Hatam-Ile, 7th of Seventhmoon 3045
The elders interrupted their negotations only to sleep, and after the first two days of pained waiting Ren’i gave up, seeing as Ared was still refusing to let him enter the elder’s house.
Or to even tell him what the situation looked like.
”Patience, Ren’i,” Ared said in such irritatingly lenient tones that it reminded Ren’i of his father in some strange way. ”The elders will let you know what their decision is once they’ve reached one.”
Ren’i threw up his hands and turned his attention to more pressing matters, despite the consuls’ and the captain’s attempts at rushing him.
The week went on as torrid as ever, and most of the daily tasks in the army were taken up by trips between Hatam-Ile and the camp as patrols took turns fetching more water. The River of Mists was a wide, sluggishly flowing river that formed a natural border between Hatam-Ile and the woodlands. Here and there were piers jutting out to the water, several small boats rested ashore, and once evening came the locals would head to the river to swim and wash the day’s heat off the skin. Ren’i did his best to avoid them. The fact that the Kishan crown prince had gotten his ass handed to him by some local man in front of the elder’s council had spread like wildfire, and he felt his ears burning every time akheris passed him by and started grinning at the sight of him.
On one particularly sleepy day Ren’i, Hamr, Sava, Yurau and Linnee wandered the maze-like streets in the midday heat, committing to memory the locations of houses and where each road lead.
”Not exactly what I’d call easily defensible,” Hamr grunted as they stepped back into sunlight from the shade between the houses. The captain wore his half-plate armour stubbornly despite the heat, and his olive brown skin had turned a shade darker after all the hours spent in the sun. He didn’t give an inch when it came to his routines, and forced the Guard to train every morning at the same intensity as back in Hol Saro. ”The houses are much too low and the rooftops too flat. The bowmen will have no places to hide.”
”And the streets are too narrow for a proper sword fight, let alone spears,” Ren’i added, wiping sweat off his forehead.
”We ought to keep the Liqaris well away from inhabitation, if we get any say in the matter. The desert doesn’t make for an ideal battleground, but at least we’d have some space to handle weapons,” Hamr said.
Now and then Ren’i thought he saw curtains shifting, but there was no one in sight when he turned to look at the windows.
The Hytherlands day dragged on exhaustingly long, and the evening was slow to arrive, though he realised somewhere in his subconscious that the northern summer days in Hol Saro during the midnight sun were many times longer. Perhaps it was because he rose an hour to sunrise every day just to enjoy the fleeting cool of the morning, or because the sun barely seemed to move across the sky during the sluggish midday hours. At lunch time they returned to camp, and when the sun was low on the western sky Hamr emerged from his tent to lead the evening practice, forcing Ren’i out of another meeting with his consuls. Their meetings were useless until the elders had reached their decision, but Ren’i let them entertain each other by arguing over strategy.
The setting sun had began to dye the skies with the blazing colours of dusk when Ren’i marched through the parched thicket towards the river, a towel and an old, battered backpack with him. Yellowed blades of grass tickled at his feet. The air was heavy with the sounds of grasshoppers and crickets, and there wasn’t even a hint of breeze that would have dried the post-exercise sweat off his skin. He’d finally given in to the heat and forgone his tunics and long boots, and regretted the decision as he approached the river. A steady flood of akheris with their children passed him, and he saw some younger locals smirking at his sweaty – and topless – appearance. They went about in thin, loose shirts, and didn’t seem to mind the heat in any way, despite the mid-length sleeves of their garments.
”Mum, look!” a long-haired child screamed excitedly and pointed at him when Ren’i walked past the family. The child wasn’t the only one. He received curious stares all the time, and he had no trouble guessing why. So far he hadn’t seen tattoos on a single akheri, nor any locals with red hair, either.
Ren’i straightened his back and tried to return their smiles.
Upstream, within eyesight of the piers and boats, was a wide bay where the river flowed slowly. Ren’i had bathed there several nights in a row, hidden from any akheri gazes, but he could already tell at a distance that the spot wasn’t empty. Ared was standing on the shore, about to pull off his shirt, and he was not alone. Clothes hung from the shrubbery here and there, and there were nearly two dozen akheris of all ages in the water.
”Oh, Ren’i,” Ared greeted as he spotted him. ”Feel free to join us.”
Ren’i racked his brain feverishly, trying to figure out a way out, but it was too late to turn back, for Ared’s greeting had alerted the other bathers to his presence. Ren’i decided to accept his fate and waved his hand in greeting.
”I hope I’m not interrupting anything, gentlefolks,” he said and dropped his backpack on the ground, making the dust billow. ”Is there something special going on? I haven’t seen this many people out and about before.”
