Week One ~ Gylepi

Nyan rana yn Gylepi, di nyan yn Maralu.

Fifteen against two hundred… That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. I prefer to look at it as fifteen against ten or so groups of between five and thirty.

Well, as it would figure, the heatwave ended the day we were due to depart. It even rained in the morning, just as I was buying some extra bowstrings, because the mission I forget to bring extras will be the mission when it breaks. I plan on buying some in Kazin though, since Kazinian bows are as good as Raykinian swords. This kingdom would do well to learn some of those techniques.

I hate the last few days before a mission, knowing it’s the last time I’m able to see my family for, in this case, probably three months. And of course there’s the niggling thought that I think we all have but never mention, that it could well be the last time I see them at all.

I’m fine once I’m out of Ni-Yana, but the “farewell parade” as we leave is something I can’t stand. I’m not sure exactly why people line the streets every time, whether it is just well wishes and good luck, or whether people are shallow enough to want to do nothing more than ogle us, or something entirely different. I hate it. I’d much rather just gallop down the road and have it done with, but the combination of tradition and the fact that most of the other guys regard it as the best part of the mission means I can’t get out of it.

However, that particular aspect of the mission is in the past, so we can forget about that now and start dispelling a few rumours, as is the aim of this document.

As Nol noted in the introduction, I do have some desert blood in me, but it’s from so many generations back that all I’ve been left of it is the height, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest, especially in Kazin. I’m actually taller than a few of them, which is a bit of a novelty.

I don’t have any of the “desert instinct” either, which is actually magic rather than instinct, but that debate’s been raging for so long that one archer can’t change the minds of an entire people, even if he does ride with the Own, so I won’t bother trying to convince anyone of that. I don’t have any of it though. It has to be taught to some degree; it’s not ingrained into the mind of anyone with desert blood.

Nimay, on the other hand, does. Evidently she was taught enough of it before her memory was wiped and she arrived at the palace so she could use it. It’s certainly enough to trim a week or two off our travel time.

Yes, we cross the desert from Ni-Yana to Ni-Mytaa rather than follow the river in what we term the ring route. We used to follow the river, but as of a few years back, when Nimay joined the group, we’ve been able to cut across the desert.

Desert magic, for the uneducated, basically means the user can find water and other desert people with ease. We always take enough water to last the journey without needing any oases along the way, but it means she knows where the Ra-Lin is so we don’t get lost. It by no means makes the journey easy, but it’s definitely quicker.

While I’m on the topic, do not make this journey yourself, even if you have desert magic or someone with desert magic with you. If the sun or the heat doesn’t take you, then the desert people surely will. Their vicious reputation is not undeserved. They’ve never attacked us, but really, would you? Even the desert people know about the only horse riders in the kingdom.

We’ve never directly bothered them, though I’m sure they’re less than happy about us being in their desert at all, even if all we’re doing is passing through, not touching any of the water that’s more precious than gold there.

And so, our first week is spent in the desert. We leave Ni-Yana late in the afternoon (so the poor saps who decide to queue up at dawn on the day we’re due to leave can stop that now) and follow the river to the end of the gorge, by which time the sun has set and we can cross the desert without keeling over from heat exhaustion. In Winter we’d camp there and travel during the day, since the sun’s not nearly so strong, but as we’re still at the Summer end of Autumn, night travel is the more comfortable option.

I’ve been put in charge of week one, I think mainly because I actually like desert travel. I’ve never quite understood why nobody else in the Own does.

“It’s boring,” Nol’s just informed me. Well, each to his own.

The desert is really quite beautiful if you take the time to actually look at it, especially by night. Everything takes on a silver sheen, and the stars overhead are just stunning. Not only that, but the sounds are amplified somehow. On the odd occasion that the guys are actually silent, it’s possible to hear the smallest animal running over the sand, I kid you not.

By day, it’s somehow different to the desert around Ni-Yana, or any of the desert by the Ra-Lin, in fact. The spinifex and saltbush is sparser, so the sand looks redder.

What I love most is the relative solitude. In Ni-Yana, it’s near-impossible to avoid recognition, but in the desert it’s just us, and we obviously don’t idolise each other. That would be too strange. We generally stick to our own weapons, since we tend to be horrific with anything but. Most of us are… useful, I guess, with a sword and daggers, Emon and Kaen are unnaturally good with just about anything, but I don’t think any of us could get higher than Third Company with anything but our weapon of choice. There’s a bit more rumour-dispelling for you.

Of course, we have the standard “my weapon’s better than yours” debates that are commonplace in the army, especially between blade archers and the more refined bow archers. Because everyone knows an arrow flies further than a flying dagger, and they’re easier to carry. They have their own arguments, but they don’t hold half as much weight. Plus there are four of us and only two of them.

Inevitably, these arguments result in a swordfight between Yoryl and Nol, which the rest of the Own then gets in on for whatever reason, and a fun time is had by all. Except whoever loses, but they tend to be equally appalling. You can just see the swordies itching to get their weapon out and show them how it’s done. It’s painful enough for me to watch, and I’m an archer! The scary thing though is that Nol actually trains with the thing, albeit not often. Yoryl only ever unsheathes his during these contests.

Very, very occasionally Kaen and I take up the challenge of blade versus bow, since we’re the best swordsmen without a red shirt, but it’s never as much fun. It’s really only fun because they’re just so bad. And the triumph on their faces when they eventually win, it’s just fantastic. It must look interesting to any observing desert tribes, I must say.

We had one such contest last night. Or I guess technically early this morning, since we’ve turned nocturnal for the week. Before we bedded down for the day, that makes life easier. It was an epic battle, as always, with much swearing from both parties, gratingly obvious openings left that would have been nothing but deliberate were they two professional swordsmen in the ring, and huge but devilish grins on both faces. Fantastic, as I say.

Naturally we play by the more traditional rules. That is, first blood-draw from the torso. None of this prissy first to disarm stuff. Real men fight with real blood. Unless they’re a woman. Sorry ‘may.

Much to my chagrin, and the chagrin of Garuk and Murali and a few others who lost coin over that epic battle, our dear Imperial Highness came away with the blood on his shirt. The four of us have already suffered Lin knows how many pebbles, sticks and bits of spinifex during tonight’s ride.

