WARSHAAREE
LIQUID FIRE Book One
-------

The Vaeden Quest

"Understand me Rarsht, they are not to be touched."
Rarsht eyed the man before him through narrow slits, the rest of his head swathed in the full headress of his tribe. He countered, "Lord. Why deal with slime?"
"Do not cross me in this Rarsht. I need their Chest. Cross me and you and your thugs will keep your counsel - in the tomb."
"They offer little," Rarsht snorted derisively.
"Enough for rich linings for our Chest for the next battle, money to pay allies who can be used to advantage," spat Gruvod leaping out of his seat and towards Rarsht, his arm raised to strike.
"Show me that advantage worth this kind of alliance," goaded the thin mean faced man.
"What need have I to give reasons to such as you? Remember who is Prime Lord here!" Gruvod shrieked at the upstart mercenary who had the temerity to argue with him..
A swift hand streaked to the side of a belt. Rarsht quickly backed away. A deft side step, and the thin silver blade missed his ear by the merest fraction. He felt the wind of it fan his face,
"This time I let it pass," hissed the Prime Lord. "Soon my people will be well established in the East, I will no longer need you to smooth the way. Now! Get outside the door, listen and wait until they leave. Then I will tell you what I want done. Is that understood?"
It was an order given in such an icy tone that Rarsht knew he had gone too far this time. He was not yet ready and, he was alone. He had pushed Gruvod a little too near the edge and the ground was his. Better to wait, Rarsht thought. I have only to swallow this treatment a while longer.
Rarsht withdrew and settled himself on the other side of the entrance. The doorway behind him led to the feeding alcove where stood a weary looking serving girl. He leant indolently against the upright, still fuming at Gruvod's complaisance in his dealings with the Water Lords. Drawing his knife, he started paring his blackened fingernails when the girl accidentally knocked a mug from the shelf. A little startled, she gazed steadily at the seedy individual. Rarsht looked back at the girl with little interest, he had his pick of court concubines, and yet . . .!
His black piercing eyes looked her up and down, she seemed pretty underneath that grime. After all, the Court Ladies were far away and he was a man of great lust. Perhaps after he had satisfied Gruvod he would get her cleaned up, then he could satisfy himself.
Perhaps he might just have done that had it not been for the look she gave him at that precise moment when his vitals were being stirred by his thoughts. A look so cold, so hard that he felt his balls freezing with the intensity of it.
A look he suddenly recognised.
She almost had him fooled! This was one woman he dare not mess with, and then in his mind he added the word . . . yet!


Chapter 1.

The Pact.

