Branded and exiled, Asherah rode south into unknown lands. She
carried only her weapons and a burning desire for vengeance. Every
morning the sun rose higher, until it lifted above the horizon, and
she had to shield her eyes from the light of it for the first time in
her life. She looked down from the high pass to the lowlands beyond
that she had heard of but never seen. She knew the empire carved out
with fire and steel by her ancestors stretched for many weeks in
every direction, and yet none of the Karkahd had passed beyond the
mountains for hundreds of years, save those who did not return.
Hers was the highest of crimes, for she had failed to protect the
graves of the greatest of the kings, and had somehow also failed to
give her life in the attempt. Wounded, she had ridden to the place
called Ember, and she had warned her kin that the body of Druan had
been stolen. They went forth to try and intercept the grave robbers,
but they had lost the trail in the foothills, and no Karkahd could
pass the mountains and return.
Asherah had failed, and so she was stripped of her armor and her
torch, and her back was branded to show her crimes and that she was
no long a part of any people. They gave her back her bow and spear
and her sword, and then they gave her the choice of death in battle
or exile for life, and she chose exile. They might think it was the
coward’s choice, but she still harbored within her the desire to
track down those who had defiled the valley of death, and make them
pay with their lives, as she should have.
She knew at least one of her own kind rode with them, but no one
believed her. Asherah knew she had taken his hand, but his body was
not found, so she knew he lived. She swore they would not both live
under the same sky.
The land descended into a long valley marked by slithering streams
and stunted trees, dusted with less snow than she had ever seen upon
the ground. She knew the lands she sought were warm, but she did not
really know what that meant.
She hunted for the trail in the soft, wet earth, knowing that once
the thieves left the northlands behind they would have less reason to
hide their tracks, and she hoped to find a sign. They had to have
come south, across the mountains, and into these empty lands where
nothing dwelled but wild wolves and giant deer.
Asherah stalked the twilit realm with bow and arrow, and she found a
yearling mired in the soft mud, struggling to get loose. Two arrows
finished it, and then she used a rope to snare it and her pony to
drag it free. She was glad to get her arrows back, as she did not
know what kinds of wood they might have in these lands, nor when she
would have time to fashion new shafts.
Skinned and gutted, the deer made a good supply of meat, and she left
the kill site behind her, knowing the scent of blood would draw
wolves. The wolves of this land did not know or fear man, and she
wished to avoid them if she could.
She rested long enough to roast some of the meat over a well-banked
fire and sleep a few hours, and then she moved on. Her path could
not be straight, as she had to weave across the land, seeking the
shallow places to cross the winding streams where they would have had
to carry their heavy burden. They had not come for Druan’s
treasure – they had come for his corpse, and the legendary sword
within his coffin. She did not doubt why they would seek the ember
sword, but she did not know why they would wish to take his body.
On the second day she found the trail, a path cut by many horses,
clear and easy to see on the soft earth, and the heavy imprints of a
sledge dragged through the mud. Her heart sped faster when she saw
it, and she knelt down beside the trail and gave thanks to Ajahe that
she was favored with the chance for revenge. The pain of her healing
wounds was not faded, nor was the pain of her brands. She swore she
would have revenge before the pain was gone.
Now that she had the trail, she followed it easily, day and night.
The sky grew brighter, and the sun rose higher each day. It was
strange, and Asherah had to cover her face to shield herself from the
light. It was warmer, and the streams ran heavier and wider, until
she came to a land of heavy forest and jagged rocks, and her passage
slowed a great deal. It was harder to follow the trail, and she took
to traveling at night, when she did not have to squint against the
daylight. It was so warm she shed her furs, rode in only her shirt
and leather breeches, her tall boots laced up over her thighs.
There was plenty of forage for her pony, and more than enough water.
There was game, and she hunted easily. The woods were full of
strange sounds, and she saw tracks she did not recognize. The sounds
and smells reminded her she was in a strange land, and she was never
at ease, sleeping with her sword close to hand.
On the tenth day, the trail led her between a pair of stone pillars
that had been raised by man, though they were ancient and crumbling.