On the plus side, Garuk’s in the process of cooking what we’re calling dinner, despite it being at sunrise, so the pair of them can expect something interesting in the next few minutes.

This fight has, of course, set the tone for the next three months, though it’s nothing different to what we’re accustomed to. Blade versus bow is an eternal war that has raged since the weapons were invented, as the other men in the army will know, and far be it from the six of us archers and pseudo-archers to put the war to an end. Especially when the blue shirts win most of the mini-battles.

And that would be my call to arms, which means it’s my turn tomorrow. This could be interesting…

Garuk was disappointing, but I guess you can only be so inventive with a communal stew pot and flatbread to dip in it. Even so, disappointing effort there, Garuk.

We’ve been out here for six days now, so weather permitting we should see Ni-Mytaa on the horizon tomorrow. Of course there’s little chance of any kind of storm, be it with rain or sand, but you never know. I presume we’d keep riding in rain, but I don’t know if ‘may’s desert magic would be thrown off by there being water everywhere. Strangely enough it’s never rained before while we’ve been trekking across that desert.

We’ve endured one or two sandstorms, though not as many as one might think. Sandstorms out here are no more common than in the cities. Same intensity and duration; the only difference is that we have no shelter beyond a sheet of tent canvas.

Horses, unlike camels, don’t have the instinct that gets them through a sandstorm, so they have to be trained from a young age. For our horses, two gentle taps between their shoulder blades makes them lie down on one side, close their eyes and flatten their ears as best a horse can flatten them.

We, as I’ve already said, huddle under our tent canvas for however long it takes for the storm to pass. It’s an even more uncomfortable experience than waiting one out indoors, but strangely enough it doesn’t drive a man so stir crazy. At least we know that all we’d be doing otherwise is walking. So far we’ve only ever encountered relatively small ones, so we’ve lost little more than an hour or two, but I’m sure we’re bound for a day-long storm sooner or later. I’ll be laughing if it’s tomorrow that it happens.

There was a bit of drama when we made camp this morning which almost resulted in us losing a member without having even seen Kazinian soil, let alone any Kazinian bandits. Well, I may be exaggerating a bit, but you can never be too careful.

Nol spotted a thrai. It would figure that the Maralu most paranoid of snakes who would be the one to find it. It really is ridiculously amusing to see his Imperial Highness, one of the fifteen best warriors in the kingdom, yelp out so loudly that Ni-Mytaa must have heard and dance over to the other side of the camp site, only to trip over a clump of spinifex. Even if it is a thrai he’s running from, it’s just… oh blood of the goddesses you have to be there.

Kaen calmly chopped the violently hissing serpent’s head off and is planning on having it professionally skinned when we get into Ni-Mytaa tomorrow and turned into a belt. It’ll be some talking point, I have to say. He keeps offering the decapitated body to Nol with exaggerated goodwill and casualness, poor guy.

I don’t want to know what happened to the head. I’m sure Yoryl’s got it and is going to bring it up in a week or two.

One might think that after that it would have been another day to the blade archers, but I’ve called an urgent meeting between the four of us blue shirts. We definitely have to win this leg of the journey, and that means having the last laugh. Hiding daggers or sanding the stew is too amateurish for the likes of us. We need to bring out the heavy artillery. I’m not quite certain what that is just yet, but that will be discussed during the meeting.

Kaen and Yoryl knew we were up to something all night, as did the pikemen and the swordies, but they don’t matter in our (completely unchildish) games. What’s important is that they knew we were going to do something, but that they could do nothing about it.

We’ve been riding in formation for no apparent reason, either all four abreast, two in front two directly behind, a diamond. Also tried something of a bird formation. You know how birds in flocks sometimes fly in an arrowhead shape? It doesn’t work so well when there are only the four of us, since the only way we can get a proper point on the arrowhead is to have it skewed slightly.

Then we dropped back to the rear, where the blade archers always ride, ditching pebbles and whatnot at anyone close by, and kind of acted like an escort, two of us on their left flanks and two on the right, two in front and two behind.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Nol noted casually. I have no idea where it came from, but honestly, pure genius. Both blade archers stared up at the sky and scanned the horizon with expressions that made it incredibly difficult to keep a straight face.

We’ve been exchanging sickeningly mischievous grins as well, like we know something they don’t. Which is true enough, I guess.

We at least know we don’t have a plan. Nothing beyond making the pair of them absolutely paranoid, anyway. We’ll come up with something suitably evil sooner or later, but for now we’ll just let them suffer with the anticipation. We’ll be having more discussions this morning over dinner.

Whatever we come up with, it will be the most incredibly satisfying feeling, I kid you not. I think we may implement it as soon as Yoryl dispenses with the thrai head, as he’s bound to do.

And you thought desert travel was boring. Oh, no, it’s war out here, let me assure you.

Week Two ~ Emon

Nyan rana yn Emon, di nyan yn Maralu.

I am the happiest I’ve been in months. In parts the saddest, but mostly happiest, I think.

We’ve just left Ni-Mytaa.

Not only did I have my first decent meal for a week, sleep in a real bed, and generally have a bit of relaxation after nothing but sand and Sugar’s saddle for the past week, but I’ve been able to spend time with my beautiful Olylia. It seems that half the time I see her is en route to Kazin. We’re talking about her moving to Ni-Yana, but she’s as tied to her city as I am to mine, so it’s going to take a while for that to happen.

Sorry. I’ll stop now. This is supposed to be a straight out telling of a mission with the King’s Own.

So as I said, we came into Ni-Mytaa early yesterday morning. When we first spot Ni-Mytaa as a jagged dark lump silhouetted against the lightening horizon, I think everybody feels the same relief. It’s a beautiful city made even more so by the complete lack of civilisation we’ve had since leaving Ni-Yana. I don’t know that the other guys would feel quite the same spark as I do, but that’s different.

It was an hour or so after sunrise when our horses clattered over the bridge, so the city was well and truly awake by that point. We, of course, were just about ready to bed down for the day, but now that we’ve met up again with the Ra-Lin, we’ll be travelling by day, which means staying awake at least until sunset to fix the sleeping pattern as quickly as possible.

We all have different ways of trying to stay awake. Most of the guys go on something of a pub crawl for the day, but without quite the same vigour as if they were in Ni-Yana. Fatigue will do that to you. I’m sure they’d stay in the same pub for the whole day if it didn’t mean they’d probably all fall asleep. The effort of getting up and finding the next one at least keeps them moving and awake.

