age of princes

BOOM! The sound cut through the still air, alerting everyone in the city to what was coming. The round shot hurled through the sky like a pot-bellied pig on fire, landing in the great keep. Pulsing as it hit, servants and courtiers were drawn to it. “Move, you fu—” the deafening boom swallowed Hakeem’s words. Burning bodies from the ordnance littered the keep’s courtyard. The vibrant purple fires of House Broukeux licked at their corpses. It might have been beautiful—if not for the stench of charred flesh and burning fabric filling the air. It seared its way onto the tastebuds.

The surrounding honor guards would have all died too, if yesterday’s bombardment hadn’t left stones and debris to shield some of them. Even so, many still burned their armor and fabric joined in morbid union with their skin. “Call the fucking medics and the Dulas!” Hakeem barked from the balcony, his voice laced with anger and sadness. He committed the faces of each guard and civilians alike to memory. Filing them away in the halls of his mind. He would take them with him like all the others. The acrid air made the perfect punctuation to cement their visage. All that did not stop the frustration from wailing into a fist slamming down onto the balcony

Damnit. He thought to himself. He stared down at his fist bleeding slightly from the small debris that rained down on the balcony. Now, it found its way into the surface of his skin. The red ichor of his blood mixed with the dusty brown of the dirt—a pointless fragile drop in a sea. The idea ran through his mind as he watched the blood collect itself. He raised his hands into the air studying the scratches forcing more blood to drip with the stressing of his muscles. A commander worth their salt should be at least able to bleed for his charges. As they bleed for him. With each drop, he saw another guard be carried off.

“We are the wretched, and I am the man who made them so” Hakeem spoke quietly to himself.

A honeyed voice pulled his attention. “My, my, my, the Broukeux artillery brings quite enough dread don’t you think? Without you adding your own.” Turning to his side to find its source, Hakeem reflexively bowed. His deference wasn’t entirely out of respect but rather a habit forced by interactions with the highborn. “Madam Sade, what were you doing outside the castle, within range of the artillery?” he spoke in a curt tone. Sade was slow to respond, letting the shouts of cannons, distant hisses of fires, and the screams and moans of the dying dance together in the air, filling the silence. Hakeem was about to ask again when Sade finally chimed in.

“You know, it was quite rude to ask a question before answering the one placed on you, little guard. Especially in these circumstances. So many lay dead just below us. Many more bodies now feed the hungry soil in the valley past the city. All those lives snuffed out like water drops hitting a hot stove.” Her voice cut through all the noise. A sardonic smile teased its way to the corner of her mouth. “And you think to tell me where is save for my person. As if I am some simple child still wet behind the ears. Or one of these snuffed embers under your command.”

Hakeem bristled but corrected himself quickly. “I meant no disrespect, m’lady. It was just—”

“Oh, do calm down, Hakeem. I simply jest. A little fun was needed in times like this,” she said, cutting him off without glancing his way. Stepping closer into the light of the high sun. Hakeem could just barely see her amber eyes burst into vibrance as the sunlight danced with them. The faint licks of purple flame in the center making its presence known as well.

She continued, “I simply wished to take in the sight of our new rulers. After all, it wasn’t every day one experienced such a shift. The fall of a kingdom. One can read about history but getting live it is oh so…. Intoxicating.”

The matter-of-fact tone in which she spoke unnerved him. There was no grief, no joy in her voice, no nothing when she said those words. Her voice maintained the same casual honeyed texture. As he tried to find a way to argue with her another cannon boom interrupted, flying overhead as Hakeem spoke. It struck a neighboring structure, and all those gathered jerked toward the collision. Secretly he was thankful. No argument he could muster would have the necessary passion to be believable. Even to himself.

“I must insist that you return to the inner keep. It isn’t safe here.”

“That den of madness, little guard? It’s safer to play in an Atlas bear’s den,” Sade replied, earning a concerned look from Hakeem. “I can feel your tension. I know you’ve been on the battlements these past days and in the valley fighting before that, so you have my pity—or my envy—that you don’t know what our illustrious court had turned into.” Sade finally turned toward him as the last sentence left her lips. A playful, calming smile graced her face, her presence softer than usual. Hakeem felt almost as if she were trying to soothe his worries. It worked halfway. Few could resist Sade’s charms. She was like a siren in that way, Hakeem thought to himself.