Beyond them the trail became a path she could not mistake, and she
rode more cautiously, bow ready with an arrow on the string. On the
twelfth day, she emerged from the trees and looked upon a strange,
primordial scene.
The valley was immense and green, every rock and ridge covered in
thick grasses or moss. On all sides the hillsides rose, and beyond
them were mountains. The land was desolate but beautiful, looking
raw and unfinished. Silver streams flowed across it, gleaming in the
moonlight, and at the far end, on the shoulders of the hills, stood
something she had never seen before. It was like a keep, but much
greater, with many stone buildings all close together behind a great
stone wall that surrounded it.
Under the stars, she rode across the valley, seeing the marks of the
passage of her prey upon the ground, and she knew this was the place
she sought. She tried to imagine how many people might live in a
keep such as that, and she could not. It was so much bigger than
anything she had seen in her life. She saw some small lights
glimmering on the walls, and she touched the gold-caged ruby she wore
around her neck and offered a small invocation of Ajahe. She would
need the favor of the Goddess of Fire in this strange place.
Closer, the place was huge, towering so high it was hard for her to
imagine it was real, or that human hands had raised it. Perhaps they
had not. She pursued a man she knew was a sorcerer, with the power
to make the earth open at his command. Could he command devils to
rise and build such a thing?
And yet it seemed old and neglected, and she saw there were vines
growing on the walls. There were cracks and broken places in the
stone, and she saw the fallen blocks tumbled on the earth, sunk in
the soil and overgrown with moss. They had lain there a long time.
There was a gate, and two great braziers flamed there, illuminating
the night. By the glow she saw a forest of pillars that lined the
way to the gates, and from each pillar a cage was hung with rotting
iron chains. She saw dark shapes within, and soon she saw they were
men, imprisoned in the cages with the bars spiked like thornvines.
The ones farthest from the gate were no more than rotten corpses and
bone, but the closer she came to the dark gateway, the fresher they
became, until she heard moans of pain and privation, whispered pleas,
and at last, curses upon the world and all within it.
She stopped and looked up, saw someone prisoned in the iron cage, and
she struck the bars with her spear-haft. “You there, what place is
this?”
She saw the whites of eyes looking down at her. “Who are you that
does not know Vendhar? Your speech is strange – where do you hail
from?”
Asherah could see him clearer, and now she saw he was the same type
as those she hunted. A tall, long-limbed man with sallow skin and
thin features. “I am Asherah, of the Karkahd. If you will answer
my questions, I will set you free.”
“For my freedom I would answer any question,” he said. “Else
my fate is to rot away here in this barbed cage. Ask.”
“You say this place is called Vendhar. What is it?” she said,
looking up at the high walls with a kind of evil awe.
“The city of Vendhar was once the great northern center of the
empire, but that was in the days before war split the kingdoms
apart.” He shifted inside the cage. “Now it has been a ghost
city for almost a hundred years, home to nothing but brigands and
thieves, along with other, less savory outcasts.”
She blinked. She had heard of the places called cities, but she had
never known what image in her mind to put to them. She looked at it
and tasted the word, then she rapped on the cage again. “I am
following a group of riders. They came from the far north, perhaps
twenty horses, and they were not far ahead of me, I think. One of
them was like me.” She tipped her chin up so he could see her
face. “He would be missing a hand. And there would be another man
with them, tall and ill-favored, in a robe that covered his face.
They would drag behind them a sledge carrying something large.”
She could not bring herself to speak of what it truly was; it seemed
blasphemous.
The man nodded. “Yes, I saw a band such as that. Not like the
trappers and traders who venture north from here. They were
well-armed and they dragged with them something that seemed heavy. I
did not see the one-handed man, but I remember the robed one. He was
one of the sect of Nathigu, the God of Darkness. I knew him by his
painted eyes. I felt my heart still in my chest when he looked at
me.”
Asherah thought. She knew nothing of this man, and she could make
great use of him, but she doubted he was trustworthy. She tapped the
iron again with her spear. “Tell me your name, and what was your
crime.”
He laughed. “I am called Tekru, and I am a thief. This is a city
of thieves, and so I am here because I dared to steal from the wrong
man. There are no honest men in this place, only robbers and
brigands. I crossed the wrong one, I suppose.” He laughed again,
bitter. “I was never a man to take heed of warnings.”