Yoryl and Kaen are usually a part of that pub crawl, but Kaen of course had his dead thrai to take to a skinner to have turned into a belt. He’s tried to make us stay in Ni-Mytaa for another five days so he can proudly wear the thing to Kazin and back, but Nimay’s decided she’s going to run a tight ship. Much as it doesn’t feel like it yet, we are on a mission.

Kurae tends to go to the markets and buy food, since he’s always the one to cook the night after we leave. Rejoice! I have no idea what he bought, but he’s sent the archers off to shoot down a few geyas, so that should be nice. I’m more a fish man myself, but Kurae could probably even make chicken soup appetising, so I’m quite happy with geya.

Rumal and Ulkar like to train, since most of us won’t have picked up a sword since leaving Ni-Yana. I’d probably join them if I didn’t have prior engagements. Haenel, the newest member, apparently went out and trained with them, which was very dedicated of him, I must say.

I naturally spend the day with my Orylia, doing whatever it is she has planned. She owns a restaurant in the trendy part of Ni-Mytaa, so whenever the Own passes through she closes for the day so I can treat her to a nice dinner in the evening. It happens to be her birthday in a month, too, so I let her choose her present from the markets.

It’s a pale blue dress with beading around the neck, just a simple thing to tide her over until I get back from Kazin. I’m sure she’ll look stunning in it, but I’ve made her promise not to wear it until her birthday, since I can’t be here for it as I have been in the past. I’ll buy her something more special in Kazin and we’ll have more of a celebration when I get back.

The archers, I learnt this morning, were curiously absent from today’s pub crawl. They left under the impression they were going to be cliquey and have a pub crawl of their own, but Kurae told the rest of the swordsmen as we were leaving that he spotted them in the markets. One can only assume they were buying things for their planned attack on the blade archers.

Archers are disturbing people. Both varieties. Doubtless Gylepi’s written something of their plans for Kaen and Yoryl. I have no intentions of reading about them. I’ll just let the battle run its course—the second any outsiders get involved, they’ll be the target of both parties of archers, blade and bow, for the duration of the mission, so it’s best to just let it lie.

That, and I’ve already been threatened with casuarina nuts by both blade archers to know what Gylepi’s written, and threatened with chicken soup by Nol to not let them know.

I should probably explain the chicken soup. It’s become something of a running joke among us now, but as a threat it certainly carries more weight than casuarina nuts.

We have a roster for cooking when we’re on the road, for the simple reason that flatbread gets incredibly boring after about a week, and we need a bit of variety. It’s easy to forget that Nolryn’s actually royalty when we’re on the road, in that he acts nothing like what you may otherwise expect a prince to act, but it’s painfully obvious once it’s his turn to cook. For the whole of his first mission and about half his second, he cooked nothing but boiled eggs.

Melraan was the one who stupidly suggested that he try something else, and the something else ended up being chicken soup. Neither Nol nor Melraan will ever live that down.

Every member of the Own was sick for a full week after eating that soup. I don’t know what in Lin’s name he did to the stuff, and to be perfectly honest I don’t want to, either. Just never make me eat chicken soup a là Nolryn again.

Needless to say, I won’t be reading whatever Gylepi’s written about their plans, nor will I be letting the blade archers know. I’m tempted to read it, I have to say, but I still have nightmares about chicken soup.

I bet it has something to do with that thrai’s head. Murali will have picked it up and they’ll hide it in a saddle bag or somewhere equally childish. Archers are like that.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy seeing a blade archer get what he’s been asking for, but there are better ways to go about it. Still, I may be thinking too early. They may surprise us with something well thought out. I doubt it, but they may still surprise us. Maybe.

Anyway, that will happen when it happens. Until then we can all live in anticipation.

Hats off again to Kurae, who, through the over-zealous efforts of the archers yesterday, roasted enough geyas for the entire township of… wherever we were last night. Ni-Lonkua, Ulkar tells me. I know, I should know this by now, but those villages all merge together after passing through so many of the same. Sorry to everyone upstream of Ni-Mytaa, I know you’re all incredibly proud of your villages.

Ni-Lonkua is one of the smallest of them all, only holding nineteen people, all of whom work on the same farm, so it’s too small and too close to Ni-Mytaa to warrant having an inn, let alone one that can hold the fifteen of us plus our mounts, so we pitch the tents just outside what passes for town limits and tie the horses to one of the posts the villagers have stuck there just for us.

So since we had thirty-odd birds (thank you, archers), Kurae gathered everyone around the campfire, which was more of a bonfire last night, with the number of people we had to fit around it, gave everyone a geya and got us to pluck them. Made for an interesting evening, I must admit, if slightly bizarre. I suppose it’s perfectly normal for a lot of people, but the Own doesn’t tend to pluck poultry around the campfire.

Of course, the normality was probably stripped slightly for the Ni-Lonkuans when they realised that every single bird had been shot straight through the head. Kurae says it makes them better to cook, since there’s no hole in the skin from the arrow. I think. I’m not a chef. I can cook a bit, but I don’t think an arrow hole in a bird would make much difference to how it would turn out.

Still, as I say, hats off to Kurae, delicious as always. One woman asked if we could all cook like that. Some of us burst out laughing straight away, the rest exchanged glances first, then burst out laughing. Blood of the goddesses, if we could all cook like that!

We bedded down not long after, because the sleeping pattern’s still not quite fixed. It should be back to normal by tomorrow though.

We’re in Ni-Okina now, meaning Melraan’s turn to cook, meaning porridge. We all have our “signature dishes” (meaning we can’t really cook anything else) and that’s Melraan’s. The bonus, if it can be termed as such, is that we all have a different signature dish, so there’s at least some variety.

I finally got some training done this evening too, because I haven’t done much beyond unsheathe my sword to clean it since we let Ni-Yana. Terrible of me, I know, but in the desert, every waking hour is spent riding so we can get to Ni-Mytaa as quickly as possible, in Ni-Mytaa I’m with Olylia, and last night I was too tired. Tonight I would rather have been sleeping, as all but the most dedicated of us are, but I really do need to train.

