Kirana Enoch Kausar

 

 

“Huare!” she hissed. “What are you doing!?”

Her sister took her eye away from the looking glass and gave her a questioning glance. “New orders from the General?”

“No, but-”

Huare nodded and returned to her task. “Then I am doing exactly what was asked of us — observing Erf.”

With a low guttural growl, Kirana cleared the last five rungs of a ladder she was climbing and jumped into the balloon basket. “I don’t remember her telling you to please yourself while on duty! What if someone else climbed up instead of me?”

Huare scoffed. “Who would dare to climb into our balloon, Kirana?”

Nevertheless, she did pull out her other hand from her riding pants under the withering glare of her sister. The basket was quite cold and windy so both of them wore additional layers of clothing for comfort but that didn’t hinder Huare in the slightest.

“General could’ve sent a messenger with a new order.” Kirana huffed but even she knew it was highly unlikely. This was their personal balloon and both sisters made it clear to everyone that there was no entry without their explicit permission. “You saw what is happening on our left side.”

“And you know our General. Do you think the Shebet wind mage was blind and incapable until Erf came along? Sophia Chasya has her spells and a large net of messengers and observers,” Huare replied without a pause. “Considering how long it took you to come back and that you came without new orders, she was not surprised by your words.”

Kirana harrumphed once more, unwilling to concede defeat without a proper lecture, and turned back to the battlefield. She never led entire arms herself, especially into battle, so this view allowed her to experience what it was like to be a commander. Her eyes peered afar as if a thousand messengers constantly reporting about every unit on the battlefield. Each standard billowing in the wind told her more about a specific maniple than some wheezing boy at her hooves. Each cloud on the horizon told her more about the enemy movement than a galloping horse rider. If one knew where to look and what to see, that is. She would take this battle to heart and write extensively about it once this campaign was over. About the benefits of the balloon not as an observation post but as a command one. With a bigger basket that could fit more than two of them, more silk for the balloon and dedicated fire mages to keep it afloat, and a handful of horn blowers to relay the commands afield. Some canvas walls and a roof or even a fireplace to heat the basket and assist the fire mages too — the winter wasn’t here yet and Kirana was already wearing woollen stockings on her antlers!

While certain Shebet Generals had no need for such a contraption and the Houses of War could always rely on their lumbering arusak-at, an Enoch General certainly would find it useful. A Kausar General, perhaps if Fate willed it. A handful of battles with the sisters acting as the ‘eyes in the sky’ to grasp the flow of the battle from above, some wisdom from Enoch Manipulars and Generals to guide them on the right path, and a captive shaman. While they were barbarians who didn’t know how to build cities and slept surrounded by their sheep, their commanders had been using falcons to peer from above for generations.

But all of that depended on their main target. “Do you think Erf will choose to remain in Kiannika after this campaign?”

“Sophia Chasya might not care, but Manipulars would certainly make the nights of Anaise Hilal full of worry.” Huare’s laugh sounded like she was an old matron who claimed a young, virile boy as her next husband. “The Matriarchs of War will extend their offers too, if only to keep the daimon away from Aikerim Adal and inside their influence. But if he continues his current antics…”

Kirana scrunched her nose and pinched the velvet of her sister’s antler. “Your jests are growing stale, and if your words are not said in jest, I will buy you a Companion or two with a fair complexion and smooth fingers to keep your urges sated — the last thing we need right now is for you to start pinning after his looks. Apart from inevitable heartbreak, Anaise will sense your desperation and bring an end to our current relationship. We know he is curious about magic, whether it is spells or our antlers, and that is not a topic that can be breached in public. Our amenability and discretion in that matter alone will get us further than your ogling and lecherous comments.”

“I am not watching just him but the barbarians he scatters around like he is broadcasting seeds across a ploughed and furred field,” Huare replied while continuing to peer into the looking glass. “There is a certain sense of glee watching the ‘hunters of the steppe’ twisting their heads in all directions, their ears upright and fur raised, like frightened hares.”

“Give me that!”

“Hey, be careful! It is fragile!”

