PART VIII: Sameira's Guests
or: A Moment of Peace Inbetween
They brought the slaves on land in Karond Kar. It was cold, as the short summer of Naggaroth was already nearing its end, and hail was going down on the pier. The wind, seemingly changing directions, unsteady here on the island of Karond Kar, cried in the sails as they were folded together like dragon wings, and the Drannach, anchored in the harbor, was creaking and fighting with the weather. A thin cover of ice was building on the docks cut from black rock, fed by the waves breaking against it and the cold air.
Despite the stormy day, a huge crowd of Druchii was cheering at the pier. There were commoners as well as nobles, even a Highborn or two. From over the crowd, he caught a glance at a crowned head of a Sorceress, who was watching the slaves from a Cold One chariot, biting her perfect lips in curiosity. They were all drawn to the magnificent show.
Chained, the slaves walked from the landing bridges onto the black pier, motivated by the cracking of the whips of the slave drivers, and Makareth couldn't believe his eyes when he saw how numerous the humans the fleet had captured were. There were thousands marching and shuffling along the road from the docks.
"Don't fall off the railing, child." Laggoran patted his shoulder, passing by. "Lord Lykaon and I have to go and negotiate with the harbor administrative. Soon it is our turn to unload our freight, and I want to make sure we get a good price for those that we plan to sell here. Stay here and keep an eye on the ship."
The young Druchii nodded, absentminded. His eyes were drawn to the spectacle. Every time a slave was too clumsy, going a bit out of the row, and one of the slave drivers, riding along the line on a nauglir, smacked the whip across the unlucky human's back or legs, laughter rose from the crowd. Once a young woman lost her balance on the slippery stone, and fell. The other slaves, though trying to avoid stepping on her, were urged forwards as if nothing had happened, and the human female, dragged on by the chains of the slave that had been walking in front of her and hit by the feet of those behind, screamed in pain and terror. The Dark Elves, watching her struggle, jeered, the crowd moving in a blood-thirsty wave. Even Makareth had to laugh at the girl's clumsy attempts to get back up. Humans were such dumb animals, he thought, no grace in their movements. Even a nauglir would show a better sense of balance. Finally, the young woman managed to stand up, and continued walking, tears flowing down her dirty face, her body full of bruises, and Makareth heard disappointed sighs from the Druchii all around.
Other humans were less lucky. Some were dragged onwards until they skin was torn to bloody shreds, their screams an eerie music of fear and hopelessness; some that fell were trampled to death by those behind them, their arms finally cut from the chains by the beastmasters after they died. The columns of slaves marched towards the markets, and Makareth saw their endless line, overshadowed by the Slavers' and Beastmasters' towers, which loomed above the city, monster and gargoyle sculptures crawling up their weathered walls, their filigree arches, spurs and balconies adorned with curtains and ornaments of bones and skulls.
And then the jeers of the crowd became even louder, a storm of voices screaming curses and ridiculing the next column of slaves. The Asur seamen they had fought against were now walking along the road, their pace still somewhat graceful, but their former proud posture now just a memory, heavy steel collars around their necks, and chains around their wrists and ankles. They didn't look at those who threw offenses and jokes at them; instead most of them looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the crowd. The Asur were dirty and bruised, and a couple of them had hundreds of scabbed wounds – not from the fight itself, since it has been months since then, rather because the crew of the ship that had brought them wasn't able to abstain from showing them their hate.
Among the slaves walked a tall elf who reminded Makareth of the silver-haired slave girl so much that the young Druchii assumed he must be her relative – maybe even her brother or father who had tried to avenge her captivity and bring her back. The High Elf male was white-skinned as she had been, and his hair, now light blond at the roots, was dyed silver. Even the scornful, rebellious eyes of the man had the same deep blue colour and form as those of the girl. Makareth smiled to himself at the thought that this one would be the perfect pet for Laggoran; the man was just as beautiful as his daughter or sister had been. And it was an Asur – they, contrary to the mindless and simple humans that composed the mass of the slaves brought to Naggaroth, were really worth breaking them! Pity that the corsair captain was not here to watch this creature stride by, chains ringing, face an expression of helpless anger.
When Laggoran and the Dreadlord came back and the slaves that the Drannach carried finally went on land, Makareth was already a bit bored by the show and tired. The constant screaming and wailing hadn't stopped even when he wasn't seeing any of the slaves fall and being dragged or trampled to death, and slowly he suspected that the sound came from somewhere else. But he would find out later. He yawned and wished he could have something to eat. His stomach growled.