Ni-Okina is a good deal larger than Ni Lokua, but still no more than perhaps sixty people, which is still quite an audience for just the four of us swordsmen, being myself, Kurae, Rumal and Haenel. He really is quite dedicated, though I think Rumal and Kurae still scare him. The four scars on the back of Rumal’s wrist tend to have that effect, even though they’re all that’s left of his southern districts days. That and a slight accent, which he’s still mocked for.

Kurae’s just a hard person to get to know. He doesn’t take compliments well, and he’s generally quite stony-faced to just about everyone save the swordsmen of the Own, and he is even to us when he’s training. Haenel… he’s getting there. I’m sure he’ll feel more at home by the time we’re back in Ni-Yana in a few months time.

But yes, first training in a while. I’m still not entirely confident in my abilities. On the last mission I lost the little finger of my left hand. That was my own fault. I was paying too much attention to the man I was fighting and not enough to the blade archers on the side lines. For some stupid reason I stuck my arm up to try and defend myself from the flying blade instead of ducking out of the way or using my sword, or even the Kazinian I was fighting, so naturally the dagger hit my knuckle and severed the finger enough that it wasn’t worth trying to save.

Yes, it paints a gruesome picture, I know, but I’ve dumbed it down as much as I can. Doubtless Rumal will tell all the gruesome details of how he lost his. And for the countless masses who’ve asked me over the months since, and indeed will for years to come, yes, it still hurts, but not half as much. It’s not a constant pain, just when I knock it on something too hard, then it stings for a minute or two afterwards. Rumal assures me that will stop soon enough. I’m just thankful that’s all I lost.

Even so, I’ve lost a lot of power with my sword swing. Or not so much the swing as when I make contact. I’ve developed a bad habit of loosening my grip with my left hand on impact, because it still stings a bit, but that of course means there’s less power behind the swing, which already has less power because there are only nine fingers gripping the hilt, however tightly they grip it.

Nol was nice enough to rank me at number two among the swordies, but he’s an archer, and hardly one to talk about swordsmanship. I’d put myself somewhere around the bottom. I’ve still got the same skill, but a lot less power and more hesitancy. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the one to go next time someone challenges us from First Company. A year ago? I don’t know, maybe forth or fifth. Rumal and Kurae have picked up that I fight one-handed more often now too. I can only hope this won’t cost me in Kazin.

Even worse than if I die or lose another digit—or even limb—due to my missing finger, would be if someone else does because of it. I’d relinquish my place then and there, no questions asked. Just head straight back to Ni-Mytaa and go no further. I don’t even know if I’d go that far. Orylia has told me countless times she’d stay with me if such a thing did happen, but I wouldn’t want to test that theory out.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely comfortable with this mission. I never am, but this one even less so. We’re actually going up there with the single intention to kill people. Killing in defence I can handle. When we’re attacked by an angry mob of Silronan army men, I can defend myself easily. Bandits with no army training to speak of is harder, but when someone’s coming at you with all blades swinging, as it were, there’s little else one can do but fight back.

But actually having the intention of killing these people before we’ve even left Ni-Yana is something else entirely. It’s like going looking for trouble. It is looking for trouble. I know it’s highly unlikely, but what happens if the bandits do all mob together? Especially when they find out that the Raykinian King’s Own is coming up to kill them all. They may not do it consciously, but they could well all decide in their own little groups that they’re going to come after us before we reach them, then we really would have fifteen against two hundred.

I know Nimay’s trying to put a positive spin on the situation, but I’m just very uncomfortable with the situation. There’s too much complacency. Everyone’s underestimating the Kazinians. They may be a rabble with no defined leader, but they all have the “kill Raykinians” mindset, and that’s all they need really. They don’t need anyone to tell them to attack; they’ll just do it on their own.

I’m really not looking forward to this. I just… I don’t like it.

Am I supposed to be writing this thing daily? I tried to at the beginning of the week, but I’ve missed out the last few days. There’s not much to say, in all honesty. River, sand and spinifex, interspersed with the odd tiny village and mediocre beer.

Only in Raykin would a town of eleven people have a bar and no healing house, even if it is quite literally just a bar bench with a keg or two of beer stowed beneath it. It’s more like a stall at the market than a proper bar, and the brew itself is, as I say, mediocre, but it’s better than nothing, which is essentially what we’re going to have in Kazin. Honestly, the fifteen of us are what keeps most of these tiny bars in business.

The archers have still done nothing beyond make the blade archers nervous, but I think that effect is beginning to wear off. They’ve started pelting pebbles at people again. I curiously seem to escape most of their attention, I think because I’m not “fun” enough. It takes a lot to make me get annoyed enough to say anything, and precision-aimed pebbles aren’t enough. I’ve also learnt from having a younger brother that the quickest way to stop someone from annoying you is to not react at all. If a pebble rolls down my shirt, I don’t touch it until they’ve well and truly given up.

Of course, I’ve received a few more than normal over the past week, because I haven’t been telling them what the archers are planning, but no more than anyone else.

They must be planning their attack in the next day or two, surely. They can’t keep Kaen and Yoryl dangling for too much longer, else the effect will have completely worn off.

Archers are strange, strange people.

Week Three ~ Ulkar

Nyan rana yn Ulkar, di nyan yn Maralu.

Ignore Emon; Emon is a pessimist. Me? I’m an optimist. We’ll be perfectly fine, have a successful mission and return to Ni-Yana having only lost a bit of blood, no limbs, no digits and definitely no lives. So there. Well… maybe a digit. He’s also still better than everyone but Rumal with the sword. He has dropped off a bit since the last mission, but the power he’s lost is barely noticeable. He definitely still deserves to be in the Own, whether he wants to admit it or not.

He also needs to move that girl of his to Ni-Yana. I’m amazed at how restrained he was with his retelling there, barely any mention of her at all even though she’s his second-favourite topic of conversation. Number one is of course “We’re all going to die” as I’m sure you’ve picked up. But yes, well done to him for not turning the story of the mission into a romance novel. Commendable work.

Anyway, yes, I am Ulkar, otherwise known as the country bumpkin, which I don’t mind too much, I guess. At least I don’t forget my roots, unlike some of us. Not mentioning any names, Rumal.

My roots are the most glorious, beautiful roots you could possibly imagine. You wish you had my roots. I know this is supposed to be a serious “this is what the Own’s really like” document, but Aeia-damn it I’m going to gush about my roots. My roots rule.

