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  “It is ready,” Aranus said to Alan. “Join Ira on her journey by midday, she’s the fastest rider in the tribe and knows the quickest way to his camp. If anything, you will drag her back. The Chieftain is camping on the way to the mountains.”

  “Thank you, Elder. I shall speak to Ira and our General immediately.”

  The General approved after knowing of Aranus’ recommendations. The next morning, Alan left his artisan’s tools to his apprentices, packed provisions and protection on his saddle, and rode west next to the young messenger. They passed through the old rivers, and hunted in the great steppes, below the sky god and howling eagles, far away from the imperial villages, through free lands.

  Chapter II - On the Edge of the Steppe

  Ira and her horse rode in front of Alan, and they moved like a single being; her bow and quiver hung freely, along with the leather bag that hid the Child of Venus. Small flowers and the grass below flattened under her horses’ hooves. Alan had to keep spurring, but his horse wasn’t as fast, and his instincts as a rider were not as sharp. Yet, the beauty of the steppe enthralled him. It seemed never ending. The green fields extended into a straight horizon of green and blue, occasionally challenged by pasturing animals and smaller allied tribes camping in the great wide.

  When sunset arrived, they lay their sleeping mats and erected a dragon flag below a canopy of stars. They allowed their horses to graze freely, their backs naked and their necks unrestrained.

  Alan was seated on his mat, a few feet away, looking at the sea of stars above. Ira chewed on a square piece of airag cheese and tilted her head back on her saddle, using it like a pillow.

  “Do you know much about astrology?” Ira asked with her mouth full. The question caught Alan by surprise.

  “Not much,” he muttered in response.

  She swallowed and drank a mouthful of milk from a wineskin.

  “I thought you wanted to ask the heavens about your wife,” she said.

  “I’d give everything to know how she’s doing now. But, no… The sky is just fascinating. I wish I could understand it, though.”

  “Don’t you worry so much. I don’t think your wife has been wounded in battle. Anyway, they haven’t seen much battle yet. Against organized militias, only, but that doesn’t count.”

  Alan sighed.

  Ira stretched her hand into the bag of hemp fabric and extracted another piece of cheese. This one was soft and yellowish with a white layer on the outside. Her eyes opened wide. She took a bite.

  “Oh, my gods, this cheese is amazing,” she said, chewing loudly and closing her eyes. “Blessed be the goddess of the cows.” She gulped down the milk.

  “I think that’s mare cheese, by the way,” Alan said, resting his bearded chin on one hand.

  “Have some, it’s great,” she encouraged, the rest of the cheese in her hand, as crumbs of it hung on her tangled hair.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She yawned and lay on her back with her arms outstretched.

  “It’s gonna go bad.”

  “I’m fine,” Alan said, and laid his head back, still able to see his travel partner.

  “Don’t worry,” Ira said. “Your wife is the best lancer and you know it. And swordswoman. She will be fine. Just wait a month and this war will be over.”

  “It’s not that. I know she is the best.”

  “Then why do you look like a carriage hit you and you lost your will to live in this wonderful world?”

  “I told you. I’m troubled for what I saw in my dream.”

  “That again?” She sat up. She narrowed her clear eyes and shook her head. “Let go! It was just a dream. Last night I dreamt I was flying, and a goat talked to me and told me I was beautiful. Now, let me ask you, do goats talk, do women fly through the air like falcons? Now tell me, do they? And so, your wife does not get impaled by a spear just like that. It wouldn’t happen to me, and I work alone most of the time, and it’s very unlikely for it to happen to her if she has two thousand loyal warriors by her side who treat her like a mother.”

  “It’s not that. It’s happened before. A nightmare that came true. I cannot stop thinking about it. Whenever I close my eyes, it comes back. If I go back to sleep, I see it again, if I ever manage to sleep.”

  “Oh. Something happened to you. I think I heard of that.”

  “Yes. I was married before I met her,” he admitted, with a slight clenching of his teeth.

