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Kazimir, having joined the Ulic Clan, still feels far away from his goal, but thanks to the desperation of an unlikely ally and the enterprise of his new Hetman this could change soon.
PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 8
Kazimir and Mauno were surprised to find themselves riding ever northward with Zhoka and a band of her Hazor bodyguards. There was a sense of urgency about their mission, as Zhoka had given each rider two ponies, no small expense on the harsh landscape of the northern steppe. Often without even stopping, they would switch ponies at certain intervals, giving one a chance to rest and gather its strength while the other bore the weight of a rider, cantering across the vast expanse. Before them was a sea of golden grass with no landmarks of any kind, and without the use of the stars and constellations it would have been very easy to get lost. Eventually, after two days and two nights Kazimir caught the scent of the ocean.
“Clansmen, dismount and don your armor,” Zhoka barked out. “We’re nearing our destination.”
Zhoka had arranged this event so abruptly that even most of the Hazor weren’t quite sure what was going on. With the scent of the sea in his nostrils, Kazimir suspected that they were going hunting for Holischiky once more, though he was concerned at the fact that there were only 10 warriors in their party, plus Zhoka, Mauno, and Kazimir himself. When he last tangled with the Holischiky he had 50 warriors at his disposal, and the brutal intensity of the fighting meant that they had only achieved victory by a narrow margin.
Kazimir turned to Mauno. The two hadn’t really spoken more than a couple of words to each other since the night of the assassination attempt. Then again, they hadn’t truly had a chance to talk over all of the hard riding.
“Mauno, please understand that this is strange to me, but I apologize for accusing you of being an assassin.”
“That doesn’t concern me as much as your choice in friends. You allowed a murderer into your inner circle and you welcomed him almost as you would a brother. What does that say about your judgment?”
“Would you prefer that I were more paranoid?” Kazimir grimaced.
“You’ve given me your trust, Kazimir, but you haven’t so much as asked me what my goals are. It’s unwise to allow someone into your house until you’re aware of their intentions.”
“Very well. What is your goal, Mauno? Why have you chosen to ride with me?”
“Because you are the first Rosomai I have met who has spoken openly about peace with the Sabalazmon. My people believe in an inherent right for every species and every humanoid to exist. For centuries the Rosomai and Sabalazmon have tried to deny each other that right.”
Kazimir grinned wryly, “A noble concept, Mauno, but what about the poor, stinking Holischiky? Would you defend their rights to life as well?”
“This is what concerns me, Kazimir. The Holischiky are little different from us. They have mothers and children. They fear death. They cling to life. Your ancestors fought the Sabalazmon with the intention of destroying them, and they fought back with desperation, knowing that you intended to eradicate them. Don’t make the same mistake with the Holischiky.”
Kazimir scowled, “This fight against the Holischiky will be desperate enough without the need to show our enemies mercy. Besides, the wretched sea people would not pay us the same courtesy.”
Mauno grimly stared Kazimir in the eye, “When you are the aggressor, the choice of how to present arms is always yours. Will you blindly follow the bloody example of your forefathers, or will you set a new example for your people?”
Kazimir tried to think of a satisfactory answer, but ultimately chose silence. What could he say to Mauno to prove his intentions? The Hirvi was a man of words and ideals. Kazimir, on the other hand, wished to speak to the world through his deeds.
As he pondered, he caught the sound of hoof beats in the distance, heavy and imposing. He could tell immediately that the animal was a horse, a much larger animal than the stocky ponies that were so important to societies in Azek. He had seen horses before further to the south, but it was unwise to bring the animals this far north into the steppe, especially with the nights as cold as they were.
He could hear the grass crackling and tearing under the heavy hooves as they approached, then caught a most peculiar sight over the berm of a hill, a plume of feathers bouncing up and down. The feathers sprouted from the hilltop, followed by a tall black hat, then an imposing figure dressed in a most peculiar fashion. The figure was canine, but larger than the Liskai and of stronger build, with jet black fur and wild yellow eyes. He was a Vucari, and while both the Hirvi and Rosomai were quite familiar with the wolves none had ever seen one dressed in such a bizarre fashion.
