Completed The sun falls on heavy shoulders

[White Swallow]

The longer the fight went on, the more reinforcements tackled out of the tents to replace those cut-down. The nightsingers would chant along, favouring repetition to mimic with their ghastly beaks; "Djinn-Djinn-Djinn-Kaww!"
The peculiarities of the battle were not lost to the Narranian. Were the chants referring to the one as tall as a boulder? He'd never seen anything like that before, not among man or even elf.
Ibn Adil had rallied his forces to cut down the archers in a gallop, unfolding a series of chase maneuvers.

In the mess of a squabble in the centre of the caravans, The White Swallow was able to rally more of his troops as they tickled from their tents further down the line, leading them away from the heat of the battle. The wait was risky to take, more so if it were not for the central conflict and display of magery. They could've been easily been pointed out as more had left if such were not the case.

With a sound of the whistle the troop charged towards the bulk of the fighters surrounding the caravans, like an angered bull with sharpened horns they cut into the flank. The first at the helm was the white swallow himself, behind him the banners of his troop, seeming like a flock of snowbirds in the night. When seen, they had already stricken with their spears and swords.

 

[Infernal]

He had given it his all, and with it, he liked to believe he made a difference in the fight. Sure he wasn't victorious against the large raider, whose boot struck him with such force, he blacked out immediately. Blood ran like a river out of his broken nose, the bruise already forming while he laid upon the sands in a heap. So while he may likely die in the next few seconds, at the very least he can say he gave it his all.

 

[Gerra]

Letting his boot rest on the face of his conquered foe, Gerra looked up as the sound of hoofbeats grew loud amid the din of battle in the night's fractious air. The warriors of the camp were rallying.

Blood steaming down his front, Gerra grimaced in pain as he reached down and hoisted the body of the elf. He looked to be of the royal strain, the proudest and haughtiest of them all. Perhaps he would fetch a worthy sum. High ransoms for high elves.

The half-giant snorted to himself, then turned as a dark-robed man on a frothing mare reined in beside him.

"Al-Hadhra," Gerra rumbled.

"Djinn, we must go. Is he dead?"

"Alive."

"Put him on my horse. We must leave, quickly."

Gerra did so, then ran off into the desert's chilly night, as swiftly as his wounds would allow.

Just as suddenly as the attack began, it ended, the raiders melting away into the desert sands. It might have been a dream, but for the bodies they left behind.

 

[White Swallow]

It could have gone worse. But the raiders have dispersed into the sands as quickly as they appeared. No loot gone. People lay dead of different creeds and colours.

The white swallow did not pursue for long after the retreat and stopped on a nearby dune, watching the elves meld away untill nothing was left behind. The peculiar tall person seemed to be the one in command. With the elves bowing by his bark.

Ibn Adim whom had been chasing the archers during the ordeal rode up to the dune. »We've driven them off, aside from the dead, nothing has been stolen.«

»They took an elf, a foreigner. « The swallow turned his face briefly to Ibn Adil before dismounting and leading his horse back to the caravan that began to regroup and patch up the wounded.

 

[Infernal]

He felt groggy, his vision blurry, and every part of him felt like it was in pain. All he could remember was trying to fight off some giant and then, he groaned thinking about all the pain that came afterward.

Cracked ribs, fractured arm, most likely a concussion, all in all pretty bad outcome for such a battle. Looks like things went about as well as one could hope from a hopeless battle. Doing his best he tried to move, but that just brought a new wave of fresh pain all over his body.

"You...are one tough bastard..." Telenar's jaw ached, and everything told him that this was not going to be a pleasant experience.

 

[Gerra]

Daylight broke over in the cloudless sky, washing away the shadows from the sands and leaving them stark and barren, but for the forest of tents erected in the midst of the dunes, where the raiders now encamped.

Gerra, chest bandaged, swept aside the flap of the tent in which Telenar sat and entered. A thick and large rug, richly woven, covered the sand, giving them ample room to sit comfortably. Pillows lay scattered about, but that was all. For a moment, the ash-skinned half-giant merely loomed, regarding the high elf with a molten gaze, then he took a seat before the elf and crossed his legs.

"So I have been told," he rumbled, voice rich and deep as the earth, "You fought well. I am called Gerra. And you?"

 

[Infernal]

"My name is Telenar." Surprisingly, the elf was able to sit up, after a bit of work. It wasn't pleasant, but at least he didn't feel as helpless as before.

