Heart of the Dessert 1

He dreamed of the white city, the city he’d heard of only in legends and stories from his boyhood. It had only been a dream. Until now. Soon, it would be his for the taking. The kings of Sirabia had always been powerful, wealthy, and proud. They had, for centuries, hidden safely behind their great stone walls at the capitol, the city of Aldubar. No expense had been spared for their great city. It was built of strong, white stone, polished and smoothed to perfection. Even the streets seemed to glitter. It was a white star in the midst of a dry desert. It represented all of the wealth Sirabia had to offer.

And that was why he had to have it.

The city would be the biggest jewel in his crown if he could capture it. He would have no rivals. Every man would bow down to him. He would prove his worth, and no man would say he was unworthy of a crown. And then his elder brother would be dead.

Someday. One day very soon, his dream would be a reality.

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She was running through a dimly lit passage underground. Men were shouting, women were screaming, and children were crying. Blood was seeping through the cracks of the stone from above. The distinct sound of metal against metal echoed in the stony silence of the passageway. All of this was taken over by the sound of her rapid heartbeat and harsh breathing, her frightened sobs. She was almost to the end, though, she was sure of it. She could see the door surrounded by complete darkness. Her muscles were screaming with weariness, but she could not stop.

And then she woke up. Cold sweat ran down her back and face. Her hands were cold and trembling. She often had the dream, memories of her childhood. Fourteen years ago, there had been the uprising against her grandfather, led by her own uncle, her father’s older brother. It was the war that lead to the beginning of her father’s reign as king. He was crowned as the blood of his brother still stained his hands and soaked his robes and the old king gave his last breath.

Sirabia had a bloody history, but also a beautiful one. It was filled with murderous conquests, hate, rebellions, and revolutions. But it also was full of peace, love, wealth, and wisdom. All this Aysa was heir to.

She rose from her bed and went to the flowing fountain at the center of her chambers and splashed water on her face. She took in a deep breath, her heart finally beginning to slow down. After the war, she’d had the nightmare often, and she’d cried for her mother to hold her. Sometimes, it would take hours for Aysa to calm down and fall asleep once more. Now, at the age of twenty, the nightmare had become less reoccurring, but still there, lingering in and haunting her memory.

Suddenly, the doors were thrown open without ceremony, and her younger brother strode in arrogantly, a sneer on his face as he took in her appearance. Lumki was, as ever, elegantly and flawlessly dressed, his loose black pants settled comfortably around his hips, his tanned upper body bare, and his flowing royal blue robes open impressively.

Aysa glared at him, trying to pass off as much arrogance as she could despite her night dress and robe. She knew his tactic, to catch her unprepared so he could be at his most superior towards her. “What may I attribute your unwelcome presence to, dear brother?” she said coolly as she turned her back to him to draw back the gossamer curtains of the northern wall. But instead of walls, pillars stood and led to a wide and spacious open balcony that overlooked her white city.

Lumki helped himself to the fresh fruit laid on her table without asking. “One would expect you to be up with the dawn to overlook to the running of your country,” he said scathingly. Then he took in her pale face and the water running down her neck. “But how can one expect anything great from a woman?”

“Somehow I do not think you’d made the effort of coming here just to insult me.”

“I take my pleasure wherever I can.”

Aysa coughed to hide a gagging sound. She certainly knew about his pleasure-seeking activities, and she was sickened by them. He’d grown to be a cruel and lewd young man, not having inherited any of their father’s morals or sense of honor. Many made excuses for him, that he had only been a young child of four when he’d been take by the hostage rebels of their uncle and had not been treated kindly for the year he’d been held. But that was still no excuse. Many children had suffered from the war. No, Lumki suffered from the choking jealously of being placed second, of being overshadowed by a woman, his older sister.

“My patience grows thin with you, little brother,” she said airily, knowing how he hated to be belittled by her with only two years between them. “Either produce a useful reason for being here or remove yourself from my chambers.”

His face contorted with rage, and it took all of Aysa’s will power not to take a step back as he advanced upon her. Whatever his other faults, he was not completely stupid. He could not intimidate her.

“I would not be so cocky, for your days under the sunlight will be limited, mark my words.” Then he spun on his heel and walked out without bothering to close the doors behind him.

Aysa turned to the fountain and splashed more water on her face. She had always been wary of her brother, of his irrational anger and bitterness, but now she felt a tinge of fear. She had not mistaken the hatred and loathing in his face, emotions she was not sure how long he would or could contain and suppress.

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Aysa made an impressive and regal figure once properly dressed. Her long black hair was straight and shining, held back by golden pins to reveal an angular face high cheekbones, long nose, strong jawline, and large dark eyes that missed nothing. Her tall and lean figure was robed with a flowing white dress and an intricately embroidered gossamer scarlet robe, and of course, her scarlet sash.

A shallow pool of water sat at the center of the council room, surrounded by chairs. At the center of the pool was a circular platform. On one wall, the room was completely open to the outside, tall and impressive columns replacing walls. It allowed a beautiful view of the white city of Aldubar. But now, no one was drinking in the sight of the city.