Ladies and gentlemen, Ni-Linalaa. You wish you lived in Ni-Linalaa. Currently home to forty-three residents, it’s undoubtedly the most picturesque town along the Ra-Lin. We have palms lining the riverbanks, and dotted through the streets, and the people are the friendliest you’ll meet. We extend a warm welcome to anyone who passes through, not just the Own. I know this because we did when I still lived there, and the place hasn’t changed since.

My younger sister runs the pub there now, since Papa’s too old to do it himself anymore, and she does a fantastic job.

The welcome we received upon entering the town wasn’t quite as jubilant as normal—I think the whole town feels Rau’s death almost as much as the Own does—but once that was over with, all was shiny and happy again. Congratulations all around for Haenel for getting in the Own, and for Nimay for being appointed General.

Mama and her friends always insist on cooking for us when we’re there, since it’s usually supposed to be my turn to cook when we reach Ni-Linalaa, and of course I’m not going to turn it down. It unfortunately doesn’t count as my turn though. I still had to cook tonight.

We always put on a spectacle similar to what we do on the Summer Solstice in Ni-Yana, so basically training, but some people can’t be bothered.

I always wish we could stay longer in Ni-Linalaa, but it is a mission, after all, much as it doesn’t feel like it yet. Give it another week or so, then we’ll cross the border into Kazin. It always starts to feel like a mission then. Just seeing the border is enough to make you realise it’s the real thing, as anyone who’s seen said border can testify. I’m sure even merchants brace themselves when they see it. Because hey, there are bandits up there, who are most often the reason we go to Kazin.

In the past five years, two missions have had nothing to do with Aeia-damned caravan ransackers, and one of those two was still inside Raykinian borders. Hopefully with this one it will make our jobs a little easier.

The archers have been acting odd today, ever since we left Ni-Linalaa. I mean, odder than normal, because they’re normally odd, especially since The Thrai Incident. The oddness of archers is at least something Emon and I agree on. Mama told me she’d heard from Aera that they’d asked old Olem for some honey. She said it quite innocently, thinking maybe we’re in for a sweet meal some time soon, but none of those four are cooking in the next week. I don’t know how much honey, since Mama hadn’t thought to ask and I’ve never really gotten on with Olem, but it can only have something to do with the blade archers.

This is either going to be very good, or very, very bad. I just wish they’d hurry up and get on with it. The suspense killed me about a week ago; it’s just irritating now.

I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. That was so, so bad, and yet so stupidly funny. Typically archers, we’ll give them that much.

The town we stayed in last night is a ghost town, having been abandoned because of a sandstorm a decade or so ago that basically uprooted the farms, so the people all moved up or downstream to greener pastures. All that’s left of the place now are the shells of buildings, which works well enough for us. We stable the horses in what must have been the pub in years gone by, because it’s the biggest building in the town, then pick a house each to sleep in.

This morning, as the more civilised of us, being most of the swordies and one pikeman, were waking up and eating breakfast around the coals of the communal campfire, something that was either a peal of laughter or a scream of annoyance made us all exchange glances. It obviously had to be something to do with the archers, so nobody panicked.

The archers had woken early this morning, which is a feat in itself, then somehow climbed up on the rooves of the blade archers’ temporary houses, Gylepi on one, Nol and Garuk on the other. I think they must have used horses, or found discarded ladders somewhere that weren’t rotten through. Murali was… somewhere else. I’m not entirely sure where.

We didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on at first. There was a lot of running and screaming of “you Aeia-damned bastards!” and not much else. We don’t know. When they were eventually herded to the remains of the campfire though, both blade archers were covered in sticky geya feathers.

Like I say, I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Such a typical archer prank.

The blue shirts thought it was absolutely hilarious though. Three of them with sticky fingers and the other with the odd feather sticking from his shirt and hair, all four of them grinning stupidly. I think anyone who was laughing was more doing so at the archers’ amusement than at Yoryl and Kaen.

Let this be a lesson to everyone: never annoy an archer. Especially if you’re a blade archer. You’ll never live it down.

What worries me though is the complete lack of the thrai head. I mean, somebody must have picked it up. Whether blue shirt or purple, I don’t know, but someone must have it. How long does a snake’s head keep for? Do I want to know? I don’t think I do, but doubtless I’m going to find out in a few days. Maybe Kaen picked it up with the body and they’re going to use it as revenge for the feathers.

That’s what worries me. What scares me is that one of those three giggling archers with honey coating his fingers is going to be leading this fine kingdom in a few years. But, as he said in his introduction, we don’t tend to think of him as heir to the throne when we’re on the road, only when we reach our destination so he and Rau can talk to foreign dignitaries. He’s apparently not too bad at that, according to Rau.

I wouldn’t know. The rest of the Own is very rarely present at any of these negotiations, and we never say anything when we’re there. Our single purpose is to “look intimidating”. I don’t know whether it works or not, but the Kazinian archers present always look at us suspiciously.

Anyway, I’m a country boy turned warrior, not a rich kid turned ambassador. Politics aren’t my thing, but it always sounds impressive. It’s amazing how much those two—Nol and Rau, I mean—can change just because of their setting and who they’re talking to. I’ve tried understanding what they’re on about, but it really is too complicated. Give me ten Kazinian warriors and my sword and I’ll be fine, but talking to a Kazinian queen is beyond me.

Kazinian royalty aren’t like Raykinian. Even Majesty’s quite approachable, happy to talk to the palace staff, have a chat with someone in the street. In Kazin you wouldn’t dream of it. Nol’s only hard to approach if you do it in the wrong way, but most of us are like that. He’s just lived with it longer so knows the type of person he’s dealing with, I guess. Something like that.

Kazinian royalty, be they prince, princess, queen or empress, are nothing like our dear Majesty and Highness. No matter how high-ranking you are, you would not dream of approaching even the lowliest of Kazinian royalty (and they have a lot, considering they’ve got a separate ruler for each region). Only other royalty is allowed to argue with them, and Nol always seems to talk about such encounters as though he was having an argument with a sibling, not one of the most powerful women in the kingdom. I could never do that.

…I deviated a lot from the topic there, didn’t I? Sorry, bad habit of mine.