Laggoran, with a smug grin on his face, punched him in the side playfully. "You'll get plenty to eat tonight at the feast we are invited too."
"Invited?" Makareth drew up a brow.
"You will see. Lykaon has a relative here, a Highborn Lady, and he has given her some gifts she is absolutely delighted by. We are staying at her house for the next days and nights before we begin our journey to Naggor." Laggoran sighed. "The only thing that worries me is that my brother seemingly just left Karond Kar this morning when he heard of the Drannach's return. I wonder why he had been here for so long, far from my family's shipyards, and what he is up to."
Makareth looked up at the corsair captain. "Say, Laggoran… Who will lead the Drannach's crew now that you go to Naggor with Lykaon?"
"The new mate of the crew seems to be relatively trustable. He was only a simple seaman on one of the other skiffs before, and glad to have a more advanced position. Additionally, one of my cousins, who usually travels with the Ark, has agreed to bring the skiff back to Clar Karond for a handful of gold." He shrugged. "It is my brother's own fault for not leaving any instructions, so he has to accept my decision."
"Don't you miss your life as a captain?"
"Sometimes, I do. But there are some things between Adragil and me that would need to be taken care of before I can take back the Thorned and build a new fleet; having only a skiff under my command is not enough for me. I am from a Highborn family, even though you might not have noticed it from my behavior." Laggoran's dark eyes narrowed. "Maybe I have been too nice to you, little commoner. Don't underestimate me."
Makareth stepped back, raising his hands in an apologizing gesture. "No, I wouldn't want to underestimate you, dread one! I just know that your talent with seafaring is great, and I wondered…"
"Stop this flattering!" The broad-shouldered Druchii glared at the younger elf and turned away, walking to the landing bridge in an angry pace.
Makareth learned where the screaming sound came from when they rode down the road towards the market. The horse he sat on, borrowed at the harbor, was used to it and didn't flinch; but the young Druchii was scared when the sound suddenly became louder as they neared the first of the Slavers' towers. He looked up and saw ghostly lights glowing in the eyeholes of the skulls, fen fire wandering across the curtains of bones held by thin metal wire. And he understood it were the souls of the creatures that lost their life on the docks and the long road to the market, continuing their wailing song even after death.
After they arrived at the estate of the Highborn they would stay at, Makareth has gone to search for Hardranir and the lord. Laggoran seemed to be a bit angry at him since the last conversation, and Ruathac, as usually, disappeared in the shadows, saying he wants to make sure everything is alright with the location.
The estate was enormous; its main part was the tower-like palace that overlooked the road to the market, closer to the center of the city where the wind was less strong, leaving the sculptures and bas reliefs of its intricately carved stone walls intact. Other parts of the estate were a broad, low-roofed, thickwalled building with several entrances that Makareth thought to probably contain the slave quarters and the stables of nauglir, and a big, dome-like structure with four smaller towers surrounding it. Ornate bridges of black iron connected the main palace to the other buildings.
Makareth found Hadranir in the dome-like building. The other liegeman stood upon the narrow bridge over the cavern that was big enough to contain a whole sea dragon, looking down. Deafening growls that sounded like they could cause an earthquake and sometimes a shrieking, howling sound were heard from underneath. Two voices, a male and a female, both Druchii, were exchanging short, enigmatic commands. There was another sound that reminded of a cracking of a whip – a swishing, singing sound and a loud, jingling thud. Makareth stepped on the bridge. It was made of stone and iron, and very stable. Ornaments in the blackened iron railing depicted monsters of all kinds and stylized figures of Druchii fighting them. Makareth found that the depictions of the Druchii were not quite well made – they were somehow less detailed than the monsters. Whoever had watched over the people that forged this railing had been a bit distracted.
He walked up to Hadranir and stood next to him, looking into the cavern too. He held his breath. A young hydra, not yet grown out, was trained by two beastmasters. It was just a baby, only a bit bigger than a nauglir, but when it growled, it growled with all its heads, and when it tried to bite, all its snouts opened their fang-filled mouths. The beastmasters tried to make it walk in one direction without being distracted by chunks of meat hanging from poles in the floor of the cavern. The goal at the end of the path was just another chunk of meat, slightly bigger than the others as a reward. As Makareth looked more closely, he saw that the chunks of meat had pieces of fabric, leather and metal clinging to them. Some were even still recognizable as Druchii.