He wore no armor or padding of any kind. In fact, his uniform seemed fitted to the form of his body and covered in gaudy, needless decoration such as glimmering buttons, a bright white sash, and heavy braids. As opposed to the loose-fitting dress and practical armor of the Rosomai, the products of generations of mounted warfare, this buffoon’s dress seemed to be the product of some female fantasy, clearly showing all of the masculine bulges while protecting none of them. Kazimir suddenly wondered if he had stumbled into some land populated by lunatics.
The popinjay wolf didn’t appear to be armed, and it occurred to Kazimir that he could have been a diplomat or representative of sorts. He cast a cool, discerning eye over the group of Rosomai before picking out Zhoka in her regalia. The Vucari rode towards her and they spoke in a tongue Kazimir hadn’t heard in a long time. He caught words in the wind, but it took some moments for him to reclaim the structure and form of the Vucari language.
“The Baron Parkhaiev is expecting you at his encampment, Hetman Zhoka. I will lead the way to his pavilion.”
“The Alliance has sent a baron? Does the situation not even warrant the attention of a viscount to them?”
“When we reach the perimeter of the Bivak, we would ask that your soldiers lay down their arms so that we might put the minds of our soldiers at ease.”
“My soldiers are proud, not suicidal. You have my word that none of your people will be attacked, but disarming them would betray their trust and degrade them.”
“I must insist-“
“You can insist all that you wish. Unless your soldiers are likewise willing to lay down their arms as we enter camp, we will retain ours. Your people may not understand our culture, but you do understand anger, and the Baron Parkhaiev will be quite livid on account of your insistence and delays. Is that something you wish from your Alpha?”
The courier paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder to catch the vigilant scowls of the Hazor bodyguards.
“Very well. I will see to it that you are allowed into the Bivak with your weapons, but none of these warriors are allowed in the Baron’s quarters!”
“These terms are fair. Almost.” Zhoka blithely waved towards Mauno and Kazimir, “I request the attendance of two people in my entourage.”
The courier rode up, a frown creeping across his face.
“Who are these two?”
“My court healer, Mauno, and my diplomatic envoy, Kazimir.”
“The Baron will decide whether or not these two may enter.”
Kazimir was enraptured with fascination as Zhoka’s band rode into the Vucari encampment. There were long rows of neat, white tents in the hundreds stretching across the hills, with the smoke of cooking fires wafting over the camp. Rather than the caustic aroma of burnt dung, the Vucari permitted the extravagance of burning wood in their fires, creating a pleasant odor that permeated the entire camp. For every grouping of tents there was a grouping of muskets. He didn’t know very much about muskets, but he knew that his old friend Vaturyn had spent a lifetime acquiring wealth and could only afford one. To see so many muskets in one place seemed to suggest that whoever was in charge of this army must have been an individual of truly extravagant wealth. The Vucari had weapons, mannerisms, and clothing so exotic that it took some time before he was able to cast a more discerning and skeptical eye on these foreigners.
He caught only glimpses here and there, little hints. The Vucari were known to be a taciturn people, but there was a marked difference between sobriety and misery. Many tents masked unhealthy, rasping coughs from the sick. A Vucari soldier out of dress appeared, ribs subtly sticking out through his fur. He met the eyes of some curious soldiers, but they all had the looks of people that didn’t want to be here. None of them seemed to be physically wounded, yet many were ill or sluggish on their feet. This was an army resplendent in dress and luxury, but Kazimir almost laughed at the obvious irony that they didn’t have enough food!
The nature of the situation started to dawn on Kazimir when their party of warriors brushed against the coastline, overlooking a short cliff and peering down to a narrow stripe of rocky coast below. There, at the bottom, were the skeletons of massive wooden beasts. They may have been boats once, boats gigantic beyond Kazimir’s wildest imaginings, but now they were simply ribs and strips of timber. A group of Vucari stumbled around the boulders and stones around the wrecks, stripping the skeletons of wood, hacking it into smaller chunks, and piling it into cords. The Vucari must have arrived on these great ships, and now they were dismantling them to burn as firewood!
