale knife she had tucked away and slashed carefully at their necks. Two fell with bloodied throats and the other met the knife with his eye in a careless attempt to evade it.
And Aurae Keep was silent.
Ganis, with a blade still gripped by her unyielding hand, collapsed. She reached to one of the Scylds gasping for breath that would not come and dug her fangs into his neck, feasting on the dying man. The burning of her wounds lessened and part of her vitality returned, but the damage she had received was too much to recover from so quickly.
Ganis turned to lie on her back, surrounded by the four Scyld corpses, closed her eyes and spread her arms apart, relaxing all the muscles in her body. Her brief rest was interrupted as she heard the sound of boots quickly pacing in the courtyard.
She opened her eyes and fought the command of her body to remain limp, clumsily standing up. Her bones cracked as she moved, producing a sharp pain extending from her knee to the top of her spine, but she resisted.
Looking around, Ganis found a crossbow resting on the wall. It fell strangely, she thought. She pulled the bolt stuck in her thigh, growling at the pain, and loaded the crossbow. Her aim was always good, even in such challenging conditions, yet her trust in the weapon was not.
She stood by the window looking at the wall’s gate and saw the man running towards the exit. He was almost there, yet it was still a distance which allowed Ganis ample time to shoot him. A bolt flew and dropped the man, his extended hand barely touching the gate.
Ganis collapsed.
5
Loud footsteps woke Ganis up. She quickly leaped to her feet and grabbed at the first weapon within her reach, it was the Hearthdale knife dug into the Scyld’s eye. Looking at the weapon revealed its condition - it has been dulled beyond its usefulness - and convinced Ganis to discard it. A mace would serve as a better substitute.
“Are you certain she is still here?” a familiar voice said. King Ragnar!
“I cannot say for certain,” another responded. It was an unnaturally coarse voice - that of a Warden hound.
Ganis dropped her mace and forced herself to straighten, in spite of the pain shooting up her spine. Then King Ragnar revealed himself, bowing down to enter through the doorway. “Excelsis Dignus!” King Ragnar knelt.
“Please arise, King Ragnar. It isn’t fitting for a king to bow as often.” She saw a yellow-eyed companion appear beside him. “Yellow-Eyes?”
The hound lowered his head. “It is I, Ninth.”
The hound’s manner revealed to Ganis that it was the pup Monolos had rescued when they first came to Utyirth. Even if the color of his brown fur and yellow eyes were slightly changed, Ganis would still be
able to recognize him. It was something about the way he smelled and moved that spoke to her, not his colors.
“Excelsis Dignus.” King Ragnar paused for a moment, reflectively, and said, “Razul, I have something for you.” He removed a long piece of grey cloth strapped on his back and unwound the ropes tying it.
“Eos!” Ganis said. “Hephaestion retrieved it?” She reached for the blade, brushing it gently with two fingers once. It felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders and her breath returned after a long time of being suppressed. She has never been as relieved.
“Actually it was Ninazu. He insisted to safeguard it himself until your return.”
“Thank you, King Ragnar.”
“Razul, the Highborn were lost without you. We did follow your teaching and found strength in unity, as you promised we would. Many of us, myself included, hoped that you would once again consider being our Excelsis Dignus,” King Ragnar said with unwavering voice and tone.
She took a deep breath, feeling the air filling her lungs entirely and washing away a portion of her pain. “The Highborn proved to me that they are worthy and loyal enough. You may call me Excelsis Dignus, if you wish. Take me back to Scandur to make the announcement.”
King Ragnar’s face revealed a slight touch of a smile, the first of such expression Ganis had ever seen on his stone-like face.
6
New villages surrounding the humble keep of Scandur had been erected during Ganis’ banishment, yet Scandur itself seemed to remain unchanged from a distance. It has been sixteen seasons. They really did it, Ganis thought.
King Ragnar led his Excelsis Dignus proudly as her steed followed his through the dirt paths connecting the villages. Different clusters of tents and huts were scattered around Scandur Keep, each slightly different yet all bearing a common element.
When the villagers had arrived, Yellow-Eyes explained to Ganis, they congregated among their own, and thus the different clusters were formed. The social distance did not reflect the sentiment.
“Excelsis Dignus,” the villagers cried, alerting their neighbors of Ganis’ arrival. Highborn and mid-villager alike raced to the main path leading to the keep. They stood side by side, clad in finer clothes than she remembered, greeting her and bowing whenever she passed by them.
“Why do they greet me so?” Ganis asked of Yellow-Eyes.
