The Tale of the White Leopard - low fantasy (Chapter XVI)

[Admiral Van Tromp]

by Admiral Van Tromp



***

Foreword

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Greetings and welcome. I'd like to briefly explain the context behind this upload.

This is an experiment. I have been working on a low fantasy world for six years and it's still not as developed as I want it to be before I can write comfortably about it. As I tend to have ideas for it much faster when I'm writing small stories set in it, I thought I could share one of them here. It's the backstory of a fairly important character in a book series I'd like to write in the future (if this is against forum rules in any way, please tell me).
My chapters are usually bigger, but for ease of reading and to help me keep a somewhat regular posting schedule, I'll try to keep them below the two thousand word mark. Some more complex parts will probably have to go over it, I'm afraid.

As a final disclaimer, I'd like to mention that this is my first "serious" work in English, so expect some mistakes and feel free to point out the gravest.

Glossary: Post 3 | Book I: Posts 1-2 | Book II: Posts 35-36 | Map of Kirdania: Post 28

Chapter I

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“Today you will all be continuing your work on archaic Haturite poetry” said the master. “We will be moving on to the works of Nebilessur, whose epic and lyric works are still sung in the great halls of Hatur.”

Silander was very fond of Haturite literature. It was filled with tales of men battling against beast; allegories to the fight between civilization and nature or the eternal struggle of order against chaos. The Haturite script was also a pleasure to behold. The ancient cuneiform hieroglyphs in steles had evolved to fine, beautiful characters that complimented the colourful illuminated borders that framed the original texts. Brave heroes rode in deserts and oasis, fighting tigers and chimeras and longing for the embrace of the seductive damsels that awaited them on white and gold castles.

The master dictated the original text and the sixteen students sketched the words with charcoal in cheap leftover strips of papyrus. They were all ten years old. Silander was the youngest, still in his ninth year. After the quick scribbling of the master’s words, the children grabbed finer pieces of edissite papyrus and started copying with greater finesse.

The poem was about the ancient king Uruzar, who slayed the great lion of Iskat, saving a silver swan from its vicious claws. The bird was an aspect of Endali, the goddess of love, rivers and crops. In gratitude, she offered him her half-divine daughter in marriage and, together, they founded the great city of Uruzarhad. Nebilessur dedicated the poem to Sulad Xardes, lord of the city in his days.

The master walked around the small divans where the pupils sat and exanimated their work. The Latrapar Royal School of Scribes was a prestigious institution, whose students were employed in courts near and far. As such, the level of rigour demanded was very high and future scribes were trained since they were three years old. First they learned Kirdanian, the local language, then Haturite, Efarid and Arconian, the most used diplomatic languages in the region. After they reached the age of fiteen, they were separated into Western and Eastern studies. The first group would deal with Palatian, Daradalian and Iolterian and the second would master the complex languages of the Seng dominions.
The school trained the sons of traders, scribes and low tier nobles. Silander’s father owned a small fleet with which he traded the salt he bought at home, in Latrapar, for red incense in Harashur. He had an older brother who would inherit most of the small fortune his family held. The path of the scribe was chosen as Silander’s breadwinner.

“You need to work on the vowels, Silander.” The master said. “They aren’t good enough, you can’t distinguish between the open and closed “a”, see?” The old man had a tender but wise and respectable voice. It suited his joyous rugged face.
“Yes master.” Silander replied. He then looked towards his friend, Rama, that sat beside him. He wasn’t the worst in the class, but he wasn’t the best either. He had no problems with foreign speech, but his characters were shaky and most of the times unreadable. His father was an impoverished rare bird trader, and Silander knew that if he failed, the poor man would have paid most of what he owned for nothing.

The master gave a long and disappointed lecture to Rama, as the others drew along, in silence. Through the big and decorated windows of the white-blue hall in which they sat, they could see the afternoon advancing as light grew dimmer and shadows longer. The lesson ended when the sun was already visibly descending in the direction of the sea.

“My father will kill me if I don’t pass this year…” said Rama with a desperate look on his face. They walked down the narrow streets that led towards the port and Silander’s house. The monsoon would start in a month, and big flocks of birds flew in from the west, as the first stormy clouds formed over the ocean. Latrapar rose on an island in the lower Kochtra River and the startled creatures soared between the hills of the delta, escaping a raging sea that couldn’t be seen from the city.

As he looked at a couple of sea crows enjoying the warm sun over the roofs, Silander comforted his friend. “You’ll keep going to my house after the classes. My mother keeps saying that Dnash blesses those who help the needy, and I like having you around.”

“I don’t know how I can repay you, Silander…” said Rama. “My father says he dines before I get home, but I know that’s just an excuse to only feed me and my mother. He can’t afford a bowl of rice for himself.”
“Well, if you learn to write in decent Haturite…” said Silander. “I really like those parrots from the far West that your father bought from the Palatians.”

They both laughed and raced to Silander’s house, smiling and singing on the way. They were children with children’s worries. They couldn’t imagine that, in the harbour, the first signs of an age of sorrow and pain were appearing. The king of Latrapar was gathering his war fleet. As galleys entered the harbour every day, arming their decks and supplying their holds, the city got ready for war.

Chapter II

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Two days later, Silander’s father, Nawal, took him to a feast at the house of one of his partners. It was in a slope near the river, and the luxurious dinner was served in a big terrace overlooking the calm waters. Grey thoughts of war filled the minds of the guests. They were all merchants, worried about the incoming war.

The host was called Ulessad. He was of the Butra people. They came from a faraway land in the north and lived separately from the rest of the city in opulent mansions. Their full pockets came from connections in every port, city and town in the region and a huge trading network they maintained with each other and their homeland. Ulessad had bought the monopoly of salt in Latrapar from the king and gotten rich by selling it to distant markets. When he became old and tired of managing the shipping, he started selling the salt to other local traders. Silander’s father was one of them.

The only occasion in which Butras received outsiders was when they wished to conduct business. They couldn’t be blamed for their shyness. Hated and envied everywhere, they were persecuted and forbidden to enter in many a kingdom. Most sovereigns only let them establish themselves in their domains because of their wealth. Should their trade empire fall, they’d be expelled from most realms like mongrels.

“A toast to good winds and fair seas!” shouted one of the guests as he raised his cup. Cheers were heard all around. The merchants and their families were spread through the terrace in small divans surrounding low tables. They dined on spicy buffalo accompanied with a colourful array of vegetables and hot green tea. The men drank rice liquor. Silander sat next to his brother, Gahstra, and his mother, Elli. Nawal was away, talking with one of his partners. When he came back, his skin was pale and his eyes filled worry.

“Father… What’s going on?” asked Gashtra.

“We have a big problem.” said Nawal. “The Palatian East Empire Company made a proposition to Ulessad. They want him to sell the whole salt monopoly to them. They wish to ship away his whole stock before the war begins! The bastard wants us to cover the company’s offer or he’ll sign the deal with them tomorrow.”

“Why do the palatians want to sell the whole stock before the war begins?” asked Gashtra. “Palas has nothing to do with it. They’ll be free to sail the salt out of here whenever they want.”

“They demanded compensation from the king when he cut their saltpetre supply because of the war preparations.” said Nawal. “He told them to come to Ulessad and ask for his salt with his blessing. They also own one third of his salt as it is… It would be a bad investment if they lost it. They must be afraid of the city being blockaded… or sacked.”

“Sacked?” Elli gasped. “Should we be afraid of that?”

“We should, unfortunately” said Fetra, a friend of Nawal that was sitting at the same table with his own family.

Silander grabbed his mother’s arm. He wasn´t really understanding the conversation until that moment. The war was all everyone talked about in the last few days, and he was becoming really frightened. Fetra’s own daughters hugged their mother at their father’s words.

“Come on Fetra, don’t scare the children.” said Nawal. “We are very far from being attacked and sacked.”

“Are we?” Fetra was known for his pessimism, which worsened after he drank. “Kashan is a rich city. They are hiring thousands of mercenaries and ships as we speak. The king wants to meet them at sea before the monsoon makes it impossible to sail north. If our fleet is defeated, we’ll be almost defenceless and the Kashanites can sail south towards Latrapar itself, even during the worst part of the season.”

“The Prince of Vydayar is the king’s cousin.” said a young trader sitting nearby “He will come to our aid if we are in need!”

Men in other tables heard the commotion and a passionate debate begun. The women and children were excused and invited to follow Ulessad’s wife to an interior garden for refreshments. Silander was happy to leave the older men to their debate. Some of his colleagues at the scribe school were excited that the kingdom was sailing to battle. He was just afraid and lost in adult conversations.

He was left with the other children by his mother. They played cheerfully in a big balcony, watched closely by Ulessad’s servants. Silander didn’t enjoy the songs, games and toys of the other kids, deeming them too childish for a scribe’s apprentice. His attention was turned to a girl that sat alone in a corner.

“Hello” said Silander. “Can I ask why you are alone?”

“They are little babies…” answered the girl. “Look at them all, running around like crazy dogs!”

“You’re right.” Silander chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“Dali.” she answered, with a smile.

“Pretty name. I’m Silander.”

“Do you want me to show you a secret, Silander?”

“Sure!”

“Good. The other kids and the servants can’t know about it, though… We’ll have to wait. It won’t be long before they are distracted.”

A few moments later, a boy fell and blamed it on one of the others. Soon, a small fight broke out. The servants rushed to solve the issue while Silander and his new friend took advantage of the distraction. They sneaked away through a corridor with red and gold walls. They stopped when they came across a window with a thick parapet. Dali climbed on it and looked at the stars outside for a moment.

“What are you doing?” Silander was scared of getting caught, or that she might fall.

“Don’t worry.” she said, while pulling a flute from a pocket in her vest. “This is my secret. Girls can’t play music, but my brother taught me behind my father’s back.”

She started playing a slow but cheerful song, her whole silhouette brightened by moonlight. Silander listened speechless, forgetting his worries about being caught and the war. He was hearing hope in form of music.

“What do you think?” she asked after finishing.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Silander said.

“Thank you.” Dali climbed down and kissed Silander in the cheek before grabbing him by the hand and leading him back to the other kids.

His heart was warm and at peace when they got to the balcony. The fight had been solved a while ago, and everyone was running around peacefully again. Outside, the torches held by the hundreds of men preparing the fleet could be seen.

Chapter III

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Before long, the ships raised anchor. The whole city went to the docks to say their farewells. Most of the soldiers and sailors were mercenaries, peasants or fishermen and Silander’s family knew none of them. However, Gahstra was a close friend of the first mate of a big war galley, and he took Silander and their mother to watch the fleet sail west through the delta.

Nawal stayed home. He was devastated. Not being able to cover the Palatian offer, he and most of the other salt traders were out of their business. To make matters worse, one of his ships had been commandeered by the king. He was now looking for a buyer for the other two. They would be useless during wartime.

There were dozens of ships and Silander was left with a sense of wonder. Thousands of soldiers lined up in the decks, waving at their loved ones. Standards with the blue peacock of Latrapar flew high above the masts. In the biggest galley, covered with gilded adornments, king Shatar stood on the highest deck, surrounded by nobility, looking at his subjects with pride and confidence. His calm demeanour gave hope to Silander. The king must´ve known what he was doing.

“Truvna protect them.” whispered Elli.

Gahstra looked toward his mother and saw her troubled expression. “Don’t worry mother.” he said. “Everything will be alright. Kashan pulled us into war, the king must make them pay. After he destroys them, we’ll be safe.”
“Will he destroy them?” Elli asked.

“Truvna willing, mother. Truvna willing.”

The fleet rowed its way between the thick jungles that covered the hills of the delta. Once the last ship disappeared into the fog that was rising in the west, the crowd dispersed and went about their regular lives. Despite the apparent normality, the shadow of doubt remained in every face.

Silander’s family returned home, but he went to Rama’s. They usually spent their free afternoons practicing Haturite in an orchard that belonged to Rama’s grandfather. The old farmer liked having the children around while he tended to his apricot trees. Dali stopped by sometimes, after Rama’s grandfather agreed on keeping her musical secret. Her older brother would go meet his sweetheart and left her with Silander and Rama.

The girl would play the flute while they studied the round and thin characters. Sometimes, they talked about their families’ problems. The misfortunes of Rama’s father were worsening with the war. Nobody had money for rare birds when the very food they ate was at stake. His father in-law, the owner of the orchard, had no idea of the troubles. Dali was the daughter of a ship-owner who had four small fishing boats that scoured the delta for the highly sought-after Kochtra crabs. Luckily, his dinghies were too small to be commandeered and the demand for the crabs hadn’t declined with the war. However, like Silander’s father, he had lost his part of the salt monopoly in Ulessad’s deal with the Palatians.

“If I was the queen, there would be no wars.” said Dali one day.

“It isn’t that simple.” Silander said. “Everyone is having a hard time with the war. If it wasn’t needed, do you think we’d go through such trouble?”

“Whatever, I don’t understand a thing when I hear my father talk about it.”

They all shrugged their shoulders and forgot about it. The music of Dali’s flute and the rapidly improving Haturite of Rama filled them with joy. They decided to never talk about the war again. There, under the apricot trees, they would be happy and forget about the grown-ups’ troubles.

***

One night, Silander’s father left to dine at Fetra’s and wasn’t home by the time Elli put her younger son to bed. Silander woke up with the front door closing. He heard his father climb the stairs and enter his room. Silander had never done such a thing, but these troubling times impelled him to do it: he got up, left his room and lay his ear against the door to eavesdrop.

“I don’t bring good news, my love.” Nawal said.

“Dnash help me, Nawal… What is it?”

“One of the king’s galleys appeared in the mouth of the river yesterday. It came from the north.”

“Why did they return alone... And so soon?”

“I don’t know. But one of the officers was seen riding to the palace… And this evening the Palatians started loading the company’s ships. Their ambassador and envoys sailed away earlier, at noon.”

“Why are they leaving?”

“I don’t know. But they’re not the only ones. Ulessad is loading valuables and furniture into his ships as we speak. He’s leaving during the night so that no one notices.”

“No, Nawal, I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. And we should do the same, my love.”

“Leave? But the children… Silander’s studies!”