“If you know that — stop holding it so tightly!” Kirana huffed, clutching the bronze tube. “It is your turn to observe the battlefield anyway. Where is he?”

“Look for the rapid movement and the scattering riders.” Huare’s hand directed the looking glass at the right flank. “I wonder what made him change his mind so drastically. I expected him to face a wermage or two as a Challenger but not barge into enemy forces like a frenzied sheyda.”

“He knows about Things,” Kirana replied as she readjusted the length of the tube to make the view less blurry. “General was using his flying companion like a messenger pigeon when I jumped down. She either told him or his companion saw them coming- That idiot!”

Huare was beside her in a heartbeat. “What happened?”

“His power got into his head, that’s what! He flew straight into a sheyda and got swatted down like a fly.” She stomped her hoof down. “Get up!”

“Don’t break the basket, Kirana.”

“I should’ve cooled his head when Lita’af was praising him so much. Didn’t he see what happened to the barbarians who rushed too deep and got separated? Even sheydayan were slaughtered with ease. Oh, he is back in the air. Good. Turn back now, you’ve done more than enou- Fool, why are you attacking again!?”

The looking glass was yanked from her eye. “Let me see.”

Kirana almost staggered from the rapid shift in her vision. “Give it back!”

Huare dodged her attempts. “The basket is sinking.”

Cracking her fingers, Kirana grabbed the balloon glyph and sent a stream of fire upward. “I will be having words with all of them once this is over. Do none of them understand that he might not survive being taken prisoner? Do they think that all barbarians have honour? What if they deem him too troublesome to ransom? Or worse — they might keep him for themselves.”

“Are you sure the sheyda swatted him down?”

“I saw what I saw!”

“Because that sheyda is no more. Ripped in half, from what I can see.”

Kirana felt a cold chill running down her spine, but her spell didn’t flicker. She knew Erf was stronger than a mere wer and had plenty of tricks up his sleeve, but sheydayan weren’t average wermages. Nor did they die that easily. “Are you certain we are talking about the same sheyda?”

“There is no other sheyda around, living or dead. Neither does he hide his living armour. It appears that the fragrant rose of Kiymetl has decided to show his real thorns.”

She bit her lip. “How many can see him fight?”

From what she could see below and as her past experiences told her, the battle was approaching the culmination point. Whereas the left wing was heavily battered, the centre and the right bit deeply into the enemy ranks. Yet, while the success of well-trained maniples was never in question inside her mind, Kirana saw with her own eyes how barbarian hordes were able to overrun Emanai arms with numbers alone. She witnessed maniples killing and routing thrice their numbers only to face just as many fresh enemies in turn. It was a tug between Emanai vigour and barbarian resilience that Kirana hoped their General knew which was greater. Especially now, when the enemy abandoned the left and threw all of their fresh blood, spells, and metal elsewhere.

Huare hummed. “Scores of barbarians are shaking in their saddles from the mere sight of him.”

“I meant from our side.”

No, General knew exactly what she was doing. Sophia Chasya knew of Erf when Kirana and her sister still thought Irje might be that daimon. She knew of him when they didn’t even know Kiymetl had a daimon at all. She also knew of Anaise Hilal. That suddenness of Anaise’s promotion raised some eyebrows but now her thunder-blast spells were wreaking havoc and spreading fear right where the enemy was at its strongest and most numerous. Meanwhile, the first maniple of Kiannika had found itself on the arm’s rightmost edge, supported by robust but less-prestigious Ulastai maniples, light infantry, and scouting charioteers. A robust barrier to hold the enemy if not for Erf’s lightning-quick strikes that sowed chaos and confusion, forcing the enemy to dally and delay when they ought to flank and surround. Neither of the two could win the battle by themselves, but just as spears allowed oars to strike harder, the pair empowered maniples around them.

“I don’t think anyone else has the luxury to stand and watch, and Erf is much farther afield and without a standard. Apart from Irje, Manipular would be the only possibility.”

Kirana grimaced from the faint but uncomfortably familiar shriek. One of the Things got through the defences, snatched a hapless wermage, and began to devour her alive. The wermage deaths were often quick, but Things were powerful enough not to be rushed by the final spells. “And Manipular is a Kamshad, at that. This could spark even more friction among the two Houses as the House of Offence finds itself sidelined once again.”