Hadranir smiled sweetly at Makareth. "Isn't it absolutely fantastic, this wild creature? They are hatched tiny and almost helpless, but they are, in a way, always free. No matter who tried to prime them to follow them, sooner or later they will break away from that earliest bond and try to eat whomever has been their 'mother' for the first time. They know no emotions, no hate, no need to avenge, no loyalty… Only the aggression that is caused by hunger."
Makareth nodded. "It is a wondrous thing indeed, the hydra. I have never seen one before."
The beautiful Druchii watched the beastmistress swing a chain whip and hit one of the necks of the Hydra when it tried to snap at a still complete body at one side of its predestined path. What Makareth had thought to be a corpse at first, had let out a weak, trembling cry of despair when the snout of the monster, having missed it, turned away again. "Look, Makareth… that one is not even dead yet. Such an interesting way to die, being impaled on a pole in the hydra pit."
With horror, the younger Druchii looked at the twitching thing on the pole. It was recognizable as a male Druchii still wearing a khaitan in colours usually worn by the city guard of Karond Kar. What had he done to end up like that, with an iron stake that went from through his body, from between his legs to his shoulder, left to die for hours – or even days, in case the hydra baby was obedient to its beastmasters?
Hadranir noticed the discomfort that the thoughts caused his younger companion and put an arm around his shoulder. "Don't worry, this won't happen to you. The guys who end up here have usually done something really despicable, like offending a Sorceress or stealing from a Highborn. I don't think you are even strong-willed enough to commit one of those crimes." He laughed, melodically, and let go of Makareth again.
The young Druchii looked at Hadranir, feeling a smug smile on his own lips. "Well, sometimes being strong-willed is not of advantage; aren't you, dear Hadranir, usually the one who is all for embracing our own weaknesses?"
Hadranir's face went pale, and he shook his head, the many thin braids with purple ribbons in them moving, the bones and teeth woven into them clicking against the silver steel of back and shoulder plates. The next moment, he suddenly was very close, his face only an inch from the younger Druchii's. He grabbed Makareth by shoulder and waist and bent him back over the railing in a parody of an embrace. Makareth wanted to push him away, but his hands only clawed helplessly at the beautiful Druchii's ornamented back plate, his instincts telling him that if he didn't hold on to the other Dark Elf, he would fall down into the hydra pit. Hadranir's sharp teeth scraped at the skin between Makareth' armor and chin, only lightly, but threatening, as if the older Druchii was a wolf that just defeated an opponent and now held his throat between the jaws as a symbol of being victorious.
"Weakness? You know nothing of Atharti's power yet, child!" Hadranir pulled him back and released him from his grip.
For a moment Makareth thought of attacking Hadranir and throwing him into that same cavern he had just almost fallen into. But before he was even able to draw his sword, Hadranir has turned away and left, his swaying stride carrying him to the high double doors at the other end of the bridge.
Makareth had lost the interest in watching the training of the hydra, and he followed the other liegeman, cursing under his breath.
Hadranir was already on the bridge between the building containing the hydra pit and the main house of the estate, and the wind, howling with the voices of the dead slaves from the walls of the main tower, played with the braids and the seams of his Khaitan and robes. He turned around, seeing the younger Druchii following him, and waited for him to catch up. Once again, his beautiful face was wearing a pleasant smile. "Don't think that I am trying to offend you, Makareth." The singsong of his voice was carried away by the wind, but Makareth was able to understand him, reading his lips. The next sentence was too long and complicated to do so, and seeing Makareth' puzzled expression, Hadranir laughed and gestured the other to follow him.
They entered the main house and proceeded into the dining hall. The hall was full of Druchii in small groups, sitting at heavy tables of dark wood, eating from silver plates and drinking wine. There were a couple of Highborn, surrounded by their entourage, and respectfully avoided by the rest; the rest of the tables were for lesser nobles and their retainers. Makareth followed Hadranir, careful to not break the rules of Hithuan towards any of the nobles.
Hadranir lead him directly to the place where Lykaon was sitting, Laggoran by his side. The lord was talking to a Druchii woman sitting at the head of the main table, clad in a gold-embroidered black khaitan. Her chair was almost throne-like, covered in dark red dyed leather made from dwarven skin, with golden ornaments and rubies encased in the gold. The Sorceress Vestara was also there, sitting at the Highborn Lady's right, her dark gaze lying possessively and warily on the other woman.