“The war must be lost, Elli. Everyone who’s lucky enough to know what really happened and have a ship to flee is leaving. We don’t know what happened, but I still own two ships. We must escape the city. This will only get worse as the news spread.”

Silander was shivering with fear. He walked back to his room and sat in his bed motionless. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. He was frozen with terror. Running sounds were heard in the street. It was a dozen soldiers, part of the garrison left behind by the king. They were rushing down to a battery close by, carrying gunpowder barrels and munitions. The war was coming to Latrapar.

Chapter IV

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The rumours were spreading in the night, and Silander could overhear the voices and movement in the streets. He heard someone leaving his parents’ bedroom and pushing the door of his own. While he pretended he was asleep, his father fondled his hair and made sure the cotton blanket was covering him. Silander could feel the uneasiness in his hands.

“Don’t wake him up before I get back.” Nawall said to Elli in the corridor. “I don’t know how much sleep he’ll get in the coming days.”

“Don’t leave us Nawal!” Elli said, whimpering. “If anything happens to you, we’re doomed!”

“I’ll be back in a few hours for you. Don’t worry about it. Is Gashtra ready?”

“He’s getting dressed.” Said Elli. Silander heard his brother in the corridor shortly after and, before long, the front door closed. Despite everything, the sleepiness took the better of him, and he fell asleep for some time.

He woke up with the noise of rain outside. The monsoon was starting. There were other sounds: the subtle commotion he head before falling asleep was now the loud echo of chaos. He walked towards the window. The sun was rising shyly in the east and its dim light was blocked by the lead-coloured clouds of the monsoon. It was enough light to see what was happening a few blocks below, in the harbour.

A mob of thousands was screaming near the docks, trying to reach the anchored ships. Soldiers blocked the way with spears and shields, some shooting into the air to try and scatter the populace. Silander could see his father’s ships still untouched. Nawal hadn’t got past the guards. To the west, a few vessels had managed to leave, and struggled to sail through the delta amid the deluge. Some people were standing in the flat roofs of their houses, watching the grisly spectacle. Silander noticed some of them were turning east, towards the hill where the royal castle stood. He couldn’t see what was happening there from his window.

He left his room and saw his mother kneeling before an icon of Dnash next to her bed. Sneaking past, he reached the ladder that led to the roof. From it, he could see the docks more clearly. There were so many people that he thought the entire city was there, struggling to find a way out. He was wrong: amid the sound of the rain he heard gunshots coming from the castle. Raising his hand above his eyes to shield them from the water, he looked east. Another crowd of thousands was protesting at the royal residence’s doors, trying to get inside the walls. Uproar came from the harbour and Silander was mortified when he saw the reason.

The ships that managed to set sail were turning back. More than twenty galleys and sailboats of all sizes pushed each other in the delta canals, trying to get back to the city. Chaos ensued as their way was blocked by other vessels, still struggling to reach the mouth of the river. The confusion lasted for what felt like an eternity, but soon every prow was turned back to Latrapar. It wasn’t long before Elli appeared on the roof, rushing to cover him with a cloak.

“Silander!" she shouted. "Here you are. You will get sick! We have to go back inside!”

“Wait mother! Look!”

The first few returning ships were nearing the docks. The crews were in full disarray and mutiny, and many fled their ships as fast as they could. Some men jumped overboard where the water was shallow and tried their luck swimming to the shore. Many sailors got back to the city and laboured to make their way to the castle. Those that remained on board, turned their ships eastwards in an attempt to climb the river Kochtra. To their disgrace, the currents were stronger because of the rain and flooding upriver was bringing a wave of debris that blocked their escape.

A big, fat trading ship laid anchor orderly and the crew brought a number of passengers to the pier. It was Ulessad and his family. Usually, in times of crisis, the Butra were blamed for the misfortunes of others. That day was no exception, and Ulessad had worsened the suspicion by trying to escape before most people knew what was going on. The exhausted soldiers couldn’t hold the crowd anymore. Their line broke and a massacre ensued as the enraged mob viciously clobbered the guards together with Ulessad and his kin. Fury had just become the law of Latrapar.

The rainfall worsened, and Silander lost his view of the harbour just before his mother pulled him inside. Soon, like an earthquake, thousands of feet were heard outside the house. Everyone was running up the hills and toward the castle. With no escaping the city, the walls were the only hope for safety. Nawal came out of the crowd, followed by Gashtra.

“Come, Elli!” he yelled as he had the servants collect clothing and valuables. “The Kashanites are in the coast, we have to get behind the walls!”

“But the fleet? And the king?” Silander muttered.

“The king was captured and our fleet is in the bottom of the sea” said Nawal. “At least, that’s the rumour.”

“Come on, we need to leave.” yelled Gashtra. “Right now!”

Elli grabbed Silander’s hand while Nawal held the door for them. Outside, in the patio, their servants tried to stop thieves that were stealing everything in sight, including the family’s horses and camels, riding away with haste.

“Damn it!” Gashtra yelled, while raising his scimitar and running after one of the robbers. “May Truvna smite you!”

“Leave them!” said Nawal “We have no choice but to flee on foot. The horses wouldn’t help us in the middle of the crowd, anyway.”

The family crossed the front gate and dived into the stream of desperate fugitives. Silander looked back to his house one last time, before losing sight of it in the mob. Elli’s grip of his hand was strong and Gasthra was behind him, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him forward as gently as the hurry allowed. Silander couldn’t see anything but the back of his mother and the servants that tried to make way for the family. His feet struggled to keep up the pace and he could feel every beat of his heart as his lungs begged for air. Hundreds of screams filled the air, as people strived to get ahead, looked for lost loved ones and tried to protect their families and posessions.

Chapter V

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The climb was harsh and the streets were literal rivers of mud, torn apart by the rain and the stampeding mob. Silander knew that the escape was useless. He had seen the closed gates of the castle from his roof. Nevertheless, he kept hope that the king’s brother, left behind governing the city, had changed his mind and was allowing his subjects to enter. He could already see the red towers and walls, with rain water cascading down from the battlements and soaked blue peacock banners. Feeling the alien but welcome string of hope grow inside him, he threw his legs forward, strengthening the grip on his mother’s hand and silently praying to Truvna.

Between dawn and the afternoon, Latrapar had fallen into anarchy, debauchery and blasphemy. They passed by an artillery battery abandoned by its crew, just when the enemy fleet was hours away from striking the city. In most houses thieves, beggars and madmen combed every room for food, alcohol and valuable possessions. In a roof, the same one in which Silander had seen the sea crows when he was cheerily returning home with Rama in the last month, a naked man with a grimy long beard drunkenly danced with stolen icons of Dnash and Bepatra in his hands. Some tried locking themselves inside their houses instead of running, but the hordes of intruders made short work of their improvised defences. Cries for help and horrified shouts of agony were heard and a sense of doom filled the air. Silander, just like every other soul climbing the narrow streets, hoped that the high red walls would save him.

After a while, the mob suddenly slowed down until it stopped. Silander was crushed between Gashtra and Elli, as their servants closed in to protect the family. The desperate fugitives pushed them from behind and they struggled not to lose their balance. Before them was a wall of people that blocked every access to the plaza in front of the castle. They weren’t going anywhere unless the gates opened. That was until the first cannon shot made itself heard.

It was like a single thunder, yelling over the crowd and the rain. The world seemed to stop and a brief silence reigned.

However, even before the echo of that first shot died out, a heavy exchange of cannon fire erupted. Chaos ensued. Drunken in fear and despair, everyone started pushing in a different direction, trying to free themselves of the suffocating mob. Some tried to run back, away from the castle, to try and find shelter elsewhere. Others didn’t let the dream of the walls die and clashed against them. It wasn’t long before a generalized brawl begun. Silander could only see the family’s servants aiding his brother and father in keeping him and Elli safe in the middle of a soaked hell. Mud and water flew in all directions, soon mixed with the blood of those crushed by hundreds of feet. Silander tried to stay on his feet and held his mother’s hand, the only thread linking him to any kind of safety. She gripped him so hard he could feel his bones twisting under her strength.

Everything fell apart once a merchant’s retinue, on horseback, tried to forcibly make their way up to the castle gates. The crowd’s fury turned on them, as they struggled to charge their way up the hill, and soon there were unsheathed scimitars and gunfire. The rainfall got heavier by the minute and everything around Silander was a slippery mess.

Including his mother’s hand.

When one of the riders collided against Gashtra, he fell over his younger brother. Confused, Silander lost his grip on Elli and fell flat into the muddy floor. One of the servants stepped on him in the pandemonium, trying to help him up. Just as the boy got up, a horseman cut the servant down.
“Silander!” Elli cried, desperately trying to get a hold of him again. “Silander!” He was getting further and further away from her, pushed down the hill by the crowd. “Silander!” The shouts were now almost totally muffled and it didn’t take long for his mother’s voice to disappear in the middle of the choir of panic and agony.

He had no control over his movement, being pushed constantly by others. He found himself on the edge of a light slope, covered in mud all the way. Five people had already fallen down and struggled to get up in the bottom. Silander committed all the strength he could still gather to escape the precipice, to no avail. Soon, without really noticing at first, he was rolling down the slope, drowning in mud and bumping against rocks, trunks and roots. When he hit the bottom, he saw countless others sliding down. The fear of getting crushed below them sent an adrenaline rush that got him on his feet and running away.

Silander was now on an unknown street somewhere near one of the active batteries. The cannons made the ground shake when they fired with a deafening dry rumble. “Fire!” He could hear the officers shouting. “Keep the powder dry you idiot.” The enemy fleet was shooting back. Silander couldn’t see them with the tall buildings around him, but he could hear the gunfire and see the cannonballs flying around, aimed at the Latraparian position. They hit everywhere around him, sending bricks, wooden splinters and mud flying through the air. Some corpses already lay in the street, smashed by crumbled walls or torn apart by pieces of wood. People cried over their lost loved ones or destroyed houses, while others ran in every direction in search of shelter. He had to get out of there.

He fled east, towards the castle again, with a little shred of hope of at least reuniting with his family. When he reached a small plaza with a view of the harbour and the delta, he saw the whole spectacle. Shrouded in mist, he could see the muzzle flashes of the enemy guns. Clouds of rubble erupted all around the city where they hit and especially around the four batteries that tried to resist the Kashanite onslaught. Some Latraparian ships tried to resist and were firing at the invaders, only managing to get pelted with cannon balls themselves and sent to the slimy bottom of the Kochtra delta.

Silander kept running and, suddenly, found a familiar face. It was Rama, covered in mud just like him, crying over his father’s lifeless body. Besides their dead owner, dozens of birds screeched in terror, stuck in their cages while the sludge on the ground threatened to swallow them.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter VI

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The colourful birds flew up as fast as their wings allowed them. Silander opened every cage door and knelt next to Rama. Both remained quiet for a while, ignoring the scenery around them. Silander thought of his family and wondered if they had already suffered the same fate as Rama’s father. Suffering and pain were now clearly inevitable. Death, which always had been, seemed closer than ever.

He looked at Rama, who hadn’t taken his eyes of his father’s corpse. It was like he hadn’t even noticed Silander’s presence. The man lay with his eyes wide open to the sky and an open mouth. Big pieces of wood were buried in his chest and stomach, as a river of blood mixed with the rainwater and mud in the ground around him.

“I’m sorry.” said Silander. Rama didn’t reply. Had the sorrow left him mute?

“We need to look for safety.” Rama finally spoke.

“Where?” Silander asked. “The city will soon be overrun and the castle gates are closed.”

“It doesn’t matter where.” Rama said. “When I asked my father why the gods allowed bad things to happen, he always told me that they were testing us. If we were good and pious, we’d be rewarded in our next life.”

Silander recalled his mother’s own lessons on piety. The memories strangled his heart.

“This is too much pain for a test.” Rama continued. “I think we’re being punished. The whole city. What sins we must have committed before this incarnation…” He sighed with tears in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out what this is. We don’t give up and try to overcome it.”

Rama closed his father’s eyes and mouth. After a whispered prayer, he stood up and reached out to Silander.

“Let’s go.” Rama said.

“Which way?” Silander said as he arose.

All around howls of panic filled the air, muffled only by cannon fire and heavy rain. Buildings collapsed and thieves and murderers ran wild as desperate crowds fought between themselves for illusions of shelter. Silander looked at the castle and saw the roof of the scribe school inside. Only then did he remember.

“The school!” he said. “The gates are closed, but there’s that old gutter in the monastery gardens!”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Rama said “The monastery will be filled with plunderers… But yes, it’s our only chance.”

They started running upwards. The monastery was in the bottom of the hill where the castle stood, right next to its steepest slope. An intricate and lush garden covered the incline. At its top, where the castle walls adjacent to the school rose, there was an old gutter that ran under them. It was unused and supposedly closed off, but one of Silander’s classmates had found it and managed to push the weak old bricks to open a passage. He revealed it to a few of his colleagues, and sometimes they went to the other side and pranked the oblivious monks. That was three or four years ago and Silander prayed that it was still open and passable.

“They are coming ashore!” someone shouted. Other similar cries followed, and a general uproar was heard. Doom was approaching. Silander looked back, at the delta. The enemy galleys were now visible. He could see the Kashanite red rider in some of the sails, but most of them were blank or boasted the personal emblems of mercenaries and corsairs. A few were captured from the king’s fleet. They had defaced peacocks over the linen. From the ships, rowing through the strong monsoon current, hundreds of skiffs filled with dark figures emerged.

“We need to hurry, Rama!” They rushed toward the monastery and were confronted with a massacre. The monks tried to defend themselves with wooden staffs and ceremonial swords and spears, as hordes of godless robbers cut them down without mercy. The building was protected by a wall as high as two men but it was breeched in at least four places and the wooden gate had been broken down. Silander and Rama ran towards one of the breeches, seemingly unprotected and far from the mains group of raiders.

They climbed a small pile of bricks and entered the monastery gardens. The temple of Truvna and the monk’s quarters stood on their right and they chose a path that led leftwards, up through the sacred grove. The plunderers were too busy hammering the stone bases of golden statues to pay them any mind, and the ill-fated monks mostly tried to protect the main temple near the entrance. The path was like a labyrinth, twisting and turning from and towards small altars to the many gods.

“I have no idea where we’re going.” said Rama, as they passed by a shrine to Dnash.