Night had fallen upon the land and on the pale yellow chalk-stone walls of the temporary residence of the Upland King, Gruvod. On this night, all three of Vaeden's moons were still well below the horizon and the sky was black, blacker than the deepest cavern. No winged creature hung upon the balmy night air, tangy and salt laden suffused with the thick scents of rich honeyed blossoms from pani bushes that grew near the residence. No beast lowed in it's stall, no man walked upon the ground. The soughing of a soft breeze was the only sound that broke the silence on this rugged southern coast of the main Continent.
A faint light glimmered shyly from one of the ground floor rooms of the edifice, as if it were afraid to show any glow that might penetrate the dark outside. A light so dim, that it could barely be seen more than two or three paces past the portal. Inside, barely discerned in that faint glimmer, three men sat at one end of a table. One of them was Gruvod.
After a morning bending Rarsht to his will, he had spent the rest of the day in a pensive mood, until the arrival of his visitors. Lately, since his last conquest, he had made time for more serious thoughts. Not just scheming. That to Gruvod was second nature and required very little thought.
Whilst he was warring, ideas had to be squeezed in between practicalities, between castigation, between lasciviousness. He could now afford the luxury of devoting a great deal of time to his campaigns, his strategies. Who to conquer next and when, but right then, what to do about the impending visit. It was clever of him, he thought, to have kept to his temporary abode since the end of the last campaign. This Enkampment had just the right sense of regality for a simple king and its' slightly shabby appearance lent credence to the air of poverty he wished to convey.
That afternoon he had spent time in contemplation of his present havel, now he secretly wished for a tant again. Certainly this was no fit structure for the future residence of the Upland Overlord, but he had an idea of just where his new Kardah would be built when time permitted. To the west and away from the erupters. It should last a millennium. He had recently learnt that word from the East. The speech in the East was different; unusual. Strange, he thought, how much I am learning from the East lately.
I need a large city home, he mused, possibly Hellider Parsht, where tributes can be brought regularly and all will know that I am King. I am strong, I fought bravely, I rule wisely, all will love and respect me. They will seek my guidance in all matters - or they will feel my sword!
His sword stood at the end of a long line of cruel sadistic lesser lordlings who took great pleasure in extracting every ounce of pain that their various skills could produce, as Gruvod's ministers. Gruvod's was the will, their's was the doing.
The hour of darkness came. Gruvod played host.
As three men sat close together at one end of a very rough hewn oblong table, they talked in low tones. The furniture, such as it was, had been placed close to a stone fire-pit in which a little kindling lay, flames bravely trying to stay alight. The room was only twenty paces by fifteen, tiny by most tribal leaders standards, and the furnishings were sparse. On one side the wall stretched from the floor to high up in the roof, meeting the rafters of a high vaulted ceiling. Not the most usual design for a tant-home in this part of the Semonder Tantlands.
Along the wall opposite the fire-pit were first and second story ledges which led to the sleeping quarters and resting rooms of the tant-homers. Niches set within the supporting pillars were convenient spy holes. Rarsht preferred concealment within a niche but had been enjoined to wait outside the lower doorway and he was not about to rile Gruvod any further this day.
On the limestone walls hung a few tattered grimy banners, their colours long since faded, relinquished by various tribal allies who had times past thrown in their lot with the Semondar Shak, boosting his armies and peoples by many, many thousands. These remnants were covered by a grey sticky melange made by the net builders that existed in the rafters, spiny little creatures with a serious bite.
The room was dingy. Light from two tallow candles that were placed one at each end of the table, threw great shadows on this cold stone edifice that constituted the demagogue's temporary abode.
The other two men were brothers and from an element totally hostile to Gruvod. As softstone is to hardmiche, these brothers were the opposite to the Upland King in both looks and demeanour.
Gruvod sat slurping water-weakened liquer, his eyes reflecting an induced glaze that gave little away. He took in all that was before him. The Water Lords' manner, their dress, and most of all, their intentions.
The first man was tall and slim. His strangely aquiline features went against the piscine world in which he normally existed. The pale glow highlighted the sallow skin that shone with a green opalescence, complemented by long dark golden hair, slicked back and held at the nape of his neck by a lustre-seed clasp.
This was a young man, though not boyish in any way and exquisitely dressed in opulent clothes that were regal but not flamboyant. A man who sat tall and straight in the uncomfortable wooden seat, his long fingers gently playing around the rim of a silver metal cup of liquer. A confident man with great poise and bearing, not the type of man to be treated roughly observed Gruvod.