”The Sixthday is our bathing day. There’s a proper spa in Verem, but I personally think that river water is more refreshing during the dry season,” Ared replied. ”You look like you could use a bath, too.”
Ren’i sighed. He stripped and tried not to pay too much attention to the locals floating in the water, all of whom were staring at him as though they’d never seen a demon before, which was likely the case. ”Hamr doesn’t believe in days off. He’s making us train twice a day despite the heat.”
Ared grinned. ”Your captain’s not from the north, I take it.”
”From Meril-An. He doesn’t believe in heat – or any other weather conditions, for that matter.” Ren’i left his things in a messy pile on top of his backpack, made for the shore, and tried the water cautiously with a toe. It was icy in comparison to the air. ”Hol Saro was hit by a blizzard that raged for four days last winter. He didn’t cancel practice once.”
One of the old men sitting in the shallow water barked a laugh. ”Explains why your skin’s the same colour as your hair. You’ve burned in the sun just a teensy bit.”
”So I’ve noticed,” Ren’i remarked dryly.
The others laughed, all but one, and Ren’i was too late to notice that Hawk was among the bathers. His long hair was hanging loose, and he looked just about as happy to see Ren’i as the last time. Ren’i tried smiling at him out of sheer politeness, but felt his facial muscles resisting at full force, and in the end all he managed was a grimace. He could still feel the bruise Hawk had given him every time he shifted.
Ared strode in the river naked without letting the cold bother himself in any way. Beneath his clothes he was surprisingly thin, and two long surgical scars adorned his chest, similar to Alara’s, though akheris didn’t seem to feel the need to decorate their scars with tattoos the way Kishans did. He carried himself in dignified manner, which made him appear taller than he was. He dipped his head underwater and took a deep breath upon resurfacing, black hair dripping with water.
”Don’t be shy,” he told Ren’i. ”The water’s pleasantly cool.”
Ren’i felt each and every eye following his every movement, and started to feel uncomfortable. He had thought he’d gotten used to being the target of general scrutiny in Hol Saro – as crown prince he couldn’t go anywhere without attracting attention –, but at least back home he didn’t have to prance around naked in front of a crowd. He marched straight into the river, copying Ared, and dived when the water reached up to his chest. The cold cut like a knife into his reddened skin, and he emerged from the water, swearing loudly.
Ared laughed with the others. Ren’i could see through a curtain of wet hair that Hawk had swum on the other side of the river and climbed on a low pier, where he was now seated well away from the others. He squeezed water off his hair and started braiding it again.
”Don’t mind my cousin,” Ared said upon noticing where Ren’i was looking. ”He’s not particularly outgoing.”
”Your cousin?”
Ared smiled. Ren’i stared at him, then at Hawk, and finally saw the similarities between them. The same nose, the same brown eyes, though Ared’s features were softer than Hawk’s.
”He’s my older cousin,” Ared explained. ”Our mothers were sisters.”
”He doesn’t seem to like strangers much.”
One of the older akheris chuckled. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, and after a moment’s consideration Ren’i was pretty sure that he’d been standing next to Hawk when the army had arrived on the plains.
”A hunter needs to be cautious around everything he doesn’t know,” the man said. He had a short, pale beard and sideburns tinted with gray, arms thick as treetrunks, and a jovial glint in his eye. Something in his demeanor reminded Ren’i of Hamr, though Hamr was considerably taller than the man.
”Onniar has taught him well,” the old man squatting by the shore chortled. ”Ginger here’s still sporting a mighty fine bruise in his midriff.”
”It was a pretty solid kick,” Ren’i admitted. He felt Hawk’s pointed glare prickling at his skin and turned his back to him. ”Reminds me of its existence every time I try to sit up.”
The old man smiled his toothless smile. ”Oh, indeed. The scoundrel’s always had a mean temper, but he knows his business.”
Ared had untied all three braids and was now lathering soap into his hair. ”Come off it, Sprig. Hawk and I haven’t been kids in a long time.”
The man called Sprig scoffed. ”Laddie, I can still recall you two rapscallions chasing after my poor old cat down the streets and getting your arms scratched for your trouble. You’ll be kids to me for the rest of your lives.”
”We are both approaching two hundred,” Ared reminded him a tad acidly.
”Bah. Let’s talk again when your hair’s more gray than black.”
Ren’i had submerged himself all the way to his eyes, and nearly inhaled a lungful of water. ”Wait, what? Two hundred?” he managed to spit out as he raised his chin above the surface. He was mortified. ”And I’ve been addressing you by first name all week long.”
”You’re younger than me?” Ared asked, brows quirked.
”Like you wouldn’t believe. You’re twice my age.”