The Lady at the head of the table was young, and she was very unlike the Sorceress – her broad shoulders, posture and the two swords at her sides, with jeweled hilts, in intricately adorned scabbards, and the fact that she wore a breastplate of silversteel even in the house showed that she was a not only a Highborn, but also a warrior.
A female warrior was not a rare thing among the commoners, indeed there were not many differences between males and females among them; life was hard, and without weapons, you didn't survive for long. The Brides of Khaine, murderous priestesses of the Bloodhanded God, also wore weapons everywhere they went. For lesser nobles, it was already less typical; many of their females only touched a sword for training or during a war, and abstained from dressing in steel and leather at other times. For a Highborn lady, at last, such martial behavior was highly unusual. Most of them who were not bound to the Convent or the Temple spent their life in luxury and intrigues, playing out one of their lovers against each other in pursuit of greater political power. This one, though, was no cunning seductress. Instead, she had an air of resolute wildness about her, of iron will and innocent pride.
But her face, perfect and without a single scar, bearing a faint semblance to Lykaon's and Hadranir's, was not less attractive than Vestara's. In fact, Makareth had to confess to himself that her resembling to the Dreadlord and his nephew made her even more attractive. She lacked the signs of age and the scars that Lykaon had, and where the Lord's features were chiseled and cruel, hers were more fine and almost childlike, but still of the full of the same self-esteem and knowledge that she was superior to most others around her. With Hadranir she shared the same big, purple eyes and the full lips, which suited her more feminine face much better than his.
"My cousin, I have missed you at the table!" She directed her words to Hadranir without standing up.
Hadranir walked towards her, and standing at the distance of three steps, he bowed. "Lady, I have been looking at your newest pet. I must say, the beastmasters that work for you are wonderfully skilled!"
The woman smiled coldly. "I bet you have been rather looking at the training materials, Hadranir, the whips and the convicts on the poles. But enough of that. Please take a seat at your lord's side and join us in our meal." Her look fell on Makareth, and she turned to Lykaon. "Is this the boy that you have chosen to take your late nephew's place? He is wearing our dead relative's clothes, and I must say I consider it highly unfitting for a commoner to do so!"
The Dreadlord's green eyes became narrow slits of discontent. "I have told you already that I have sent a message to the Witchlord, a petition to grant this boy a rank among the nobles. He has fought exceptionally well during our encounter with the hated Asur, and if not for him, I might be already dead. My petition will be surely answered in my favor, and he will be taken into my household as a replacement for the Hadranir's treacherous brother. I want the journey we just came from to be considered the boy's Hakseer."
Makareth dropped his jaw in disbelief. Did the lord just say that Makareth was soon to become a noble? Usually, the Drachau of a city gave and took the titles – but in Naggor, the Witchlord Balneth Bale was the highest of rank, and if he agreed with Lykaon, then one of Makareth' dreams was soon to become reality.
"Hakseer, the coming-of-age raid? It hasn't even been a year!" The lady snorted in distaste. "And he is too young according to the tradition, too. But maybe I just don't understand the rules in Naggor. Then again, I don't have to."
Lykaon shook his head. "It has been almost a year. What we brought back was more than a usual year's loot – even though the most precious of the goods belong to the Ark's commander, namely the slaves form Ulthuan. But without the boy, even the Ark would have problems defeating them, given that the Asur had taken an archmage with them. You've probably heard that one of those has destroyed an Ark once, haven't you? And even if our travel won't be accepted as his Hakseer, he can always do a real one later. And last but not least, Sameira, my dear, you seem to forget that your late mother was my younger half-sister, born and raised in the Black Ark of Naggor."
"Have you not heard what is happening between Naggor and Hag Graef in the last months?" The young woman threw a side-glance at Makareth. "A bloody feud, worse than ever before! And you think you can just walk up to Balneth Bale and present him – not only a commoner, but a commoner from Hag Graef! – as a worthy candidate for a title?"
The Dreadlord sighed. "You are young, my niece, and once you have reached sufficient wisdom – in the quest for which your friend Sorceress Vestara is surely a wonderful guide – you will understand that politics are less… fixed, and often more personal that it might appear at first. I have been in the Witchguard for a long time, and the Lord of Naggor knows of my loyalty and will certainly trust my decision."
