Sera
Sera walked behind the towering Gwarái as they moved through the outskirts of the desert city. They’d been walking for a while, and, despite the creatures’ enormity, the denizens of the desert looked at them with little more than passing curiosity.
But, seeing a large compound up ahead, she felt like that could soon change.
Rocky gray walls were manned by several sentries who seemed to be in disarray as they shouted back and forth to each other, pointing and scrambling about chaotically. On the edge of her vision, retreating from the compound and over the sands, was a streak of gray that seemed to be the cause of the chaos.
She couldn’t make out what the guards were shouting, but she saw another figure moving northward, a man wearing a dark tunic, who seemed to be in a hurry as well.
From behind her, Tennech said, “It appears we have arrived at an interesting time.”
The two Thurians, Hullis and Dhrostain, had dismounted from the Gwarái and were flanking the general.
“That’s all that we seem to have anymore,” said Dhrostain. He was scratching his dark black beard, which was the only hair on his head. He looked up to the taller blond captain and said, “I’m sure it’s your fault, somehow.”
Hullis gave the short man a skeptical smirk.
Tennech stepped forward. “Let me do the talking,” he said with a dismissive wave. “And remember what we discussed.”
The general had styled his close-cropped, graying hair in a way that made him look dignified, which his fine clothes certainly matched. Sera could scarcely remember the last time she had seen him without his armor; it was like looking at a different person. It if had not been for the long mustache that framed his mouth, she might not have recognized him at all.
“You’re in charge,” Hullis conceded. The blond Thurian captain was still wearing his armor and, walking with Dhrostain behind the general, looked more like a bodyguard than a soldier. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes dutifully forward.
The four of them walked to a north-facing entrance of the compound where two agitated-looking guards were standing. They held long spears and were dressed in tan tunics that hung loosely around them, ideal wear in the desert heat.
“Greetings,” Tennech said. He was raising his hands as he walked, in a clear display that he was unarmed. The guards did nothing but scowl and draw their spears closer to themselves. “We have traveled far, and seek food and shelter,” the general continued. “Will we find that here?”
“Nuku indzjhi?” the first guard said. “Utiwaka? Way Djozen Yelto jipawa?”
Tennech spoke through the side of his mouth to the Thurians: “Wonderful. Do either of you speak Khôl?”
“I picked up a little when I was in Lash Karghá,” Dhrostain said.
“Very well, then. You do the talking.”
Dhrostain grunted and addressed the guard. “Khala Val’ura wa,” he said haltingly. “Malakha jip. Mek’dju hho?”
The guards looked at him strangely, then burst out laughing.
“What did you say?” Tennech asked.
“I asked if they had any beer,” the Thurian said plainly.
One of the guards, a muscular man with coarse black hair, turned and went inside the compound. Tennech watched where he was going while the other guard eyed him suspiciously. Moments later, the guard was back. He pointed at Tennech and Sera, saying, “Du’irikha. Ghaman kemmu’ka dzebiya’ha,” and motioned for them to follow.
Tennech looked at Dhrostain, who simply shrugged. Frowning, the general looked again at the guard and had started moving toward him when the dark-haired man put up his hand to stop him. He grunted and pointed at Sera.
“I think he wants you to follow too,” Dhrostain said to her.
“I don’t like this,” Sera said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
The other guard postured angrily and whacked Sera with the wooden end of his spear.
“It would appear we have no choice,” Tennech said.
“Du’irikha!” the first guard repeated.
“Yes, I caught that the first time,” Tennech said, his hands still in the air. “Sera,” he said with a turn of his head. “Listen to the man.”
Sera was holding on to the scowl that had worked its way across her face, but managed to suppress her rage at being welcomed to Khadje Kholam by the butt of a spear. She made a mental note of what the guard looked like and put it away for future use.
“Fine,” she said, and raised her hands as well. “But I still don’t like it.”
***
Sera walked behind Tennech, who in turn followed the guard. The three of them were inside a high-walled compound that contained a large number of tents and other sorts of living quarters. Looking around, she could see the remnants of several cook fires that were still smoldering, as well as an increasing number of men coming outside who looked as if they had just woken up. By the time she finished looking around the rather large compound, they had reached a great metal door.
The guard put out his hand to motion them to a stop, leaning his spear against the rocky wall. Beginning with Tennech, he checked the two of them for weapons. Despite Sera’s objections, the guard was very thorough with his search of her. Appearing satisfied, he picked up his spear again and knocked loudly by using the butt like a battering ram.
“Effective,” Tennech said dryly as the door swung open. The two Valurians followed their escort inside, into an interior that made High Khyth Yetz’s quarters seem plain. Sera hadn’t seen such opulence since Ellenos. And, even then, the decorum of the First City had been ostensibly for the glory of the Shaper. This interior, this palace, was for the glory of the one who lived inside it, and nothing else.
Whoever had decorated it thought very highly of him- or herself.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach rolled around and spread its arms.
They were barely past the door when they heard a voice.
“My men tell me you speak a foreign tongue,” it said. It was low and thick, and lined with the rough tones of the tribal accents from beyond the Wastes. “Where are you from? Haidan Shar? Théas?” His voice echoed throughout the spacious chamber that was filled with precious metals and animal skins.
“Neither,” Tennech answered. “Khala Val’ur is where we call home.”
He and Sera were peering into the dimly lit hallway that led into a vast throne room.
“Ah, Valurians!” the voice boomed. “Come in, come in. And forgive my men. They are cautious due to recent events. But I assure you: you are welcome in my house.”
Tennech looked at Sera and tapped on his own chest, indicating that it would be he who would do the talking. She nodded and followed his lead.
Walking in, she saw to whom the voice belonged.
Seated upon a gaudy throne of gold was an overweight man dressed in silks and jewelry that made even the ostentatious smuggler Ghaja Rus look like a pauper. He had dark black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, and his skin was a shade of brown that reminded Sera of tree bark: healthy and strong.
“And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Tennech asked. The general’s voice projected more than normal, causing Sera to think he was trying to sound impressive.
“Djozen Yelto, Ruler of the Sands, Servant of Ahmaan Ka, and Uniter of the Tribes of Khadje Kholam,” the fat man said. It was a verbose title, and Sera knew right away that her guess had been spot on: this man thought very highly of himself.
Tennech bowed with a flourish when the two of them found themselves standing near the edge of some small steps leading to the throne. The steps were broad and flat, made of a smooth and polished stone resembling marble, and were mostly covered by a dark brown rug that Sera was sure had been alive at some point.
“I am Aldis Tennech, of Khala Val’ur,” he answered, “Dagger of Derenar and the Caller of Gwarái. I have come to you with an offer.”
Djozen Yelto shifted in his seat. He eyed Sera and then the general, and stroked his chin. He spread his hands and said, “Then tell me what it is you bring to me.”
Without hesitation Tennech answered, “I have come to offer you the next Shaper of Ages.”