She continued, “The Queen Mother was like a pendulum with a rusted hook, constantly swinging from lucidity to pure madness.” Her attention was now fully on him. To her, the siege might as well not have existed. “Half the time, she was holding one of her twins, breastfeeding in the middle of the court. Darrion, I believe, was the “lucky” boy. I wonder how many swings she got left; before she lands squarely in one of them.”

“What of the other one, De—?”

Before he could ask, another bombardment flew overhead. This time it was grapeshot. Their smoke trailed through the air as if it were simply claw marks ripping apart the fabric and hitting different districts of the city. The explosions were more potent, sending smoke and fire high into the air. Once again, he thought it would be beautiful if not for the accompanying assault on the senses. Runners came up exhausted and looking pale. Dried tears cut a path through his dirt and soot-covered face.

“My Shang, multiple reports have come in from all over the city. The explosions have set the western part of the city ablaze and it’s quickly spreading toward Tear Grove. Additional reports also state that the food stockade was destroyed in the explosions. Also…” the runner’s voice grew uneasy and halted his speech. The weight of his words holding them in his throat

“OUT WITH IT, YOU BASTARD!” Hakeem shouted, his voice carrying an urgency that felt as if it could shatter stone. There was no time for emotional shackles.

“ The dissent in the citizens has reached boiled over, sir. They have taken the square” the soldier finally forced out. Dread lingered after his words.

“Damn it!” Hakeem spat, his hand slamming against the stone railing. His mind raced as he barked orders. “Tell the guards to set controlled burns around the groves to cut the fire off. And the riots… put them down, but spare the children if you can. This city has lost enough innocent blood.”.”

“Yes, sir.” The final guard departed. Returning to the railing, Hakeem inhaled deeply, as though struggling to breathe for hours. The runner nodded and hurried off. Hakeem stared after him, his hands trembling at his sides. Around him, the city groaned under the weight of its suffering—flames consumed its streets, and screams tore through the air like jagged glass. Looking around, he noticed Sade had vanished. A small necklace sat on the railing, catching his eye. Picking it up, he found a piece of paper attached to the back.

Little guard, I will be waiting at your command tent. Do hurry–it’s impolite to keep a guest waiting.

Finishing the note, he thought to himself that she must have had a death wish. No highborn should walk alone, especially then. Hopefully, she had had that… thing with her.

Hakeem took off toward his makeshift command tent, located in the bell tower at the heart of the city. He rode through the halls of the city on horseback. Flanked by his protactorate. The tradition of his Shang rank required him to have them. He didn’t understand or want their presence, viewing them as babysitters. But these were old confidants from his wandering days; the bending of tradition allowed him to pick them. Yet even their presence couldn’t chase away his uneasiness.

Touring through the city; he felt as though he walked into some hell. Brought to earth. The passages and walkways of the city sang with wails of the dying. The damaged buildings and the buried bodies felt like some sick painting meant to invoke sheer dismay. The sky was no better. The sun had vanished from this angle, swallowed up by the columns of smoke. Here it was as if the black clouds were leaking from damnation to swallow the heavens. Bring them to void itself. He searched for a distraction. Anything to help his mind cope or run away for just a second. Even a second of peace is a gift.

He fixated his eyes on the symbol emblazoned on his protectorate armor. A strange symbol he had always known. One that had always been with him. As far back as he could remember it was with him. Drawing it in the dirt to putting it on his personal items.

Lost in his musings, he barely noticed they’d reached the riot’s starting point. Though he hid it well, dread churned within him. He had hoped to leave such nasty business behind. Killing men in battle didn’t trouble him, but slaughtering innocent people who were just scared, hungry, and desperate felt wrong. A scream pierced through the cacophony, sharp and raw.

Bodies littered the streets, blood splashed across walls and pooled in the square. It was as if blood had rained from the sky and corpses had fallen like snow. Dismounting, Hakeem felt the ground through his boots—sticky and slippery. Ash and blood mixed. He tried to pinpoint the scream, but there were too many shouts and cries. Then he heard it again—a child’s voice, raw and primal, perhaps no older than six, five… maybe even four. Damn, he couldn’t tell.