So yes, mission. We’ll be in Kazin by next week. Scary stuff. Tonight we’re in Ni-Karila, tomorrow we’ll be out in the open, then Ni-Horia will be the last we’ll see of Raykinian people for a month or more. But such is life. We’ll be back, and we’ll still have the Ra-Lin to follow, even though it changes dramatically in Kazin.

The landscape has begun to change already. We can still see to the horizon in all directions, but the land isn’t completely flat anymore. There are slight undulations that in this kingdom would be considered hills, and there are a few tufts of genuine grass too, as opposed to spinifex clumps. Still red and sandy though, that won’t change for days yet.

This is about where the ominousness, if that’s even a word, starts to nibble. Even the slightest hint of Kazin, in the form of not-quite-hills in the landscape and tufts of grass, is enough to set the butterflies in action. I’m not entirely sure whether they’re excited butterflies or terrified ones. I think a bit of both.

Four days and we’ll be in Kazin. Again. I can’t wait.

Okay, now it’s four days and we’ll be in Kazin. We hope. We’ve been waylaid slightly in Ni-Horia.

Remember those tufts of grass I mentioned in Ni-Karila? In Ni-Horia, those tufts are knee-high meadows. It looks quite beautiful seeing the pale brownish golden grasses rolling over the hills, with the little creek of the Ra-Lin snaking its way through it, but they’re also great havens for real, reptilian snakes, unfortunately.

We neglected to tell Haenel this. I think it’s just become second nature to the rest of us that we don’t think about it, so nobody thought to warn the poor guy.

We were pitching the tents again, and while the rest of us were checking the grass to make sure we weren’t disturbing any critters that had already made their home there, Haenel went right away and started hammering in tent pegs.

There was a sharp yell of shock and pain, a string of equally sharp expletives, then he dashed off to the healing house.

He’ll be fine though. The healer told us it was only a white-crowned shingleback. For the uneducated, there’s no antivenom for that snake, simply because they don’t really need one. Its venom isn’t fatal to humans, so Haenel will only be sick for a few days and he’ll be fine. He wasn’t looking too good yesterday though—pale and clammy, short of breathing, but nothing too serious. He’s started improving already. Got some colour back, but still not really up to talking. The healer assures us he’ll be ready to leave in two or three days.

Emon, as only Emon can be, is convinced he’s going to die. He makes out as though he’s as relaxed as the rest of us, but he keeps rubbing his arms as though warding off a chill, and since it’s not cold enough for that yet, that can only mean he’s nervous and he doesn’t like it. How that man comes through time and again in Kazin, I’ll never know.

The rest of us, as only swordies can, have placed our bets on when he’ll be right to mount up again. Melraan reckons tomorrow, which I think is cutting it a bit fine. Kurae’s gone for four days, if only because that’s when it’s Haenel’s turn to cook and he’s so far tried every excuse to try and get out of cooking. I’m playing safe and saying two days—he seems too dedicated to training to want to be incapacitated for more than that. I’d be going stir crazy after one day. Rumal and ‘may have decided on three days, so we’ll see how we go.

Of course, we never bet coin. We earn too much of it for that to mean anything. Betting beer is much more worth it. Whoever wins gets free rounds at the next pub we come across, which isn’t saying much in Kazin. Kazin is into their liqueurs more than beer, but I’ll leave that topic for whoever gets to write about the first pub we go into.

Since we’re here for a few more days than previously anticipated, the local boys, and a few of the girls, have taken it upon themselves to get some free tutoring from us, under the guise that it will be “good for our training.” I’m not entirely certain how worthy an opponent a ten-year-old boy can really be, but it is good for relaxing the nerves. I’m optimistic, but I’m not stupid. Kazin is scary, make no mistake.

So most of us—inevitably the guys who have kids back in Ni-Yana, plus a few who aren’t parents—spent the day “training” with the kids, which was great fun, I have to say. I never get tired of the oohs and aahs that accompany the metallic shing when I draw my blade. I love my sword. I swear Nimay stole my design though—mine’s an eagle, with the tail as the hilt and the head engraved onto the blade, and hers is of course an yrae with the neck as the hilt and tail as the blade. Certainly the most famous blade in the kingdom, even if it’s not the best. Mine’s the best, obviously.

You can’t help but notice all the people watching from the sidelines either, whether they’re just walking past with their head turned, or watching unobtrusively from a window. That always gives me a good feeling. Gylepi and Garuk can’t stand having people staring at them while they’re training, and there are a few other guys who’d rather we weren’t watched every second, but I like that we get the recognition. Especially in Ni-Horia. Ni-Horians are lovely people—they’re the last Raykinians we see before we hit Kazin, and they’re the first to welcome us back again. There’s none of the tall poppy syndrome up here that Ni-Yana seems to have.

Okay so maybe I am a country bumpkin, what of it?

The group grew larger over the course of the day, and I’m sure that one or two of them are determined to head for Ni-Yana to start army training now. You can just tell by looking at their faces half the time. In the evening they were still hanging around, and one comment about Rumal’s and Emon’s missing fingers sparked an evening of story telling.

Or, as Melraan likes to call it, scaring off the opposition, which I guess is true enough. Rumal and Emon could pretty much just hold up their hand to make half the kingdom think twice about joining the Own. Well, Emon at least. Rumal still gets people thinking he lost his finger long before he joined the ranks, so he has to resort to telling all the gory details, which you can tell he just revels in now.

Anyway, I’ve deviated again. I’m tired and my week’s up, hurrah!

Week Four ~ Inel

Nyan rana yn Inel, di nyan yn Maralu.

Nimay wishes for me to inform you all that she won the bet, whatever that bet was. And apparently Kurae did too. Good for them, I’m sure they’ll be very happy come the next pub crawl. Yes, I’m bitter that the rest of the Own got left out of another swordies only wager. They do it all the time.

In completely unrelated news, we’re back on the road again. Or it may be entirely related, for all I know. We left Ni-Horia behind yesterday morning, and have been in the wilderness of the Raykinian highlands since then. Ironic that this is as mountainous as our fair kingdom gets. It’s easy to see why the Kazinians mock us for it and tell us we don’t know what mountainous really is. The fifteen of us obviously know mountains though, since we’ve been to Kazin several times before.

Tonight’s our last night in Raykin for the next month or more, probably more judging by the mission brief. It’s always an odd night, since it’s the night we count as the last before the mission. Technically we’ve been on the mission for the better part of a month now, but there’s no challenge or danger in riding through Raykin. There may be one or two nerves the night before we leave Ni-Yana, but it’s hardly worth mentioning.