Asherah set her spear against the heavy iron lock and dug it in,
twisted it until the steel bit into the soft metal, and then she
smote it and the lock gave way. The door swung open and she stepped
her horse back as Tekru climbed down with an agility she had not
expected. When he dropped to the ground he stumbled a bit, then he
made a small bow, as though she were a lord.
“I have never seen one of the Karkahd before,” he said. “I had
heard they were all beasts of the night, with fangs for teeth and
flame for eyes.” He looked at her warily. “You are here because
they robbed a grave.”
She looked at him with a sharp glance. “What would you know of
it?”
“I know the land in the north is forbidden, and you Karkahd guard
it. You protect the tombs of the old Emperors and their royal
kindred, and there also you guard the tomb of the Old One himself,
Druan, the Sleeping Emperor.” He bent his knees and stretched.
“They came from the north, they were bearing something heavy, and
now you are here. They stole something, and you are sent to get it
back.”
She nodded. “Something like that, yes.” She touched him on the
shoulder with her spear. “I would have use for a guide. For a man
who knows his way in this place. Will you help me?”
“I would have use for someone to protect my skin until I can escape
this city,” he said. “I mean to go south into kinder lands, and
so I must pass through this place of cutthroats. Keep me alive, and
I will guide you as well as I can.”
“A bargain, then,” she said. She took some cooked deer meat from
her pouch and tossed it to him, and he began to devour it without
complaint. “Come, the trail of my enemies leads here.”
o0o
The gates of the city stood open, and Asherah was surprised to see
the great wooden doors fallen and covered over with moss and weeds.
This city had been neglected for a long time, and she wondered what
Tekru had meant by a war. She had known that the armies of the
emperor Druan went forth in the old days and conquered as far as the
seas that lay to the south and the west, as well as the deserts that
lay to the east. She had heard the stories of shining kingdoms laid
out beneath the stars, all subject to the great Emperor himself. She
knew nothing of war, or different kingdoms battling one another.
“Why do you call him the Sleeping Emperor?” she said, looking on
the vine-scrawled walls of the city, the narrow alleyways and
curtained windows. The whole place had a dank smell, and the scent
of many people clustered in one place, like a camp after a long
storm.
Tekru shrugged. “They call him that because they say he will rise
again. They say he is not dead, but only put himself into a long
slumber, and someday he will awaken and rule his empire again.” He
waved his hands. “It is only a story.”
They rode through the streets, and she saw there were places where
trees grew up through the broken stone, roots coiling up over the
crumbling walls. Leaves lay scattered on the ground, and she
wondered at this place. There was no snow upon the earth, and the
air was so warm, she could barely believe a paradise such as this
would ever be so neglected. It was inexplicable and it made her
nervous. She kept a firm grip on the haft of her spear.
“This god of darkness you spoke of, is there a shrine here in this
city?” She saw firelight glimmer in windows and through haunted
doorways, and she had the strange feeling of being surrounded by
multitudes of people, and yet there was no one to be seen. She
sensed gazes on her from hidden places, and it made the hair stand up
on her arms.
Tekru shook his head. “No, but there is a temple of the Fire
Goddess that the sons of Nathigu defiled and overthrew. If that
black magician means to work some evil, that would be a place he
could choose for it.”
Asherah turned and looked at him. “They dared?” She felt a sick
anger inside her at the thought of it. What manner of men were
these?
He flinched a bit from her anger. “There has been a war now, for
many years. The Cult of Nathigu came up from the southern jungles,
and soon there were many adherents. The priests are all sorcerers,
and they spread fear like a plague. In many places they have taken
the shrines of Ajahe and made them their own. They cast down the
idols, and slaughter the priests.”
Asherah shook her head and spat. “Only women may become
priestesses of Ajahe. Only Druan was her chosen son.”
Tekru shrugged. “Our ways are different,” he said. “Your
lands and your people are only legend here.”
“Not legend enough,” she said.
She saw a motion from the corner of her eye, and she turned just as
two men leaped to drag her from her horse. There was no room for her
spear, so she thrust it at them crosswise and they seized it. She
let it go and they fell back, giving her time to unsheath her saber.