  “Sorry to ask you but… I never met them. What happened to them exactly?”

  “I was younger. Had a wife and child back when I lived in Parthia. I kept dreaming of their deaths and one day, the Sanassids attacked our camp and…” Alan rolled his eyes as the memories burned, engraved on his soul like the branding on cattle. He shook a little. “All in front of me,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ira said quietly. “It reminds me of what my mother went through.”

  “Anyway,” Alan sighed. “I don’t believe destiny is fixed. I… I believe we can change it. I hope I can prevent it. I was always a bit weary but have trusted the gods that she’d be alright, but after this dream, I cannot do it.”

  “Hope Ileria does well. She will. Don’t worry about it.”

  Ira kept eating, and Alan kept eyeing her, as if he was worried whether the food would be enough for their journey.

  On the seventh day, with their horses near collapsing, they felt the air shift. A heaviness settled over their shoulders and even the birds seized to sing. Then, in the distance, the jagged peaks of the White Mountains revealed themselves through veils of mist.

  “So,” Alan said, bracing his horse. “Now, the real fun begins.”

  “Yes. Prepare to ride as fast as you can and to not stop. Keep your eyes and ears open. The Empire left angry guerrilla fighters throughout the land. And our Chieftain too.”

  “Our Chieftain?” He raised his eyebrow, but she did not answer.

  They entered the forest and Ira guided him through an old rocky road. It split in two, one sinking into a pleasant valley and a pure creek that twisted its way into a gorge, and another that winded up into the snow-capped mountains. Ira took the second one.

  “They have blocked the main path, so let us ride through the forest,” she said.

  “Agreed,” Alan said, and spurred again. From the road he could see a small village in the slopes below. Its houses were square and made of grey rocks and thatched roofs. He wondered what kind of people lived there, of what language and to whom they swore allegiance.

  They rode into the thick forest of high evergreens and thick elms, the sun filtering through the branches overhead, casting both shadows and pillars of light. Then, Alan heard a female voice sobbing in pain. Ira braced and remained silent, trying to determine where the cries came from.

  “Let’s keep going,” she whispered urgently.

  Alan nodded, and sighed again.

  Then, Alan understood the words.

  “Please, please, somebody help!”

  And he pulled the reins to break.

  Ira lightened her pace and turned in her horse.

  “Alan, let’s go.”

  “Did you hear that? It’s a call for help!” Alan said and spurred into the dark forest.

  “Wait...” Ira replied, almost in a whisper.

  “Help me please!” the voice cried, and his mind wandered through the possibilities. Was it a trap? But he could not ignore a plea for help.

  He kept his eyes open. Would they need shelter? He could give him the blanket he carried in his saddle, the weather was not that bad, and he could do without it. They still had enough cheese and blood sausage to give away and hunt for the rest of the journey.

  Alan dismounted quickly, and advanced with hands on the reins, scanning the surroundings.

  He walked slowly, attentive to any sound through the bushes and trees. The caller had to be about fifty yards away. There was no sound but the birds
and the…

  He caught the sound of breath.

  “Alan, careful!” Ira cried behind his back.

  And then, Alan heard a thud. His instincts flared up, and he responded by lifting his shield. There, in a fraction of a second, he saw two figures posed under the sun in a branch overhead, shadowed and dim. Two arrows had penetrated his shield. The figures above quickly aimed new arrows at him, with bronze tips that reflected the sun. From the corner of his eye, he also saw movement between the bushes and branches.

  He heard another buzz behind him. Then, the archer above descended with a scream, fell on his face, and broke his neck. A brown arrow stuck out from his back, penetrating deep into his lungs. Ira had shot first.

  Alan turned and raised his shield in defence.

  He looked up, from there, his foe was preparing to shoot again.

  “Ira, get the other one before he…!” Alan demanded.

  A buzz was heard behind him, and the archer over him fell on his own face with an arrow in his neck.