"So it appears I'm your prisoner then." He didn't see his armor or his weapon, though he and Gerra both knew he didn't require steel to be dangerous. Unfortunately with his injuries and the fact that he was surrounded by enemies in a desert he wasn't familiar with dissuaded him from even thinking about an escape. For now he would stay put, and do his best to stay alive.

"So what happens now? I imagine you have a desire for a sum of gold, right? Unfortunately all my money is tied up in a wagon carrying goods to the city, and my family has no desire to see me back at home with them." It wasn't a pleasant thought, as many truths are.

 

[White Swallow]

As the sun rose above the dunes, the caravan would move once again. Many slept well throughout the night and many more groaned throughout the whole last stretch. The sooner they were behind its characteristically massive walls, the better.
Passing between the iconic twin arches and down the slope, Maraan would grow larger and larger until they lay in the shrinking shadow of the grand gate. Out of the caravan hollered one of the more stout traders and some words ware exchanged between him and the city guard.

They were just loud enough to fully rouse the swallow awake. He stood vigil through the night in case the attackers would come for a rematch, but thankfully no such thing occurred.
A movement at the front of the caravan signalled that they're passing through. While it wasn't by no means the largest, within the city each faction would be quick to scatter their own ways. The swallow knew at least two bands of soldiers here were to attend a party hosted by a king. Another probably to trash it... Such is life in Amol-Kalit.
As the two finally passed through, they veered towards the guardsman, surrendering their banners like many before them.
They would hang atop the gate to signall just how many soldiers were within, and belonging to who. In places were alliances were short, it was usually good to know just over whose feet you're stepping.
Or if the cake to bite might just be the end of you.

 

[Gerra]

For the space of several breaths, Gerra did not reply, merely studying Telenar as if the elf were a particularly interesting mechanism then, “That is unfortunate.”

No weapons lay within the tent, which was sparse save the rugs and pillows, but a platter bearing two cups and a pot sat on the rug beside them. Gerra grasped the pot and began pouring them each a cup of a hot, dark liquid. Steam rose, filling the tent with a roasted, bitter, scent.

“I am not native to these lands, you know. Perhaps you have heard of the Molten Halls. It matters little now. I wandered across the land until time blurred. The Abtati found me in the desert, here at the western edge of the world. Though I was a stranger, they took me in, gave me shelter.”

He handed a full cup to Telenar, then poured one for himself.

“A drink that invigorates the mind. Among the Abtati, sharing this expresses hospitality.”

Gerra took a long sip, then peered over the rim. “The same kindness they showed to me, I now show to you. Without ransom, you may not return to your people. But only fools would throw aside a worthy sword. Join us, join me, and you will find purpose, as I have found purpose.”

Abruptly, the half-giant put down the cup and got to his feet. “I must attend to other matters. Think on my offer, Telenar of the High Elven.”

With that, he turned and left.

Some moments later, another entered. Fine features and sharp ears marked him as an elf, but his skin was weathered by the desert sun and where most elves of the Falwood stood tall and ethereal as regal stags, he was short and wiry, like a wolf. And he had a wolf’s grin that he flashed upon Telenar as he scooped up the platter of coffee and cups.

“You’ve fought the Djinn and lived. Abtatu must smile on you. I could tell you things. When he first came in from the desert, we thought him a wandering spirit. Only after he passed the trial of fire unburned did we know him for what he is, a Djinn, one of the reborn. The prophets say he will crush our enemies and unite all tribes.”

The Abtati elf waited, hesitant, as if expecting some sort of confirmation from this enemy.

 

[White Swallow]

»Khaleel,« Ibn Adil muttered to the white Swallow slowly as they got into a secluded alley.
»You rode right into him,« he would continue. »You know who I mean,« Ibn Adil groaned, he did not have time to catch a glimpse of anything, he and his troop were felling mounted archers off their horses on the outskirts.


»It was not hard to miss,« The white swallow tilted his head to gaze at the tall grove trees that occasionally grew from the side of walls or overly large pots that lay on balconies and the roofs of houses.
»Djinn.«


»Of the lesser gods? - The false gods.« Ibn Adil tapped The swallow on his shoulder.
»Gods don't walk the mortal earth. But that's what they called him.« The swallow would wave away.

 

[Infernal]

Slowly he swirled the tea in his cup, taking small sips and breathing a sigh of relief as he began to feel the fuzziness clear in his mind. For the first time in a while he was silent during the large one's speech, unsure of what to say of such an offer.