“As long as we’re climbing there can be no mistake.” Silander ensured.

With the monsoon pouring down and the darkness descending as the afternoon reached its end, they could see little ahead of them. The trees were tall with lush canopies and the castle walls themselves were covered by them from where they stood. Soon, they were in an area where no thief seemed to have passed until then. The golden statues lay intact on their shrines and, as Silander passed through the inquisitive glaze of Vidjar, he recalled Rama’s words. Were they being tested or punished? The walls suddenly appeared before them. Now it was just a question of finding the gutter.

“Do you remember where it was?” Silander asked Rama. “I seem to recall a small fountain with a stone statue of Dnash.”

“It must be to the right.” wagered Rama. “We must be quiet.” he pointed up. Above them the castle garrison ran around on the ramparts, preparing to defend their stronghold. Silander and Rama were shielded from them by a line of trees that, through decades of peace, were allowed to grow just below to the walls.

A clearing appeared below them. In it stood a fountain with a stone statue of Dnash. If Silander’s memory didn’t betray him, they were close.

“There it is!” Rama said, as he tapped Silander’s shoulder.

The gutter was almost like he remembered. It had a lot more moss and a few more bricks had been removed. The rain was flooding it! They’d be able to pass just barely. After looking at each other in the eye and exchanging encouraging nods, Rama took the initiative and crawled inside. Silander followed him.

As he crawled his way under the wall, Silander lifted a pain that he had been carrying in his chest since they started their run to the monastery. He had thought that, if he had remembered that the passage existed when he was still with his parents, he could have led them to safety. It was now clear to him that it was impossible. The gutter was barely big enough for him to fit trough. His mother, father and brother would never fit inside. He thought of them, and how they would be now lost among the hopeless crowd, easy pickings for the Kashanties that must have already landed.

He also thought of Dali. The picture of her silhouette, sitting on the window while playing her flute with the stars behind her, was one of the few reasons he kept going. She had to be alive, just like his family. If he would never see them again, Rama’s earlier bid was right: they were being punished.

Chapter VII

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Silander opened his eyes and, like the day before, he didn’t know where he was. The ceiling was not his house’s. The room was dark, the bed didn’t feel like his own and he couldn’t hear the birds in the trees outside the window. Where was he? Soon, it all came to him, and his heart suffocated. The mud, the blood, the cannon fire. It all plagued him during the night in his dreams. Sometimes he’d see the lions and chimeras from the ancient Haturite poetry.

Unlike the epics, the beasts weren’t emblems of nature’s chaos being beaten by men, the champions of order. The roles were reversed. Silander saw them mauling and devouring the Kashanite invaders or the guards that kept the hopeless people out of the castle. Order, built by man in the image of divinity, was crumbling around him. Nature itself stepped in to defend the weak. It made no sense. Again and again he asked himself: test or punishment? He figured the noble animals of his dreams signalled his path to the redemption of sins on this reincarnation and all those before it. But what did the gods want from him?

He sat on the stiff mattress and looked around him. His “bedroom” was a storage compartment filled with cheap strips of paper, charcoal pencils, porcelain flasks of ink and damp empty scrolls. The cabin was small and had no light, but he couldn’t complain. Silander was well hidden and the shots outside were muffled by the many walls between him and the exterior of the castle. He had only managed to get his eyes shut for a few hours in the past two days, as the scenes from the escape stubbornly paraded through his thoughts. The fond memories he had of his family and of Dali’s flute playing in the orchard carved deep cuts in his heart. Rama was still asleep in a mattress next to his. He rested even less than Silander, haunted by his sorrow.

If they were being punished, the gods wanted their suffering to last. After the miraculous infiltration through the forgotten sewer, they tried sneaking into the scribe school but were caught by a couple of royal guards. The men were going to throw them from the battlements to show the mob outside the result of defiance, but Silander and Rama’s master of Haturite appeared and convinced the guards to let go of them. “Save your mindless violence for the Kashanites”, he said. “Our captain will know of this!” they promised.

Silander heard a knock on the door. Rama woke up startled and looked him in the face. “It’s me!” They heard the master’s voice. The old man pushed the screeching door open with his elbow. He carried two wooden bowls filled with rice in his frail hands.

“Here. It’s not much. I had to take these out of my own ration.” He handed one bowl to each of his students. “I’m sorry for only managing to visit you once yesterday, but I’ve been busy hiding the most precious documents with my colleagues.”

The children ate the small and bland portions avidly with their hands, as if they were heavenly delicacies. They had been hiding for nearly two days. Before being concealed in the storage room, Silander and Rama were only given time to clean some of the mud from their skin and hair and put on clean garments given to them by the master.

“I do have some time to speak with you now, if you wish.” said the old teacher, while he sat next to Rama in his mattress.

Silander looked at his master’s face. The joy of teaching that usually filled it was gone, leaving only worry and hopelessness. “Have the guards told their captain about us yet?” Rama asked.

“Probably.” replied the master. “You shouldn’t worry about that. The captain of the guard is a sensible man and has a lot more to worry about than two boys hiding in the school.”

Silander gained the courage to ask the question that tormented him, even though he knew the answer. “Have they opened the castle doors yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Silander.” The master gazed melancholically at the dark stone floor and then back at his student. “The prince insists that the rations are for the consumption of the court and the guards who defend it.”

“What about his people, left outside at the mercy of the invaders?” asked Rama. He did so with greater ease than his friend ever could. While they were trying to sleep, he had told Silander that, before he watched his father get torn apart by the wooden splinters, he saw his mother get crushed by his house’s roof and his grandfather getting stomped by the panicking mob. Silander figured that, unlike him, Rama had nothing left outside the castle’s walls.

“He…” the master looked at the wall, with wet eyes. “He doesn’t care. The prince believes that his cousin Oshanihar of Vidayar will march west to save us from the Kashanites. He figures the rations will only last until our rescuers arrive if he keeps the people out. He’s wrong.”

“Why?” asked Rama “Is it because there’s enough food for everyone?”

“No, my child.” the master sighed. “Because the prince of Vidayar will never arrive in time to save us. He can’t march through the jungle or sail down the river with the monsoon.”

“Maybe we can hold the walls until the dry season comes.” Rama kept going. Silander couldn’t stop silently damning the prince for dooming his family.

“I’m afraid not.” said the master. “The Kashanites have already taken the harbour and the lower city. They are being slowed down by a few redoubts near the batteries, but they will be encroaching on the castle hill soon. They’ve also started landing siege guns to batter down the walls. Most people are on the streets and plazas around them, preparing to defend themselves however they can.”

Rama kept asking questions about troop numbers, the weather and how Oshanihar could come west to save the city. He found discussing the defence of Latrapar a welcome distraction from the dying scenes of his family, apparently. Silander wasn’t listening, imagining what atrocities his family could be suffering at the hands of the pillaging Kashanites as they spoke.

“Why is this happening to us?” Silander asked after a while, interrupting Rama’s interrogations. The master looked at him with a surprised expression, and Silander could see in his face that he figured it wasn’t an ignorant and naïve question about how the world was stained by war and evil, but a spiritual one. Still, he asked what his pupil meant.

“Are the gods punishing us for our sins in this life and those before?” Silander asked. “Or just testing our piety and resolve?”

“Those questions may very well have different answers for each soul in this city.” Said the master. “Have you been thinking about them?” Silander had. The master asked what he figured was the answer.

Silander paused before replying. He didn’t care what is master would think of him right now, he just wanted answers that could give him some peace, so he went ahead. “I have been having pagan dreams, master. I am having visions of the Haturite lore in my sleep.”

Rama looked at him with his eyes wide open, but the old man’s face remained surprisingly unchanged. Silander continued. “But something’s not right… The beasts are saving innocents from chaos. In out studies, it was always the other way around. It’s always been the human heroes shielding their kin from harm. In my dreams, the creatures are devouring evil men.”

“Do you have any idea what those dreams could mean?” The master applied his usual method for interpretation exercises, guiding the students to their own conclusions.

“I have given it a lot of thought…” Silander answered. “But I can’t figure it out. I see chaos around me, but I can’t be sure how it will save us from itself.”

“Well, I may have an idea on how you can help.” said the master, while getting up on his feet. “Come with my Silander. Rama, stay here.”

Silander was shaken. He could use a stroll outside the cramped storage room, but he was afraid of leaving its safety and his friend behind. “Can’t Rama come along?”

“He could very well hinder our chances of success at what I intend to do…” The master said. “I’m sorry”

The boys embraced each other and Silander followed the master to the dark and narrow corridor outside the room. They closed the door behind them and walked for a while through tight passages and staircases. To Silander’s relief, they soon reached the familiar white and blue hallways of the school. The windows let in the grey light of a monsoon afternoon. Thankfully, nobody saw them.

The old man led Silander to his office. The room was luxurious, filled with expensive manuscripts. There were even some miniatures of scribes and Latraparian kings. They had been there in the day of the escape, and the master reached for the same chest from which he had taken the clean garments Silander was wearing. He pulled out a luxurious red vestment and handed it to the his student. “Wear that.”

Silander was confused but carried out the order. When he was ready, the master passed his hand through his wet dirty hair, trying to comb it as well as we could. “We have an important meeting. Let’s go.” The old man opened the door for Silander and closed it after himself. “Keep yourself close by. And trust me.”

The teacher led him to the schools back entrance, that faced the castle’s inner courtyard. He opened the gate and looked at Silander, who had halted, afraid of being seen outside. “Come on, we have no time to lose.”

They crossed the door and entered the soaked courtyard. The rain was giving some respite and shy drops fell far in between themselves. Guards in red and blue armour ran around in all directions, carrying gunpowder, munitions and weapons to prepare for the attack. Some had dispatches and reports and rushed into a big wooden gate that led to the second layer of the castle, where the royal palace stood. Silander had never seen it from this close, but he knew the beige walls, filled with colourful geometric patterns. Above them were the bright blue roofs and, all around, the Latraparian peacock banners.

Outside the walls, the uproar had died down, but he could hear the restless crowd around them. There was also some distant gunfire.

A soldier yelled at them “Hey! Hey you! Stop right there!” They waited for him to come to them. “Who is that child?! No outsiders are allowed inside the castle!”

“He is a student of mine that managed to get inside.” replied the master, calmly.

“Haven’t you heard the prince’s orders?!” the soldier shouted. “Intruders are to be thrown of the walls.”

Silander’s legs trembled and he felt his stomach turning. His bladder begged to be emptied.

“The boy says he has information on Kashanite troop movements.” said the master, as Silander turned pale, terrified with the lie. “Perhaps his highness should hear what he has to say before he has you flinging him off the battlements to further the mob’s fury.”

“His highness says he doesn’t want to be disturbed.” the guard warned.

“Perhaps he should be disturbed.” A tall middle-aged man with a trimmed short beard appeared. He wore a very decorated and thick armour that looked much sturdier than the other soldiers’.

“Captain?” the soldier was embarrassed. “Sir! This old scribbling wretch has managed to have one of his trained monkeys sneak into the castle!”

“I have heard your exchange with these people, thank you very much.” The captain spoke serenely but as commanding as mighty deity. “I’ll take care of this matter myself, go back to your post.”

The captain turned to the old man and bowed his head respectfully. “Master, if it is as you say and this boy can tell us more about what’s happening outside, please come with me.”

Silander and his master followed the man through the palace gates. The guards looked confused as they saluted their commander, wondering what business the strange pair that accompanied him had at court. They entered the massive building, crossing the profusely decorated hallways. Across the passages that went through gardens filled with peacocks and Kochtra storks, together with flowered bushes, low palm trees and luxurious fountains, they reached a big hall, filled with stone sculptures of the gods.

In front of them, a big dark door filled with floral reliefs was guarded by two men in richly adorned armours. “Wait here for a few moments.” the captain told them before going through it.

There was an archway to the left, and Silander saw two bare-chested men passing its way, carrying pieces of raw meat. A few moments later, he could hear the tigers of the infamous royal pit roaring in satisfaction as they were given their afternoon meal.

“What have you done, master?” Silander whispered, looking up at his teacher. “I don’t know anything about the Kashanite troops, I only saw them rowing through the fog!”

“I know.” said the old man. “You’re here for a different reason: you will tell your story to the prince and get him to open the gates.”

“Do you think that will help?”

“We have to try.” The master combed his beard. “You are one of my best students and there are many at court that are in favour of opening the gates. We’ll have your back and use your story to get the prince’s favour. Compassion is an argument for soft hearts, and should never be used in a proper discussion.” The old man assumed the pedagogue tone Silander knew so well. “This discussion, however, is not proper, nor is the prince’s heart above compassion. Our biggest challenge will be the ill voices whispering at his ear.”

The captain appeared at the door. “His highness will receive you now.”

Chapter VIII

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The heavy rain was back. Sounding like a hundred drums, it hit the thick wooden covers that shielded the antechamber’s entryways from the flooding gardens they led to. As the small party crossed the hallway, they stamped their footprints with mud on the light stone floor. Silander could already hear the whispering inside the main hall. The captain’s face was undaunted, almost serene. The master’s face, on the other hand, showed a certain uneasiness that Silander had never seen. There was no need for words to read such an expression: the task at hand was a folly. The boy was too exhausted to feel as afraid as he thought he should.

“I am going to be announced when we enter the room.” the captain instructed Silander. “After that, you will follow me until I stop before the prince and bow. You shall do the same and wait for me to introduce you. Then, his highness will want to interrogate you. Remember to only look him in the eyes if he gives you permission to do so.”

A man in a long ochre vestment awaited them. He looked strangely at Silander, before nodding to the captain and signalling them to come with him. Soon, they entered the main hall of the palace. Its ceiling was a blue dome, filled with white, golden and red geometric reliefs. The walls in the sides were filled with archways, closed off with the same heavy covers of the antechamber. In front of Silander were more than sixty men, aligned next to a long golden carpet that ran across the room. At its end, a short staircase gave access to a platform in which prince Pehar, the regent during king Shatar III’s absence, sat stiffly upon a luxurious divan. To his right, stood a panedist monk on a yellow tunic and a richly dressed noble. On the other side of the regent, there was a laidimic monk on a red tunic, as well as Great Master Jedhor of the Scribe School.