His companion however, was a much younger version of himself and yet there were subtle differences. This man's skin was richer in texture and his body held more weight. The robes this man wore were almost gaudy beneath the drab outer cloak which kept his richness from prying eyes. It was imperative to disguise wealth here in the Uplands.
This man was impervious. His whole personage was draped in an indolent fashion as he leant back in the seat., his crossed legs propped up on the end of the table. Having partaken of several proffered goblets of liquer, he had a tendency to garrulousness. His companion had had to caution him to silence many times already that evening.
Gruvod sat hunched over the table, his elbows supporting the large mug of distilled liquer from which he slurped noisily. His red bulbous face showed signs of over indulgence of many kinds. Current Overlord of a large part of the Uplands, he was sure of his position as ruler of the fierce people of this land. Physically he was much shorter than the other two. His apparel, whilst giving the appearance of some wealth, was worn and less ornate than the garb of the two Princes.
Here the three sat for some time talking in soft tones mostly with Gruvod giving an occasional guffaw and thumping his fist on the table to the consternation of the first Prince who sat closest and had, at these times, to grab his mug tightly lest it spill onto his finery. No man disturbed their machinations. No man dared!
The conversation went easy at first and the brothers gave the impression that they had nothing to hide.
"You see, Gruvod, we must have your assistance. In return we send wealth and fighters at the appropriate time." The first man was addressing the Upland King. "You have seen our gems and the quality of our gold is far superior to that mined here. To show no ill feeling of course, we will leave you with just one item. I think you rather liked the large green, to show to your er . . . counsel, I believe you said?"
"Tribal Leader's Conclave. But can I trust you? After all, you will be down there in that dark cold world where I cannot follow. I am not a lover of water, my Lords, either to drink or bathe in!" Gruvod laughed awkwardly at the joke that went unnoticed by the other two, and his eyes glinted with animal sagacity in the sparse light as he out-stared the brothers.
The younger man jumped out of his seat with rage, his hand on his bejewelled hip knife. "My brother's word is not to be questioned. When he makes a pledge, he keeps it. You have a gem there large as a bicter's egg, does that not show our good intentions?" His eyes squinted with rage as he watched Gruvod's head slowly nod. "As long as you play your part," he continued, "you will soon be allied to the Warshaa Throne." Two red spots gleamed on his cheeks, "is that not good enough for you, Mighty Gruvod?" he added sarcastically.
This Prince was barely a man, only recently having completed his Quest, with assistance from Gruvod's spies. Herrsal was too new to adulthood to trade off against this warrior lord. Wet eared, hadn't his brother called him not long since, and cautioned him to keep his mouth shut?
Gruvod swiftly realised his judgement was wrong in thinking it would be an easy matter to out-manoeuvre the two Princes. He knew that he was much stronger than both of the brothers and could kill each one as easily as spitting a swinet, but if he did, there would be no jewels to augment his treasury, no gold to line his Chest and certainly no females to use or subject to slavery. He must choose a different approach, even though it galled him.
"My Lords please . . . please do not take my meaning wrongly," Gruvod tried to placate this young man. He swallowed, raising his hands in front of him trying to calm the situation. "It is just that I have never dealt with people of Warshaa so closely before. After all, it was my father who had previous dealings with your people and then only in passing so to speak, whilst I have only met your good selves at the time of your Quests."
Gruvod mentally reiterated the swift caution to his lips. I must be more cautious with these slimy undersea apologies for men he thought. One more slip like that and I shall be forced to have them killed before they try to kill me and then where will I line my Chest as liberally. Without the alliance, there will be no steady supply of the gold I so desperately need to subjugate the few remaining tribal Shaks and their peoples. With those thoughts in mind Gruvod burst into hearty laughter to dispel the tension, and called for more liquer.
A young serving girl with straggled brown hair and a dirty grey gown brought in a tray of assorted liqueurs for the men to choose from. She had been waiting patiently behind the door leading to the serving alcove and the rear of the dwelling, waiting in case the need arose. She had seen Gruvod's slip. Had realised how close he had come to ruining this venture which he had been planning secretly for several cycles in the hope that the Princes would come to him. Planning since he had first captured Rishlan on Quest, realising the potential of the situation.
