Ecdysis

 

 

 

“Do you think they tamed a Forest Walker?” His bahatur adjusted the feathered cloak she had never worn before and shivered like a child. “And sent it after Trymr the Fifth, may the steppe cover him in green and the sky comfort him with blue and gold?”

 

His fingers stilled amidst the steaming entrails of the freshly butchered lamb, but his mind remained inside his falcon high in the sky. “Erdem shaman said what she saw and what she heard. There was no song inside that thing. Just as there won’t be any inside of you if you continue to speak so cowardly in my presence. Either shut up and keep watch, or shave your head and crawl to our enemy so they can put an iron collar around your neck.”

 

There were only three of them here, himself and two bahaturs. Hidden among the blood steppe, away from the enemy’s eyes, yet close enough for his falconsight. There were other eyes scattered among the steppe, but Jargal didn’t know where they were nor cared enough to look. The scouting parties often had only one bahatur among them to see in the dark and few shamans were willing to take this role. Neither was Jargal, but he was one of the Rurkha and their shame compelled him. The land thieves would pay for their humiliation.

 

His fingers resumed his task as he listened to the faint song of the steppe. The worry of his followers was expected — he ordered one of them to take his headdress and cloak and don it herself while he put on a simple warrior’s garb. They also knew that their faint song only made their bodies stronger than a yak and their eyes sharp in the darkest nights. While his song sang strong enough to let him glimpse the future. Even now he could feel his stomach heaving — warning him of troubles ahead.

 

“Your task is to watch for anything coming close,” he assured them as his falconsight observed the sluggish turtle that was their enemy’s army. “We might be here for a night and a day and if some marmot steals the lamb meat, I will feed your horses to my falcon.”

 

Jargal didn’t know what the trouble would be, but the shaman wouldn’t be caught with his trousers below his knees. Whoever attacked their chieftain did so at the reach of a sword, not from the range of an arrow. The thundering chariots had to get close enough while his group had three fresh horses for each rider. He did not fear their slow-marching archers or spellsingers, and their ‘procurers’ were only dangerous for a heartbeat and if he was asleep. Jargal wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight and they would ambush anyone who decided to come close, the bronze arrow or not. Especially ‘her’. 

 

Perhaps what he was feeling wasn’t trouble, but vengeance.

 

“Do you think she was the Lord’s mes-”

 

“You think His messengers barrel through our camps, killing anyone that comes close?” Jargal hissed. “Or do you want others to think the Lord is displeased with our entire tribe?”

 

His ear twitched. “Hear that? Where is it coming from?”

 

The two bahaturs rose up in their saddles, their ears pert. “The wind is blowing east.”

 

Jargal frowned. Was his falcon that far away? “Not the wind. The whistle-rustle like-”

 

The whistling sound slammed into his ears and the next thing he heard was the whinnies of his horse. Jargal glanced back only to see her thrashing in the grass with half of the bahatur’s body missing. He threw two fingers in his mouth, tasting the lamb’s blood, and whistled as hard as he could. Grabbing the reins of a nearby horse, he whipped her hard enough to send her into a gallop. “Choo!”

 

There was no time to jump into the saddle nor did he need to. His strong legs could keep him abreast with the horse and she would shield his side as they ran. Her swift legs would make his swifter while his wind spell pushing from behind would make them run faster than the wind itself.

 

He cast a quick glance at his maimed mare that he had given to the now-dead bahatur. “Run quickly to the sky pastures, Oktai.”

 

Warriors chose to wage wars; horses followed them in their friendship.

 

Jargal turned his falcon around to watch over them from the sky and kept running. His hand gripped a poisoned dagger; even if this thing could break bahaturs like a peregrine snaps the necks of chickens, he would see it coming this time. The surviving bahatur was riding his horse nearby, making sure to stay within his wind spell so that his horse could keep up as well.

 

Another weird sound, different from the first and Jargal grimaced in pain as something started to devour his falcon right in the skies above. Whatever it was — it was going for him as a shaman. His mind let go and Jargal started humming a new song, letting his presence envelop one of the horses galloping nearby. A smack on her croup and his new set of eyes veered away from the rest. The horse’s eyesight wasn’t as sharp as that of a falcon but falcons were born to look for prey while horses searched for predators. They could see more land at once and their eyesight was sensitive to movement.

 

“She flies like a peregrine,” he spoke through the gallop, just loud enough for the bahatur’s ears. “Don’t gawk or you will share the same fate… Coming from our backs! Three heartbeats.”