"Your loyalty? My poor cousin surely can tell a tale of your loyalty." The lady frowned. "Oh wait… He can't. You've killed him for just a suspicion! I wonder how long it will take till you torture Hadranir to death, for he is next in line as your successor!"
Lykaon leaned closer to the young woman. His next words were half-whispered, in that purring, dark tone he always took on to sweep away any resistance of the other's will, and only through reading his lips Makareth was able to understand what he was saying. "I hope not, Sameira. I am still young enough to sire children, and I will have a heir to succeed me before I leave for the Dark Mother's halls. Maybe you could help me with this task..."
Hadranir was talking to Laggoran and didn't hear the last words of the lord, and Makareth was thankful for that – the last thing they needed now was a conflict, as the lady of the house seemed already skeptical considering their being here.
Vestara, whose face hadn't changed the expression of calm condescension during the conversation, nodded to Makareth. "Why are you still standing, son?"
The young Druchii felt heat rising in his cheeks. Once again, they were treating him either as a child or as if he wasn't even there. Reluctantly, he sat down next to Hadranir. A Druchii girl – judging from her simply tailored but well-made purple silken gown not a slave, but rather a member of Sameira's household – appeared out of nowhere and leaned over him and Hadranir to pour wine into their goblets. Her eyes were on Hadranir, even while she filled Makareth' cup.
Hadranir was the lord's heir, Makareth thought. That is why the lord bound the beautiful Druchii to himself, treated him in a way that made Hadranir dependant on him. It was not simply the closeness between them. It was a means of control, a means to ensure that the nephew didn't try to get Lykaon out of the way too early. Hadranir must be quite a desired bachelor, then; Lykaon seemed to be rich, and he had at least some influence. Was Makareth just another tool in Lykaon's scheme? To take another young man into his household, into his own clan, would mean creating another rival for Hadranir – and keep the beautiful Druchii distracted from a possible treason.
The subject changed to the feud between Hag Graef and Naggor once again, and Makareth had trouble following them, and so he resorted to drinking, something he was now quite good at, having had Laggoran as his mentor.
There seemed to be a problem that the famous Darkblade was involved into, and from what he understood they couldn't return to Hag Graef in the next time, despite the fact that Lykaon had originally planned to pay a couple of diplomatic visits to some of his allies there on his way back. They would go by ship to Naggorond, sailing along the northern coast of the Sea of Chill and the Sea of Malice, and then directly to Naggor from there.
Laggoran stood up at this point, saying he wished to talk to the Drannach's mate and his cousin. It would make sense to go with the Drannach and let her sail south to Clar Karond after she brought them to Naggorond.
He didn't return till after midnight. Makareth was quite drunk by then. The feast was still going on, but Hadranir had already left by then, having whispered something into Lykaon's ear. Vestara has excused herself as well. As Laggoran entered the hall, Lykaon rose and, bowing his head briefly to his niece, explained that it was time for him to rest. His hand brushed Makareth shoulder as he passed him, and the young Druchii also followed, after thanking the Lady for the hospitality.
Sameira had smiled at him when he spoke, and he was surprised by that. Maybe she had had too much wine and forgotten her opinion about commoners.
Lykaon ordered Makareth to come to his chambers. The young Druchii helped the lord to take off the armor, and put it onto a wooden stand.
The lord reclined on the bed in his robes, his eyes not a bit weary. "Now go to your room and wait for my signal. There will be another meeting tonight; something you will enjoy greatly. Put away your clothing, also your weapons… and comb your hair."
Makareth looked away, embarrassed so much that he didn't think about the strange instructions. He had not used a comb for days. Being on a ship had rid him of all vanity. He was so used to not washing himself for months. Sleeping in a heap of blankets and furs that smelled like alcohol and Laggoran's and his own sweat so strongly that on those rare evenings when he had washed himself at least partly he thought he would throw up from the stench, added to the effect; and having a whole bunch of even dirtier corsairs around, and even worse, human slaves, whose pungent smell reminded him of goats and pigs, did the rest. Why even try to look decent if you stink like a nauglir? After arriving at Karond Kar, he had bathed, of course, glad to get rid of the dirt; but getting rid of the bad habits that he took on during the last year would probably need more time.
In his room, he sat on his bed. His head was spinning, and he felt a familiar nausea from consumption of too much wine. His fingers had difficulties with his belt and the cords closing the khaitan in the front, and after he finally managed to take it off all his clothes, he laid back, exhausted, and instantly fell asleep.