  Two figures emerged from the bushes, one with a war axe, another with a bronze sword, their faces painted red. Alan readied himself. The figures ran at him with loud shrieks, axes in hand and muscles ready to jump into battle. Alan reached for his dragon blade and unsheathed swiftly.

  “Stop!” he screamed. “We are just passing through!”

  One waved the axe at him. Alan ducked, as the other swung a rusty sword around. Alan deflected it with his blade and jumped back. Those were not soldiers, but as Ira had said, guerrilla fighters.

  “Stop now, or we’ll have to use force!” Alan said.

  They did not want to listen to reason. One of them lunged at him with a sloppy axe attack, and Alan quickly slashed through his abdomen. The victim stared at the flowing blood, horrified, and fell to his knees. Alan cut his head to spare him a slow death. The other man’s legs trembled as he held onto the sword.

  Alan looked at him expectantly, his sword down, still giving him a chance to surrender. Instead, the man grasped his own sword with both hands on one side, screamed like a lunatic, and ran toward him.

  The man prepared to swing his sword, Alan stepped to the side and thrust his blade into the man’s heart, gifting him a quick death. Two more men emerged from the foliage, one with a small rusty sword, the other with a shovel. Alan quickly thrust his sword in one, and kicked the shovel bearer in the face, to then slice his body in two.

  Alan stood in a defensive stance. Ira was still on horseback, her fingers nocking an arrow, ready to loose.

  Suddenly, Alan heard another sound through the bushes, like that of someone running away. He ran in that direction, sword in hand. A figure was escaping from them, clothes made of cotton, dirty and torn, and long brown hair.

  Ira rode past Alan and reached the girl, blocking her way.

  Alan approached slowly. The girl turned at him, with venomous green eyes. Her face was pale in fright, and her cheeks stained with dust and earth, her brown hair flowed to her waist, unkempt and with specks of wood and fallen leaves.

  “Stop!” Ira said, not threateningly, yet with a commanding tone.

  “You monsters!” the girl cried, and tears broke loose, dampening her cheeks. “You killed, you kill, and never find contentment. First my father, now my brothers and friends! Do you want to see us all dead?”

  “We just wanted to help. You deceived us. If you had not attacked us, your friends would still be alive!” Alan said.

  “Liar! You burned them down, you burned them all down. You burned the village down.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alan asked, shaking his head.

  “Are there more of you around here?” Ira asked her.

  “You shut your dirty mouth, barbarian bitch.” The girl snarled at Ira. “I won’t talk.”

  “That means there are.” Ira looked at Alan. “Look, girl; we are just passing through.”

  “We will never stop fighting. Never.” The girl spat, clenching her fists.

  “What do you think your Empire did to us back in the East?” Alan blurted out.

  And then, he stopped short. He felt childish for saying that.

  “Yes!” The girl opened her eyes wide. “First the Empire, then you, then us! Nothing will remain. Nothing will remain of this world!”

  “What?”

  “Alan, let’s go,” Ira urged, as her horse neighed and rose on two legs. She spurred and moved forward, glancing at him quickly.

  Alan swallowed.

  “So, we stick to the plan,” Alan said. “Targitaos!” he called, and his horse rode through the foliage. He mounted quickly and spurred, riding behind Ira. Both rode on. And from behind, he could still hear the girl’s piercing screams.

  “Damn you! Damn you all to Hades below!”

  They rode round the hill, and Alan had his eyes wide open, but his mind wandered through the words that now hung on his soul like a yoke of iron. The words suddenly hit him like an arrow in the guts. First my father, then my brother. As he had lost, so had she. He looked at the sword that hung graciously from his belt, the one he had made with pride and dedication, and the misery he had inflicted upon an innocent.

  He shook his head and rode on, and as he circled around that hill into the other one, he saw the rocky village from before, but from up there, he could see it all, he could see the burnt trees, the thatched roofs blackened by fire, and what once had been a wheat field.