“Captain Madjal, your highness.” The man in the ochre vestment announced the captain of the guard. Prince Pehar, whom Silander couldn’t see clearly, raised his hand and waved at them to approach.

Madjal stepped forward and bent his knee before the king’s brother. Silander imitated the movement, as did the master.

“Your highness.” said captain Madjal. “The child now presented before you is said to have information about enemy troop movements. Like I have done before, I beg that you forgive his crimes and hear what he has to say.”

“A useless waste of time, your highness.” someone promptly remarked. “The boy is a worthless distraction from the pressing matters you have to ponder on. What could he tell us that we do not know? He should be flung from the walls to show the rest of the rabble the price of defying your will.” Silander could feel his heart pounding with fear. He was facing the golden carpet and couldn’t see who was speaking.

“Shouldn’t you be preaching compassion for the weak and defenceless?” asked a known voice. “The child is one of my students, he is educated enough to give us an idea of what is happening outside these walls. It may be our only opportunity to learn something about the matter, since you advised his highness to bar the gates from everyone, even our soldiers fighting in the city.” It was master Jedhor of the Scribe School.

“Shouldn’t you, honourable Master Jedhor,” a third voice asked “be counselling his highness regarding the defence of his brother’s crown, instead of looking for a way to foolishly try to impress us with the tricks you teach children?”

“The defence of this kingdom is nothing to the gods compared to the bloodshed that will result from it.” said a fourth man. “We should listen to the boy’s story. Perhaps those that preach against compassion in this court will feel ashamed of themselves.”

“Peace, please!” The fifth voice came straight from above Silander and he knew it was prince Pehar. “Let me hear myself think.” The room was silent, but Silander could hear whispers all around him. Outside, the rain was calmer and cannons made themselves heard sporadically. “Thank you captain Madjal. Please, child, come closer.”

Silander obeyed and approached the base of the stairway. “You may look at me.” said Pehar. “I want to see your face.” The boy looked up and saw the regent. He was rather young, certainly before his thirties. He looked very different from what his brother did on the day he left the city in his war galley, staring valiantly at the horizon. Pehar was pale and tired, with dark circles around his eyes that descended through his cheeks. Even the long hair below his rich orange turban had a sickly tone. His lips were filled with blisters and his arms and legs were thin. Were it not for his luxurious attire, he would look more like a beggar than a prince. It was the first time Silander saw him, as he rarely left the palace.

“Tell me your name, your father’s, and your age.” said Pehar. Behind him, Silander could see an enormous tapestry, depicting scenes from ancient divine lore. The peacock of Latrapar flew higher than trees, clouds and stars. Below, men celebrated. Above, Truvna raised his mighty hand in approval.

“My name is Silander, I am the son of a trader that goes by the name of Nawal. I am nine years old.”

“May the gods forgive me!” yelled the panedist monk. “Are we really about to take a report from a nine year old seriously?”

“Woe to us all if, one day, the ears of princes and kings deny the voices of the weakest among their subjects.” retorted the laidimic monk. “For if such a day comes, the gods will have no mercy for those responsible.”

“Silence, I beg you!” asked Pehar. The two monks faced the floor, restraining their rage. “Where do you live, and how did you manage to get inside?”

Silander told the prince that he lived near the harbour and recounted his escape through the streets. He couldn’t avoid a tremble in his voice when recounting the separation from his family and the moment when he came across Rama and his dead father. The room was quiet and Pehar listened attentively. Silander couldn’t see his expression clearly from where he was, but he could feel the ache on the man’s heart.

“Please, your highness.” The panedic monk gestured frenetically, just after Silander spoke about opening the birdcages. “I beg you to ignore this ill-willed and badly concealed attempt at convincing you to doom Latrapar to cataclysm.”

“Why do I have to keep reminding a holy man like you that the gods command us to let those who need shelter into our home?” Thundered master Jedhor. “This boy’s story is just one of thousands. Some of them must be even grimmer. This disgrace to ourselves and the gods is happening outside these walls as we speak.” He turned to the court and struck every face with a resolute look. “Families are already torn apart and destroyed. Soon, the pitiful redoubts in the lower neighbourhoods will fall to the Kashanites. They will cut through every man strong enough to be considered a threat, rape our women and have our children and elders go through what I don’t even dare imagine.”

The laidimic monk fell down on his knees. With tears on his eyes, he turned to Pehar. “Please, your highness. I beg you yet another time, open the gates!”

“Pathetic!” scoffed the nobleman, who had been quiet until now. “Your highness, let me remind these men, who are supposed authorities on the laws of gods and men, that the sovereignty of the Kirdanian kingdoms is more sacred than how many thousands of lives it takes to defend it. If the prince’s soul and bloodline is to be unstained, he is bound to protect the kingdom with every resource possible.” He turned to the court below him. “We are to wait for Oshanihar of Vidayar to fulfil his divine and blood bound duty to save Latrapar’s sovereignty. It is the gods’ will!”

“Your highness!” captain Madjal stepped forward. “Only a man with no knowledge of military affairs could suggest that it is possible to hold the city until your good cousin arrives. The Kashanites will be in a position to attack the walls in two days, if we are lucky. They already have siege artillery on the docks. This castle was built before the age of the gun. It will not hold against modern firepower. I can assure you that our walls will be breached. The towers will be flying the red rider of Kashan even before the good prince Oshanihar leaves Vidayar.”

“Your highness, I beg you to listen.” master Jedhor pleaded. “Even if we were to last more time than the captain claims we are able too, it would be impossible for your cousin to come to our aid during the monsoon. No army can march through the flooded jungles and no vessel can sail amid the fury of the swollen Kochtra. Save your subjects: open the gates!”

“And what do you know about marches, old fool?” Shouted a voice between the courtesans. A big argument erupted amid the court, echoing through the big room. Amid the mindless rage, the protocol was forgotten as blasphemy, threats, insults and perjury flew all around Silander.

“Enough!” yelled Pehar. “I have heard nothing but this discussion for the last two days. The decision is made. I am to protect my brother’s crown for as long as I can.” The prince looked at Silander. “Child, you have my compassion and your account weighs on my heart. But as one soon learns when power is invested in him, higher principles, as heavy a burden as they are, need to be protected. If Truvna sees fit that these walls be protected, I will do what I can to keep them under the peacock of my house as long as He allows.” The regent paused to let the court soak in his resolution. “Just tell us whatever it is you know about the enemy’s movements.”

The boy shivered and muttered. “I saw them landing and… And…”

“And?” The nobleman asked loudly. Silander looked back to his master, who had the look of defeat in his eyes. The nobleman continued. “Your highness, it is as I suspected. This boy knows nothing. This was all just a spectacle to have you open the gates and let the useless mob eat away at the rice your soldiers need to last until your cousin’s arrival. Have the boy thrown of the walls and end this argument once and for all, we have real problems to worry about.”

Silander couldn’t keep himself on his feet and fell down, crying. Before he knew it, two guards had taken hold of him. “Captain Madjal, do as he says.” The picture of Dali playing the flute with the stars behind her came to Silander’s mind. Rama also appeared, running in front of him in the sunlit streets. After them, he saw his family: Nawal dropping his work to embrace him, Elli kissing his cheek and Gashtra rubbing his hair affectionately.

Whatever this ordeal was, Silander figured it was about to be put to an end. Soon, he would be facing Vidjar’s trial. He could already imagine the goddess, with her red skin and blue hair, like he had seen painted in the miniatures. Test or punishment? Soon the judge-goddess would show him the answer herself. He wished to be reincarnated as a bird or a fish, free and oblivious to war and arrogance. However, Silander found himself not asking the mighty Truvna to change the will of the king, nor Vidjar to judge him kindly. He just pleaded to Dnash that, as a reward for the love and devotion her mother had shown, she should be kept from watching his fatal flight.

Chapter IX

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Your highness, if I may.” said captain Madjal. “The boy is quite tall for his age and appears strong enough to carry a spear or a musket. Since we find ourselves terribly outnumbered, I think having him help protect the walls would be a better solution than having him thrown from them.”

Pehar pondered for a few moments and ended up acquiescing to the suggestion. “Take him to the armoury and give him a suit of armour and whatever weapon you think will fit him best. No rations will be spared for him, of course. If you want to keep him alive, give him your own food, captain.”

The captain bowed before grabbing Silander’s shoulder and taking him from the room. Silander couldn’t believe he had escaped his ill fate. His story wasn’t enough to move the king into opening the gates but it had done enough to save his life. At least for a couple of days.

Silander was given the guard’s red armour and blue turban. Madjal handed him a scimitar and a short spear, as well as a round iron shield with the Latraparian peacock engraved on it. The captain had him designated as his personal aide to ensure that he remained safely close to him. Silander stood next to the captain’s low desk, as he read and heard reports from the detachments on the walls. Night had fallen and the room was lit by a few oil lamps. The boy was exhausted, barely managing to keep himself standing with the weight of his equipment.

“Go to sleep.” said Madjal. “I’ll wake you up when I need you.”

Silander bowed and took off his armour before laying in a mattress in the corner of the captain’s office. He was so tired that he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep as soon as he closed his eyes. There were no bitter nightmares or Haturite prophecies that night.

***

“Wake up, Silander.” Captain Madjal shook him with his hands. “It’s already been one hour since sunrise.”

The boy rubbed his eyes and promptly got up. When he was reaching for his armour, the captain grabbed his arm. “Wait a moment.” Madjal handed Silander a bowl of rice with thin strips of dried meat. “I won’t have you wear that with an empty belly. Eat.”

Silander ate quickly. It wasn’t just the horrible hunger quickening his chewing. The salted meat reminded him of his father, and the boy was doing his best to push away painful memories. It would be particularly hard during the day, when he would be standing idle next to the captain with nothing to think about. When he finished, the captain helped him put on the armour and he assumed his post next to the desk.

The first reports of the day started to arrive. The Kashanites had been quiet the previous night, despite a few skirmishes around the redoubts. A good part of the main force seemed to have already landed, but they were halted on the harbour. What could be their delay?

Some guards said they saw enemy officers speaking from the flat roofs of the city. They were trying to negotiate with the people, most likely. “I think some of the people down there” said Madjal to a young sergeant. “if handed a ladder and a blade, would gladly climb the wall just to have a chance of killing those that keep them outside, at the mercy of an invasion.”

“My family is down there, sir.” said the sergeant. “I’m doing my best to defend his highness, as is my duty… But I can’t be asked to answer for my heart’s pain when I think of my parents and my three sisters.”

“It is our duty to serve the gods.” stated Madjal. “If the king was chosen by Truvna to be incarnated as the ruler of this kingdom, it is our duty to follow him and no one else. And if the king, as the chosen sovereign, goes to war and leaves behind a regent, it is our sacred task to be his tools. For through him, and the king, we are the tools of Truvna.” Madjal let the sergeant assimilate the lecture. “Now go, and if you hear anyone’s resolve falter, do your best to repeat these words.”

“Yes, sir.” the young sergeant left, his step showing greater confidence than when he first came in.

“Tell me, Silander.” the captain turned to his new aide. “Do they teach you the ways of the monks in the scribe school?”

“They do, yes sir.” replied the boy.

“And which do you find is the right path?” Madjal asked. “Do you believe in action or inaction?”

“I have not figured it out yet, sir.” Silander had never thought about it with care, and figured that was the best answer.

“Neither have I, son. Neither have I.” Madjal sighed. “Look at our present situation, for instance.” The captain grabbed Silander by the shoulder and led him to a window. The office was on a tower that faced west, and they could see the city before them, with the mouth of the river hidden by the delta islands on the horizon. The monsoon was raging, but the fog had lifted and the Kashanite fleet was visible. Like the previous night, the landscape was quiet and the attackers laid low.

Madjal pointed at the enemy ships. “Those men follow the same gods as us and believe, like we do, that they are acting upon the divine will. Their king’s ear is no doubt the realm of panedist monks. As is our court’s – you have witnessed it yourself. They are ready to sacrifice their subject’s lives for what they believe is the divine will. The Way of Laidima would not have served us any better, I’m afraid. They were right in that it would have been a good idea to use our fleet defensively… But if they had it their way, we’d have surrendered to the Kashanites as soon as the declaration of war arrived. Movement or stillness. Action or inaction. Our doom either way.”

Silander wasn’t really understanding the captain’s words or where he was getting at. He just kept nodding affirmatively. Madjal grinned. “I apologize, this is a lot for a boy… Everything that’s been happening isn’t fit for children.” he paused. “I guess what I want you to know is that certainty is not the way. Be it the Way of Paned, the Way of Laidima or even his majesty’s idea to attack Kashan at sea. People who are certain about things become arrogant. Arrogance brings us times like these. Do you understand?”

“I think I do, sir.” said Silander. The captain could be right. Maybe he was wrong in looking for answers and certainties. But then, how could he be at peace?

***

A few moments before midday, a guard appeared at the door, breathing heavily from a long run. “Captain.” he managed to mutter. “There’s something afoot on the eastern walls, sir! I beg you come and see it for yourself.”

“Let’s go.” Madjal nodded for Silander to follow. They went into the courtyard and passed the big temple to Truvna, the scribe school and the palace, reaching the eastern side of the fortifications. The hill was a steep promontory on that flank, facing the upper Kochtra delta. There were no civilian houses in that side of the elevation, and the only way to reach the walls was by the river. A number of towers and passages led from the top of the cliff to a well-protected dock on the bottom.

They stopped in one of the highest battlements, looking over the river. Silander could see dozens of Kashanite galleys anchored on the raging waters, surrounding the castle all around him. The water was filled with fallen trees and other debris, brought by the furious waters of the Kochtra. In the distance, amid the smaller vessels, a big line ship laid anchor. It was tall, bristling with cannons and had towering masts that held square-shaped sails, just like the ships the Palatians and other westerners used to bring their important envoys to the city. Silander had only seen two of those in his life.

One of the enemy galleys, large, painted gold and red and filled with guns, was approaching the docks bearing the banner of Isher, the god of peace. Silander could see the Kashanite red rider on its sails, bigger and clearer than ever. It sent shivers down his spine. Following it, came an even bigger xebec, with red sails and a dark blue hull covered in gleaming adornments. It too bore the banner of Isher. Further away, but closer than the rest of the fleet, a huge gilded barge, filled with standards, laid in wait as its rows were retracted. Silander figured it must be the Kashanite king’s yacht.