The courier led Zhoka and her bodyguards to a grassy, flat section of the camp near the sea cliffs, an area populated by larger tents and a prominent wooden house fashioned from the corpses of the giant ships on which they had arrived. A formidable Vucari, with pure white fur in contrast to his courier’s pure black, stepped forth through the doorway in a resplendent uniform more decorative than the rest.
“Hetman Zhoka. It is good to meet you at last,” The officer smiled.
“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Parkhaiev.”
He was the first of these strange Vucari that had paid the Rosomai the courtesy of speaking their native tongue. He turned immediately to Mauno and Kazimir, who apparently had committed some infraction by being this close as the Baron’s thin smile melted away.
“Who are these two?”
“My court healer, Mauno, and my new emissary, Kazimir. I wished for them to attend our meeting-“
“Sorry, no.” The Baron locked eyes with Kazimir and frowned, then turned back to Zhoka. “This is a private matter, and frankly an embarrassing one with regards to the honor of the Vucari. No strangers, and that is final.”
“You are starving,” Kazimir caught a vitriolic glare from the baron as he swung around to meet Kazimir’s gaze again, hackles raised. “I have found that if you go hungry, you must first swallow your pride.”
“Hrm,” Parkhaiev coughed, clearly holding down an aggressive impulse before beckoning the Rosomai dowager to his door. “Hetman Zhoka, if you please.”
Zhoka said very little on the way back to Opaliye, but she carried herself with a smile. The chest fixed to the saddle of her horse conspicuously jangled with their every step. The moment she arrived she seemed to disappear, leaving Kazimir and Mauno to have a long, one-sided philosophical chat about the nature of magic. Kazimir wished that he hadn’t brought the subject up, but mercifully the sun began to set in its ever earlier fashion, giving Kazimir an excuse to retire for the evening and enjoy the warm comfort of bed and shelter.
The curious lamps of the Ulic flickered to life as the citizens ducked into their homes to light them, then hung them from their posts. Kazimir had discovered that the lanterns were fueled by a strange mixture drawn from the earth itself, from pools of black, slick liquid with a peculiar and pungent aroma. The black, scummy liquid was soaked in clay several times before being extracted as a faintly colored liquid that burned without producing much smoke. Curiously, the liquid pulled itself through a small length of cord, yet when ignited consumed neither the cord nor the liquid instantly, instead burning steadily and brightly. Before he retired for the evening he went through the ritual of lighting a nearby lantern with embers from the kitchen fireplace, then carrying it back to his quarters.
He now lived in a humble, but comfortable room near the barracks of the palace but opposite the servant’s quarters. It occurred to him that this was once the palace harem, before Zhoka lost her taste for male concubines. Only he and Mauno stayed here, and while Kazimir kept reassuring himself that Zhoka was now barren, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Hetman had accepted him because of his manners and youth, or maybe even out of lustful fancy.
He crept through the door to his chambers and was surprised to see the glint of eyes and white teeth, followed by the voluptuous figure of someone he knew he should have recognized.
“Bianka?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down, I’m not supposed to be here.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re sitting in the dark, in my room, wearing-“, As she stood up, Kazimir gulped upon the realization that she was wearing quite little indeed. Just a smile, in fact.
“Urm, you’ll have to forgive me. This is very abrupt, and… I should let you know that I’m cursed.”
“Cursed?” Bianka’s wily grin transformed into puzzled concern.
“I become short of breath without notice, usually when I’m under stress or overexert myself.”
“Has this ever stopped you before?”
Kazimir grinned, “No, I suppose not.”
PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 8
Kazimir and Mauno were surprised to find themselves riding ever northward with Zhoka and a band of her Hazor bodyguards. There was a sense of urgency about their mission, as Zhoka had given each rider two ponies, no small expense on the harsh landscape of the northern steppe. Often without even stopping, they would switch ponies at certain intervals, giving one a chance to rest and gather its strength while the other bore the weight of a rider, cantering across the vast expanse. Before them was a sea of golden grass with no landmarks of any kind, and without the use of the stars and constellations it would have been very easy to get lost. Eventually, after two days and two nights Kazimir caught the scent of the ocean.