He looked up, stretching his neck to compensate for the height of the horse, and said, “For what you have done to them, Ninth.”
“And what would that be?”
Yellow-Eyes dropped his head and continued to trot beside her in his canine way. “You will see for yourself shortly. It is a difficult thing to explain.”
The long road led them into the gates of Scandur, where Ganis saw the change she had promised long ago to the Highborn about her proposed way of life. The city of Scandur was full of life. Many tightly-packed shops, some more permanent than others, had been constructed, mostly in the fashion of the Midlanders.
Cobblestones paved the roads beyond the gates, a foreign invention to the Scands, and many flags fell from many shops, signaling the new trades that were introduced to the Highborn by the Midlanders.
Interrupting Ganis’ contemplation, King Ragnar said, “We have done as you asked, Excelsis Dignus. The Midlanders brought new life to Scandur. Yet not all of them agreed to join forces.”
“I know, King Ragnar. I have seen the destruction of Hearthdale.” She took a long moment of silence. “Men, women and children were all killed indiscriminately. They must be avenged.” Ganis guided her horse to pace next to King Ragnar’s. “Was there no way to protect them?”
“Captain Hephaestion teaches us that there is always a solution to every problem, but we have failed on many accounts in defending the Midland villages. Our army was not large enough to do so.”
“Not large enough to attack the Scylds? I have seen enough able people gathered here to make a sizable force to march on Scyldur.”
“An offence is different, Hephaestion says.” King Ragnar frowned and shook his head. “I do not understand it, Excelsis Dignus.”
“I must speak to Hephaestion.” There were many questions Ganis wanted to ask, questions King Ragnar, she knew, would not be able to answer. She wondered how much Hephaestion had kept from the Highborn, and how much he revealed. It was not prudent for her to speak her mind yet.
King Ragnar nodded. “We will arrive shortly.”
Scandur Keep remained humble - a reminder to the Highborn of how far they developed with the aid of the Midlanders - and nothing was changed if deemed impractical. The throne remained as it was, and so were the long tables and chairs in the keep’s hall. Yet one addition which stood out was the large banner of a dawning sun which hung behind the throne.
“Ganis,” Hephaestion said. He appeared from behind the throne which covered him entirely until he stepped out. The same armor Thalia had crafted clothed him, but he carried no weapons. “I have had many sleepless nights since we parted.”
“You were right.” Ganis dropped her hand on Eos. It was a soothing feeling to know he was with her, even if he had not yet spoken since their reunion. “Pertinax would have not wanted us to come back to him.”
The words struck Hephaestion dumb, dazing him for a moment. “Strange. I was about to say the same about not leaving him behind.”
Ganis approached him, leaving King Ragnar standing behind her idly, and put her hand on Hephaestion’s shoulder. He was taller than her making the gesture feel unnatural to Ganis, but she kept it nonetheless. “For the sake of the people of Utyirth and Nosgard it was necessary for at least one of us to escape Scyldur. I believe your escape was the better choice for the mission.”
“You forget one thing, Ganis. Our Ona is incomplete without you. The others agree with me.”
The words nearly brought tears to Ganis’ eyes, a sentiment she was hesitant to show to the Highborn. She forced a deep breath to calm her thoughts and said, “And neither am I without you. Hephaestion, I have much that needs to be discussed. How long will it take to assemble the Ona?”
“Monolos is away, and the rest can be summoned immediately. I will see to the preparations at once. We will convene in the quarters above shortly.”
7
During Ganis’ absence Ninazu had prepared a lab in one of the rooms designated for the Parthans on the second tier of Scandur Keep. The laboratory had all the necessities for him to study the different herbs of Utyirth and concoct his potions, an effort that consumed all his time since Ganis’ separation.
“I heard that you are spending far too much time in here,” Ganis said. She stood leaning by the door while Ninazu was busy crushing some dried leaves.
He looked back, dark hair and beard even thicker than the last time Ganis saw him - he had braided his beard and hair together to form a single thick braid tucked in his tunic – and said, “On the contrary, I have not been spending enough time in here.” Ganis was certain that a smile was hidden beneath his beard.
“I do owe you gratitude for bringing Eos back.”
“I should have brought two of our Ona back, not just one.”
Ganis dropped her hand on Eos’ hilt, thinking, Even they think of you as one of the Ona.
“There is something I made for you.” Ninazu fiddled with some potions he had stacked atop one another, layers of corked glass vials supporting a wooden plank with more layers of corked glass vials supporting yet another wooden plank as such. “The potion you asked of me.” He plucked a vial from amidst the others, one half-filled with black dust, and offered it to Ganis.