 

The flying shape was covered in cloth as dark as the blood grass in the middle of the night, but Jargal could guess the size. Scrawnier than a bahatur but might mattered little with that kind of speed. His blade hissed as he pulled it from the scabbard. She had no wings but she was also flying close to the ground. Was she running that quickly? Jumping? What was that white…

 

Jargal screamed and let go of the reins. His fingers drew a rune in the air and clawed at it, forcing a pillar of dirt in front of the Forest Walker.

 

It smashed through with a loud thud and his magic grabbed it immediately, pushing it down until it plummeted into the earth. Jargal lunged at it, smashing the glowing dagger into the body with a loud crunch. “A shell!”

 

The thing twisted under him and he felt searing pain as one of the tentacles touched his back. He wasn’t sure how grievous the wound was, but the dagger found a gap between the scales of the beast. Jargal started singing as the other tentacle wrapped around his body — he was about to die but he would drag this creature along with him to the fields of sunless cold.

 

‘Incorrect handshake’

 

The unnatural spell-thought made the ants crawl under his skin and his teeth felt like they were twisting in his gums. Jargal didn’t care about trying to understand what no shaman should ever try to — his magic reached the mind of the Forest Walker and he screamed at it to die.

 

‘Incorrect handshake’ ‘Providing standard handshake protocols’

 

The steppe disappeared into the pure white, taking away the pain of his crushed body and his gouged back.

 

And Jargal saw.

 

 

 

 

 

She took a sip of wine and wondered if she would need to strangle her brother soon. “Why are you surprised? Have you not seen his feats of strength and dexterity when he and I sparred? Have you forgotten that many wermages still think of him as a murk, despite hearing or even witnessing his acts of prowess? Do you expect an enemy barbarian to know more? As a Procurer, Erf is not just capable, he is exceptional. Even if some of his skills are somewhat lacking.”

 

“I know he can do it! I didn’t expect him to act so swiftly.” Muramat stomped through the tent.

 

“Did not expect?” The tone of her words made him pause. “You are watching him.”

 

He threw himself on his couch. “I wish to stay aware.”

 

“Your false sense of ‘awareness’ kept you cocky. You also ignored my orders, brother. Who?”

 

“The Denag wermage reports to me of what she sees from time to time.”

 

Lita’af sighed and rubbed her forehead. “And you place your judgement on her ramblings? The girl that nearly offended one of the Pillar Houses with her words and deeds? She is a scapegoat, brother. If I could see it, so could Erf. Who?”

 

“Siavash confirms her findings.”

 

“Your personal Companion… How blatant can you get? Erf smelled the oil of his sword on me despite me never touching it myself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he would notice your scent as soon as he meets Siavash.”

 

“I didn’t choose him because he is my Companion — I chose him because he is capable of being discreet. Or have you forgotten how he fooled even you when he kept sneaking into my rooms at night? And I told him to observe and nothing more. Siavash told me that he never got closer to Erf than a hundred paces and intends to stay at least this far away in the future.” Muramat paused and brushed his beard. “I also heeded your words about my prospects with Anaise Hilal…”

 

She sipped her wine. “Your gift was appropriate… despite you souring it at the end with your impatience. Or your lack of experience.”

 

“I assure you, sister, I-”

 

“Have you tried to insert yourself into a sadaq with a single male head, Muramat? Proving to Anaise that you are a worthy addition to her sadaq isn’t enough! You need to prove to Erf that you won’t be a threat to his current position. Even as a concubinat. Don’t make that face — I am not telling you to kiss his feet in reverence. Tarnishing your honour and face won’t earn you any favours with him either. Not the kind of favours you should be interested in anyway. I keep telling you to be patient. Give gifts, offer advice, speak like a proper husband. All the things the Rhetors taught you that you’ve likely forgotten due to your status and the previous arranged marriage with Mushaf Davlat.”

 

“And if his grip over the sadaq is strong enough that he could refuse a Kamshad concubinat, what are you suggesting to do then?”

 

“Right now — this is a question of power and influence. In a decade, or two if Anaise gives him her firstborn, there will be a question of children. There will be an expectation of surrogacy among the Kiymetl even if he blesses her with a strong child. Daimon or not, he is a murk. And when Anaise Hilal becomes the eldest daughter of the Kiymetl Matriarch, that expectation will turn into a demand under the threat of a House revolt. If you aren’t a husband or a concubinat already, you want to be the first name they will consider once they are faced with that decision.” Lita’af paused for a moment and nodded to herself. “If he gains… other means to bless his children with a strong Spark or prove the potency of his seed, it might be prudent for our mother to consider having a second daughter as soon as her time comes. It’s possible that a swift alliance would be paramount for our Manor in the future and a still unnamed babe, let alone an unborn one, wouldn’t earn us any favours. I will broach the topic of children with Anaise once I deem it appropriate. Probably after this campaign so that her thoughts aren’t clouded by the memory of why she is here to begin with. 