“Clansmen, dismount and don your armor,” Zhoka barked out. “We’re nearing our destination.”
Zhoka had arranged this event so abruptly that even most of the Hazor weren’t quite sure what was going on. With the scent of the sea in his nostrils, Kazimir suspected that they were going hunting for Holischiky once more, though he was concerned at the fact that there were only 10 warriors in their party, plus Zhoka, Mauno, and Kazimir himself. When he last tangled with the Holischiky he had 50 warriors at his disposal, and the brutal intensity of the fighting meant that they had only achieved victory by a narrow margin.
Kazimir turned to Mauno. The two hadn’t really spoken more than a couple of words to each other since the night of the assassination attempt. Then again, they hadn’t truly had a chance to talk over all of the hard riding.
“Mauno, please understand that this is strange to me, but I apologize for accusing you of being an assassin.”
“That doesn’t concern me as much as your choice in friends. You allowed a murderer into your inner circle and you welcomed him almost as you would a brother. What does that say about your judgment?”
“Would you prefer that I were more paranoid?” Kazimir grimaced.
“You’ve given me your trust, Kazimir, but you haven’t so much as asked me what my goals are. It’s unwise to allow someone into your house until you’re aware of their intentions.”
“Very well. What is your goal, Mauno? Why have you chosen to ride with me?”
“Because you are the first Rosomai I have met who has spoken openly about peace with the Sabalazmon. My people believe in an inherent right for every species and every humanoid to exist. For centuries the Rosomai and Sabalazmon have tried to deny each other that right.”
Kazimir grinned wryly, “A noble concept, Mauno, but what about the poor, stinking Holischiky? Would you defend their rights to life as well?”
“This is what concerns me, Kazimir. The Holischiky are little different from us. They have mothers and children. They fear death. They cling to life. Your ancestors fought the Sabalazmon with the intention of destroying them, and they fought back with desperation, knowing that you intended to eradicate them. Don’t make the same mistake with the Holischiky.”
Kazimir scowled, “This fight against the Holischiky will be desperate enough without the need to show our enemies mercy. Besides, the wretched sea people would not pay us the same courtesy.”
Mauno grimly stared Kazimir in the eye, “When you are the aggressor, the choice of how to present arms is always yours. Will you blindly follow the bloody example of your forefathers, or will you set a new example for your people?”
Kazimir tried to think of a satisfactory answer, but ultimately chose silence. What could he say to Mauno to prove his intentions? The Hirvi was a man of words and ideals. Kazimir, on the other hand, wished to speak to the world through his deeds.
As he pondered, he caught the sound of hoof beats in the distance, heavy and imposing. He could tell immediately that the animal was a horse, a much larger animal than the stocky ponies that were so important to societies in Azek. He had seen horses before further to the south, but it was unwise to bring the animals this far north into the steppe, especially with the nights as cold as they were.
He could hear the grass crackling and tearing under the heavy hooves as they approached, then caught a most peculiar sight over the berm of a hill, a plume of feathers bouncing up and down. The feathers sprouted from the hilltop, followed by a tall black hat, then an imposing figure dressed in a most peculiar fashion. The figure was canine, but larger than the Liskai and of stronger build, with jet black fur and wild yellow eyes. He was a Vucari, and while both the Hirvi and Rosomai were quite familiar with the wolves none had ever seen one dressed in such a bizarre fashion.
He wore no armor or padding of any kind. In fact, his uniform seemed fitted to the form of his body and covered in gaudy, needless decoration such as glimmering buttons, a bright white sash, and heavy braids. As opposed to the loose-fitting dress and practical armor of the Rosomai, the products of generations of mounted warfare, this buffoon’s dress seemed to be the product of some female fantasy, clearly showing all of the masculine bulges while protecting none of them. Kazimir suddenly wondered if he had stumbled into some land populated by lunatics.