When the horizon around you is wavy because of the hills, and the earth seems to move because of the swaying grasses, and the wind makes an eerie, distant hushing noise that continues through the night, it’s an entirely different matter. It’s very lonely on those hills, believe me. Sometimes I wish we could have the send-off from Ni-Yana up here instead, just to lift our confidence a bit, but there’s quite literally nothing. I don’t know, maybe the Ra-Lin’s valley is busier in more friendly times. The only times we’re ever here is when trading has pretty much ceased, so there’s no traffic.

Around the campfire it’s really quite bizarre. It starts out much the same as any other night in Raykin, with the standard bickering between archers and blade archers, mocking or complimenting the evening’s chef and just general joking around, but there’s always an undertone of foreboding. We can all feel it, but try to act as though it’s not there and everything’s perfectly fine.

The fire started dying about an hour ago, and we’ve been seated around the flickering coals since then, completely silent. Nobody’s said a word or even cleared their throat. There’s no sound beyond the incessant wind and the quiet crackling of the fire. Even Yoryl and Kaen have gone quiet. Not a single twig has been thrown at the fire, which is most odd. It’s just me writing, and that of course doesn’t normally happen.

It would probably be quite a sobering sight to anyone not part of the Own. This is the real eve of the mission, as distinct from the night at the Golden Thrai before we leave Ni-Yana. I always wonder how the rest of the kingdom would react to seeing their best warriors as we are now. In many ways the anticipation is more terrifying than actually seeing a herd of Kazinians rushing at us.

Oh yes, we get scared. We’re confident, determined and positive, for the most part, but that doesn’t mean we’re fearless. Some of us hide it better than others, Anganur, Melraan and Nol in particular, but even the most apparently stone-hearted of us are intimidated at the mere thought of that border.

Imagine Yoryl with a genuinely serious face. It’s a difficult task, I know, but he’s had that same face for the past hour. That should give you an idea of the situation.

We’re probably even more sober tonight, given that the last time we passed through these hills we were one member down. Lim ela, Rau.

Rumal’s just retired to bed, and I’m tempted to follow, but one or two guys have caught my eye, so doubtless they’ll want to have a chat later on. Everyone has their own way of preparing. Most tend to just hide whatever’s going on in their mind or go to bed early and think about the next day. A few like to talk about it, which inevitably ends up being with me. I’m not going to argue—the best way for me to prepare is to talk, but not about how I’m feeling about things. Sorting out other people’s fears is far easier than facing my own.

That’s my way of dealing with it and it’s worked for the past eight years, so I’m sticking to it. And apparently I give good advice, so everyone wins.

We’ve crossed the border.

For those who’ve never been to Kazin, I’ll tell you now that the Raykinian-Kazinian border isn’t just a metaphorical one, nor is it a sign stuck in the earth with “Welcome to Kazin” written in large, friendly red letters. It’s not even a House, strangely enough. If Kazin built one that close to the Raykinian border, they wouldn’t last particularly long.

No, the Kazinian border is a row of skulls.

Glowing white human skulls, with the hollow grey eye sockets staring mournfully into Raykin. A stark warning, from the Kazinians who placed them there as well as the long-dead owners of the skulls. Not every skull belongs to a Raykinian—there haven’t been enough killed in recent times to line the whole of the Raykinian border—but certainly the ones a day’s walk in either direction of the Ra-Lin are. I don’t want to know how many tens of thousands of skulls that means, but it’s unfortunately something I can’t avoid thinking about.

In typical Own style though, we don’t just ignore the Aeia-damned things. We charge at them at a gallop. This is another tradition Rau began, upon realising that we’re all too tense at the border. It’s all well and good to prepare the night before, but if we were that tense and focussed the whole night, we’d either start attacking each other or miss something vital. Rau was like that.

So it’s come to be that the first person to see a gleaming white skull shouts out a cheery “See you on the other side!” then digs his heels into his horse’s flanks and off they go. Unless it’s Nimay, in which case she just grins and goes.

Coconut and I used to win the first races nearly every time, but my girl’s getting a bit elderly now, so she’s not quite as quick off her hooves as she used to be. She’s a lovely animal though, still puts everything into it even though she hasn’t got a hope against the younger horses. Mongrel and Nol won today, at which point Mongrel decided to rear in triumph and almost tip Nol off his back. Why he hasn’t gelded the thing yet, I don’t know. He threatens, but I think those threats have lost all meaning to the Aeia-damned stallion.

Anyway, the race always relieves a lot of the tension. We’re looking out for the border in the hopes that we’ll be the first one to it, rather than dreading the sight of it. Haenel’s been to Kazin several times before, so there was no obligatory “High and holy blood of the goddesses, they’re skulls!” from him as from every other new recruit. Even Nol commented he didn’t remember the skulls from his previous visit. Maybe he was asleep when he crossed the border the first time, because I honestly don’t know how something like that wouldn’t stick in your mind.

Truth be told, there’s no dramatic change in landscape upon crossing the border. If there were no skulls there, there’d be no way of knowing. The grass is the same brown, there are no more clouds in the sky, the temperature doesn’t suddenly drop to freezing and no rivers instantly spring into existence. The trees grow gradually taller and thicker, until they close around in a forest, but the forests don’t suddenly appear from nowhere.

For some reason, Kazin is always thought of as being a very green kingdom. Water everywhere, so trees and greenery everywhere, I guess. I can’t help but see it as grey. It’s a very grey kingdom, especially in the foothills on the Raykinian side. The grass is all silver-brown and grey, as though the life has been sucked out of it, as opposed to the more golden look our spinifex has. The earth has none of the vibrant red of our desert sand, but is instead dull grey. The sky is at best a washed-out, diluted blue, but more habitually glaring grey or dark blue-grey with grey rain falling out of it. There are grey granite stones and boulders scattered over the landscape…

It’s grey, there’s no other way of putting it. Even the supposed leafy green trees have had all the colour sucked out of them. The tropics are green, I’ll agree with that, but the mountains are most definitely grey.

We got some of that grey rain today, as a matter of fact, not long after having crossed the border. It’s not quite cold enough to get the fur cloaks unpacked just yet, but it’s certainly getting that way. Another day or two and I’ll be wrapping myself in mine.