The child stood over a woman’s body—his mother, presumably—crying out so sorrowfully it seemed to transcend this world. Tear at it’s very fabric. Hakeem thought it might have reached the ears of the divine. A protectorate drew his attention, pulling him from his trance. He turned just in time to see the same child rushing at him, a knife in hand. The guards’ shouts warned him of the threat. Whipping his head around, he saw the child drop. The clang of the knife hitting the ground was the only remaining sound, or so it seemed to Hakeem in the aftermath. He watched the boy claw at his own throat. Making new scratches with half of the attacks on his throat. The others were him, seemingly, trying to push the blood back into his body.

He lingered on the boy for what felt like ages. As the light left his eyes he saw the imprint in the eyes split between the two. One held all the rage and anger tugged at him mere moments ago. The other is just sorrow and melancholy. Nothing hinting at movement just sheer sorrow in them. But in both, he could see longing for the pain to stop.

“My Shang”, a soldier runs up to Hakeem as he prepares to mount his horse again, “ before you go. The guards would like to know what to do with these rioters here”. The man points toward a group of people. They had been corralled into a corner by spears and gunmen trained on them. Yet, Hakeem could still see the fiery passion still had not been extinguished. Simply contained; waiting for the next wind to flame them. Then he brings Hakeem’s attention to the three people in the corner. Separated from the larger group. Chained and a little bit more roughed than the larger group.

“The three over there sir are, as far as we can gather, the main leaders of this mess. They were on top of barricades and barking orders towards the others we have over there.” the man waited patiently for Hakeem’s decision. The whole area still felt heavy after the situation with the child. Its atmosphere was drenched with a collective state of grief in this corner. He looked over the situation and sighed deeply.

He shifted his stance and felt his feet hit something. He realized that the “weapon”, if you can call it that, had been flung in his direction. Picking it up he felt its weight and studied the thing. It was a blunt, rusted blade. That easily broke in half as Hakeem put some on one end to bend it. Time had especially violated this thing. Made it uniquely pointless. Taking one last look at the dead child on the ground.

“Send two of them to the deepest dungeon, and let the darkness envelop them. To be forgotten by all here. By time itself.” Hakeem said pointing towards the three separated from everyone else. “As for the rest of them separate them into smaller groups and put them in smaller makeshift jails out of these nearby buildings.”

“Yes, sir” The guard bowed his head and barked orders as Hakeem mounted his horse again.

Leaving the square Hakeem could hear the rising screams and shouts. The sound of the fire being put to the test again. The sound of the next volley from the Broukeux cannons deafening the sounds coming from the square. Secretly he was thankful to hear the sound of the volley. It was something to drone out the noise. Til he got far enough to ignore the sound himself.

Moving through the city Hakeem could feel the tone of the city dancing in the air as it entered his nostrils and assaulted his mouth. He knew war and had been around the dead. It had been a part of sieges, albeit on the besieging, but the city’s air was of the breath of death itself. As the local superstation would say “Pasl is at the neck”. This feeling combined with the constant bobbing and weaving through the city’s alleys and destroyed buildings. Made it as if hours had passed by. The scent of charred flesh, shit, and spilled blood also ran amok in the air. Wedded together with the breath of death. The winds carried to martial bed; his tongue. Hakeem thought on anything and everything to give his mind flight from all this. Just let it go nowhere and think of nothing.

It took a minute to realize that he had reached the command tent, a bell tower that had been converted at the start of the siege. The honor guard on duty tensed up and stood at attention as he saw Hakeem approach.

“Madame Sade waits inside for you, my shang” the boy spoke up as Hakeem got close. The words came out quickly as if he couldn’t wait to go back to being mute. Inside Sade was sitting calmly at the war table over the figurines for the armies. Studying it while a servant was holding a pitcher of wine. The servant appeared genderless and ageless. Partly because of their clothes and the mask, a beautiful ornate glass hid all identifying markers. Sade finally noticed that he entered the room, and his face gave away his feelings. By her reaction to seeing him.