"Over here girl," Gruvod called, her was still laughing as she poured his favoured liquer into his mug. Both Warshaa Lords declined more of the brew and waved the girl away. She shot a sly glance at the pale pair before picking up the empty mugs. The eyes of the men were on her and she noted the lascivious look that the younger Lord gave her.
Gruvod watched as the young Water Lord slowly and sensuously licked his lips. Here was a turn, he thought, interpreting the subliminal message the Prince was sending the server. As the girl made to leave she paused at Gruvod's seat. His eyes still on the young man, he flung his arm around her hips and tugged at her skirt. An imperceptible nod passed between them and she dutifully gave the young man a quick smile, then turned and slipped quietly through the heavy door covering to wait until she was needed again.
Through a liquer-filled haze, Gruvod saw the eyes of his guest follow the retreating girl. He noted their intensity and knew that if there had been time the young Lord could have been his for the price. He could have used that look to advantage, it was a look he recognised as one of his own.
"Alright my Lords. We have a bargain," Gruvod agreed. He placed his hand on the table fingers spread, the Water Lords placed their hands over his to seal the pledge. Gruvod shivered as he looked at those hands, the Lords displayed slight webbing between each digit. The webbing and horizontal gill slits at the base of the throat, closed now in the Upland atmosphere, were the only other differences between the two people. The gill slits were hard to see beneath the high collars of the Princes cloaks and it was only that Gruvod knew of them from Rishlan's capture.
The King continued to mask his face outwardly whilst his mind was even now hatching an idea of how to keep this bargain and be the better off at the end of it all. These two will not be easy to fool, he thought, I must think this one out very carefully. I do wish I had known they were coming sooner than this morning, for that was when he received the message of the impending visit. Barely just enough time to send to his inland tanted Enkampment to summon Rarsht.
Much as he hated to admit it, Gruvod still needed Rarsht. Not enough of his men had been seconded to the East as yet and Rarsht had a whole Tribe to be quelled. To be sure, Gruvod had many new fighters from the most recent alliance but there was no way that he would trust so newly a conquered people to acquiesce to his demands.
Loyalty demanded time and the doctrines of a core of totally devoted men, acting on his behalf in a way that would ensure that the loyalty was not half-hearted. That the kind of obedience he required would be well rewarded and that the conquered also completely understood what would happen to any insurgent.
These water men had almost made a fool of him in front of his entourage, sending a messenger, summoning him to meet them in his own quarters indeed! What was more, it gave him little time to organise. Gruvod thanked his God that he had been far-sighted in keeping the Enkampment close and filled with talented men. He had formulated plans a long time ago never thinking that he would have the chance to put the plans into action, he was never really certain the Rishlan would ever return, much less his younger brother taking the same route.
It had been pure luck that one of his earlier battles had been close to the beach where Rishlan was divesting himself of Upland garb, prior to his return from Quest to his home city of Primmel. His guards had brought Rishlan before him for a nights entertainment. That Rishlan, Gruvod thought. He was a smooth talker that one. I'll bet he could talk himself out of almost anything, certainly made me sit up and listen.
Rishlan had told Gruvod of the wonders of the ocean, of his life in the undersea kingdom of Warshaa and of how he and his brother shared the King's Cautresh with their mother, the King's Consort. He whetted Gruvod's appetite with stories of veins of gold to be had for small effort; of the incredible jewels that lay hidden in secret hordes few knew about. He also shared the knowledge of a kingdom peopled by females. Gruvod had inwardly drooled at the sound of all the riches that could be his for the taking, if only . . .!
If only he could get control of this kingdom full of women. The thought of it whetted his appetite even more. Lots more women, unusual women for his indulgence, his favourite pastime.
It had been past five cycles since that fateful encounter. Only a half cycle past when he renewed his ambitions as Herrsal, the younger brother, appeared at his Enkampment requesting help on his Quest. The plans he made earlier he knew he must activate, in the light of what had been discussed this evening, it was imperative that his Conclave have full knowledge of the Princes' offer. The gem was flawed, Gruvod's eyes had seen it clearly, but there was enough good stone left to make a sizeable trinket for his hand to display.
The far moon Caein was showing dimly on the horizon when the Warshaa Lords slipped out by the back exit and melted away into the night. Neither Vaana or Oooona, the larger moons, were waxing yet and the Water Lords were appreciative of the near darkness that cloaked their departure. Neither Rishlan nor Herrsal were stupid enough to think that they were the only ones to have spies planted throughout this harsh Upland world.