 

“Then we could discuss the question in a calm manner and hopefully agree to a union that would benefit both Houses. You might end up as a husband anyway, just so Anaise could avoid marrying a Kiymetl wermage her House chooses.” She gave him a meaningful look. “As long as she finds you more palatable, that is.

 

“Oh, and talk with your Companion. Tell him to avoid Erf completely. The Denag girl as well. If my warnings didn’t make you cautious, perhaps the lack of ‘awareness’ will.”

 

She shooed him away from the tent and continued to sip her wine in silence. Was her brother always that cocky? Lita’af could admit to herself that Muramat wasn’t the model of modesty and diligence, but he was usually more reserved in his actions. Was it the newfound uncertainty that spurred him into action? Or was it the lack of success against a murk? If Lita’af was honest with herself, the knowledge of Erf’s patronage came as a surprising relief to her heart. Daimon or not, it wasn’t just a murk that bested her.

 

Lita’af finished her cup of wine and glanced at the evening sky, silently asking the Goddess for a blessing in the upcoming battles. She knew what the recent movements of the arms meant. The Fate was known only to Divines themselves and all Lita’af could do was wait until it happened.

 

While Muramat likely thought otherwise, she preferred that Erf come out unscathed. The daimonic benefit to her House aside, they had another sparring match planned. If his patronage brought her relief, the dead sheyda made her eager.

 

Next time, she wouldn’t be as gentle in the ring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You lost.”

 

I grunted and slid the copper cut across the table. While I knew a thing or two about chess, the local distant relative of backgammon that was played by the ‘lower’ classes wasn’t part of my expertise. I knew enough to quickly grasp the rules but that was the extent of my abilities.

 

Old Arash swiped the cut into his pouch and started to move the scattered bones. “Do you wish to raise the wager? You can win everything back.”

 

“Your greed turned you into a fool, Arash.” I shook my head and pulled my bones toward the starting position. Sheep ankle bones were quite plentiful across Emanai while their stocky shape allowed them to roll into four unique positions, serving both as very basic dice and to distinguish each player’s pieces. “You should’ve let me win a game or two at first; badly, so that I grow bold and cocky. Then you would beg me for a ‘rematch’ in a desperate attempt to win your fortunes back.”

 

I did drop five coppers this time. “You win that one. ‘By a fluke’, of course. And then ‘generously’ offer your prey a chance to win it all back with another, even bigger, bet. That is when you crush them.”

 

Arash eyed my stack of coins with suspicion but met my bet. “Don’t teach a whore how to lick cunts, Mule boy.”

 

Despite our talk, we weren’t betting fortunes here. Five large coppers were equivalent to our daily pay as spears or almost two days’ worth of our usual rations. My finger was getting more from me per person per day in spices alone. Including Old Arash across the table. Probably why he met my wage so easily. Not out of generosity but because the old fart was shrewd enough to recognise I didn’t care about those coppers.

 

The rations were nutritious but I saw no reason not to make them better. Especially if it made others a lot less grumpy around me. Like the two wer we had in our finger that tended to keep to themselves or at the feet of our First Spear. The other spears were mostly beneath their notice, apart from Irfan due to his status as our leader, but I tended to rub shoulders with Hajar far too often for their liking.

 

The fact that one of them tried to woo Kirana, when the more proper Kausar twin came for a visit, and ended up beating Roshan’s record at eating dirt in the blink of an eye didn’t make them more agreeable to my presence. At least they were wise enough not to let their jealousy and envy ruin their lives. They weren’t the noblest sons of illustrious Manors and, rather than trying to push me down to the place where ‘I belonged’, they focused on consolidating and securing their current positions before I could push them off their turf. Specifically their positions between Hajar’s legs.

 

Something that Hajar loved to grouse about to me while pocketing my sex enhancement drugs.

 

I shook my head and rolled the bones. I was letting my thoughts wander and that wasn’t why I was here in the first place. 

 

The arms were approaching the river and, once Chirp came back to me, I could finally see beyond the sweaty necks of other spears marching in front of me and witness the collected barbarian army waiting for us up ahead.