“They want to parlay.” growled Madjal.

He had one of the guards call the prince and rushed down the stairways that led to the dock. Silander struggled to follow the nervous captain. They crossed three small towers and many thin walls and stairs. The armour weighed down on him and the boy felt his stomach and feet begging him for safer grounds to tread every time he looked down. After a few minutes, they were at the bottom. There, three piers were filled with soldiers pushing each other to watch the approaching ships. “Everyone to your posts!” ordered Madjal. “Now!”

The men opened way for their commander, saluting him and running to their positions. Madjal halted at the tip of one of the piers and nodded to the boy. “Courage, Silander.” he said. “If we show strength now, we may yet save ourselves.”

Around ten skiffs were making their way to the docks. They were filled with soldiers in dark grey suits of armour. The red plumes on their helmets waved in the wind. Were they the beasts from Silander’s dreams?

Soon, the first of the boats arrived. The rain hadn’t stopped to help the Kashanite naval parade, and the approach to the pier was a hard task. In the skiff were ten soldiers and a standard bearer who stood tall, holding the rider of his king solemnly. At the prow, on his feet, was a man in a silver and red armour, who had a turban filled with white and red plumes.

“May Truvna be blessed. I approach you with the embrace of Isher.” yelled the man in the front. Madjal replied in the same manner. “Who am I addressing?” asked the enemy officer.

“Captain Madjal of the Royal Latraparian Guard.” shouted the captain. “And who would you be?”

“Admiral Fetjem of Kashan.” The skiff was now right next to the dock, and the Kashanite lowered his voice. “I ask that you receive me and my retinue on dry land for the purpose of parlay.”

“I need to send word to my prince.” replied Madjal. “Whom should I announce? You?”

“Yes.” said the newcomer. “Have him know that Admiral Fetjem of Kashan wants to parlay. Tell him that I have come to announce king Brahilal’s intentions of meeting with him face to face and discuss terms of the peace between our kingdoms, under the gaze of Isher and Truvna.”

Chapter X

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“His highness, prince Pehar of Latrapar.” The king’s frail brother had taken a while to descend from the palace, giving time for a cast of sinister characters to make their landfall at the dock.

The one that scared Silander the most was a really tall and well-built man whose long beard and hair were dirtier than most latrine ditches. He wore a dark brown leather coat, covered by a set of brown lamellar armour. Crowning his hideous mug, above a pair of small black eyes, a gritty bronze helmet pushed against thick brows. The man spoke in a strange language with a party of equally terrifying individuals in similar attire. They all came from the xebec. After focusing on their conversation, Silander recognized the dialect: it was Haturite.

The regent arrived at the dock, protected from the rain by a canopy held by four slaves. Behind him came most of the court, including the two monks, the nobleman and Grand Master Jedhor, all of them under canopies similar to the prince’s.

“Your highness.” Admiral Fetjem bowed before Pehar. For a moment, the dry prince of Latrapar stood in royal glory in front of the damp kneeling admiral of Kashan. Silander thought of how different from reality that scene was.

Every cordiality that can be exchanged among enemies was uttered. Silander didn’t take his eyes of the men speaking in Haturite, as Fetjem got to the point of the audience:

“In the name of his majesty, Brahilal IV, I ask your highness to discuss peace terms between Kashan and Latrapar. It is the wish of my king to come ashore and argue about such matters with your highness in person.”

Pehar remained silent. Both monks rushed to his ears, one on each side. The regent raised his hand at the laidimic monk and leaned to listen to the advice of his panedist counterpart. After listening to his whispers, he had an answer for Fetjem:

“Admiral, even if I had it in my heart to receive your king in my halls despite his aggression, I lack the authority to do so. I am but the keeper of my brother’s crown and I fear that the conditions that will be presented for my consideration vastly outreach the powers conceded to me.”

The scariest of the Haturites laughed loudly. After he translated what had been said to his men, they did the same. Fetjem remained tranquil and told the terrifying man to come forth.

“Your highness, this is high captain Xardes, from the Purple Coast.” Fetjem presented the bleak character, who didn’t bow before the prince. He just greeted Pehar and the court with a jocular stare from under his think brows. “Show them.” said Pehar.

Xardes had one of his men bring the basket close to himself and remove the cloth that covered its top. Then, the high captain reached for the inside and unveiled a severed head. Silander looked away immediately in disgust and terror. The whole thing was shrunken and the skin was turning green.

“Shatar…” mumbled Pehar. “Brother… It cannot be.”

“I agree.” said Xardes in Kirdanian. “You look nothing like each other. Tell me, which one of you was squirted inside your mother by a syphilitic servant?” The Kashanites laughed, and so did Xarde’s party when one of them translated the joke to the others.

“Have some respect, you bloody pirate!” roared Madjal. Xardes mocked him by faking fear:

“Gods save me from this noble chamber servant! How can I vanquish such a foe?!”

“Peace, Xardes!” yelled Fetjem. “Your highness,” he continued. “I ask that you forgive the high captain, he lacks respect or any notion of protocol. But the evidence is before you. Your brother is dead. He has been since his humiliating defeat off the coast of Palpacat at our hands. Your nephews are too young to put two words together. You are the lord of Latrapar, by every law of heaven and men. Do you agree to meet my king or not?”

All the advisors rushed to the regent but he had them halt with raised hands.

“Enough is enough!” Pehar calmly said. “Admiral, I will receive Brahilal. Bring his majesty ashore. He shall be brought to my hall once he arrives.”

The Kashanite signalled the royal barge with flags and soon, as Silander climbed back to the palace with Madjal and the rest of the court, it started rowing its way to the dock. The panedist monk and a few nobles stayed behind with Fetjem and Xardes to receive the enemy king.

***

“There he is: the brat.” murmured Madjal. “How many lives will his egotism cost?”

“Thousands…” replied Silander’s Haturite master. “Tens of thousands, if nobody stops him.”

They stood with Silander, looking through a window near the main hall. The rain was less intense and the waters of the Kochtra were calmer. The barge approached the piers serenely, and the Kashanite royal guard landed in good order, forming ranks on the stone structure. Not long after, the young king Brahilal got off his gilded boat, yelling at a Panedist monk that followed him. Behind them came a procession of Kashanite nobles and a group of ragged, mud-covered men.

Silander saw the retinue left behind by Pehar saluting the enemy sovereign. Soon, Brahilal, Fetjem Xardes, and dozens of newcomers were climbing the narrow stairs and walls, making their way to the palace. The boy thought we was hallucinating when he saw one of the men marching behind the king of Kashan.

“It’s my father!” Silander yelled.

“Shush!” Madjal covered the boy’s mouth. “Keep your voice down.”

“Truvna give us mercy, it is your father!” said the master. “He’s not alone. I know those men. They are traders, scholars and monks. All left outside when the gates closed”

Silander’s heart raced. His father was alive! Nawal looked exhausted, his clothes and skin completely damp and covered in mud. Next to him, Silander recognized Dali’s father and her older brother. Behind them, he spotted his own mother and the rest of Dali’s family, including the girl herself.

He was overjoyed to see his parents and Dali alive. But… Where was his brother?

“Sir.” A sergeant appeared near them. “The guests are almost at the palace gates.”

“Understood.” Said Madjal. “Tell his highness I’ll be in the main hall soon.”

The guard left and the captain crouched before Silander.

“Listen.” he said. “You can’t come with me to the meeting. It was already foolish of me to have you along for the encounter at the docks. Children in armour are the greatest sign of despair that I can think of. And now, with your family… I can’t risk it. I don’t know exactly why Brahilal brought them and having you by my side next to the Prince can complicate the negotiations.”

“Please, sir.” Silander begged. “I promise I won’t be noticed. Let me see them again!”

“Captain, Madjal, if I may.” said the master. “Silander can come with me. I’ll get him some clothes and bring him with me. We’ll be in the middle of the courtesans, shielded from the eyes of Brahilal and his lickspittles.”

The captain sighed and pondered before accepting the idea. “Go! You have to be quick!”

***

When Silander and the master started pushing their way into the crowd that surrounded the golden carpet in the main room, Admiral Fetjem was already crossing it. He knelt before Pehar, who sat atop the same platform as the day before, with the same advisors around him. Behind them, the glorious peacock tapestry was the last remain of Latraparian dignity in the room.

“Your highness. I have the incomparable honour of presenting to you the blessed sovereign of Kashan, Brahilal IV.”

Closely followed by Xardes and a man of his guard, the enemy king entered the room. Behind the trio came the procession of Kashanite nobles and Latraparian prisoners. Silander paid little attention to Brahilal, trying to find his family in the middle of the cortege. He did, however, notice that he was around the age of Gahstra. However, the king was much smaller and feebler, with a big nose and sparse curled hairs struggling to form a beard on his cheeks.

Pehar got on his feet and both monarchs shared a long stare and fast stiff courtesies. Silander could see the prince clearly from where he was, but dozens of courtiers were between him and the king’s party. He desperately looked for his family, standing on his toes and peering between torsos and shoulders.

“Your highness.” Brahilal started. “I come here under the banner of Isher to request the surrender of your city and its crown. Your brother is dead, your subjects are at the mercy of my swords outside these walls and Oshanihar can’t come to your aid while the monsoon lasts.”

“Be sensible, your highness.” said Fetjem. “Even without the people eating away at your garrisons’ rations, you won’t last through the season.”

“Don’t listen to him, your highness.” retorted the nobleman that stood next to Pehar. “These walls will hold until Oshanihar comes. Then, these dogs will have their fate sealed.” he turned to Brahilal. “You should be offering your own surrender, before the combined strength of Latrapar and Vidayar crush you like a bug.”

“The strength of Latrapar?” Fetjem sighed. “Your fleet is at the bottom of the sea and your people are weak and furious, stuck outside the walls that should protect them!”

“All that you have left are these pathetic peacock tenders!” Xardes scoffed, pointing at Madjal and the guards. “These palace boys are fit only to clean their prince’s arse! They’ll hide under their mother’s skirts if they smell a fight!”

“How dare you speak like that before a prince of Latrapar?” shouted the Panedist monk.

Pehar got ready to yell but Brahilal was louder.

“Shut it!” he turned to Xardes. “I don’t remember hiring you as a diplomat! Learn your place.”

An awkward silence reigned for a few moments. Silander was sneaking his way around the crowd’s legs, shadowed by his master. Suddenly, he felt watched. Turning towards the carpet, he felt his heart rising to his throat. It was Dali, grabbing her mother by the hand. Her green-blue eyes starred at him in surprise. They had lost their spark, seeming tired and heavy. He lifted a finger to his lips, telling her to keep quiet. She nodded “yes.”

“Listen, Pehar.” said Brahilal. “I tried to be courteous, but you and your pet nobles and monks are getting on my nerves. These walls are pathetic. Your cannons are pathetic.” his voice was rising in volume and anger, reaching an annoying and laughable teenage pitch. “Our guns will send this whole keep crumbling down as if it was made of rice. Go to your window, look at my flagship! The Palatians sold it to me. It has seventy-four cannons on it! All of them outrange your pitiful weapons! I will use them to send every brick on these walls flying up to Truvna and you will have no way to answer!”

The room was silent, freezing with the king’s threat.

“And that’s just one way of doing it!” Brahilal continued. “I can also tear down this pitiful excuse for a castle with the siege guns I’ve been landing on the docks. Or perhaps I’ll spare men, shot and gunpowder and have your own enraged populace assault the walls. I have some of them with me here. See if you have enough courage to look at their eyes after leaving them at my mercy.”

Silander looked at Pehar. He was trembling, his weak shoulders descending in defeat. He remembered how Madjal had told him not to look at the prince’s eyes without his permission. Now he saw the prince too afraid to look his subjects in the eye.

“Your highness.” Fetjem stepped forward after whispering at Brahilal’s hear. “It saddens me that what could be peaceful negotiations have taken such an unfortunate turn. Be reasonable. If you surrender, you will be treated well. We will let you, your wife, your children and your nephews be sent to exile in Vidayar once the peace with Oshanihar is signed. Your subject’s lives will be spared and only one in four will be enslaved.”

Pehar seemed relieved. Before he could say anything, the panedist monk asked a question Silander had seen be deadly many times in ancient epics.

“And if we refuse?”

Brahilal pushed Fetjem out of his way and climbed the stairs before Pehar halfway to the top. Madjal and two guards immediately stepped in between the sovereigns.

“Your family will be strangled.” Brahilal started. “Your whole court and guard will be put to the sword and every man, woman and child that fits into my fleet will be sold to slavery. Those that are left behind will be drowned in the Kochtra. I can assure you that every prisoner I brought to this room will suffer that fate.”

Some among the prisoners started crying in despair. Among the voices, Silander recognised his mother’s. He followed it, crossing the sea of legs once again. It didn’t take long for him to find her. There she was, in Nawal’s arms, shaking in misery. There was still no sign of Gahstra.

“I will demolish this castle and build a western-style fortress in its place, after burning the whole city down to give it a clean field of fire.” Brahilal continued. “You will watch all of it and be fed to your tigers when I’m done. After that, your cousin Oshanihar will have what’s left of you sent to him. All of this I swear to Truvna.”

The tense silence was back, before the king of Kashan broke it again.

“I only need this fetid delta for the salt, the saltpetre and the location. The city and those inside it are nothing to me. Be aware of that when making your decision.”

Brahilal climbed down and Fetjem concluded the negotiation:

“Surrender your castle, the crown of Latrapar and all your claims on it, as well as your nephews’ and sons’. If you do so by tomorrow at sunset, we’ll keep our word. If you do not, I’ll make sure my king keeps his.”

Chapter XI

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Pehar had expelled the court form the great hall long after Brahilal left. For hours, confusion reigned inside the room, with shouting, arm waving and even the unsheathing of swords. It all seemed an eternity, and Silander remembered little of it, completely lost in the panic among the courtiers. Madjal, the monks, Great Master Jedhor and many others had almost lost their voices in the chaos.

It was with a hoarse and tired voice that Madjal led Silander back to his quarters. The captain sat still for a while, looking at the wall, before Great Master Jedhor came and took him with to some meeting. They left behind the Haturite master to look after Silander.