The steel flashed in the moonlight as she turned her horse and struck
down at them. They were big but slow, and she cut one of them from
shoulder to heart and cast him back in a gush of blood. The other
one put up his hands to shield himself and she cut them off, filled
the street with his screaming.
More men rushed from the shadows, and two of them grappled with
Tekru. She spurred her steed and dashed them aside, kicked one in
the teeth and then turned as the mass of them closed in. A boy
grabbed her horse by the bridle, but he did not know northern steeds
and had two fingers bitten off for his trouble.
Asherah leaped in among them, her horse lashing out with hooves and
teeth while she laid about her with blooded steel, and in moments
three more of them lay dying on the stones, the others scattering,
taking their wounds with them as they fled. She flicked blood from
her sword and watched to see if they would return, then she cleaned
the steel and climbed down, retrieved her spear.
When she mounted again and turned back, she saw Tekru watching her
wide-eyed. “You are a great killer,” he said. “I have never
seen such quickness with a blade, and in the dark.”
She laughed. “I come from the land where there is no sun, only an
eternal dark. This is bright enough for me.” She prodded him with
her spear haft. “Come, show me this temple, for this wizard and I
have unfinished business.”
o0o
The ground rose toward the center of the city, and Asherah looked
around at the evidence of fallen grandeur. Once this place had been
something to marvel at. There were columns and statues overgrown
with vines and fallen into heaps of broken stone. She saw the arched
gateways of buildings that might have been palaces out of legend, now
cracked and slumped and fallen. Trees thrust up through the
fractured stones of the plaza at the center of it all, and there
stood the temple, grander than anything she had ever seen, even in
decay.
A line of pillars flanked the path to the entrance, many of them
broken and fallen, and she saw light within, shining through the high
arch. She came down from her horse and tethered him to a column,
knowing he would kill anyone who tried to steal him. She gripped her
spear in her hands and glanced at Tekru, saw him hanging back.
“Come,” she said; he cursed to himself and followed her. She
crept on silent feet, slipping through the long dark to where the
glimmer of fire shone from within. She saw etched on the
vine-scrawled stone the sign of the Fire Goddess, and she touched the
ruby she wore around her neck. She would consecrate this temple anew
with the blood of the defilers.
She heard chanting, and the sound of a single voice uplifted in a
terrible invocation. A stair rose to her right, cutting into the
rock as it led upward, and she followed it, seeking a vantage point.
When she emerged she was beneath the cracked dome that roofed the
shrine, shadows and flame dancing over the faded tiles that decorated
the stone. Asherah crept to the edge of a stone parapet, and looked
down from the high gallery to the floor below.
The center of the temple was a great, round open space, and at the
center of it stood something that Asherah had never seen, and it took
her a moment to even make sense of it. At first she thought it was a
sarcophagus, but then she saw the wheels and realized it was an
enormous vehicle. It was as tall as three men and gilded all over
with gold and jewels, so that in the dim light of the lamps it glowed
like fire. It was as long as three horses or more, and at the front
of it were long chains fastened to a multitude of naked slaves, who
it seemed were meant to drag it forward on its three sets of wheels.
She could see that the stone floor was buckled and cracked under the
weight.
On the top of the thing was worked the likeness of a man, etched all
over in gold, and on the sides of the beast flamed a representation
of a flaming sword made from inlaid rubies. She realized then that
this was a mobile casket made to carry the tomb of Druan. They had
dragged him here to place him in this new tomb, but it was wheeled,
so they meant to take it further.
Around it were ringed the men who had stolen it; she knew them by
their armor and their faces. At the center was the tall shape of the
wizard, and he was gesturing and invoking, as though he meant to
raise the emperor himself from the dead. The thought gave her a
chill, and she laid down her spear and took her bow from its case.
She could slay him from here, and end this.
She set an arrow to her string and bent the bow. It was an easy
shot, and she had no doubt of her target, but then she saw something
else. It was a dark man with a hooded face, but he was missing his
left hand, and she knew him for the traitor, the one she had maimed
before. She could not allow him to escape. If she returned with the
body of the dead king and the head of the betrayer, she might yet win
back her place. Her aim shifted, and she hesitated, unsure of who to
strike.