 

They weren’t just horse archers. Well, the army of Barsashahr probably was but just as our arms had chariot wings and engineer maniples with siege equipment, they brought infantry and some basic machinery of their own. I saw them damming the river, flooding plains before our arrival and blocking the passage to Emanai supply ships that were expected to arrive in a few tendays. My initial astonishment at Sophia not planning for something like this was met with her offhand comment that the siege of Bayan Gol was lifted.

 

Bragge pulled his entire army off the siege and positioned it to meet our arms instead.

 

The Chasya twins certainly knew the enemy commander and he knew Sophia well enough to pull something this outrageous. The equipment I saw told me that he was planning on meeting us head-on. There were numerous mobile runed fortifications for protection against our arrows and spells and his engineers were hastily building more. His infantry, which looked like the ‘dark elf’ relatives of Sulla, the Aikerim’s attendant, rather than Irje’s feline counterparts, boasted hefty shields of their own. No wonder Sophia was pissed — this wasn’t going to be a clean strategic victory where we could stand and do nothing while our enemy starved themselves inside our trap. This was going to be a battle of numbers and group morale.

 

A mug of frothy ale slammed by my side. “If you keep spreading your pieces, Arash will capture them one by one.”

 

I raised my eyes at the First Spear looming over me. “My luck avoids me tonight.” Other spears were gathered around her as well. 

 

She huffed and sat at our table with her mug by her side. “Your thoughts are elsewhere. Some would say that you left them in your wives’ tent, but I know otherwise. Did you hear anything from the Kausar sisters?”

 

I wasn’t the only one to pick up Sophia’s anger. Other commanders could sense it as well, including Hajar in front of me. Especially when the General ordered our arms to change our course further away from Bayan Gol without hiding her scowls.

 

I rolled the dice and got two ‘sheep’ for my trouble. Better than one or two ‘goats’ but I needed a ‘camel’ and a ‘horse’ instead. “We are moving away from the dammed parts of the river with flooded areas, but the horde is matching our movements as well. If we want to set up the fort at the shore — we will have to fight them for it.”

 

It was an intricate dance as two enormous forces shifted and moved less than a day’s march away from each other. I idly wondered if I would be as bored as Irje was if I didn’t have Chirp back with me. It was no wonder she got into that bickering match with Huare about their toys. Frankly, I preferred Irje bickering with Huare about the dildo ownership rather than her being thrown into a large-scale battle, but it felt rather inevitable now. The least I could do was to spank her ass until it was red and ride her through the night until she woke up with a crooked grin so that the ensuing bickering war didn’t escalate into something else again like that antler incident.

 

Kirana couldn’t look me in the eyes after what her sister did, while Huare kept snickering like an old leech every time she saw my tongue outside. Or my fingers for that matter.

 

“They put their horse archers at the river?” Sassan rubbed his new scar in astonishment. A gift from a stray arrow. He asked me not to heal it too much and leave it as a beauty mark. “Our spears will push them into the waters to drown!”

 

I shook my head. “They brought foot soldiers. Swords and shields mostly, so your spears will have a range advantage.”

 

“Or they will break your spears outright,” Hajar growled as she glanced around, “if you start digging for gold in your noses in the middle of the battle.”

 

She glanced at me. “Anything else?”

 

I shrugged. Most of what I learned from Sophia or Albin I wasn’t allowed to talk about. That left the general observations that I could gain from the balloon. “They don’t look as disciplined and organised as we are and their formations aren’t as complex as our maniples. But a unit of warriors without the werbow or oar support is still a unit of warriors. They are building walls on wheels too.”

 

Hajar grimaced. “Walls or are they hanging on chains?”

 

I scratched my chin. “I think a few giant shields were hanging like that, yes.”

 

“Can’t crush those with a solid boulder hit. A maniple can deal with one, especially if one of the fists flanks it, but it won’t be quick or easy. How do you think your wife would fare against them?” 

 

“Anaise?” I grimaced, the thought of my wife charging at the glowing fortifications wasn’t a pleasant one. “If she gets close enough — yes.”

 

“Why didn’t you beg the General to keep her in our Maniple? Now the chariots are riding like peacocks and collecting honour they didn’t earn while our Maniple is lacking a capable wermage.”

 

I spread my arms. “That was her will, First Spear.”

 

“The first time I am annoyed that someone is a diligent husband.” She drank half of her mug at once and gestured at mine. “Drink! I didn’t go around asking for the freshly brewed ale just for it to sit untouched.”