Gruvod drank deeply of another draught of liquer, quite pleased with the evenings work. "Come Felisa," he called, "help me to my bed." The girl in the grey gown slipped from behind the drape where she had been waiting for the strangers to leave. She quickly cleared away the mugs and liqueurs unwilling to wake the servers, long since sent to their beds. Had her father been sober he would have insisted that they be woken to fulfil there tasks, after all she was the daughter of a King now and as such should act like a Princess.
She helped Gruvod to his feet. He swayed and Felisa knew he had drunk more than was good for him this night. "Here father, put your arm around my shoulder," Felisa cajoled, "I can manage you better that way."
"Felisa, my dutiful daughter," Gruvod's words were slurred and she could smell the harsh liquer thick and strong on his breath. "Take me to my bed before I fall down." He was drunk without intention. For a man used to heavy drinking, actual drunkenness was an unexpected state and his befuddled mind sensed that something was amiss.
Although his feet were dragging, she managed to get him up to the second level and onto the great platform piled high with animal skins that he called bed. Hardly the exquisite cautresh the Princes had described, but then, with the almost constant battles over territory that Gruvod had only recently finally won, there had been little time yet to seek proper surroundings for the new Prime Lord, the King of the Uplands.
With the hope of a future visit such as had happened tonight, Gruvod purposely kept his accommodation and dress to a less than lavish style for just such an event. Had the Princes not visited him, then there were other Tribal Shaks to impress in a modest way. If he looked as if his Chest were already liberally lined, as indeed it was - each battle he won always brought a handsome tribute, it was Gruvod's way - then the bargain would bring less than he so desperately wanted. He had even made his daughter borrow an old well-soiled gown from one of the servers so that she would appear as one of them, poor and dishevelled, instead of the pretty, intelligent, youngest daughter that she was.
Felisa knew his ways of old and being a dutiful daughter, complied with her father's wishes, after all, someone had to look after him now that Missella had gone.
She missed her mother even though it had been two cycles since she died of a mysterious fever that had raged through the land killing almost one tenth of the population and which she and her father had caught in a milder form and so luckily survived.
What Gruvod lacked in manpower and materials, he made up for with cunning and initiative. If that wasn't enough, then sorcery supplied the remainder.. Gruvod was an old hand at winning many battles either by the brute strength of his forces or by stealth. His one-time mistress Zygara the Sorceress, had helped the outcome of many a war that had become too lengthy and costly. That information was known to few, himself and a very small elite core of Tribal warrior Princes long time allies of the Semondar.
Her advice kept him in control not only of the Semondar of recent years, but also the Centendur and the Helmader. Each of these three main Tribes controlled six other minor tribal groups each with their own minor Tribal leader or Shak.
There had been unsuccessful plots to overthrow his leadership, that was the way of things in the Uplands. A man had to be strong in every way, as Gruvod was, to hold on to the tentative peace and his ascendance to the throne of Beneraba.
Gruvod was much older than most of the allied Princes and Shaks. Oh, he had advisors that were his equal in that field, but none of the younger men thought as he did. Most would have preferred an easier peace. His was the old way and as they were no longer enemies, they had to do his will. There were many domains in the Wasteland to the north west where several Tribes still dwelt. Word had been passed for many cycles though none had ventured into the zone. He could fight and overcome them, add them to his mighty empire. For such battles he would need hordes of gold to purchase fighters, guides, extra men and weapons. With a larger army he could bring them to their knees, and for that he needed the riches of the Warshaa Kingdom.
Felisa sat at her father's feet and watched him breathing heavily as he slept. I don't trust those two she thought, I am sure they drugged his liquer, he has never been this drunk before and I watered his down well. Her head was resting on her knees as she sat hunched up on the floor. A long hank of hair, darkened with a berry dye to fool the strangers, fell from her shoulders and she absently flicked it back over her shoulder. Its' silky softness and golden quality had always amazed Gruvod. She had inherited the colour from her mother, Missella, but hers was infinitely lighter.
Felisa thought of what her father said and in her mind commented on how he thought he would get the better of them. She was not so sure. They will have made their plans, she thought, and as soon as possible they will have him killed once his part is over. I could not keep our armies together if that happened. I chose long ago not to join my warrior sisters or those that Joined out of father's wishes. My destiny lies along a different path. It was foretold by the Sorceress Zygara at my conception and to her words I must adhere, whatever the consequences.