“Little guard. Sweetness, has the weight of command finally being felt,” she said cupping his cheek in her hands. Her face contouring to almost motherly emotion. Or what Hakeem imagined one to look like. The words hung in the air for a minute before he thought to respond. Why the hesitation not even he could not tell.

“I have known the weight of command. I have known what it is to cut through a man. To cleave his connection to this earthly coil, and send him to whatever gods he believes in. or simply to the dirt if there was no belief to be found. To fire a gun and feel the rumbling of the barrel as the bullet hurls through it. The resulting heat rising throughout it.”, Hakeem moves her side to grab the pitcher of water from the servant, “ All that. I have known commands and I have known sieges…. But this “ his breath and words trailed off. Forfeiting its presence to the stillness of the air and the sound of pouring water. And the occasional sounds of ordinance going off. Sade came up behind him. Trying her best to be as compassionate and attentive as possible. Hakeem felt that that was only temporary. For all Sade’s gentle beauty, Hakeem could never feel her to be the sweet gentle thing that her beauty suggested, but could never know why. Maybe cause the people of her land were never overly emotional. Unless it was for specific circumstances.

“ Quit your stalling Sade. I am not in the mood for games and to be softening up. I don’t do the velvet words of the courts. I am a warrior both first and last” Hakeem said while walking over to the chair on the other side of the table. Going on as he sat down. “ but I am not dumb as people from your station might suspect. Nor do I think of you to simply be a beautiful face. So state your business. Spin your words into daggers to cut through the mind.”

“This is why I always enjoyed you, Hakeem. You played the roles even if for a minute. Enough for you to not be taken lightly. Then other times straight and precise to the point.” Sade snapped her fingers. Almost as if to point the end of her sentence, but it was just to call her servant over to her. Grabbing a sheet of paper from them as they came up

“I will not tell you to get on with it again” Hakeem added a hint of tension in his voice.

“Most certainly, little guard. As we discussed earlier the queen mother constantly swings between mental states. Baales constantly feeds the flames of her mirage reality. The death of her son, the ruler of Soukaan, Malik hasn’t been taking well. Not that people expected anyone here to handle it well. Just the damage it has done to her mental state was unexpected. So she’s desperate to maintain the reality she has created. Musicians are ordered to play nonstop, and bread & circus are the mode of operation. Woe to the baale who speaks on our “guest”. For they are imprisoned if they are lucky.” she paused letting her little exposition weigh on the air in the room before she went on.

Hakeem had to admit he was concerned deeply, and moved a little, about the story she spun. He wishes he could doubt it. Even the smallest tinge of it, but the queen mother was never fully stable. Or particularly kind at least from all the times he had the displeasure of interacting with her. He did take her words; in no matter the state of himself. His ears were at attention again when started again.

“When we had to part as I was telling you about Deion”

“Yes, please implore you the give that detail. I must admit that in all this chaos I forgot about that poor boy” Hakeem let the words flow not caring how it sounded.

“Given your relationship with Deion, it brought me no pleasure to tell you this. Ever since the siege started, Deion disappeared for hours, sometimes days. A random servant found him in some room of the palace, often covered in his filth and always ravenously hungry, nearly feral after long absences.” Sade’s face had shown a feeling of genuine emotion. Possibly, he thought, cause both the boys were her kin.

As Sade spoke, anger and disbelief swelled within Hakeem. The story she relayed was something he didn’t want to believe. Yet, he knew how the Queen Mother was—the favoritism. “It was clear her grip on reality had slipped,” he muttered. A chuckle from Sade calmed his worry and any tension that could have formed. It reminded him of their shared lack of love for each other, bound by the customs of clan Jibiti.

“Yes, truly, you were right. She was lucky she was born so high in our clan, or so the old folk of the clans said. But I’d prefer not to bore you with old gossip and politics, especially when we were about to be immersed in someone else’s.” she handed the paper she held to him as she kept talking, “But another thing I wasn’t able to get to is my plan. You may win this day. And see another day of summer, but sweet little guard winter has to come at some point.”

“I sense you have an alternative” Hakeem interjected matterfactly.