Leave everything, and try his luck out here with bandits. Would it be any better than what he was doing now? Things would be a lot better if he could get his hands on his funds, then he could get a better sense of what to do. If he joined them, there was no mistaking what will become of his reputation in time. Perhaps there could be a way to-

"What? Oh...yes." Telenar said, breaking out of his thoughts as the elf spoke to him.

Prophecy. What did that even really mean in this world of magic and mystery? With enough studying and practice, even he could possibly peer behind the curtain and discern what may be and what has been. Since it was what drove them to accepting the half giant, he supposed it was better not to voice his cynical ideas about the subject.

"The Djinn is indeed a mighty warrior. He could have killed me, and yet chose not to. For that I am grateful." For a moment there was silence, and then he felt it necessary. "How is it your people came to live like this? Why do you rebel against the ones who built the cities in these deserts?"

 

[Gerra]

The Abtati made a hacking sound and made as if to spit, then paused and thought better of it. Moisture was precious here.

"What know the humans and the blue ones of our ways. We do not rebel, our prophet tells us that once we, the Abtati, ruled all from the Bal-Asha to the raging Duru. The ruins you see in the desert are our ruins. What was once may be so again. This he says."

The elf could not have been over thirty, young by elven standards. Very young. He looked away. "Some do not agree with the prophet. The other tribes say he lies. We are of the sands, we have always been of the sands, they say. Does the serpent need a city? Does the eagle require a cage? These are things they say. But I do not believe them. The ruins do not lie. I have seen the Forgotten City, once. It is not so forgotten."

He shook his head.

"Ah. You speak of cities in the desert, but you do not mean the ruins. I see. You think of Annuakat, of Kherkhana and Ragash. Mamsis. You must not have seen them, or you would not say desert. They sit on the banks of the rivers. Lush. Fertile. You will see. When the Djinn leads us there, you will see."

Finally, he stood up, beckoned with his hand, and held the tent flap open. Sunlight flooded in.

 

[White Swallow]

»I would not concern myself over the new sand elven champion,« Nadim Ibn Adil scoffed.
»Neither do I, yet I have a bad feeling about that raid.« The swallow would wave his hand.

After a brief silence, Nadim would turn to the Swallow once more while readying himself to depart: »I will send a messenger to As Nineban today, where do you plan to stay for the night?«

»The small inn in the western wing, perhaps the library in the vicinity, or attend Nagendra's feast.«
»How far do you think he came from?«
»Beyond Baal-Asha I reckon. I don't know more than you, but perhaps we could meet him,« The white swallow lightly shrugged.

 

[Infernal]

Walking out of the tent, the high elf felt the wind gently kiss his face as it meandered across the camp. Such a place was peaceful, but he knew underneath was a certain tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment. For every death, he imagined that tension got a little worse.

Too bad you contributed to that, didn't you?

The thought was quickly discarded, pushed out of his mind as he took in a breath of fresh air. "I know something of the stubbornness of one's kind getting in the way of your ambitions. It's what drove me out of a comfortable home south of here, and into this place." Whose stubbornness was at fault though, Telenar wasn't willing to dig into that much.

"I imagine it's difficult, trying to support your people with the plunder of defeated caravans." But there didn't appear to be anything from the caravan he had once been in here. Did that mean the skirmish was a failure for the sand elves?

"How many of your own died in that last attack? I know I felled three with my magic, and I can only guess more perished attempting to take down that caravan." The answer wasn't good, and it was what decided it for him. "Please take me to Gera. I have a decision for him."

 

[Gerra]

The elf narrowed his eyes. “Death comes to all. If any fell, Abtatu had decreed their time. Come, I will bring you to the Djinn.”

He led Telenar past more tents and toward the center of the camp where Gerra stood, speaking with several elves who wore finer and more colorful clothes than the rest.

At their approach, the conversation ceased and Gerra turned to regard the high elf.

“Ah, Telenar, do you bring me an answer?”

 

[White Swallow]

~*~​

/
Maraan had been reached, however, a division of sand elves attacked us right in the shadow of Maraan, they were driven out as quickly as they appeared when The White Swallow took after them. They had a new champion among them.
We plan to depart the next morning and reach As Nineban within a week. Without further incidents, if the path is right.
Also, dear Issa, inform Hakim Amandim Al-Nartarpur that Nagendra held a feast and party in Maraan. Does the old Vedargas still feel homesick, so far from home, with how much he praises it? He even brought four elephants with him. I heard he spared no expanses on the feast.
\

Their troops had since left and disbanded as they retired to buy new lances. Even The swallow's had been lost while charging into the sand elven forces. Holding the new weapon in his grasp, he returned to his designated place of rest to change skin.
No time was to be spent in the inn, or the great library of Maraan. Even Ibn Adil had not gone his own way.