“Their hands are tied in more ways than one. They can either ignore the daimon outright and allow Kiymetl and Enoch to keep reaping the rewards, remove him as quickly as possible and weather the consequence, or they will try to sway him with gifts, not threats. Gifts that would be comparable to favours of Aikerim Adal if not greater. A new struggle is emerging on the horizon and he will be at the centre of it.”

She took her eyes away from the carnage on the left and studied her sister once more. Huare was peering into the looking glass while her mind seemed to peer into the future. “Meanwhile, Erf’s tricks are starting to resemble a strange form of magic. His flying pet, the lashes, the fat leech with miraculous saliva… and now a living armour that can withstand the claws and flames of sheydayan. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve assumed they were imports from the east, just as the legs for the Kishava’s siege arusak-at.”

“Do not forget his obsession with our antlers either.” Huare gave her a wink. “Because I will not forget that magic tongue of his… or that he fused my antler back to my body as if he was playing with clay. Without magic, I think… Or, perhaps, by using Flow in a way that I could not detect. By using Spark I can not see. No matter how much I observe him, my heart keeps telling me that there is still a lot of wine inside that jar. There are still secrets to uncover. Isra might have a single oar in her mind — and it looks like a smith’s hammer, no doubt — but she isn’t stupid. Yet she was willing to give up what could be her only chance at becoming a Matriarch. What do we have to give up? A title of a branch Domina with a Manor on some rocky hill that I would spend the next fifty years of daily spells to break into farmland? Remember why we were sent here. If Zamindar Enoch Azrin knew as much about the Kiymetl daimon back then as we know now, we wouldn't have had this opportunity in the first place. It would be one of Isra’s sisters, nieces, or close cousins pondering my move.

“Remember the “Poems to My First Daughter” by Mansiya the Wise that you often tuck under your pillow. What did she say about picking the good General?”

Kirana didn’t sleep with that codex under her pillow, but she did know the passage; and the specific part her sister was undoubtedly referring to. “If you can’t sway the General, sway her shadows for a good General has many…”

“Precisely. Once the Pillar Houses start circling him, and they will, they will seek out his shadows to influence. A position by his side, even in name only, can be more lucrative than his offers and favours alone.”

“If they deem him a ‘good General’, especially with his obvious lack of shadows.”

“The lack of shadows only serves to our advantage. Fewer challengers to overcome. If you still worry they won’t look past his ‘lack’ of Spark, look afield.”

“What?” Kirana frowned and then leaned over the edge of the basket for her eyes were telling her something unthinkable. “What is going on?”

“Not much.” Huare’s gleeful voice was almost drowned out by the bellowing horns of the arusak below them, telling the two arms to commit their final, massive assault. “Apart from a large chunk of the barbarian right completely withdrawing from battle and leaving the rest of the nomads out in the open. With but a handful of precise attacks, Erf delivered victory to Sophia Chasya on a silver platter.”

“By the Three Horns, Huare!” Kirana huffed, wrenching the looking glass back into her possession. “Give me that!”

“The balloon is sinking again.”

“Wha- no, it is not! And you know where the glyph is!”

“Curses.”

 

Siavash

 

He kept his face placid as he walked among the rabble, occasionally smiling or saluting back to yet another gloating fool. A handful of routed detachments and they were weighting the illusory silver of their victory stipends. Those detachments weren’t even the true riders of Barsashahr — those were settled tribes, subjects, and tributaries. Weaklings, who wouldn’t survive a single season out in the steppe, let alone live on it.

Yet, the prolonged absence of riders was concerning. The battle lasted long enough for the maniple to finish its initial assault and stand back, allowing the next group of maniples to charge forward while it defended the rear and restocked the quivers. A common Emanai strategy against a manoeuvrable and swift foe, but the strategy his Lord knew well. Nevertheless, the maniples continued to fight unopposed.