  But war went on, and he had sworn an oath for the Dragon Order. He had to follow his Chieftain to the death.

  They rode and crossed the hills. When they were reasonably far and the sun was descending again, they set up camp in the depths of the forest, close to a pool of pure water. They rested against the tree trunks, and Alan gathered logs to set up a small fire. Ira held the vase with the Child of Venus on her lap, never leaving it.

  “You look worse than before,” Ira commented, contemplating the last pieces of cheese that waited on the resting mat, as if resisting a temptation.

  “It’s nothing,” he replied.

  “You keep everything inside. It’s going to burn you from within.”

  “Then what should I do? This is the life that was assigned to me.”

  “You said something yesterday,” she said, resting her hand on her chin. “Something about changing destiny.”

  “What could I change? This is what we are, this is how we do things, this is how the world works.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “This is how it is. But you said it yourself, remember? Did you see what happened to that village? You’ve been trained to fight, have fought against armies in open fields, but even while you’re a bit older than me, your life has been centred around blueprints, fire and metal, art and technology. You can still feel their pain. Sadly, many of us do not.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Alan raised an eyebrow.

  “You have a better perspective, you know? Of what life would be without so much pain and death.”

  He looked at the tiny flames. In it, he pictured the burnt homes of both friend and foe, that feeling of losing everything.

  “I still don’t understand,” he admitted.

  “We can change this world.” She sat cross-legged and kept leaning her cheek against her hand.

  “Maybe after the dragon swallows it. After we win the war,” Alan muttered, lifting both eyebrows.

  “You mean burn the world and create another one on top?” she asked. “Honestly, if I were to change something, I would change our Chieftain Skapasis first. He’s the one who plunged us into this war. My gods,” she shook her head. “I have to deal with him every day, and it gets worse.”

  “But he’s protecting us! He was taking revenge on precisely what we had to fight. Injustice! Remember all the ones the Empire killed back in the east.”

  “Yes, many innocents had died at the hands of the Empire. Our people suffered. But we’re doing the same thing to their people.” She roll
ed her eyes. “You know. I must be with him every day, the crazy ginger. I almost must change his diapers daily. And he’s not working properly up there.” She pointed at her head. “I have to send and receive his messages, ride like crazy from here to there, I don’t mind that. But, being with him the rest of the time, imagine, if he gets hurt, I have to take him to safety, I’m the only one who rides fast enough, my horse that is. Imagine having to deal with him on my saddle for a day or something, and then he would scream and shout and get mad at every detail. Sorry for my rant, but I can’t stand it. You’ll see him tomorrow. And now, do something for me, and eat this last piece of cheese before I can’t stop myself from doing it.”

  Chapter III - Dragon Knights

  The valley sunk into a river, where a thousand tents had set a few nights back, sheltering the Gadalian hordes. Turnaz stood next to his brother the Chieftain, and around him, a hundred Dragon Knights stood in a circle, their armours were serpentine and frightening, resembling dragon cubs.

  They surrounded two massive shirtless wrestlers with muscles bulging like ripe fruit, bathed in sweat. The two men walked in a circle, their eyes fixed on one another, their hands forward, and their knees flexed, ready to tackle the other. The Knights watched attentively, some shouted words of encouragement, others hushed their companions.

  Turnaz looked at his brother next to him, Chieftain Skapasis, sitting on a stool of gold. He noticed that once again he wasn’t focused on the wrestlers. His wavy red hair spread like an open flame over his broad forehead. His armour was dark, segmented and with engraved images of sacred serpents on each piece. A long purple cape covered his back, with painted magical staves filling the elaborate fabric. He seemed mesmerized, oblivious to the match, instead with his wide, red eyes fixed in the stars that emerged from the purple dome overhead. Every now and then the wrestlers would pause, glancing at their Chieftain to see whether he was paying attention to them.

  And while Skapasis stared at the sky, Turnaz stared at him.