She took the vial and eyed it curiously. “What is this?”
“It’s what you asked of me, the blood potion.”
“How long did it take you?”
“Many seasons, and I still haven’t perfected it.” He brushed his hand through his beard, stopping at where the braids started, and said, “It was your request, a request I couldn’t abandon.”
“Ninazu, I thi
nk I understand what it means to be a part of the Ona now—”
“Ganis, is that you?” Thalia said. She ran to Ganis and embraced her tightly. “What took you so long?” she said still holding her.
“It seemed like a pleasant release from all this work.” Ganis pushed Thalia away, gently. “I apologize, but I have lost your gift.”
“Gift?”
“Aye, the set of leather equipment you made for me.”
Thalia laughed. “That silly thing? It was terrible anyway. I made a new set for you, just for when you would return.”
The others arrived, Sigurd entered first, clad in padded cloth, and the twins followed, brushing Ganis’ shoulder gently, and Eirene came in third, saying a short prayer and kissing Ganis’ forehead. They all stood quiet, serenely thankful for their companion’s return, and waited for Hephaestion to arrive a few moments behind them.
“Now,” Hephaestion said, “Tell us of what happened.”
Ninazu offered Ganis a seat, one she gladly took, and she started telling her tale, focusing on the important details. “I faced Naa’tas in Scyldur…”
When she started telling them of Kismet and the Hands of Fate the Parthans listened intently, wondering when the Third Hand of Fate, Death, would appear to them and what he would say.
It was an unsettling thought Eirene deemed herself fit to address. She concluded by saying, “Say what you will of Fate and her Three Hands, but Pax is the embodiment of peace and he will not let his agents suffer from any other end not pertaining his act.”
Eirene’s explanation did not settle well with Ganis, but it has become easier for her to accept their faith. After all, she herself would not have survived if she had no faith in Asclepius’ teachings. Perhaps, she thought, that was my faith.
Then she was done, and Hephaestion assumed the storey-telling role of their journey during Ganis’ separation. He started walking back and forth as he spoke. “The Scands and the Midlanders struck an uneasy alliance which grew stronger with time. Nevertheless, the Highborn had their own conditions for their approval, one we advised them to impose.
“An army needed to be raised from among both the Midlanders and the Highborn, and the Midlanders had no intention of doing so. The agreement between both peoples was that one of two able men would be trained in combat under Sigurd’s direction.
“The new corps is called the Enkashar, and they have just been armed and trained sufficiently to have them fight in a real battle. Before this day, Ganis, there was no notable Midland-Highborn army, just a few fighters with no unified spirit.”
Ganis smiled, a gesture she forced beyond its natural extent. “Many of the villagers will die in battle. The training will help them, but it does not make them soldiers. Still, I believe it is better for them to fight for a chance to earn their freedom from fear than to live by the mercy of the Scylds.
“And now, after Initium Keep, the army has much higher chances to succeed against the Scylds than they had before.”
“Remember,” Hephaestion said - he had produced a comb during Ganis’ speech and combed his hair neat, reminding Ganis of Pertinax - “the Scylds might have an army, but they do not have a professional army like those of Nosgard. The Highborn-Enkashar force will be more than a match for them, even without the resistance from within.
“In spite of our involvement, Ganis, our concern remains to eliminate the threat of Naa’tas. Helping the citizens of Utyirth just happens to require the same actions.”
“Naa’tas will be difficult to kill,” Thalia said. She held her knife and brushed her finger on its tip, examining its sharpness. “If he overpowered Ganis so easily, none of us, save perhaps for Sigurd, would be able to stand against him alone.”
“That’s why the Ona is so important,” Ganis said. “Alone we have no chance, but united the scales shift to our favor. The natives can’t succeed without our aid, and we can’t without theirs. It’s a symbiotic relationship we share.”
Hephaestion stopped, standing by the sole window in Ninazu’s workshop, a space he had no intention of convening in, and said, “We must inform Monolos of the development in our situation. The Watcher hounds have certainly told him about your escape, but they know nothing about what you just shared.”
“Then I will seek him out at once,” Ganis said. “I would relish the opportunity to do so.”
“An opportunity you seek is one you deserve,” Hephaestion said - it was a Parthan proverb he had not used long enough for him to nearly forget it. “Monolos is within the forest to the southwest. Reach the border and the Watcher hounds will find you and lead you to him.”
“I’ll travel at first light, but for now I must rest.” Ganis took a deep breath and stood.