“But of course. I wouldn’t waste your time if there wasn’t a decision to be made” The words left her mouth in a charming slightly smug tone. Before going back to being slightly serious, “You may win today. By the hells; you may win this siege. Turning back Bouklouex and all their company baales. But the Laamu of Niger Didi ​​is endless by comparison. Especially after this war. And that’s all if they don’t decide to shell the city to an ashen necropolis, or until we submit. I mean the riots that you had to put down show the tension in the air.”

Sade took a small break. Possibly to let any insights or criticism that Hakeem had to be voiced. He had to be honest with himself sade has summed up the situation pretty nicely. Her read of the situation was a lot kinder than the reality. Cause for the past couple of days that the siege had been going on he had been extremely short-sighted. The siege had been on his waking thought and even started to run rampant in his dreams.

Sade must been able to read his face cause she carried on, in a fairly short gap of time between the two instances.

“I know you think that aid is coming; From the remainder of Soukaan and our allies. Yet no one is coming at all” The latest bombardment pointed to her final word. It was the first in about an hour. As if it was a divine amen.

Jumping up from the table suddenly. He knocked the pitcher off the table and the chair to the ground. Sending a huge thud echoing throughout the tower. That became, its own form of thunder as it reverberated to the top. His world was shattering. Not cause he doubted, Everything she said was extremely possible, but because had not just realized this. He wanted to say something but the words were locked in his throat almost.

“Calm yourself. I knew this would trouble you, but you must gather yourself. We are not beaten. Not fully I offer another path.” Sade said.

“To victory?” Hakeem perked up

She took a minute to respond, but he saw that her answer was gonna be no.

“To victory, no. There’s no way yo- we win this war. All the outcomes are less than ideal. There’s one that has a silver lining, however.” she paused expecting another outburst he guessed. “Do you know what the Kalenda is ?’

“The Kalenda. It’s used as a umm… a right of proving through showing of skill for warriors. So they can finish training and move up in rank. In some cases” Hakeem rattled off quickly.

“That is true. In the West. The Kalenda is from the old days of Sundiata. It has many different forms and interpretations. Mainly linked to how he got those kingdoms and tribes to join his empire. They have transformed into various things and mixed with the local traditions.” she spoke with a quick hand motion. From giving a quick history lesson. “ for the sake of our needs the Kalenda that Niger Didi practices allow an individual to challenge a lord or someone to ask for a boon within reason or their power to give”

“Are you suggesting I challenge them to a Kalenda to get them to lift the siege?” Hakeen asked.

“No. Well, not to lift the siege. It is not in baale Bouklouex’s power to do so. One is while they make up the bulk of the host they are merely a part of this army, and not in the commanding position. Two the person in the commanding position cannot end the war, but they can accept our surrender. With the Kalenda we can force them to accept more favorable terms of our surrender.” Sade spoke in a matter-factly tone.

Hakeem thought to say something. To argue. To inquire. To do something, but he simply looked down at the table and thought. Thought on the bloodshed. The lost friends and loved ones. The mothers and fathers gone. The old man. There is despair in the air that has to float away. Grieving that must commence, and its amount rises with each passing day. Slowly Sade’s words found their mark.

“Better to join by our choice and from a position of strength. Lest we end up like Songhomey” As Sade let the words loose her servant stabbed a dagger onto the table. Almost to mark her point.

The servant studied him through the slits of their mask. The servant always made him uneasy. Just something in the… thing, but in this moment he could almost understand the thing.

He studied the dagger for a minute. The ornate handle is laden with gold and platinum metals to resemble scales. All leading to a snakehead pommel. As he got to the blade part he could tell it was something special. Even he could tell that. It appeared to be one of the three great metals. Loavine metals. He was never good at learning the telltale signs that separated them from each other. However one can always tell when one was holding one of them. They had such a unique feel to them. His time on the battlefield and as a Redcoin gave him the knowledge that anyone with money or status desires even the tiniest ounce of any one of the three great metals. In any form let alone as raw ore.

And for it to be a Kalenda blade. Hakeem couldn’t help but think about the deep and serious strings she pulled to get this. Or that she is throwing away something valuable. Either way, this is a sign of how deeply Sade has thought and put time into thinking of this.

“ The bombardments from the canons will end soon. All you have to do is show them the blade and the treaty has been written out. I am not worried about you winning the trial. I have seen your skill. So what will be your choice, Hakeem? Time is ticking” Sade said