“How is Rama?” the boy asked. The master said he was well. Tired of hiding and still in shock for his losses, but with an unscathed body.

Silander then spoke about his family. His parents hadn’t noticed him, but the boy was glad that he got to see them. He said that, as he watched them returning to Brahilal’s barge with the rest of the prisoners, he felt better than ever in the last few days. It was a shame they hadn’t gotten a last glimpse of him as well. He also wished he could have seen Gashtra… or at least found out what had become of him.

The only prisoner who noticed him was Dali, and seeing her alive was a great relief. “You must tell Rama, it will ease his sorrow to know that she is alive.” Silander told the master. “I had hope that the Kashanites would try harder to end this peacefully.” he continued. “When I saw them approaching the docks, I thought they were the beasts from my dreams, coming to save the city from themselves... I was wrong.”

“I thought you were one of the beasts, Silander.” said the master. “An outsider from the court, that should have never been able to enter the castle. A symbol of the chaos we are living, albeit delicate. I thought compassion for you might beat evil and blasphemy, but I was wrong too.”

“You are saying that you believe that my dreams are prophetic, master?”

“In times of despair, we cling to things we normally wouldn’t.” the master sighed. “My faith in Truvna is great, but those that claim to have visions sent by Him always fail to convince me. It’s even harder to move me into believing ancient Haturite pagan apparitions… But these are dark times.”

“After seeing the fury in the eyes of Brahilal,” said Silander. “and hearing the contempt in his voice, I’m sure of something that seemed certain as soon as I gazed upon prince Pehar and his frailness.”

“What are you sure about?”

“That we are being punished.” answered Silander. “The tigers and chimeras from my dreams are just the gods letting me know that those responsible for carrying out our sentence will be smitten themselves, in time. I wonder if I ever did things like these in my previous lives? I can’t see myself being this evil! Does our soul change that much from one incarnation to the other?”

“Those are questions only a monk could answer.” said the master. “And you would get a different answer depending on which one you asked. I find that the best way to be at peace with the will of the gods is to accept it as a mystery and let yourself be their tool. Their signs are elusive and wrongly interpreted most of the time. Monks spend their lives meditating on them and can’t seem to agree or get them right. Finding peace in lack of certainty is the key, because if you are ever certain, you may find some contentment, but you will become arrogant and act according to your own will and thoughts, not divine inspiration.”

Silander was pleased to hear the master council against certainty, just like Madjal had done. The harmony between their opinions brought the warmth he was used to feel when the world of grown-ups made sense. He still had some doubts about how it could be possible to reach peace through doubt, however. Did he do wrong in helping Rama study Haturite? After all, it was his mother’s suggestion, according to what she believed was the will of Dnash. Was that arrogance on her part? The boy was shocked, realising how little adults knew about the way the world worked while seeming to be sure about it. The war destroyed Silander’s belief on their flawless understanding. Perhaps it did the same to their own illusions. Some fell into doubt, like Madjal and the master. Others dug deeper into their certainties, like the monks and king Shatar. Were men just the gods’ playthings? Was the judgment of Vidjar a mockery?

Madjal eventually came back, accompanied by some other courtiers, as well as Great Master Jedhor and the laidimic monk. The haturite master joined them and they stayed at the door, whispering nervously in a circle. Silander could hear part of what was being said.

“Brahilal was smart when he decided to bring the prisoners.” Madjal stated. “The guards saw what’s happening to their families. Some of them saw their disgrace first hand in the great hall. We are closer to mutiny than ever before.”

“The city is lost.” Jedhor said. “We are lucky if discipline and order inside this castle last until the sun sets tomorrow. How can we be expected to hold out after that? As soon as the deadline is crossed, we will be crushed.”

Silander heard some more whispering, until everyone went quiet and Madjal concluded: “We all agree then, it’s the only way.”

“I don’t agree!” whispered the laidimic monk. “We have no right to do that, we can all judge our fellow souls, but only Vidjar’s verdict is true and sacred. Only from it may a valid sentence be derived.”

“None of us will fare well in front of Vidjar, I’m afraid.” said the Haturite master. “We can only do what we, as mortals, think best in this imperfect world of sin. It’s what we all do normally – extraordinary times just happen to make it more evident.”

A few rumbles followed that consideration, but an anxious agreement could be felt in the air.

“It is decided, then.” Madjal said. “Try to get some sleep and, in the morning, we will all see each other again.”

The party dispersed and Madjal entered his office, greeting Silander.

“What’s going on, sir?” the boy asked the captain.

“Don’t worry about it, Silander.” he answered. “We are just doing our best to figure out how to solve this. There is still hope…”
Silander had no reaction.

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes, sir.” he didn’t.

“Good, now go to sleep. Tomorrow your friend will be brought out from the school’s closet. He will be safer with us.”

“What about the prince’s orders? Won’t he get thrown from the walls?”

“Now more than ever, we have greater worries than children sneaking in. I promise he will be alright.”

The candles were blown out. Silander didn’t even close his eyes. He figured it would be useless to try to sleep. Madjal twisted and turned in his mattress, struggling to get some rest. The boy got lost in his doubts and the memories of his family. He also thought about Dali and her tired eyes. They had lost the magic of the flute’s notes and the sky’s stars on the night they met. Now, like his own eyes, they only saw rain, mud, blood and tears.

***

Feeble light started to shine through the window. Silander hadn’t slept. He arose and looked at the city below. There was a deluge during the night, and the humble sunbeams painted the river and roofs with golden reflections. It was the quiet before the storm. At sunset, the end would come for the kingdom of Latrapar. Its people and the city itself would follow the prince to oblivion. The anchored Kashanite fleet was an ominous reminder of that.

Madjal was putting on his armour. He stopped for a good while, looking at the peacock engraved in his chest piece.

“Your master will soon come with the other boy.” he said while polishing it. “Then we will all go to the big hall. We have an audience.”

“Yes, sir.” Silander wondered what the captain was thinking, questioning the sanity of the idea after the crazy argument between the court on the day before.

The master arrived shortly after, bringing Rama with him. The boys embraced each other and let themselves smile.

“Oh, Silander!” Rama was in tears. “I thought I’d never get out of that hole, I thought I would never see you again!”

The reunion moved the men, who looked at them with affection. It was surely the most tenderness shown inside those walls since the invasion, short-lived as it was.

“Come on, children.” said the master. “We must go.”

The four left and made their way to the palace. At the gates, they met Great Master Jedhor and the laidimic monk, as well as other courtiers and monks. They waited for three sergeants, each accompanied by ten men and, after the rally, they crossed the gates and marched through the gilded corridors and lush, inundated gardens. Silander wondered why all those soldiers were coming with them. Something was not right. As they walked, the peacocks, hidden from the rain under the archways, ran away from them with loud screams. They were used to softer, calmer feet on those floors.

Finally, they reached the decorated wooden doors that led to the main hall’s antechamber. The same soldiers stood on guard. Silander could hear the roars of the royal pit’s tigers. The rationing of their meat must have left them starving.

Madjal stepped forward and had a servant call the royal announcer. Soon, he appeared at the door, sporting his ochre vestment. He was surprised at the size of the entourage that awaited him.

“We ask you to request an audition to his highness.” Madjal said.

“The prince is unwell and won’t receive anyone today.” the announcer answered.

“Well, then.” Madjal cleared his throat. “We will have to ask him personally, then.”

The captain drew his sword, and so did all the soldiers he had brought with him. The guards at the door replied, raising their spears against Madjal’s neck, touching the skin. Madjal’s blade, in turn, was pressing against the announcer’s throat. Silander’s heart, stomach and bladder all jumped and begged him to leave the scene.

“What do you think you’re doing, captain?” asked the announcer, with care not to have his jugular move too much against the cold metal.

Madjal ignored him and spoke to the two guards that held him at the tip of their spears.

“Men, you are duty bound to me, not this cretin. Lower your weapons and follow me, your commander. You will be under my orders. Whatever sin or fault the gods may find in your actions, they will accept as mine and mine alone.”

The men looked at each other and nodded. They lowered their spears and joined their fellow guards behind the captain.

Madjal led the announcer at the tip of his blade into the antechamber, followed by everyone. Silander could hear, once more, the monsoon pounding at the wooden covers. His heart was going as fast as that merciless beating of a thousand raindrops. He held Rama’s hand by instinct, and his friend squeezed back in panic. The master put his hands on their shoulders. “Courage, boys.”

When they entered the hall, the panedist monk and a dozen nobles were all around Pehar, who sat at his usual place. They were all talking and took their time to notice their arrival. Madjal had one of the guards watch the announcer and advanced in front of the party, sword in hand, until the bottom of the stairs.

“What is the meaning of this, captain?” bellowed the panedist monk. “Have you gone completely insane?!”

Six guards that stood around the platform quickly formed a line, shielding the prince and those around him from the newcomers. They were Pehar’s personal guard, and Silander wondered if they’d be as easy to convince as the ones at the door. Above, the peacock in the tapestry looked as sublime as ever, while what was left of the kingdom fell apart from the inside.

“Your highness, we demand an audition.” Madjal yelled.

“Don’t play games with us.” The monk roared in fury. “What do you want?”

“We would like to know if the resolutions to keep the castle gates closed and refuse Brahilal’s offers still remain.”

“Of course!” the monk answered. “Now get out of here and you may still be spared.”

“You aren’t the lord of this castle and regent of this kingdom, you snake!” Madjal shouted back. “I want to hear from his highness himself.”

Pehar arose from his great pillow and appeared at the front of his trusted advisors. “We will stay the course captain.” he calmly stated. “Now man the walls and do your duty. And take all this people from my sight! That is an explicit order.”

“Your highness.” Madjal said. “In light of your lack of compassion for the people entrusted to you by Truvna, we are forced to demand your abdication.”

“What?!” the panedist monk exploded. “How dare you spill such an insolence in front of his highness?”

Madjal ignored him: “We see this will in our hearts as a divine sign, announcing the gods’ discontentment at the way you ruled the kingdom that was entrusted to you. If you abdicate your regency, a provisory council will be formed by myself, master Jedhor and two monks. We will allow you to live and will maintain your nephew’s rightful rule over the kingdom. If Latrapar’s sovereignty survives the present war, we will do our best to assure it passes on to him fully when he reaches the age of fourteen.”

“Don’t listen to him, your highness!” cried the monk. “Have him killed, right now!”

The six guards presented their spears. Madjal’s men ran forward and surrounded them with raised shields. The captain continued his speech.

“We believe that, if we are wrong and it is really the will of Truvna that this kingdom falls and its people are massacred, whatever grudge he may hold for those who save it will be kept from you and turned against us, should you resign. Will you accept?”

“No, we refuse!” the monk drooled in rage.

“I was asking the regent of Latrapar, not you!” Madjal roared.

Silence reigned until Pehar gave his answer.

“I refuse.”

“Very well.” said Madjal. “Then, with the blessing of Truvna, we will use force to ensure that His will is done.”

It was all very fast and Silander could barely see anything in the middle of the confusion. The master clung to him and Rama, protecting them from the fight and pressing their faces against him, trying to shield their eyes. The boy managed to glimpse guards trading blows and some of Madjal’s men falling. Blood was spilled all around and the room was filled with shouts and the horrible sound of clashing metal. He heard Madjal howling in pain and the panedist monk begging for his life before being silenced. Then, suddenly, everything went quiet.

The master let go of them and Silander looked towards the platform. Madjal stood on its top, bleeding from a wound near his left shoulder. Pehar was kneeling with his back turned to the captain, facing the crowd. With one of his hands, Madjal held Pehar’s long hair. With the other, he pushed his blade against the prince’s pale, thin neck.

“I ask again.” the captain said. “Do you accept our terms?”

“Never.” the regent yelled, serene and exhausted. “May the gods’ forgive you and show greater mercy to this city during your rule.”

Madjal cut deeply into Pehar’s throat, sending a river of dark red blood cascading down the platform’s stairs. “May Vidjar’s wise judgment bring you peace.”

***

The banners of Isher, the bringer of peace, were raised in every tower of the castle. The bodies of the prince and all those who perished in the coup were taken to a courtyard, where they were prepared to be cremated. The royal family was put into custody and the court was closely watched by Madjal’s men. The captain appeared atop the castle gates and told the people outside that the prince was dead. They should make way for the king of Kashan, who would soon come and negotiate with the new regency council.
Word spread quickly, and the Kashanite soldiers that were sent up the hill to make way for Brahilal were met with little resistance by the population. Soon, a path had been cleared among the huge crowds. The rain had stopped and music could be heard ascending from the harbour.

Silander stood next to Rama and the Regency Council, near the gate. He desperately searched for his family in the midst of the people below, to no avail. Everyone was covered in mud, exhausted and famished.

“Are we safe now?” Rama whispered in his hear.

“I have no idea.”

The Kashanite cortege was getting closer. First, came a bunch of corsairs, marching disorderly, followed by Xardes and his officers, all riding in black horses. Hundreds of mercenaries formed behind the pirates, dressed in extravagant clothing and armed with exotic weapons, only matched by the attire sported by their commanders, who appeared on horseback and litters. After them, came the band with the loud flutes and drums, leading several companies of Kashanite spearmen. Huge white standards with the red rider opened the great parade of the royal cavalry, with each of Brahilal’s nobles trying to outdo the other in ostentation. Fetjem was among them, riding a fearsome white horse. The monks came behind the nobility. Most wore the yellow tunic of Paned but Silander could see some shy supporters of Laidima in red. Following them, at the tail, an elephant made the ground shake at his passage. Atop it, a big white canopy arose, surrounded by Kashanite banners. Sitting at its shade, riding the mighty beast, was Brahilal.

The gates were opened and, as soon as the first corsairs crossed it, the regency council descended into the main courtyard. Silander followed, together with Rama and the Haturite master. Under the Royal Guard’s gaze, the rest of the court joined the new regents, watching the parade. Madjal had a cloth covering his wound, completely drenched in blood. Silander noticed that he was biting his lip to endure the pain.

Xardes, the first officer to arrive, descended from his horse and waited for his superiors. Silander couldn’t take his eyes from him, feeling his entire body filling with panic. The corsair noticed this and winked at him with a malicious grin. Soon, the mercenary commanders joined him, and after them the Kashanite nobility, Fetjem, the monks and Brahilal himself. Behind their king, the party approached the regents of Latrapar. Courtesies were exchanged, before Fetjem took control of the negotiations.