The chanting grew, the sorcerer leading the men with him in a call
and response, speaking in a tongue she did not know. She took a
breath, trying to decide, and then the one-handed man turned and
looked directly at her. She saw the tattoos on his face, like the
ones she bore herself, and she saw the sudden fury in his dark eyes,
and she loosed.
The arrow sped fast and deadly, and the man twisted aside even as it
flashed by him, piercing a hole in his cloak. Asherah set another
shaft and drew just as the wizard turned, anger printed on his face,
and she sent her second arrow speeding for him. She saw it drive
straight into his chest, and then smoke rose from it and the shaft
shivered into ashes.
The sorcerer screamed a command and the rest of the men leaped up,
stunned and grabbing for their weapons. Asherah hurled her own war
cry back at them and began to rain arrows upon the crowd, cutting
down three of them before they even began to move. Steel flashed in
the lamplight and they rushed for the stairs. She shot three more of
them, and then the wizard held up his hand and clenched his fist.
She felt the stone under her feet convulse, and then the gallery
collapsed under her, and she slid down in a torrent of broken stone.
She lost her bow, covered her head with her arms, and rolled as the
collapsing masonry pummeled her. She hit the floor in a cloud of
dust and groaned, feeling pain all over. It did not slow her down.
Asherah was on her feet in a moment, saber flashing free in her hand,
and then she saw the mocking, arrogant face of the sorcerer as he
turned away from her. He opened his arms, and there was a blaze of
light. As she watched, a gateway seemed to open in the air,
shimmering and afire. She saw a place of terrible light, felt heat
wash over her, and she saw pillars of stone and red sands.
A lash cracked, and the groaning slaves pulled on their chains. The
great tomb lurched into motion, and Asherah rushed for it, realizing
what was happening here. She spat out stone dust and staggered on
broken rock, and then the warriors closed in on her.
In the hell-born light of the eldritch gateway, she met them sword to
sword. Steel sang and flashed as they tried to cut her down, and she
parried their deadly strokes and then cut them down with terrible
ferocity. They were not prepared to face her on equal terms, and to
her they seemed slow and clumsy.
But they held her back, and she saw the moving sarcophagus flicker and
glow as it passed through the portal. The sorcerer followed it, and
the one-handed traitor, sparing her a murderous backward glance. She
expected the warriors to break off and follow, but they threw
themselves into battle, heedless of their lives. She cut down five,
leaving four. She saw one of them clutch his neck as he was dragged
back into shadow, and she glimpsed Tekru’s face as he throttled the
man.
That left three, and even as they faced her, the gate blazed like
fire, and then collapsed on itself, leaving them all in the dim light
of the lamps only. The dark was Asherah’s ally, and she fell upon
them like a wolf. She sheared off a head, then an arm, and then the
last man fell back, slashing desperately to keep her away. She cut
his leg from under him, dashed his sword out of his hand, and then
opened his guts.
“Where have they gone?” she snarled, and when he did not answer
she trod on the innards that spilled from his body, ground her heel
until he screamed. “Where!”
“Gathas will preserve me!” the man choked. He drew a dagger. “I
serve the Great Gathas!” He plunged the blade into his own throat,
and died in a torrent of crimson.
She swore and swept his head off in frustration, kicked it across the
chamber, then she turned at a motion and found herself holding Tekru
at the point of her sword. She scoffed and released him. “The
name Gathas, does it mean something to you?”
“I have heard it,” he said, his voice shaky. “He is a wizard
from the southlands.” He gestured to where the gate had been.
“That wizard, I do not doubt.”
“I must know where he has gone,” she said.
“I know,” Tekru said. “I saw the red sands and the towers of
stone. That is the land of Ushar, in the Red Desert. It could not
be any other place.”
“Where is it?” she said, cleaning blood from her blade.
“It is far from here,” he said. “Many weeks to the south,
across dangerous lands. It will not be an easy journey.”
Asherah sheathed her blade and spat out the bitter taste of
disappointment. “Show me the way.”
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