~*~​

He made his way up the tiled stairs to the Palace. It was as illustrious as the name told, It's colouring shining far into the distance. But it was most beautiful from up close when each carving would show it's true detail.
Passing the first entry gate into the gardens and the second into the building, a flight of stairs upwards would lead the white swallow into a wide round room. Music and scent of incense and good food quickly enamoured anyone who entered.
It was filled with people all over from Amol-Kalit, many nobles. Quite a few were from further reaches, but the swallow could not quite pinpoint their location. Women were draped in beautiful shawls while men wore coats of intricate and elegant design. Some he could pinpoint a name to, many were generals to Kings around here. But none could truly compare to To Nagendra and his entourage. There seemed to be more gold than cloth on the man and, what he presumed was his wife of raven hair.

 

[Infernal]

"I have made my choice." Telenar said, standing proudly amongst the other elves. No matter where one went, elves always respected those who stood strong. "My sword is with you. It is my desire to see elven kind in their rightful place. To know that there are greater things out there for us, robbed from us by mere humans, that is what makes me loyal to you, Gerra."

Looking to the rest of the elves, he could see why they put their hopes on this massive creature. They were well off, but he could see the hunger for more, whether it was rightfully there's or not, the ambition was still present. Telenar liked ambition. An elf needed more than just ambition, however, and from what he could tell at first glance, they just didn't have it.

"Whatever you require for my loyalty, you shall have it. All I ask, is for my own fair payment in power, in riches and in glory. Give me this, and I will give you the world."

 

[Gerra]

“And you shall have it.” Gerra smiled slightly, “Come, our scouts have tracked the caravan back to a town called Maraan. They appear to be in the midst of a festival. We will ride on them at once.”

In mere hours, the tents had been packed up and the Abtati tribe was soon joined by two others, their numbers swelling to many hundreds as they rode down upon Maraan and surrounded the town while its occupants drank and danced in idle bliss.

 

[Maravich]

A soft sand-speckled breeze flitted between the houses that covered the streets of Maraan. Outside, baking underneath a golden sun, a festival was held. Normally, Maravich would happily partake in such celebrations, but alas, if life were all filled with playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work.

On a small clinic on one of the more traveled roads of the city, Maravich hunched over a dark-skinned man who was caught deep in an alchemical torpor. Dressed in his dark clothes despite the sweltering heat, and his dark beak-like mask over his face, Maravich worked, a needle in one hand and a wet rag in the other. He worked a surgeon’s miracle, his clawed hands maneuvering the tiny needle attached to the spool of dark thread between the deep gashes on the patient’s arm, cleaning the wounds off with a rag after each stitch. Beneath his mask, his white eyes paid close attention to every detail that could reveal an imbalance of the humors, and his hands were as steady as... well, the metaphor was quite literal in this situation. He had been working for a long time, both at this patient and in his field of expertise. Heaving a sigh of relief as the last of the wounds were tightly bound, he placed his blood-soaked needle into the wet rag, placing them at a table to his side, and peeling off his stained gloves. With a swish of his long gray tail, he fell back into a wooden seat against one of the walls in the clinic, heaving a great sigh as he finished his surgery. The patient would live, and he would get paid.

After a few moments like this, Maravich gathered what items he had with him, storing them all in his bag, before heading out to the sandy street. His work in the clinic was done for the day, and now he could spend a small flicker of time amidst the festivities offered by the festival of Maraan.

 

[Infernal]

Riding with his new ally, Telenar had a feeling things were already in motion. Victory needed to be won, or else even the desperate Lords would lose confidence in Gerra. Perhaps that was why he was so set on recruiting him, to find another set of eyes to help achieve victory. He smiled, thinking back on how his attempt to save his own life was a sort of interview for this new venture.

From what he understood of the city, it did not hold its own means of supporting itself. That meant they relied almost entirely on outside help to maintain its power. Such a grasp was tenuous at best, and one the elf imagined Gerra already understood how to exploit.

"If we want to ensure they cannot receive help, we will need to spread a wide net for their caravans and war bands. Until then, however, we will first have to convince them they are best served staying behind their walls." Such and thought reminded him.

"I will need my sword and my armor before they ride out to scatter us." That was the normal strategy for strongholds, to try and send out fighters to rebuff those attempting to besiege it. If they survived this, then the siege would truly begin.

