– “You play well, fatty,” he praised Shinak – Well done. Clever and lucky. But… Let’s get down to business. I want to practice fencing, and I want you to keep me company. There’s a spare sword, I’ll give in. Better an adversary like you than no adversary at all,” he put the blade to his companion’s throat.
– Put the iron away, Mit,” the fat man smiled slyly. Can’t you see I’m thinking? – And he continued to study the “battlefield” with concentration.
– Pity. Well, you go on with your salts… I’ll be going.
– Don’t hurt Sheena,” Laira threatened playfully. – Or I’ll show you where the Baat’s wintering.
– Of course you will. Good luck with the war. As far as I’m concerned, it’s easier to become emperor than to beat Viran.
And the boy walked away. The breeze fluttered his auburn curls, and the clouds of the sky reflected on the blade of his sword, perfectly smooth and polished to a high gloss.
Not far away, in the shade of a sprawling tree, Gan was dozing. Stretching to his full height, with his fist under his head, he breathed deeply and evenly. His right hand held the hilt of his battleaxe. His eyes were closed, his face a serene smile. The boy was chewing on a straw, the glare of the sun playing on his bald head. The guy didn’t seem quite human, more like a giant caveman, a descendant of fairy tales. Except his skin wasn’t green, it was the usual color. However, the gentle smile and dreamy expression on his face were trustworthy – the “ogre” seemed kind. Or was he like that only when he was full?
– Hey there, big fella,” Mithai approached. – Shall we practice? Your axe is mighty, of course. But speed and agility win out, don’t they? We shall try.
– Fuck off, my friend,” Gan said, still smiling as he kept his eyes closed. – You’d better do Sahu, he’s all melancholy now…
Sauri was indeed melancholy, sitting on a sack of straw, dreamily contemplating the landscape. The view from the hill was wonderful – there was plenty to contemplate. The sun’s rays pierced through the soft spring mist and seemed to enliven the verdant pastures where flocks of sheep grazed on carpets of lush grass. Far above the horizon towered the snow-covered peaks of the Grey Mountains… Beautiful! From time to time Sahu made notes on a sheet of old paper – evidently he was creating poetry. He wore a wreath of dandelions on his head, and his face was both dreamy and focused. Not a good distraction, and not much of an adversary either. A poet.
That left Matah. A big, quiet fellow, he was clearly wary now. He was sipping tea, perched on a mossy fallen log, but his green eyes were twinkling and gleaming strangely. Occasionally, Matah glanced at the strange smoke rising on the horizon – and scratched the back of his head.
– Shall we fight? – Mithai suggested.
– Wait. I have a bad feeling…
The trumpet roared from the top of the local Sacred Tower. There was still plenty of time before sunset, and everyone realized that the roar was not a call to prayer. And it did not sound as usual, but shrill and piercing. The Alarm!
Soon the Outsiders arrived at the south gate. There weren’t too many of them, and they were all visibly exhausted. Nevertheless, their savage warlike appearance inspired a superstitious terror in the Cusunian peasants. Clad only in bone beads and loincloths, tall, muscular, and tattooed orange skin, they appeared as if from another world. Their long white hair was braided into multiple braids, their ears lengthened with heavy earrings. Their faces have no beards or moustaches – but they are tougher than any bearded man’s face… Their bushy eyebrows are painted black, and there is a sullenness in their eyes – but also courage. Baaths! Mercenaries from a distant, jungle-filled tropical land, which here in the north of the Empire was almost a fairy tale, a horrible fairy tale, the kind of fiction that teens scare each other at night. And now this TALE became reality, came to the home and knocked on the door.
At first, though, the Ba’aths were courteous. Their commander (or should I say Chief?) said that the detachment needed rest, the mules were shaky, the warriors were hungry and weary from the alien climate. Recently, the “true chosen one of Heaven,” the “future emperor,” Shanar, had come to the North. With a powerful army, of course. Prince Pai accepted the challenge – and the North has turned into an arena of fierce battles. Shanar is a descendant of the Baath chieftain Alligator, and he has many Baath mercenaries in his army. They all need food – and, preferably, drink and lodging. Shanar allowed the mercenaries to get it all for themselves.
The chief promised the villagers that his men would not ravage the village if they were well fed and drunk. “We don’t want to fight. We are very tired. We are not well in your country, the weather is not right. Give us what we ask and we won’t hurt you. If you agree, I’ll give you my brother as a hostage. He’s a shaman. I’m very fond of him. I’ll give him to you while we eat and drink. When we go on our way, I’ll ask you to bring him back. We don’t want to fight. Though we’re not afraid.”
The peasants were in council – arguing until they were hoarse. Clan elders and self-defense commanders declared that they had to surrender. But dervish Karamas urged a fight to the last. “Are we pious kuzuns going to feed the vile wicked!” And so confident and assertive was he – that he won the argument.
All that happened after that Lyra tried for a long time to forget. But unsuccessfully. Blood, fire, corpses, guttural screams, orange faces twisted in anger, screams of horror… At the very beginning of the battle, the apt peasant had fired an arrow from his crossbow and struck down the Chief’s brother. That same “beloved shaman”, who was not helped by the most powerful talismans and bodyguards… The Chief roared like a storm, and the rage of the savages knew no bounds. Children were kicked, old men and women were cut down. Less than a hundred villagers out of a thousand were left alive, and even they were almost all beaten and dishonored. The savages created a real pogrom, ruined and looted everything, and burned what they could not carry away. Even the gardens were cut down.
***
In the massacre, all of Lirina’s kin died. Her father, clutching a kitchen knife, tried to protect his younger daughters. “Get out, scum, or I’ll fight to the last man!” – he shouted. But the baats only laughed angrily. One of them threw a tomahawk – and cracked Lyra’s father’s skull open. Blood splattered the patterned carpet, the carved table, and the old “war” books from which the poor peasant had drawn inspiration…
Lyra herself had managed to survive, though she had suffered several wounds – and there were deep marks in her soul. In keeping with Nordic tradition, everyone who could hold a gun participated in the defense of the village: the elderly, women, the sick, and teenagers. Lyra fought alongside her friends-but the forces were unequal. The village and its inhabitants were destroyed. The next day, the few survivors began to band together… And Lyra found her friends again – wounded but alive.
Chapter 2: The Ghost Mistress
Sitting on the ashes, a weeping Laira pondered over lofty matters… For the first time in her life! She had done this before, but usually in jest, to keep her entertained. Now her thoughts were burning her from within. “Why do people fight? Why do they kill each other? My father used to tell me as if it were very beautiful and heroic and interesting. And where is he now? But… Isn’t it Destiny? Father! Eh, Father… You wanted me to grow up to be a warrior. I will. But I will fight for one purpose, to end the wars once and for all. I will seize power in the Capital, unify the Empire, and personally kill all the troublemakers who call for civil strife. And I will build a great wall along the borders so that foreigners cannot attack. No, I would rather conquer the whole world and annihilate the borders! There will only be one Cusuni Empire. The peoples cannot live in peace, for they are ruled by men. It’s time to put an end to that! After me, my direct descendants in the female line –