The Wilds of the North

Mameva, August 493 B.C.

It is late evening, three nights since the fateful abduction of the Royal princesses from their beds, one hundred and thirty miles north along the great river Wolyi. It has been an almost perfect summer’s day, hot and dry, with only the faintest whisper of a wind. The late evening is balmy, cooled by a light south-westerly breeze that drifts from the north bank of the great river. On the far horizon to the west, the sun has begun its descent.

The Royal City of Mameva, home to some thirty thousand souls, is the largest and richest conurbation in the entire Orch’tai realm. It stands atop an ancient elliptical rise on the south bank of the great Wolyi, a few miles east of its ‘elbow’, where the river angles north. Founded in the last years of the reign of the ‘Warrior Queen’ Kh’our (or K’ouhr, as her mother, the Princess Y’Strii named her), scion of the Orch’tai Royal House, the city is enclosed by a formidable perimeter wall and external ditch, which stretches for seven miles. It has never breached, unlike those of the great historic polities of Mesopotamia and Egypt. The Royal Palace crowns a formidable Tell, the Royal Citadel, situated in the far north-east of the city, adjacent to the Royal Barracks. Both are heavily fortified and are considered as impregnable as the great walls of Susa itself.

The formidable towers of the West Gate dominate the view west from the Royal Citadel and are located at the opposite end of the Royal Avenue. The North Gate is no less impressive and connects the Royal City with the Docklands and Wharf beyond the city walls via the Wolyi Way. The Royal Palace is reached via the ceremonial Gorkhi Gate, constructed by the ‘Battle King’ Magkar, father of present King Tagar, on the right side of the Wolyi Way a little further north of the junction with the Royal Avenue. Beyond the perimeter wall and ditch to the east, a string of smaller settlements nestle in the shadows of the Royal Citadel. The most ancient of these is East Sarypta, located beyond the sprawl of the Docklands, the home to the Royal Orphanage.

***

The Orch’tai King was rarely disposed to spontaneous outbursts of violent rage. Now in his fifty-fifth year of life, Tagar was notoriously plagued by prolonged bouts of melancholy, further exacerbated by the recent tragedies that had befallen the Royal House. The King looked monstrous; wide-eyed and demonic, his cheeks suffused ruddy, seemingly the only sign of health in a mask of deathly grey. He hurls an ornate silver wine cup against the far wall in petulant fury. The cup pings off the wall, to skitter across the elegant tiled floor. The far door opened suddenly, and his elderly Kor’nai, the wizened and singularly ruthless Kolcha, enters and bows reverentially.

Tagar turns to face him, blinking back his tears. “Is there any news of my daughter?”

“Her carriage left Astrach’yi five days ago, Lord King” the Kor’nai replied. The old man clears his throat deliberately. The King’s eyes narrow. “A messenger has come from Sarkuc.”

Tagar is momentarily dumbstruck. His fists ball with fury, as his eyes gleam with malice. “This slime dares send me a ransom!” he bristled malevolently.

“It is young Uhgui” Kolcha soothed.. “He is loyal to the Crown, Sire. I vouch for him.”

“Very well” the King sighed irritably. “Send him in.”

Kolcha stepped to the far door and rapped a sharp tattoo. Uhgui enters and bows to the King. If the young Officer was astounded by the King’s dishevelment, dismayed even, he hid it well. Tagar eyes him steadily. “Tell me, Uhgui. Do you believe my grand-daughters are still alive?” the King clipped tersely.

Uhgui is unfazed by the question. “I do, Lord King” he replied emphatically. “The sisters spent a night at a farmstead a few miles west of the River Torgu.”

The King frowns pensively. “I know most of the landowners in that region” he reminded his Kor’nai. Who owns this land?”

Uhgui glances quickly at Kolcha. He clears his throat. “The Count Maghiri, Lord King.”

“Lord King, it is unthinkable…” Kolcha ventured soothingly.

“Nothing is unthinkable!” the King roared hoarsely, startling the young Officer. “I want the Count Maghiri detained at once!”

“The Count is serving in the east” the Kor’nai dashed the King’s hopes. The old man turns to Uhgui. “This farmstead was widely known to be unoccupied, was it not?”

“Yes, my Lord. Jaghur and his gang arrived a little over a week ago.”

The response seemed to temporarily assuage the King’s lust for Maghiri’s head. “I want their heads, Uhgui” he commanded.. “Nothing less will do. Am I clear on this?”

