Content warning: Some profanity, physical violence, and mentions of blood

Ulanbek wanted his plot of land.

That was what the Saradeyan envoys had promised over a decade ago.  He remembered being in his eighteenth year, standing near the edge of a brilliant blue lake that rivaled the purest of sapphires.  The envoys had flowing red robes that billowed in the wind and gold-trimmed armor that sparkled in the sun.  Every few years, they journeyed to the outskirts of the empire in search of fresh recruits.

Amidst the cluster of yurts, the envoys gathered the young men of the encampment.  Through an interpreter, they promised glorious lives in the service of the crown.  It did not take much to convince Ulanbek, who did not want to herd sheep on grassy fields that belonged to distant lords until his hair turned white and his face became worn like the snow capped mountains on the horizon.  If they agreed to go with the envoys, they would be taken to the golden capital thousands of kos to the west and immersed in Saradeyan culture and language.  Those who showed aptitude for leadership would be trained to become administrators of the empire.  Even the position of king’s advisor, the second highest-ranking in the empire, just below the king himself, was open to them if they had the talent.  The rest would be given military training and those who excelled would join an elite unit.  

In exchange for this promising future, they had to cut all ties with their families and swear complete loyalty to the king.  Their families would be compensated generously for their loss.  Gold coins held little sway out here, so the envoys promised their families more sheep, goats, and shipments of food to last the long harsh winters.  They also had to remain celibate for the duration of their service and not marry until they were on the cusp of their fourth decade.  The only “family” they were allowed was the camaraderie of their fellow recruits.  If they made it to the end of their service, they would be granted a plot of land they could call their own and settle down in peace.

Ulanbek was nearing his third decade now.  His smiling youthfulness had washed away long ago, leaving a world-weary face in its wake.  Under his armor, his skin was etched with scars.  Some were from the harsh training he had received and the rest from battles with the Vargoranth soldiers.  In fact, he was engaged in one such battle right now.

Fire-tipped arrows rained down from above.  The Vargoranth had ambushed his unit in the highlands.   He held his shield over his head to block the raging downpour.  Horses around him panicked and threw their riders.  He pulled gently on the reins to keep his own steed steady and took a deep breath.  In the midst of chaos, it was important to keep his own heart calm.  

He grabbed the bow from the sling attached to his back and yanked the arrows from his shield.  No need to waste his own.  He nocked an arrow against the bowstring and aimed it toward the craggy rocks above.  He let the arrow fly.  There was a scream.  A Vargoranth soldier tumbled down the mountainside.

There was no time to relish in small victories, since the fallen Vargoranth soldier was but a single droplet of rain in the unrelenting storm.  He pulled the reins and rode into the thicket.  Thin branches snapped against his face and clawed at his limbs.  No sooner had he reached a clearing when a group of Vargoranth on horseback leapt out of the bushes, sabers drawn.

He drew the curved kilij saber from the scabbard tied to his waist and swung upward.  Metal met with metal and the clanging reverberated through the trees.  There were five of them and one of him but he had beaten worse odds before.  Another Vargoranth soldier attacked him from behind and was met with a dagger to the ribs.  Since Ulanbek’s hands were now occupied wielding two blades, he dug his heels into the stirrups and applied pressure with his legs to coax his horse to move forward.  The remaining four Vargoranth came at him again.  He slashed at them with lightning-fast speed and bellowed like a roar of thunder.  The sound shook the soldiers to the bones and distracted them long enough that they did not notice until afterward that the kilij had pierced their flesh.  They fell off their horses and lay on their backs on the forest floor, their wounds dyeing the crumbled leaves a deep crimson.

No, Ulanbek was not planning to die today like prey in the forest.  Nor was he planning to meet his end tomorrow or the day after.  He was going to die of old age, warm in bed in a large house, surrounded by a family that he had yet to meet, living on the plot of land that those bastards had promised him.

***

Murat was hungry again.  He had awakened in the late morning curled up in a soft warm blanket that he did not remember being there before he had fallen asleep.  It was plain in design and interspersed with shimmering threads.  Did the Silver Sorcerer make this?  Where was he now?

He stood up.  Soft light filtered into the cave from outside.  He walked over the clutter of dragon bones and through the cave’s mouth.  The dappled light cast patterns on his face and a gentle breeze played with the strands of his hair.  In the distance, a river gurgled in hushed whispers.  He looked down at his chokha.  Beslan’s dried blood and the stiffened ichor from the forest spirit were still splattered on the fabric.  He turned his nose and headed toward the direction of the water’s sound.

When he reached the river’s shore, he undid his belt and set the dagger on the grass beside him.  He removed his chokha and held it in the water.  Pulling it back out, he wrung it tightly and let the darkened water trickle back into the river.  Back into the water the garment went.  He wanted to wash away the terrible memories of his kunak dying.  After wringing out the chokha a few times, the stains looked fainter.

Birds suddenly flew skyward from the branches all at once.  His heart raced and he grabbed his dagger.  Horse hooves pounded in the distance.  He pulled his chokha out of the water and ran toward the nearest bush.  Just as he was about to duck under the leaves, four horsemen came crashing out of the thicket.  Leaves flew and a cloud of dirt was kicked up in the air.  He saw the Vargoranth uniform on three of them and his heart lurched.

No!  Not again! he screamed in his head.  He scrambled into the brambles and winced when the sharp branches tore into his arm.  Only when he was hidden did he finally get a better look at what was going on.