The popinjay wolf didn’t appear to be armed, and it occurred to Kazimir that he could have been a diplomat or representative of sorts. He cast a cool, discerning eye over the group of Rosomai before picking out Zhoka in her regalia. The Vucari rode towards her and they spoke in a tongue Kazimir hadn’t heard in a long time. He caught words in the wind, but it took some moments for him to reclaim the structure and form of the Vucari language.
“The Baron Parkhaiev is expecting you at his encampment, Hetman Zhoka. I will lead the way to his pavilion.”
“The Alliance has sent a baron? Does the situation not even warrant the attention of a viscount to them?”
“When we reach the perimeter of the Bivak, we would ask that your soldiers lay down their arms so that we might put the minds of our soldiers at ease.”
“My soldiers are proud, not suicidal. You have my word that none of your people will be attacked, but disarming them would betray their trust and degrade them.”
“I must insist-“
“You can insist all that you wish. Unless your soldiers are likewise willing to lay down their arms as we enter camp, we will retain ours. Your people may not understand our culture, but you do understand anger, and the Baron Parkhaiev will be quite livid on account of your insistence and delays. Is that something you wish from your Alpha?”
The courier paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder to catch the vigilant scowls of the Hazor bodyguards.
“Very well. I will see to it that you are allowed into the Bivak with your weapons, but none of these warriors are allowed in the Baron’s quarters!”
“These terms are fair. Almost.” Zhoka blithely waved towards Mauno and Kazimir, “I request the attendance of two people in my entourage.”
The courier rode up, a frown creeping across his face.
“Who are these two?”
“My court healer, Mauno, and my diplomatic envoy, Kazimir.”
“The Baron will decide whether or not these two may enter.”
Kazimir was enraptured with fascination as Zhoka’s band rode into the Vucari encampment. There were long rows of neat, white tents in the hundreds stretching across the hills, with the smoke of cooking fires wafting over the camp. Rather than the caustic aroma of burnt dung, the Vucari permitted the extravagance of burning wood in their fires, creating a pleasant odor that permeated the entire camp. For every grouping of tents there was a grouping of muskets. He didn’t know very much about muskets, but he knew that his old friend Vaturyn had spent a lifetime acquiring wealth and could only afford one. To see so many muskets in one place seemed to suggest that whoever was in charge of this army must have been an individual of truly extravagant wealth. The Vucari had weapons, mannerisms, and clothing so exotic that it took some time before he was able to cast a more discerning and skeptical eye on these foreigners.
He caught only glimpses here and there, little hints. The Vucari were known to be a taciturn people, but there was a marked difference between sobriety and misery. Many tents masked unhealthy, rasping coughs from the sick. A Vucari soldier out of dress appeared, ribs subtly sticking out through his fur. He met the eyes of some curious soldiers, but they all had the looks of people that didn’t want to be here. None of them seemed to be physically wounded, yet many were ill or sluggish on their feet. This was an army resplendent in dress and luxury, but Kazimir almost laughed at the obvious irony that they didn’t have enough food!
The nature of the situation started to dawn on Kazimir when their party of warriors brushed against the coastline, overlooking a short cliff and peering down to a narrow stripe of rocky coast below. There, at the bottom, were the skeletons of massive wooden beasts. They may have been boats once, boats gigantic beyond Kazimir’s wildest imaginings, but now they were simply ribs and strips of timber. A group of Vucari stumbled around the boulders and stones around the wrecks, stripping the skeletons of wood, hacking it into smaller chunks, and piling it into cords. The Vucari must have arrived on these great ships, and now they were dismantling them to burn as firewood!
The courier led Zhoka and her bodyguards to a grassy, flat section of the camp near the sea cliffs, an area populated by larger tents and a prominent wooden house fashioned from the corpses of the giant ships on which they had arrived. A formidable Vucari, with pure white fur in contrast to his courier’s pure black, stepped forth through the doorway in a resplendent uniform more decorative than the rest.
“Hetman Zhoka. It is good to meet you at last,” The officer smiled.