The cold isn’t the worst thing about the rain though. The last mission we were up here, I broke my leg, and because we were too far from a healing house at the time, it didn’t heal quite properly. So now it hurts whenever it’s going to rain. Very useful back home in Raykin, but in Kazin, especially in Autumn, it barely ever stops raining, so my leg hurts the whole time. Just a dull throb, but that’s going to get increasingly worse as the mission progresses, I can tell.

The rain had slowed to what Kazinians call a “drizzle” when we arrived at the House of Welcoming Gifts, just as the sun was setting. The Kazinian Houses are some of the more annoying aspects of the kingdom, so we tend to avoid the most of the time, but Nimay made the executive decision in giving us all a bed for the night.

The Houses are basically a way for Kazinians to make money. In Raykin, we don’t charge foreign merchants any taxes until they start selling their merchandise. In Kazin, there are thirty-odd Houses between the border and Silrona. Travelling by road, it’s impossible to get to the city without passing at least ten Houses, so naturally we go across country, which makes life awkward to say the least.

But the Houses have beds. And stables. They’re expensive, but sometimes we just need that little bit of “luxury” to keep us going. Hence why I’m writing right now instead of huddled in a tent trying vainly to keep the drizzle off the pages.

For the average Raykinian merchant, the cost to pass through any of the Houses is, I understand, between two silvers and a gold piece per person, plus another few coppers for any camels, and doubled if said merchant wishes to spend the night. As I say, rather expensive. It depends on what your business is in Kazin, so someone selling jewellery would have to pay more than someone looking to buy some Kazinian rugs to sell back in Raykin.

Our business is, as you would imagine, rather more complicated and therefore rather more expensive. Five gold for each of us, another gold per horse (which is something I’ve never understood—Kazinians are more used to looking after horses than they are camels), then doubled to stay the night. One hundred and eighty gold pieces, for one night in a pretty average bed.

And you wonder why we’re high-paid. Yes, I believe the merchants can hold their tongues now.

Of course, it started out as eight gold for each of us, but when in Kazin, haggling is an art form. You’re expected to haggle. You’re looked at strangely if you pay the first quoted price for something, even taxes at Houses.

And thus begins the strange business of customs and immigration, which I believe is just Kazin’s way of making themselves look organised. It may fool the Kazinians who pass through, maybe even some Raykinians, but it’s an absolute joke to us. Kazin is far from being an organised kingdom.

Customs and immigration basically involves a lot of paperwork, whereby we give our names, kingdom of origin, occupation and intended purpose and duration of our visit. I always answer honestly, because it’s easier than making things up and they never do anything with the bits of paper anyway.

Then we get to show off our weapons a bit, which is always fun. I’m yet to figure out why they do this, but they like to have a record of every weapon that enters the kingdom. They tried to take them off of us once. Rau casually asked them how many soldiers they had on standby at the House, to which they answered “ten archers,” and carefully backed away from the shiny swords. Smart move.

Tonight there must have been a new person officiating the House of Welcoming Gifts, someone who felt some vague hint of sympathy towards Raykinians, or just really hated Silronans. Either way, we ended up with a “free” meal and beer, if of course you ignore the hundred and eighty we’d handed over earlier in the evening.

Pretty ordinary pub-style meal, as one would expect since it was free, though in Kazinian style. Chopped up vegetables thrown into some extremely greasy gravy and slopped into a bowl. Still better than most of us would have cooked, especially since whoever it who would have cooked (Murali, I believe) would have probably had to do so without fire.

The beer, though, was absolutely appalling. Nobody drank more than a mouthful, it was that bad. If you ever come to Kazin, don’t waste your money on the stuff. In fact, don’t even accept it if it comes free. Not even for novelty value. Dip a glass in the Ra-Lin and you’ll be far better off.

I don’t know how to describe it; it doesn’t even really taste like beer. There’s alcohol in it, you can just barely taste that, but I don’t know what in Lin’s sweet name they brew it from. Like diluted mud with alcohol, I think that’s the best way of describing it. Better to go without beer for the next month and a half than to drink that stuff. It’s absolutely foul.

As we were silently scooping down the casserole, knowing it was probably going to be the best meal until Kurae cooked again, the night’s manager, for want of a better word, came over to talk to us. At least among the runners of the Houses, we’re as well-known in Kazin as in Raykin. The rest of the kingdom generally doesn’t have any idea though. Not even the army personnel give us any higher regard than the rest of the Kazinian army. They know we’re the best in Raykin, but they don’t actually know what that really means. But in the Houses… we give them more gold than anyone else who passes through there, so they’re naturally trained to recognise us.

Anyway, the Kazinian official didn’t start off too well. She glanced at our full tankards of beer, gave a lopsided grin then joked in a husky voice, “Too strong for you, is it boys?”

Half the guys spluttered on their mouthful of casserole. A quarter, me included, stared at her in some strange look of incredulous disgust, and the rest exchanged glances debating, silently debating which words would be best suited for the situation. Too harsh and she might make us actually pay for the stuff, too soft and… we don’t do soft.

In the end, Melraan lifted his glass accusingly and told her, “This is not beer. It’s fermented ditchwater.” A good choice of words, I thought.

Nol then glanced disparagingly into his glass and muttered something about fermentation. I was on a different table, so couldn’t quite hear him, but It was probably something along the lines of, “You mean it’s been fermented?”

The Kazinian official laughed all-too-brusquely, which meant she was obviously feeling the daggers every one of us was shooting at her. “Oh, I was joking! Joking! Everybody knows what strong drinkers you fellows are! I was joking!”

No, we didn’t kill her, despite the wishes of about half the guys. But if she says that to every Raykinian who passes through, joking or not, she’s not going to last more than a week. Not just in the job, I mean she will literally not survive the week. Everyone who knows Raykinians can hold their liquor also knows not to mock us for the opposite. Blood of the goddesses.

Just as we were retiring to our rooms, there was an almighty screech from the kitchen, followed by giggling archers. Apparently the thrai’s head has finally made its appearance, so we don’t have to await its attack with baited breath anymore.

Tomorrow is when I guess you would say the “fun” starts. I’ve never gone into Kazin with the purpose of killing off every bandit from here to Silrona. Should be interesting, if nothing else.