“We were told that this council has replaced prince Pehar in the regency for king Shatar’s son. Is this true?”

“Yes.” said Madjal.

“We were also told that his highness is dead. Is this true.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“We killed him.”

“Filth!” shouted Brahilal.

“Excuse me.” Fetjem walked back towards his king and whispered at his ear. The boy nodded yes after a very restrained tantrum, and the admiral came back to Madjal. “My apologies. We understand that you wish to acquiesce to the conditions presented by my king to your prince.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, those conditions were presented to prince Pehar, the rightful lord of this city by the will of Truvna. Not to a ragtag bunch of ambitious courtiers. My king’s terms for you are unconditional surrender.”

“Shame!” someone among the court shouted. “What good have you done for us? You fools!”

“Silence!” yelled Madjal.

Silander couldn’t believe in his senses anymore. With the panic, it all seemed surreal.

“It is too late.” Jedhor said. “We must surrender unconditionally, Madjal.”

The soldier’s pride was visibly hurt. He looked toward the sky and whispered something to himself. Then, he looked Fetjem in the eyes.

“If it is so, we will die with dignity. We won’t surrender.”

“Are you mad?” yelled Jedhor.

“Quiet!”

“There’s no need for arguing among yourselves about the hypothesis of surrender.” said Fetjem. “The result is the same. The castle has already been breached and we are inside.”

“What do you mean?” Madjal was confused, blind with rage. “We are under the gaze of Isher, the troops will return to their positions once the talks are concluded.”

“Yes, we are under the banner of Isher.” Fetjem’s voice was overtaken with victorious smug. “But my king and his advisors have concluded that when hoisted by treacherous regicides, it’s meaningless.”

“That’s a lie!” the Latraparian laidimic monk yelled. “The flag is an univers-”

Before he could finish, Kashanite soldiers surrounded the council and held its members at the tip of their blades and guns. The remaining Latraparian guards were easily disarmed or killed and the court gave no resistance. Madjal tried to raise his sword at Fetjem but the wound slowed him down and his neck was immediately encircled by Kashanite pikes and spears. Xardes laughed loudly, patting Fetjem’s back.

Silander was with the master and Rama, among the court.

Brahilal stepped forward and approached the council.

“How can I trust men insolent enough to murder their own divine ruler?”

“You can’t.” answered Fetjem.

“Obviously. They can’t be trusted by anyone, so they would make terrible slaves too, I’m afraid.”

“Terrible.” Xardes mockingly repeated.

“It seems the best solution is to make an example out of them.” Brahilal turned to the Latraparian court. “Whom among you helped this lot in their ungodly regicide?”

The courtiers were overtaken by panic and started pushing the conspirators among them to the front. That included Silander, Rama and the master. The boy was still having trouble believing in anything that was happening. At that moment, more than ever, it all felt like a dream. He begged to wake up.

The king of Kashan approached and examined the culprits.

“Good. Good.” he nodded, smirking when he saw Silander and Rama. “Well, this city needs to be disciplined. Let’s start with this lot. Let’s go.”

Kashanite soldiers grabbed the regicides and started pushing them towards the palace. Before its the gates, Xardes approached the two boys and called the king.

“Your majesty! These two are still in a fine age to learn their place. Mind if I take care of them?”

“Who better than you?” said Brahilal, before resuming his march, with his retinue, soldiers and prisoners at his tail.

Xardes grabbed both of them by the back of their collars. “You live to serve now. Your masters will be your only gods and servitude your only faith. That’s what Eldal said.”

He was citing a demon from Haturite lore. Silander almost fainted in fear.

“You have much to learn.” he continued. “This will be your first lesson.”

They crossed the hallways and gardens as they had done that morning. The Kashanites killed the peacocks, scratched the walls with their blades and tore the furniture apart. Outside, shouting and gunfire could be heard, as the pillaging of the city began.

They reached the door that led to antechamber but, this time, they turned left, towards the roaring tigers. The rain started again.

The pit was deep and covered with sand in the bottom. Six tigers prowled around the circular walls repeatedly, roaring deeply in hunger and defiance of each other. Xardes brought the boys close to the edge and pushed them against it. “Watch and learn the price of insolence.”

Silander was almost fainting with fear, hopelessness and the corsair’s alcoholic stench.

Brahilal stood proudly atop the pit, with Fetjem at his side. The admiral had a look of distaste in his face, but did nothing to stop his king. The Kashanite nobles and officers surrounded the edges, leaving enough space for what was left of the Latraparian court to watch the punishment of the traitors among them.

The king of Kashan, with a grin covering his face, didn’t bother with any words and signalled his men. The first to be thrown was Silander’s Haturite master. The old man looked at his students one last time, the rain cascading down his face. He smiled before he was pushed. The boys closed their eyes and looked away.

“Open your bloody eyes or I will rip them out of your skulls!” bellowed Xardes.

Silander opened his tear-filled eyes and looked down. The tigers were devouring the master but there was no screaming. His old bones didn’t resist the fall and gave him the mercy of a quick passage to the realm of Vidjar.

After him came a few other courtiers who didn’t have the same luck, screaming like the hysteric little children Silander scorned. There wasn’t an ounce of contempt left in his soul.

Then, it was master Jedhor’s turn. He was crying and struggling with the Kashanites, and fell down with a big yell. Below, he tried to get up and run, howling in pain as he was torn apart by the ferocious beasts.

The Latraparian laidimic monks followed. They were brought forward and fell in silence, true to a life of acceptance. Only when the tigers' jaws started carving into their flesh did they scream like the others.

There was only one traitor left.

Silander felt a cold shiver crossing his spine from one end to the other as Madjal was brought up. The Kashanites rejoiced at the sight of this last, supposedly brave course in the orgy of violence.

The captain of the Latraparian Royal Guard looked Silander in the eyes and nodded in approval, smiling. Then he looked up, gazing into the heavens he claimed to serve when his sword killed the men he was bound to protect. A thunder made itself heard and its light illuminated his face. Was it approval? Or fury? Vidjar would soon have him know.

He was pushed and fell in silence. There was a scream, but it was Silander’s. When he reached the bottom, he was no more than any other men and shouted the pain out of his earthly form as it was consumed by the tigers. Silander only heard the beginning. He was glad to lose his senses shortly after the captain’s fall.

***

The following days were ruled by chaos. Everything that wasn’t nailed to the ground was taken by the invaders. The population was divided and stripped of their possessions. All that fit on the fleet were quickly rushed to the holds of the corsair’s ships. The strongest were given oars, the weakest were stuck into shelves in which they laid, hardly able to move. There weren’t enough chains for everyone, and the Kashanites used ropes and even tied clothes to keep the enslaved Latraparians together.

Silander watched it all next to Xardes. The corsair spent his days patrolling the city, making sure the embarking of his spoils was going as planned. At night, he threw feasts for his fellow pirates in his xebec, in which Silander and Rama served the guests and performed humiliating dances and jests.

When the holds were filled with the famished, weak and confused new slaves, Xardes’ fleet set sail, leaving behind the king’s forces and the mercenaries defending the city from Oshanihar, who was months away from being able to counterattack.

Silander watched the devastated Latrapar disappear as he sailed between the islands of the delta under an unrelenting deluge. He knew nothing about the fate of his family, Dali, or anyone he’d ever met, except Rama, who stood at his side. When the ships plunged into the deep grey sea, propelled south by the strong monsoon winds, he was only certain of one thing. His life as he knew it, together with all the hopes he had for it, had just come to an end.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Glossary

Index
(NOTICE: Some entries got deleted because they contained spoilers for Words of the Forgotten.)

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Ardizel
Basterian Rebels
Bepatra
Brahilal IV of Kashan, King
Butra people
Çarabe
Dali
Dnash
Elli
Epi
Fetjem, Admiral
Fetra
Gashtra
Gussander
Haturite
Ibil, Princess
Jedhor, Great Master
Kashan, Kingdom of
Kirdania
Kochtra River
Laidima and Paned, Ways of
Latrapar, Kingodm of
Madjal, Captain
Nawal
Oshanihar II of Vidayar, Prince
Palatian Calendar
Palpacat
Pehar Latraparid, Prince
Rama
Sadakor
Shatar III Latraparid, King
Truvna
Ulessad
Vidayar
Vidjar
Xardes
Zlemissen