“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Baron Parkhaiev.”
He was the first of these strange Vucari that had paid the Rosomai the courtesy of speaking their native tongue. He turned immediately to Mauno and Kazimir, who apparently had committed some infraction by being this close as the Baron’s thin smile melted away.
“Who are these two?”
“My court healer, Mauno, and my new emissary, Kazimir. I wished for them to attend our meeting-“
“Sorry, no.” The Baron locked eyes with Kazimir and frowned, then turned back to Zhoka. “This is a private matter, and frankly an embarrassing one with regards to the honor of the Vucari. No strangers, and that is final.”
“You are starving,” Kazimir caught a vitriolic glare from the baron as he swung around to meet Kazimir’s gaze again, hackles raised. “I have found that if you go hungry, you must first swallow your pride.”
“Hrm,” Parkhaiev coughed, clearly holding down an aggressive impulse before beckoning the Rosomai dowager to his door. “Hetman Zhoka, if you please.”
Zhoka said very little on the way back to Opaliye, but she carried herself with a smile. The chest fixed to the saddle of her horse conspicuously jangled with their every step. The moment she arrived she seemed to disappear, leaving Kazimir and Mauno to have a long, one-sided philosophical chat about the nature of magic. Kazimir wished that he hadn’t brought the subject up, but mercifully the sun began to set in its ever earlier fashion, giving Kazimir an excuse to retire for the evening and enjoy the warm comfort of bed and shelter.
The curious lamps of the Ulic flickered to life as the citizens ducked into their homes to light them, then hung them from their posts. Kazimir had discovered that the lanterns were fueled by a strange mixture drawn from the earth itself, from pools of black, slick liquid with a peculiar and pungent aroma. The black, scummy liquid was soaked in clay several times before being extracted as a faintly colored liquid that burned without producing much smoke. Curiously, the liquid pulled itself through a small length of cord, yet when ignited consumed neither the cord nor the liquid instantly, instead burning steadily and brightly. Before he retired for the evening he went through the ritual of lighting a nearby lantern with embers from the kitchen fireplace, then carrying it back to his quarters.
He now lived in a humble, but comfortable room near the barracks of the palace but opposite the servant’s quarters. It occurred to him that this was once the palace harem, before Zhoka lost her taste for male concubines. Only he and Mauno stayed here, and while Kazimir kept reassuring himself that Zhoka was now barren, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Hetman had accepted him because of his manners and youth, or maybe even out of lustful fancy.
He crept through the door to his chambers and was surprised to see the glint of eyes and white teeth, followed by the voluptuous figure of someone he knew he should have recognized.
“Bianka?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down, I’m not supposed to be here.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re sitting in the dark, in my room, wearing-“, As she stood up, Kazimir gulped upon the realization that she was wearing quite little indeed. Just a smile, in fact.
“Urm, you’ll have to forgive me. This is very abrupt, and… I should let you know that I’m cursed.”
“Cursed?” Bianka’s wily grin transformed into puzzled concern.
“I become short of breath without notice, usually when I’m under stress or overexert myself.”
“Has this ever stopped you before?”
Kazimir grinned, “No, I suppose not.”
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Mammal (Other)
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 40.5 kB
Hurray, it continues!
I know, that I'm repeating myself. But the way you're describing everything whats happening, what the characters are seeing, is absolutely amazing (especially the little "naive" way of Kazimer who sees so many new things and tries to understand everything). You can imagine the different sceneries so clear. You only have to close your eyes and you're in there.
I'm really looking forward for the next chapter(s?)!
(Btw. is there any other expression for looking forward? I think, I'm using this one a lillte often^^)
I know, that I'm repeating myself. But the way you're describing everything whats happening, what the characters are seeing, is absolutely amazing (especially the little "naive" way of Kazimer who sees so many new things and tries to understand everything). You can imagine the different sceneries so clear. You only have to close your eyes and you're in there.
I'm really looking forward for the next chapter(s?)!
(Btw. is there any other expression for looking forward? I think, I'm using this one a lillte often^^)
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