“I will return to Sarkuc at once” Uhgui bowed to the King, then the Kor’nai. He paces to the door and suddenly breaks step, as it opens to usher the next visitor. Uhgui gapes in stunned disbelief at the angelic apparition of the teenage Princess Laeschalla, resplendent in pale green. The girl smiles shyly and paces past him. Uhgui leaves.

The Kor’nai is equally astonished at the teenage princesses’ unexpected summons. He bows to the girl. Tagar steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. “You may leave us, old friend.”

Kolcha bows and steps away.

***

Ukhyn, August 493 B.C.

It is now four hours since daybreak. The sky is clear; the air crisp, fanned by a strong breeze from the Wolyi to the east. Seven riders kick their heels and gallop north along a winding track which threads the broken and unforgiving plain. To the east, the limestone escarpment is steep and jagged. The gentle uplands to the east are dun and bare of trees.

The teenage Princess Laeschalla, pale-skinned and golden-haired, leads the party north. She is closely tailed by the slim and unruly-haired Gavek, and by Nyvysa, a girl of similar age, almost as tall as herself, slim and pretty, with raven hair and fierce brown eyes. No more than six lengths to the rear, we see Yodyll, slim and serious, with cropped brown hair, and, to her right, is Ksenya, a slim and athletic brunette, the youngest of the band.

A dozen yards to the rear, the pale-skinned and petite Vaiska, is a length ahead of Ilhan, the eldest of the group of friends, her golden locks trailing in the wind. Ilhan kicks his heels and spurs forward, turning to grin at the scowling blonde girl.

The lead riders clear the valley and race continue north across the grassy plain.

***

King Tagar stands at the far window, gazing into the Courtyard. Gaunt and pale, eyes raw with lack of sleep, he seemed to have aged a decade in a mere few days since news had broken of his beloved granddaughters’ abduction. Though not broken, he is severely diminished in both stature and vitality.

The far door opens. Tagar turns to face his visitors. Kolcha enters and paces towards him, closely followed by the irascible and sharp-witted Counsellor Meskhu, childhood friend of the King and his truest confidante. “Where the Hell is General Nalgi?” he snarled. “I shall feed his balls to the crows!”

“Awaiting General Aznai, who should arrive within the hour, my liege” Kolcha soothed.

The King frowned. “Aznai retired a year ago. General Nalgi is now head of the Army.”

“General Aznai has more experience of the frontier lands than anyone” Kolcha quipped.

King Tagar pads to the dresser. He fills three goblets with wine and motions his visitors across. “It has been three days. Is there any news from the north at all?”

“Our divisions at Kyovu and Vykhu are stood to. General Yakhyl is coordinating matters at Sarkuc” Meskhu replied.

“Any news of the Princess Sychoria?” the King asked sadly.

“She should arrive tomorrow, likely in the early afternoon” Kolcha reassured him. “The Prince Voskar will ride north for Sarkuc” he added.

“Laeschalla seems to have vanished” the King mused cynically.

The two Counsellors exchange bewildered glances. “She can be intercepted before she reaches Sarkuc, surely?” Kolcha exclaimed in bewilderment.

“She should arrive at Sarkuc on the morrow” the King noted dryly. “The Palace Guards no doubt assisted her escape from Orvych.”

“I will make your displeasure known to Commander Barzakh with haste!” Kolcha growled.

The King raised a hand to soothe him. “Laeschalla and her friends have my every confidence, old friend.”

“To what purpose, Lord King?” Meskhu stammered. “Every man in the north is now stood to.”

If these bastards go to ground, it will be like hunting a needle in a haystack” Tagar mused blithely.

Kolcha understood everything in an instant. “She will follow their trail east?”

King Tagar sips his wine and smiles grimly. “Yes. She was most insistent on it.”

***

Traffic along the Royal Avenue is thin. On the left side, a small crowd huddles in solemn silence, eyeing the lone visitor with interest. The Dowager Countess Arialla, aged in her late thirties, attractive and imperious, trots towards the junction with Wolyi Way. She rides a stunning chestnut mare and wears a striking outfit of pale blue, trimmed with saffron silk. Her long, raven locks are fastened in a neat pony-tail, which hangs down the centre of her back.

The Countess turns left at the junction and continues toward the Gorkhi Gate.

***

The Countess paces the long colonnaded corridor, passing the ornate staircase on the right that leads to the second tier of the Palace, home to the Royal and Guest residences. She reaches the far end of the corridor and halts outside a door on the right side, glancing quickly back along the corridor. The woman raps a brief tattoo on the door. She reaches for the handle, opens the door, and slips inside, closing it firmly behind her.

Further along the corridor, Kolcha steps out of the shadows on the far side of the staircase. The old man grimaces. He steps to the staircase and climbs.