Glossary

A Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Ardizel Xardes’ first mate. A deserter from the Haturite Imperial Navy who is not used to some of his commander’s dealings. B Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Basterian Rebels The Pentarrepublic of Basteria was a federal republican state in north-western Auracia, conquered and subjugated by Adamax I of Palas. A naval and trade powerhouse, the Pentarrepublic held a sizeable empire in the Eastern Seas. Most of it has fallen in Palatian hands, but the Basterians still hold influence in the region. With smugglers, pirates, spies, soldiers and advisors in every corner, some say Basteria holds a bigger sway in the Orient than it ever did while independent. Still, it can do little when confronted with the Company. Bepatra Male deity of the Kirdanian pantheon. Protector of craftsmen, tools and granter of male virility. Brahilal IV of Kashan, King Teenage king of Kashan. Influenced by panedist monks to attack Latrapar, inspired by the feats of his ancestors whom, once, ruled an empire beyond Kirdania itself. Butra people Originally from the But desert, an area commonly known as Butrapan. The fluent trade between the Haturite Empire and the Seng Dominions is one of the most valuable businesses in the world. With pirate infested seas and the war-ridden Kirdanian Peninsula between them, the merchants that invest in the routes that unite the two empires started to entrust the Butra with getting them past the waste they call home. Soon, the Butra elite were rich and started making their own investments outside Butrapan. Their spread and success, aided by a common trust based on exclusivism quickly became the subject of envy and suspicion. Prosecutions and massacres started occurring, but no sovereign can escape their importance in international trade wherever they settled. They live on the edge of a knife, having great wealth and the ear of kings as long as they are good for business. C Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Çarabe One of the fourteen isles of the Kavad archipelago. Most of the island is covered in a rainforest that is watered by heavy rains and small rivers that spew from the high lush mountains. A small protected bay in the north of the island is home to a community of pirates, smugglers and all kinds of exiles and runaways. For forty years, a woman named Ibil has been calling herself princess of the island. D Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Dali A young girl that Silander meets in a feast at Ulessad’s mansion. She’s short, with deep green-blue eyes that contrast with her brown skin and dark hair. She’s curious, extrovert and very mature for her age. Her older brother helps her in her adventures, including her passion for music, an art forbidden to women in Kirdanian societies. Her father trades in salt that he buys from Ulessad and inherited his father in law’s small fishing fleet. Dnash Hermaphrodite deity of the Kirdanian pantheon. The protector of mothers, children, elders, cattle, free servants and households. Highly popular among the female population. E Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Elli Silander’s mother. Her age and two pregnancies left her with a heavy, exhausted body. A life of labor and worry with her children has left her with a tired but cheerful look on her dark eyes. She’s submissive to her husband and deeply faithful to her family and the gods, like expected from Kirdanian women. Epi A gold coin minted in the Kirdanian kingdom of Memajalor. It’s one of the most valuable currencies in the Ilentar Sea, and used in most dealings outside of the East Empire Company’s gaze. F Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Fetjem, Admiral Commander of the Royal Fleet of Kashan. Fetra A partner and friend of Silander’s father, Nawal. One of Ulessad’s buyers in the salt business. G Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Gashtra Silander’s sixteen year old brother. He’s tall, well-built and trained in fighting. He has a distant relationship with Silander, having no time for his scribbling ways while focused on learning their father’s trade and practicing sword fighting. Gussander A mysterious eunuch that gained the trust of princess Ibil of Çarabe during a raid on the island by the East Empire Company. Nobody knows where he’s from, but most agree that he plans to take the old woman’s place when she dies. H Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Haturite Language spoken in the Haturite Empire (an entry for it will be added later). It’s highly used in courts and diplomatic communications throughout the coast of the Ilentar Sea. I Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Ibil, Princess Little is known of her early life. She was most likely born in the island of Besharadat, on the Western Group of the Incense Isles. Ibil gaining notoriety as a smuggler and ended up establishing herself in Çarabe, where she annihilated the competition and crowned herself ruler. A permanent thorn on the side of trade in the region, several fleets from the kingdoms of Kirdania and the East Empire Company have tried to destroy her. By abandoning the coast and fighting long guerrilla wars in the mountainous jungles of the island, she’s managed to survive and start from scratch several times, each iteration of her dealings grander than the last. However, as her ninth decade came upon her, she started to decline. Blinded by swamp fever and feeble, she came under the influence of both a Kirdanian laidimic monk and a mysterious eunuch called Gussander. Divided between newly found piety and keeping her business afloat with the usual ruthlessness, she spends her days meditating naked, while the eunuch and his men serve as her eyes in the island and beyond. J Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Jedhor, Great Master The great master of the Latrapar Royal School of Scribes and First Scribe of the royal court in the same city. An expert on Efarid, Butra, Haturite and Court Seng. K Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Kashan, Kingdom of Kingdom in the northwest of the Kirdanian Peninsula. Its flag is a red nobleman on horseback over a white background. Like Latrapar, it’s a rich city state that lords over a small hinterland. Kashan is ruled by the teenage king Brahilal IV at Silander’s time. The city’s greatest wealth lies in its opium production, based on the many poppy plantations that exist around it. The Palatian East Empire Company pays huge sums for the drug, exporting it to many ports near and far. Kashan was the capital of a great empire once. It encompassed the whole of Kirdania and even some cities in the Eastern Incense Islands. At the beginning of The Tale of the White Leopard, Brahilal IV, fascinated by the feats of his distant ancestors and supplied with great wealth from the poppy trade, declared war on the weaker Kingdom of Latrapar, as his first move in a new expansionist era. Kirdania A Peninsula in the southwestern region of the continent of Lossa. It’s surrounded by the Parush mountains in the north, the Ilentar Sea in the west and south and the Kolatar Sea in the East. Its climate is tropical in the south and all along the coastline and arid in the northern hinterland. The highest peak is Mount Fepri, in the central ridge that runs from north to south. It’s the one of the ten mountains that are high enough to have their tops frozen yearlong. In the first months of the summer, the monsoon hits the Peninsula, with heavy raining and strong winds from the north, making navigation in the opposite direction almost impossible and very dangerous in general. Politically, there are dozens of small coastal city state “kingdoms”, like Latrapar and Kashan, and interior states, usually bigger, like the Pricipality of Vidayar. The population has a dark complexion, speaks mainly a common tongue, Kirdanian, and follows a polytheist pantheon. The political fragmentation and the abuses of the clergy originated a crisis of traditional legitimation of power in the last two centuries. The rise of trading profits and the prestige of the merchant communities, together with the arrival of the Palatian and Butra communities have brought about an era where wealth is the main legitimate source of power. Kochtra River A river that runs from the Central Kirdanian Ridge, through the Principality of Vidayar, until its delta in the Kingdom of Latrapar. L Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Laidima and Paned, Ways of Laidima and Paned are the two main branches of the Kirdanian cult. They are the ways of stillness and movement, respectively. Influenced by the religions of Eastern Lossa, the way of Laidima finds that the mortal world, in the image of Heaven, is ruled by stillness. Thus, inaction pleases the gods and action is seen as sinful. The way of Paned, on the other hand, sees action, according to the will of the gods, as the highest form of piety. It is influenced by religions from Central and Western Lossa. Laidima monks, who wear red, would have mortals focus on the esoteric and intellectual, elevating their souls by knowledge, virtue and, most of all, compassion. Paned monks, who wear yellow, see sacrifice, a true sacrilege to their counterparts, as the ultimate purpose of the soul if it is committed for causes deemed worthy by the gods. Monks and the faithful of both sides seek guidance in meditation and prayer, striving for inspiration and favour from above on their radically opposite ways. Violent conflict between both is rare, even more in the recent centuries with the decline of the monks’ influence on society. The real combat is verbal and spiritual, taking place in the monasteries and courts of Kirdania. Latrapar, Kingdom of: Kingdom in the central western coast of the Kirdanian Pennisnula. Its standard is a blue peacock on a red background. The kingdom is situated around the Lower Kochtra River, with its capital rising on an island in its delta. The city-state is ruled by Shatar III. The city has two great sources of wealth: salt and saltpeter. The first is produced in loco, near the eastern border and the second is imported from Vidayar through the river by local traders and sold for a profit. Unlike other Kirdanian kingdoms where a single wealthy trader or agents of the Palatian East Empire Company virtually control the whole economy of the realm, the struggle between the Butra Ulessad and the Palatians in Latrapar leaves room for a booming local trader community, that thrives in the breeches left behind by the clashing giants. In the beginning of The Tale of the White Leopard, Latrapar is pulled into war by Kashan. M Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Madjal, Captain The commander of the royal guard of Latrapar. N Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Nawal Silander’s father. A tall, fat, humble and honest trader. He’s kind to his children and wife, and a devout follower of Truvna. He trades the twentieth of Ulessad’s salt monopoly he owns for red incense in Harashur with the three ships he owns. The family's house is a small mansion near the harbour, with fairly luxurious conditions. They own a dozen servants and some horses and camels. O Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Oshanihar II of Vidayar, Prince The sovereign of the Principality of Vidayar. Cousin to Shatar III and prince Pehar of Latrapar. Bound by blood and divine oath to protect Latrapar against aggression. P Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Palatian Calendar The Palatian calendar is used by most who travel and trade, given the empire’s extension. It has six months, with a new year beginning in the Festival of Kaiar Ialia, the spring equinox. Bladarias (61 days); Hilefai (60 days); Sorradar (62 days); Pladinos (60 days); Claidas (60 days); Frisariar (62 days). In the Eastern Seas, the monsoon lasts from the last days of Bladarias to the end of Pladinos. Palpacat Kingdom north of Latrapar and south of Kashan. Pehar Latraparid, Prince The younger brother of King Shatar III Latraparid. He was left behind governing the city temporarily until his brother’s return from the war with Kashan. He is frail and ill-prepared to rule, having suffered from many respiratory and heart conditions since childhood. R Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Rama A friend and colleague of Silander at the Royal Latrapar School of Scribes. He has dark skin, hair and eyes and is good natured and friendly, despite being shy and an introvert. His father trades in rare birds and is having difficulties with the decrease in demand for luxury goods during war time. His grandfather on the mother's side is an inner-city farmer who owns an apricot orchard. S Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Sadakor A rank in the Palatian Imperial Church. The head of spiritual life in a city of the empire and its surrounding territory, called a sadalis. Usually very rich, most come from prominent houses and have quite powerful networks of clients. In the territories of the Palatian East Empire Company, there are two sadalis, the Balalor sadalis, based in Balalor and covering the Ilentar and Incense Seas, and the Eastern Seas sadalis, based in Suridaba and covering every Palatian possession east of Kirdania. The Company’s activities can find themselves hindered by the Church’s own plans, and conflicts are not rare. Shatar III Latraparid, King The king of Latrapar at the start of the story. He has had a stable and peaceful reign, dealing mainly with the tensions between local traders and nobles with the Butra Ulessad and the Palatian East Empire Company envoys. The war with Kashan was viewed by him as troubling but easily winnable. Shatar was popular and respected, but his subjects couldn’t help but feel uneasy when they saw a King that never commanded a war sailing to battle. He’s cousin of Oshanihar II, Prince of Vidayar. Silander Our main character. He is nine and the son of Nawal and Elli, who also fathered his older brother, Gashtra. He is slightly tall for his age, has black short hair and big light brown eyes. He studies at the Royal Latrapar School of Scribes where he is a mildly talented student. He has his father’s humility and a friendly natured helped by a wide smile. He dreams of being a scribe at a great court, singing poems and epic stories to beautiful princesses and mighty wise kings. T Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Truvna The main deity of the Kirdanian pantheon. Hermaphrodite and protector of fathers, warriors, kings and cities. With the crisis in clerical power, the goddess Vashuni, previously a recognized separate deity related to seafaring, trade, archers and prostitutes was labeled as an aspect of Truvna and most of her competences, highly prestigious in the changing Kirdanian society, were merged to Truvna’s. Prostitutes, who were left out, now mostly worship Dnash. U Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Ulessad Butra trader whose father settled on Latrapar a few decades before The Tale of the White Leopard begins. He lives in a big mansion and owns a trading fleet and the monopoly of salt trade, which he sells to local traders and the Palatians. See chapter II and the entries about the Butra people and the Palatian East Empire Company for more information. V Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Vidayar, Principality of: A Principality in the interior of the Kirdanian Peninsula, ruled by Oshanihar II, cousin of king Shatar III of Latrapar. Its flag is a blue war elephant over yellow background. Vidjar Female deity of the Kirdanian pantheon. Responsible for judging a soul's path through its incarnations. X Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Xardes Infamous Darsan corsair that operates from the Purple Coast in the West. Hired by Brahilal IV of Kashan on his war against Latrapar. He commands a large fleet from his xebec, the Darzer. Z Spoiler Alert, click show to read:  Zlemissen A notorious pirate from Defter (a kingdom recently conquered by the Palatian Empire) and an old friend of Xardes’. Having pillaged the eastern seas for twenty years, he managed to make himself one of the biggest enemies of the East Empire Company after sacking a convoy that carried their gift to the recently crowned Emperor Lailai III of Punjd. The ships carried jewels and silver of incalculable value. After stuffing his fleet’s holds with all they could carry and sending the Palatian vessels to the bottom of the Gulf of Luashan, he’s been constantly chased by several ships and agents.

[Boriak]

It looks promising, Admiral. I'm definitely hooked and I do enjoy the fantasy mixed with European maritime setting. I definitely see this as a published book on par with the Gentlemen Bastard series.

Your English is clear and besides a few small spelling errors, I see nothing wrong. Your pace is a bit fast but all you need is add a few descriptions and it's slow enough for a book.

The one thing that I would mention is the large number of names and namings. This is a problem most fantasy stories have, of course, and this is another issue which can be solved with a slower pace or adding tactful scene descriptions.


A few spelling errors I caught:

"...Rama, that sad beside him..." sat

if I don’t get past this year…" get passed can work but you could also write if I don't pass this year

"...but my brother taught me on my father’s back." This confused me.

"Nobody had money for rare birds when the very food they eat is at stake." would put it into past tense: ate was

"and lay his hear against the door to eavesdrop." ear

Eager to read more.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Hello Boriak, thanks for reading and giving feedback.

Regarding the pace, like I said in the OP, my chapters are usually much longer but I shrinked their size considerably to be more suitable for this platform. The descriptions were the main sacrifice I had to make in favor of narrative progression. Anyways, the thousand word limit is feeling like too much of a limitation, and I'll be more liberal with it. I'm considering a glossary to help fill the void left by the lack of exposition and to lower the intensity of the "name tide".

Thank you for pointing out the mistakes that managed to get past my reivisions. For clarification, "taught me on my father's back" should be "taught me behind my father's back." When I upload chapter IV, those errors will be corrected and I'll also add some descriptions to the previous parts. There won't be room for lots of contemplation in the coming chapters, so I'm adding a little bit to the first three. I'll make it so that those who want greater depth can get back and find it and those who wish to get on with the story won't feel lost for not reading it.

Expect the new part tomorrow.

PS: I need to check out the Gentlemen Bastard series since I don't know it.

[General Brewster]

Looking good mate.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Good to see you here Brewster.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter IV uploaded, togheter with a new Glossary added to post 2.
I ended up opting not to add desctriptions to the older chapters. I'll find a way to be more descriptive in the coming updates.

[General Brewster]

You should be able to spoiler it simply by selecting all text, and press the spoiler thingi
Same for the Contentbox, which would be what I advise considering you now use spoilers.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Uploaded Chapter V and updated the glossary with the deity Bepatra.

Thanks Brewster, I got it working now.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter VI uploaded. Yet another deity (Vidjar) added to the Glossary.

[King Sama]

From the acclaimed author of Operation Trompus I & II, everyone!

I haven't yet read the last three chapters (just noticed them) but let me add my 2+ cents.

• Let me say that I appreciate the allusion to technological progress (i.e. the ancient hieroglyphs). Seems like most fantasy stories describe thousands of years of history without any innovations whatsoever. (Then again, maybe that's consistent with the mythologies they mimic.)
• The style reminds me of an old-school science fiction novel. In other words, you may be sacrificing character development in favor of plot. Let me describe my impression in greater detail in case it's useful to you, but keep in mind that I have no idea what I'm talking about. You write about several episodes that introduce Silander and his family/friends, but I'm not sure they give me anything more than biographical detail in pursuit of a story that you want to tell. Not everything needs to be elaborated at once; it's the broader impression that matters. Say, formative experiences or situations where Silander's reaction tells us something about his unique character, who he really is. In turn, Silander becomes a vehicle for the audience's understanding of the broader world. Like Winston in 1984 (I think George Orwell does a beautiful job of combining character development with plot).
• A broader comment on your book series. Tolkien distilled some of the beauty of his field in a way that the public could appreciate. So if LOTR was great because Tolkien was a philologist, then I'd be very interested to see what a historian's fantasy novel looks like (and the influence of your training is obvious here, an aspect that I already enjoy).

• I can't believe that you of all people haven't prepared a map. So if you have, that'd help us get a better grip on the place names.
• Some spelling errors I noticed. In the first paragraph, set who’s --> whose and sang --> sung. Later, set prosecute --> persecute. The writing itself is great, by the way.

It's a great read so far and I'm looking forward to catching up. Can't believe you've been working on this for six years now! My memory is flawed, but I don't think I heard about it until you posted that chapter a few months ago.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

After a good while, Chapter VII is up. I want to thank everyone again for reading and voting for this CW piece in the last competition.

@Sama: Your words are much appreciated. I do try to give a sense of technological progress. I have defined big broad eras and a few paragraphs on what was going on throughout the world in each, which helps a lot in that effort.

As for your comment on the style and focus of the narrative, you are quite right and it will become more evident as the story goes on. As will the influence of real world history.

About your criticisms: the map will come later, when the geographic scale of the story broadens. I want to keep the readers inside the head of a nine year old who is witnessing realites he has only heard or read about, having no real notion of where certain places are or who certain people are. The glossary should help, for now. I will correct the errors, thanks for pointing them out.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Poor Silander has really been thrown into the midst of a chaos he doesn't really understand, hasn't he? I hope he'll be able to cope with the no doubt intimidating experience of meeting the prince and a crowd of powerful advisers.

I'm enjoying this very much - your descriptions give it a real sense of place.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter VIII uploaded. The following entries were added to the glossary:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Jedhor, Great Master ; Madjal, Captain ; Laidima and Paned, Ways of ; Oshanihar II of Vidayar, Prince

@Caillagh: The feedback is greatly appreciated. I hope you find this chapter as enjoying. And I'm glad the descriptions are to your liking. I tend to shrink them to cut the word count and make reading easier, but I always try to give the readers some details of the world around Silander.

EDIT: Added an entry for Prince Pehar, which I had forgotten.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter IX is up. Added two new entries to the glossary, which will be uptaded as the story goes:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Fetjem, Admiral ; Brahilal of Kashan, King

Also, the OP was given a cosmetic makeover.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Started on this (noticed the link in your sig!) and I can already tell from Chapter 1 that this is a very detailed world you've created - the references to a range of languages being just an example!

I enjoyed the dynamic between Silander and Rama, even after just the small insights from Chapter 1 and the last paragraph left everything on an ominous (but interesting) tone. Great work.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

That's not quite what I was expecting...

I can't decide whether I think this is going to turn into a demand for surrender, some variety of assassination attempt, or another totally unexpected plot twist! I hope Madjal will continue to look after Silander, whatever happens.

I particularly liked the paragraph showing Silander watching the galley, the xebec and the barge.

[Admiral Van Tromp]

Chapter X is up, togheter with glossary entries for "Palpacat" and "Xardes".

@Shankbot: Thanks for stopping by, I'm glad you enjoyed and hope you find time and will to read the rest.

@Caillagh: Happy to see you are enjoying it. I hope the turn of events is to your liking. We are approaching the Book I finale, which should be pretty interesting.

[Owlparrot3]

Wow that's a dense and detailed story here .Keep it up .