The fourth horseman was wearing tattered red robes and gold-trimmed armor.  He was fending off the attacks of the three Vargoranth soldiers.  His raven hair was damp with sweat and blood trickled down his forehead.  He was breathing heavily and looked worn out.  The Vargoranth slashed at him with their sabers and he blocked their attacks with his own curved blade.  He shouted and pulled the reins.  His horse rammed into one of the Vargoranth horses and he swung his blade in a sweeping arc, knocking the Vargoranth soldier off his horse and sending him flying into bushes where Murat was hiding.  

Murat yelped and scrambled out before he was crushed by the incoming soldier.  He tumbled into the dirt.  All the remaining horsemen turned and stared at him.  His skin crawled and his limbs froze.  They had spotted him!  Now what?

A hand clamped down on Murat’s ankle.  He screamed and his heart nearly burst.  The Vargoranth soldier that had been flung into the bushes was now pulling on his leg and dragging him across the dirt.  The soldier raised his dagger and stared down at him.  Murat panicked and kicked with his free leg.  His boot connected with the soldier’s face.  The soldier loosened his hold and Murat broke free.  Murat grabbed his qama dagger and unsheathed it.  His heart was pounding and his breathing was erratic.

Silver threads snaked their way from the bushes and wrapped around his arms and legs.  They disintegrated upon contact, leaving behind a shimmering aura.  The soldier that Murat had kicked got up and charged at him with his dagger drawn.  Murat’s feet were planted into the ground while his arms shook.  As the soldier loomed over him and brought his dagger down like a striking talon, Murat gripped his own qama's hilt and swiped upward in a crescent path.  The blades connected with a spark and the surprised soldier lost his grip on the hilt.  His dagger went flying sideways.

Murat’s eyes widened.  Did I just…do that?

Before Murat could think any further, the incensed soldier lunged at him.  Murat gasped and his legs weakened.  He began falling backward.  Just as the soldier’s hands were about to wrap around Murat’s throat, a piercing sound cut through the air, and the soldier was knocked over.  Murat landed with a thud in the dirt. He looked over and saw an arrow shaft protruding from the soldier’s side.  He turned in the other direction and saw the raven-haired horseman with a bow in his hand.  The other two Vargoranth soldiers were lying on the forest floor, sputtering crimson from their mouths.

The horseman put his bow back in its sling and dismounted from his steed.  His tattered red robes were stained even redder than their original color.  He slowly walked over with heavy steps, his breathing ragged.  Murat trembled and frantically looked for his qama, which he had let go of when he fell.  The man stopped in front of him and held out his hand.  He said something in a language that Murat could not understand.

“What?” Murat asked.  “I don’t understand.  Please don’t hurt me.”

The other man frowned and looked upward as if he was searching through his mind.  He opened his mouth again.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a faint accent.

“I…” Murat hesitated.  “Yes…thank you…”

The man kept his hand extended.  Murat looked at him nervously.  He had no idea who this was or if he could trust him, even if he did just save his life.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man said.  “Unless you attack me first.”

Murat gulped.  “Who…are you?”

“Ulanbek.  Saradeyan elite forces.”

Murat’s eyes went wide and he shuddered.  He hadn’t seen a Saradeyan before since he was always wandering in the forest, so he missed out on the visit their envoys made to his village.

“You and the Vargoranth…” Murat said.

“The Vargoranth are our enemies.  And…your enemy too, it seems?”

“Yes, they burned down my village!” Murat shouted.  He could feel hot tears welling in his eyes, but he didn’t want to shed them in front of this stranger.

Ulanbek frowned and his chiseled face softened.  “I’m sorry…”

“But weren’t you going to do the same?”

Ulanbek looked at him quizzically.

“Your envoys were at our village a month before, offering protection from the Vargoranth.  I wasn’t there to see it, but my village turned it down.  Then the Vargoranth came to our village last week and offered protection against you Saradeyans if we pledged loyalty to them.  We refused so they came back days later to burn everything down.  But if they hadn’t done that so quickly, would your forces have come back and done the same?”

Ulanbek’s brow furrowed and his frown deepened.  Murat’s heart pounded.  He wasn’t sure if it was wise to provoke someone who just took down three Vargoranth soldiers.  However, since the words were already spilling out, he decided to continue his recklessness.

“Why are your two empires fighting anyway?  And why did you have to drag us into it?  We didn’t do anything to you!”  Murat could no longer hold back his tears and they rolled down his cheeks.  He looked downward and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to be struck down for his insolence.

Something stirred inside Ulanbek’s war-weary heart.  He thought himself inured to physical and emotional devastation after all these years, so it surprised him.

“Were you the only survivor?” he asked.  Murat looked up at him.  Ulanbek’s voice softened.  “Are you all alone?”

“No, he is not alone,” a voice boomed.

Both of them turned around.  The Silver Sorcerer stood between the trees.

Murat’s sadness turned to indignation.  “Why are you only showing up now?!  I was nearly killed!”

“I cast a shield on you so you were protected,” the Silver Sorcerer said.  “You saw the threads.  Enhanced your power too.  I think you handled it well.”

“You said that last time!  That doesn’t make it any less scary!”

“Well, you wandered off this morning.  It took me some time to find you.”

Ulanbek stared back and forth between the two, his eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, you must be confused,” Murat said to him.  “This is…”

“Luka?” Ulanbek uttered in disbelief as he faced the Silver Sorcerer.  He switched to the Saradeyan language.  “Is that you?”