The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) by Bradley Beaulieu Read Free Book Online Page B

were.
    Styophan swung the scope over the landscape carefully, searching, certain that they’d reached Haelish lands but seeing no evidence of it so far. Perhaps the Haelish had been pushed further back than their spies in Alekeşir had reported, or perhaps they were better at hiding themselves than he gave them credit for. But then he saw a thin trail of smoke against the dark green forest. It was near a flat-topped hill on the westward side of the mountains, high enough that they could lose themselves in the mountains if they chose and low enough that they could reach the plains within a day’s ride.
    “Anahid, bring her down by half. Yvan, three points windward.”
    Anahid had been his stalwart companion on this trip. She and Avil and Mikhalai were the only ones still flying with him from his time with Prince Nikandr. Truly they deserved their own ships, but Styophan trusted them too much. When this was all done, he told himself, he would see to it that they became kapitans.
    Styophan decided to take a single skiff; more and it would be seen as aggression. He loaded it with trusted men—Avil and Mikhalai and his own cousin, Rodion—and then Anahid guided them down. The smoke stopped as they approached, a clear indicator that they’d been spotted.
    And now, for a reason he couldn’t quite define, Styophan became nervous. He had no idea how the Haelish would view him. It was said that they were little better than barbarians, but Styophan had spoken to Isaak, the Duke’s seneschal, in the days before leaving Khalakovo. He’d said that while they had been driven to primitive ways by their long war with Yrstanla, it wasn’t always so. They had a rich history, and there were those among them that would remember. Few could read or write among the Haelish, but their history, passed down in song from father to son and mother to daughter, was a thing they took great pride in. If they didn’t, Isaak had said, they would long ago have abandoned this war and succumbed to the might of Yrstanla.
    They landed the skiff within a copse of linden trees and disembarked. Ten men plus Anahid. They took to the hill, which was thick with willow and oak and birch. Styophan took the lead, with the others walking single file behind him.
    “Weapons at the ready,” he said, “but no one draws until I say.”
    “ Da , Kapitan,” his men replied.
    Anahid still had her circlet upon her brow, and in the setting there was an opal, glowing ever so softly under the light of day. She was bonded still with her dhoshahezhan. It was a weapon of sorts, but not one he would have her release. He felt better with her bonded to a spirit that might protect them.
    When he glanced back at the men, he saw how tight they were. These were hardened men, and yet their eyes darted nervously about the forest. Avil was the worst of them. In a way, Styophan understood. They were as far from help as they could be. But the Haelish had agreed to accept weapons and gems from Anuskaya in return for their help here in the west.
    “Avil,” Styophan said. “Come with me.” He strode ahead, far enough that they wouldn’t be overheard. Avil caught up to him with a short jog. “I’ve seen you fight ten men with no fear,” Styophan said to him. “Why do the Haelish affect you so?”
    “They’re heathens, Styopha. Bloody heathens. They practice foul rituals. When they capture their enemies, they take them to their villages and hang them up by their wrists and gut them while they’re still alive. They take their blood and use it to peer into the future, and when they take to the battlefield once more, the misery of those they took find release. The screams of the dead pour from the throats of the Haelish warriors, for the dying had no chance to do so. They worship trees and hills, and they claim wives from their brothers and cousins. We shouldn’t walk into their lands like this, a mere handful, weapons sheathed.”
    “We’re here to ask for their help,