 

I nodded in gratitude and drank the sweet brew with a rich, herbal flavour. The ale couldn’t last a week without going stale, so they simply kept brewing some as we marched. I wasn’t sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the arusak-at had a brewery inside. They couldn’t supply both arms with the fresh stuff so it wasn’t cheap or easy to get. Hajar was a wer, but she was one of the Kishava and had familial connections with the Kishava wermages in control of our supplies.

 

“Anything else? Do you know why she is summoning us tonight?”

 

I shook my head. While I knew why Sophia wanted me in her arusak, my tasks were secret even from my wives, let alone my commander. Knowing the Chasya’s, I could imagine her summoning her officers just so she could freeze them and talk to me in private, but that wasn’t something I was willing to posit to Hajar either.

 

Already annoyed by the actions of the enemy General, Sophia didn’t look lightly at the scouting parties his forces left behind. And I, with my eye-catching moves in the sparring circle against Lita’af Hikmat and my eyebrow-raising scalping of the late Trymr Rurkha, was a perfect candidate to send against the scout wermage.

 

As was expected with my well-laid plans, it was a disaster as soon as I contacted the enemy. Literally. In contrast to everything I was taught about contemporary warfare, the enemy wermage chose to hide himself as a servant while dressing one of his wer guards in his ritualistic dress. I knew how to gauge my strength but there was a difference in wer and wermage resilience. I was coming in hot, ready to stun and yank away an alert battle mage, only to find myself smashing through wer flesh. By the time I turned myself around, the element of surprise was long gone. But I was fully encased in my skinsuit and my General wanted a ‘tongue’ to interrogate, so I continued my pursuit.

 

His falcon was a normal bird, and Lita’af prepared me for the standard spells the war mages tended to open their battles with. What did catch me unawares was that his magic worked on me.

 

Well, not on me specifically. The shaman tried to possess Harald of all things.

 

Granted, Harald wasn’t exactly a person to begin with either. Some might call its kind a bio-engineered animal but if I was pedantic, it was closer to a parasitic fungus. Nevertheless, the magic deemed it ‘animal’ enough to connect.

 

The connection was… magical. Yes, that was all I could say about it after combing through the logs and running diagnostics for hours on end. Similarly to how my collection of fart pillow artefacts created sound out of nothing, his spell somehow bypassed all conventional forms of media and made Harald ‘feel’ as if something was talking to it. There were no records of signals being received of any kind that Harald could receive, but Harald ‘knew’ it was being ‘hailed’.

 

The shaman was incredibly lucky that my Harald, while being Navigator-grade, wasn’t one of the more aggressive types designed for less clandestine tasks. The ones that neutralised the contact first and rummaged through the rubble afterwards. It had firewalls and viral countermeasures, but those were responses-in-kind. From Harald’s perspective, a new device got plugged in and wanted to talk but couldn’t. So it did what was expected of it.

 

Harald uploaded the proper drivers.

 

 

Magically.

 

 

Into a wermage mind.

 

 

Fucking great.

 

 

I shoved the mug in my face to hide my grimace as I finished the ale. I knew what it did because I could read the logs. I knew that the shaman ‘received’ the package because I had a frothing wermage in my hands and my lashes weren’t the cause of that reaction. Albin laughed himself off his couch while Sophia threatened me with a tutor to teach me moderation and restraint. All I could do was shrug helplessly — it was hard enough to predict what I didn’t know, even harder when it came to complex interactions.

 

I knew how much kinetic force my skinsuit could withstand, magical or not. I was also generally aware of how much force different brands of wermages could exert. From that alone, I was confident enough about the dagger in the shaman’s hands to ignore it outright. But talking to Harald? That was getting ridiculous.

 

Obviously, I was very much interested in the effects of Harald’s actions, but I couldn’t just walk into my finger with an insensate enemy wermage under my arm. Hajar would be mightily curious why my healing practices were now paid with wermage bodies. Nor could I drag him into my wives’ tent. Anaise wouldn’t understand either. That left Sophia, who, after copious grumbling about my inability to perform delicate tasks like an oaf that I undoubtedly was, agreed to assign someone to tend to him just in case he might recover enough to be interrogated.

 

I just hoped that he wouldn’t wake up talking in binary or something equally outrageous.

 

A familiar horn rang through our camp.

 

Hajar huffed and emptied her ale. “Let’s go.” Her gaze shifted from me to Irfan. “Inspect all shields. The last thing I want is to have barbarians breach into our maniple just because one of you oafs left his shield to rot.”

 

I grunted and slid the coppers to Arash.