... --- ...

The two Warshaa Lords had managed to slip away without being seen by any of the servers or guards. With Caein just risen, it was still almost as dark as the inky depths of the open ocean, but they both had an uncanny sense of direction and after leaving the vacinity of the stone building, they set a straight course for the beach.
The brothers made their way out onto the fishing jetty where a small sailing boat was tied up. On reaching the boat safely, they climbed aboard and Rishlan pressed the sail hoist. A light breeze was blowing offshore and the sail quickly filled, carrying their small craft our beyond the harbour. As the boat made for the headland, they smiled at each other.
"You know brother," crowed Rishlan, "I think our plan is going to work very well, especially after I make the final arrangements when we get back to the Cautresh. Did I not tell you that this would prove useful journey?" He was grinning as he settled down comfortably with his hand on the guider.
Getting the better of Gruvod had been an exhilarating experience for Rishlan. He remembered the rough treatment he received at the hands of the guards before being brought before the warring Lord. His every word or action had been adhered to with reverence back at the Cautresh, whatever scheme he came up with, but when he was first captured, he had a taste of his own medicine. Then Gruvod had found out and put a stop to their sport, only to introduce one or two of his own. He was grateful though for his plausibility. It had earned him respite and now he had taken a little revenge. Gruvod was upset, off balance, put out and that put Rishlan in an advantageous position.
Herrsal, his younger brother, grinned maliciously, nodding his approval. He was now in his element. He had not the composure of his brother, nor the leadership potential but Rishlan treated him with care as Herrsal exceeded in deviousness.
"Just make sure when the bargain is set that we finish him before he can get at us. And I want my stone back," whined Herrsal, petulant now that his chances with the girl had disappeared.
"Why would you want that?" Rishlan chided his brother.
"It was mine and I want it back!"
"I thought you had better taste," said his brother. "It was flawed anyway."
Hersal's mouth dropped open and stayed that way for several moments whilst his brother's announcement sank in. Then slowly his brows lowered and an evil grin crept over his face as the implications fell into place.
In the darkness of the night their craft - one of ancient design not normally used on any part of this coast - slipped around the headland, making for a small dot on the horizon. With the light wind filling the almost invisible dark blue sail, they fast reached a small island some distance from the coast.
After mooring the little craft to the rocks, they made haste and furled the sail. Removing their fine clothing and packing it into waterproof quaffa bags, the two Princes silently slipped into the cool, dark, life-preserving water, diving deep down to the oceans' bed. Calling their sluffas, they mounted and headed back to Primmel and the Cautresh in the silence and darkness of the liquid depths. To be seen now, even by their own people, would ruin everything.

... --- ...

In the dark of the night a single figure slipped through to the back of Gruvod's temporary dwelling. Stopping by the back exit, the figure picked up a limp bundle wrapped in a black cloak. In the near darkness, a hand felt for the hook on the door and removed a garment and the pouch that hung beneath it. The man, for man it was, moved the bundle to a more comfortable position across his shoulders, opened the door and disappeared into the shadows outside. What a pity he thought, that the other two had not drunk from the last serving. No matter! There would be other ways, and he merged into the blackness of the night.

Impressum

Texte: A yioung boy,a future king amongst women. h e has to suceed in his Quest
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.01.2011

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