 

[White Swallow]

The White Swallow slowly approached the highborn King. Stopping a few shy meters from him, yet the gap between them felt much vaster.
Nagendra's presence was highly inflated, exceeding any Sultan. His skin was the darkest and his styled, black hair was iridescent like the feathers of ravens. The clothes adorned on him were embodied in light blues and golden yellows.

He seemed occupied, talking to various other nobles and sparing no attention to the rest of the room.

Unease swelled in the swallow's heart.
Even if he wore more formal clothes, a barn swallow in eagle feathers was still a common bird. A sham among the higher generals, royal envoys and relatives of Kaliti nobles.

Ibn Adil suddenly called out for him. The swallow was quick to notice that his companion was already engaged in conversation with the foreign King.

»This is The White Swallow, also a servant of the Sayyiduna.«
The swallow bowed, but words stalled in his mouth. »... «
»So even the Sayyiduna sends his soldiers to greet me.« Nagendra put his hands around his belly, smiling warmly. »I would have preferred if he came in person.«
»Apologies, but the Sayyiduna seldom shows himself to even his most loyal of subjects.«

 

[Gerra]

Gerra stood upon a dune some distance from the town, surrounded by Abtati horsemen. The sheikh of Al-Hadhra stood with him, the first of the elders to listen to the prophet’s words. The prophet himself stayed in Rhaqoum, trying to convince the priests of Abtatu that the Djinn was a divine champion.

The son of Molthal snorted. He admired the Abtati in many ways, but this whole region stank of devotion to absent gods. His father was right in at least one respect, if the gods wished to shape this world, they would have to come and claim it. Gerra looked up into the night sky, where the stars gleamed and the moons shone brightly.

Was anyone staring back?

The half-giant narrowed his eyes, gaze returning to earth as Telenar spoke, suggesting tactics and requesting his arms and armor be returned.

“Of course,” Gerra replied, “Sheikh Fasrah?”

“They will be returned, great djinn.”

One of the sand elves dismounted, fished around in his camel’s pack, then started pulling out pieces of armor, which he tossed to Telenar. Lastly, his sword.

“Fear not, Telenar. Even now, our warriors encircle the city. Those who seek to enter or leave will find only the bite of our bows and blades. We do not have the engines to conduct a siege. Nor would we wish to starve them out and depopulate the town. We appear only a small force to them. When they sally out to drive us back, we will flee before them until they are strung out in the desert. When their horses are lathered and their throats parched, we will strike with the full strength of three elven tribes.”

In the distance, a sentry let out a cry as an arrow took him in the throat. He toppled from the wall.

Fires were springing up outside the town as the Abtati took torches to any wagons or structures left outside the walls.

Soon the alarm would ring.

 

[Infernal]

Feeling the armor click together was nice, and after strapping in his sword to his belt, he felt whole again. The strategy seemed simple enough, but there was no way to know it worked until it was actually put into practice. Without engines there was no way to force their way in, and there was no wish to cause death via starvation. He hoped it didn't come to that, but often times, it was up to whomever ruled the city as to whether or not these things came into play.

The usual pain of his injuries reminded him of his limitations, making Telenar wonder just what chance he would have to actually fight someone. Healing spells weren't his specialty, more like spells to prevent others from casting spells, or general battle magic to aid him on the field. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, and he would be able to operate as he did now.

"Then I'll keep an eye out for any signs of messengers trying to slip away. The longer we can keep their allies in the dark, the better." He said, directing his horse towards the perimeter, his senses on high alert for anything suspicious.

This siege was only just beginning, and it was only going to get more violent as time went on.

 

[White Swallow]

Ibn Adil was far better versed in talking this time around.

The swallow only rose back upright in silence.
Nagendra gripped himself around his round torso and let out a brief chuckle, jesting as apt for a man of his position towards mere commanders.
»A ruler like him should show his face at least once every eclipse. A king is an icon, a beaming presence. How else would the kings and sultans know he's not just a wretch.«

The warning calls were the first to spread along the walls and barracks.
Last they came to the houses and halls.

Nagendra was about to complain and wail, but the swallow was only happy to leave and drag Ibn Adil behind him before he got to bark sonething in turn.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra nodded as Telenar departed.

After satisfying himself that the town was properly surrounded, the half-giant made his way down the dune, surrounded by an entourage of robed Abtati, until he stood before the town’s main gates.

“COME FORTH,” he called in a voice that shook the air and rolled with the depths of the earth.