Did none of the messengers reach the Lord, or did He deem the daimon unimportant for His plans? Was the ‘victory’ of Emanai nothing but a distraction? From the scraps of conversations around him, Siavash knew that something did happen on the left where the Heurisk was. But what about his illegitimate son, who was currently slaughtering the Lord’s forces with a vast array of Divine Gifts? Why did He let him act with such impunity?

Siavash gripped his kattar. Should he act? The moment was ripe with opportunity — Muramat and other influential oars stayed close to the First Oar and her scribe, likely to ensure their ‘deeds’ were properly recorded, while Lita’af Hikmat went out to seek the Manipular. As such, Siavash had found himself alone and free to act at will within the tumult of the after-battle. Meanwhile, the almost-wermage ‘wife’ of the daimon stood apart from other archers and peered into the distance. The woman wasn’t special — a former slave, brought up into a higher status by the favour of the daimon and clung to his side with all her might — but her weapons were undoubtedly daimonic. Siavash heard whispers about all-piercing arrows and some hidden artefact that turned any attack against her into a miss. There was also a unique sword scabbard on her hip, similar to that of Anaise Hilal, which Lita’af thought to house artefact swords of some kind.

Most importantly, she held something special inside her pouch. Something secret, yet important enough for the daimon to drag Manipular around just so he could inspect it. Siavash wasn’t just a Companion, he was trained as a Collector, twice, and his blade was coated with poison. He knew how to insert a blade into an unsuspecting heart without waking protective artefacts. A quick scuffle and she would be just another casualty of war. A stray arrow that found its mark.

Missing artefacts? Kamshad and Kiymetl would have to discuss it among themselves.

A tiny lark slammed into the ground in front of him, and his heart leapt in joy — his Lord answered his prayers!

Making sure no one was watching, Siavash carefully untied a finely crafted scroll from the dead bird. His finger brushed over the Kamshad seal in the wax. His Lord was shrewd. “…I hear and obey.”

His task now certain and made immensely easier, Siavash tucked his kattar deep into his sash and hurried towards his target. She was still alone but Divine interventions weren’t quiet and, now that he was a target of one, his obscurity as a murk vanished alongside it.

“A thousand apologies, esteemed wermage.” He bowed again and again. “But I was asked to deliver a missive to you.”

“Who?” The mongrel offspring of southern tribes turned around but her palm didn’t leave the handle of her sword. “You are one of Muramat Nishad’s servants. Sivash, was it? What does he want?”

“The lady is all-knowing, but I am not. All I know is that this missive is for you.” Siavash bowed deeper to hide his face — her awareness about him, despite all his attempts to keep the distance and rely on loose lips and the rat wermage, was worrisome. He expected that from the daimon or Anaise Hilal, but not from her.

The wermage didn’t hurry with her answer, aggravating him even more but he dared not to show it. If Heurisk showed up-

An oppressive blast slammed into his ears and the daimon fell out of the sky. “Siavash. The only reason you are still alive is that I was told to leave you be. Leave now and don’t come back.”

A dispassionate, almost bored tone — the daimon had finally discarded the mask of a common murk and spoke like a noble wermage. But such threats meant nothing to Siavash. Yet another lordling, drunk on his power and eager to remind everyone about it. If the daimon knew what he was dealing with, he wouldn’t be so dismissive and likely would’ve attacked Siavash on sight.

Siavash gasped most theatrically. “You are… refusing an official Kamshad missive? I- you are, of course, a great daimon but please think of the two Houses involved.”

The daimon blinked.

“The orders of my master are absolute so all I can do is leave the scroll at your feet.” The missive was barely held in trembling fingers, a gentle breeze and the scroll with the Pillar seal would fall into the mud. If that was not enough, the daimon was also quite protective of his sadaq. Protective enough to come running as soon as Siavash approached his wife. “My master simply wishes for Irje Kiymetl to receive his private message.”

His ploy worked. The wermage immediately deferred to her husband, unwilling to consider even a hint of possible advances. Meanwhile, the scroll was finally snatched by the daimon… who immediately offered it to his grotesque flying pet.