The akheris all looked taken aback, everyone but Hawk, who didn’t even seem to be listening to the conversation.
”Hardly more than a little boy then, aren’t you?” the old man said. ”Well, I’ll be. Here I thought that you demons were thousands of years old.”
”Yes, well, there are some of us who are. We’re not born old, either.”
”That’s no age whatsover for your kind, eh? Is that army of yours really taking orders from a greenhorn like that?” Sprig shook his head. ”Then again, Ared here was made chief when he was only in his sixties. Where is this world going, I ask?”
Ared exchanged a thoroughly fed up look with Ren’i and muttered under his breath, ”better that you don’t say anything,” as Sprig continued his monologue about the state of the world and the questionable leadership skills of inexperienced adults.
”Takes me back to the kind of muttering I was subjected to when I was made commander-in-chief,” Ren’i whispered back.
”What did you do about it?”
”Arranged every complainer a promotion. Somewhere as far away from Hol Saro as possible, mind.”
Ared bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.
Ren’i was only half-listening to the akheris’ chatter as he washed, letting his thoughts wander freely. The forest growing on the other bank was taller and lusher than Hatam-Ile’s side of the river. The undergrowth was thick, and he gazed longingly towards the shade of the deciduous trees. He didn’t recognise half the local trees and plants, but he’d grown up surrounded by the northern woodlands, and felt more at home among trees than on open land. He let his gaze wander back to Hawk now that his attention was, thank the gods, fully focused on getting dressed.
A hunter, huh? Ren’i thought as Hawk pulled on a pair of trousers. He could see it, now that he knew what to look for. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, yet built light enough to move quickly and quietly in the darkness of the woods. The idea was unnerving. Ren’i decided that he had to find a way to get on his good side, unless he wished to spend the next months constantly glancing over his shoulder, just waiting for Hawk to sneak up on him and slit his throat on some dark alleyway.
Hawk slung the wet plait over his shoulder, snatched his backpack and, to Ren’i’s surprise, turned away from the river and the city. The growing twilit shadows swallowed him within seconds.
Ren’i stayed on the beach with Ared and the others after drying off and getting dressed. Sprig dug up pastries and the kind of dried, sweet-flavoured meat that the akheris favoured from his bag. Ren’i mimicked Ared’s example and tore off pieces from the bread, wrapping the pieces of meat in it. He noticed that he was hungry, and realised he hadn’t eaten anything after practice.
Sun set below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of purple. As dusk fell small, glowing balls of light swarmed over the water, making the waves beneath shimmer lightly.
”Fireflies,” Ared said, interpreting the puzzled look on Ren’i’s face correctly. Ren’i held out the considerably shortened loaf of bread to him, but Ared shook his head. ”You keep the rest. I can’t get any more down.”
”It’s going to be a clear night,” the bearded man said and glanced at Ren’i. ”The morning’s going to be cool. You people ought to do your training before dawn, if you want to survive until the rains.”
”Is that what you people do, too?” Ren’i asked.
The man nodded. ”You need to rest first and foremost during the heat.”
”I admit I was wondering why the city was so deserted at daytime.”
”The sun is a harsh teacher. Not even the animals move during the hottest hours of the day, so why should we?”
”Onniar is the huntsmaster of Hatam-Ile,” Ared explained. ”He knows everything the desert can teach us.”
Ren’i placed his left hand on his chest and bowed lightly in the huntsmaster’s direction. ”An honour to make your acquaintance. I’ll forward the suggestion to the captain.”
”He’d better listen or you’ll burn yourselves out – literally – before the Liqaris even get here.”
”He’s not always the easiest person to persuade.”
”I can believe that.” Onniar looked amused. ”Listen, I have an idea. If your captain would rather take your advice than ours, you could come and familiarise yourself with our customs.”
”How?”
”Come hunting with us.”
”Who, me?”
”You. Some of your soldiers, perhaps, if there’s any among you who have prior hunting experience. And forget about the armour. We don’t want to let every creature within ten leagues from here to know that we’re coming.”
Ren’i puffed up his chest. ”I know how to dress appropriately. I’ve felled wild boards with a Kishan spear during the long northern winters.”
”I’ll give you a chance the prove that.” Onniar grinned. ”We’re gathering on the morning of the Eighthday, two hours before sunrise. Come to the river if you want to join us.”
”That early? Isn’t it still pitch dark then?” Ren’i said, stupefied.
The huntsmaster’s grin widened. ”Not for akheri eyes.”
I have a ridiculous amount of love for Ren’i and Ared bonding over the experience of “coming into a position of authority at a young age and old pepole bitching about it” xD <3 And I really love Sprig. Old bastards don't care what people think.