Siavash kept his face placid and his bow — deep. He knew that the Lord’s plans wouldn’t be thwarted by a mere daimon, even with a Divine heritage and Gifts. The creature was also sitting firmly on the daimon’s shoulder and Kamshad wermages recognised it as something unusual but neither magical nor Flow-sensitive. It could sniff and inspect the scroll for an eternity and it would still fail.

And so it did. Struggling to find anything but parchment, wax, and ink, the creature cracked the seal open and Siavash lunged forward.

“Don’t you dare!” the wermage roared.

Siavash didn’t care. As the mongrel’s magic slammed his body down and squeezed the air out from his lungs, his fingers grabbed the daimon’s ankle. He squeezed his eyes shut expecting a bright flash, but all he felt was a loud clap and the sudden chill of air between his fingers. Opening one eye, he saw the two empty footprints in the mud. The daimon and his ‘bird’ were gone, ripped from this place and sent to whenever the Lord wished, but he was left behind. Why did the touch fail to take him along? Was it the wermage? Preposterous! A tainted product of slave cross-breeding would never match the strength of the weakest Divine artefact, let alone one drawn by his Lord.

No, Siavash was left behind because his Lord needed him here.

A strong hand gripped his neck and lifted him upright. The bared wermage fangs, close to his face. “What did you do!?”

Siavash sighed, inhaled as much air as he could, and yelled back. “I am the slave of a Kamshad Manor, my master is Muramat Kamshad Nishad!”

There was one final song left for this lark.

 

XXX

The first thing I saw after the sudden flash of light was a floor carpet rapidly approaching my face. Then I saw shamans. The closest one didn’t have the time to finish his spell before my lashes went through his heart and Spark. The exit? Fucking far. I threw the corpse at another shaman and launched myself into a wall of the yurt that I got teleported into. My sword sunk into the floating runes and didn’t even reach the canvas walls. Fuck.

I got careless. I spent too much time dealing with simple, Flow-efficient battle spells that I completely ignored the existence of artefacts and teleportation magic. Or a million of other, equally nasty tricks at wermage disposal. And their potential usage against me.

Another shaman lunged at me and my sword shattered on his bronze cuirass. Runes.

Especially their usage against me. Especially right now, after I concocted a big upset on the left flank and likely influenced the course of the entire fucking battle. Of-fucking-course that would draw the attention of the enemy general that Albin begged me not to aggravate.

I flicked the blood off my kattar as I bounced around the enormous magical yurt, carving and weaving my way toward the exit.

The mages were yelling threats and curses but I was listening to the rapid spool up of my cooling system. The clock was ticking. The battery was not a problem, but I would need to get creative with my heat management soon to maintain the current level of activity. My lashes already started to sear wermage flesh on contact as Harald dumped the computing heat into them. Meanwhile, the magical sturdiness of my opponents and my augmented movements wrought havoc on my steel equipment. Tick-tock, indeed.

There was no place for half-measures in an ambush, however.

The entrance curtain flapped open and an oppressive force slammed into my body, freezing me in midair. One of the mages swung her sabre at my outstretched lash only to get knocked out of the way. The rest fell on their knees.

Not in front of me but in front of the enormous ‘sheyda’ that swaggered into the yurt with the mangled body of Chirp in his claws.

A sheydayan chimeric shape, yet the upper body was even more ‘wermage’ than the ones I’d faced previously. Rather than a human or a mostly-human body on a feline torso, there was a lot more ‘tiger’ in this being. At least that was how his face looked — I wasn’t an expert on magical paws and claws and I didn’t remember any non-engineered felines having glowing blue fur either. Or glowing eyes.

“My, my! What a feisty little bahatur we have here,” He rumbled with a grin. The mucous membrane of his mouth was glowing too. “Now look at the mess you’ve caused — have they taught you no manners?”

I flexed my lashes once more just to be sure, but the telekinetic hold was orders of magnitude stronger than that of Lita’af. Rather than keep trying with the hopes that his magic might eventually fail, I shifted Harald and my skinsuit to survival mode and faced the enemy general. The Daimon lord of the steppe. Bragge Archomilea the Third.

The lion that swallowed a lamp… that roars at the sky.

“There was no bread to break and no milk to pour. I didn’t feel like a guest.”