The king stood on the platform in the middle of the water. The hems of his robes were soaked, as were his bare feet. Taimus was an especially tall man, well-muscled, shoulders broad. His head was completely shaven, as was the tradition of the kings. Beside him stood his tall and thin queen, Neya, her features sharp and beautiful, framed by her dark hair.

Aysa took a seat beside her father’s commanding general and leading adviser, Mathum. To her other side was Mathum’s son, Aldorn. He was a year older than she, and more of a brother to her than Lumki had ever been. He was a very distant cousin somehow, but she had forgotten the intricate and complicated family tree.

“Good morning, cousin," he said cheerfully. "And where is the revered Lumki?”

“Probably waiting to make an indignant and impressive entrance,” Aysa said wryly, to which Aldorn chuckled. No love was lost between the two young men, as well.

“He is probably tormenting some poor servant girl. You would think he’d direct his energies towards more important things such as affairs of state and the fact that the north is threatening to move against us.”

Suddenly Taimus raised his hands, and the room instantly became silent, all eyes focused on their king.

“The Hilgoth army is preparing to make war against us,” Taimus said. His voice was deep but surprisingly soft. “Our spies from the north have reported it, have seen the men, ships, and supplies. I have been praying long and hard in the temples, praying for wisdom.” He suddenly turned to his daughter. “My spies have also reported that this army is one of the best and most well-equipped. They have chosen to shed their heavy armor for loose and light garments such as our own. We know we are not invincible, though we choose to believe it at times. But this enemy shall make it to our walls. Battle will rage and blood will slander our white stone. If the city should fall, I would ask my wife and daughter to go below the city to escape.”

Neya said nothing, her dark eyes intent on her husband’s face. But Aysa jumped to her feet. “Father, no! I will not run!”

Mathum stood up with deliberate slowness. “He is not denying you your right to fight,” he said. His voice was as soft as his cousin's, but there was an underlying snap to it. “I have been to the north, have been welcomed at the Hilgoth court many years ago, and they are not to be underestimated.” He exchanged glances with the king. “This young prince was not even born when I was in the north, but he has been surrounded by good and wise men who have learned from their past mistakes.”

“Surely you are not afraid of a mere boy compared to your own experience!”

“Aysa,” Taimus said sharply, “you will show Mathum respect as you would me. That is the greatest mistake of war: underestimation. He may be a mere boy, but he was years of knowledge and experience at his command.”

Neya laid a hand on her husband’s arm, then looked at her daughter. Her voice was musical and as smooth as silk gliding across one’s fingertips. “We are not looking for defeat. But should it come upon us, we want you to escape and survive. You can fade into the hills and mountains, gather our people, and have another chance to regain what is yours.”

“All I ask is that you save our country’s future.” Taimus gaze was steady and unblinking as he stared into his daughter’s blazing eyes.

The king’s voice sounded so eerily certain of defeat. Had the gods foretold him the outcome? But as Aysa met his eyes and searched for some kind of futility or hopelessness, she found nothing.

At last, she nodded. “Yes, Father,” she murmured as she sat back down.

Suddenly, the doors to the council room were flung open. Lumki strode in with arrogant nonchalance. “I do apologize, Father,” he said flippantly. “I was engaged in important studies and completely lost track of the time.”

Taimus’ eyes narrowed. “If you had been twenty minutes late for battle, it would have been over. You do yourself no honor to be so careless. If you find it too difficult to remember when the council is meeting, then you have no business here.”

Not a sound was uttered, and it seemed that everyone was holding their breath. Lumki was speechless as the arrogant smirk was wiped off his face. From her seat, Aysa struggled to suppress her delighted laughter. All the others were looking at the prince with dissatisfaction and coldness. Aware of all the eyes staring at him, Lumki’s mouth tightened as his eyes narrowed. Then he pivoted on his heel and stormed out.

The blood red sun began to sink into the horizon, spreading its red light across the city. Taimus’ eyes were calmly gazing out at the sight as he continued with his plans as if his son had not interrupted. “I want every man and woman prepared to fight, on the walls, throughout the city, at the palace steps. I want all of the ships on the rivers prepared. I want people in their homes to be ready.” His soft voice had hardened and sharpened like a blade. “I do not want the Hilgoths to get beyond the Mikda Bridges. If they did happen to get that far, then the bridges would be burned.”

Aldubar was sided by two deep and wide rivers, the Hima River on the eastern side, and the Ojal River on the western side. A third river cut through exactly the center of the city, the Mikda River, perpendicular to the Ojal and Hima. At least half a dozen bridges connected the northern and southern part of Aldubar. Once the bridges were gone, there would be no way for anyone to cross reach the southern part of the city except by boat. The currents were strong and quick, able to drag even the strongest summer under.

There were murmurs of approval from the men and women of the council.

“No, Javius Imal will find no easy entry into our city,” Taimus said, his voice dangerously soft.

At mention of the young Hilgoth prince’s name, angry curses filled the air. For centuries, foreign countries had attempted to conquer the exotic and wealthy country of Sirabia, for travelers had spread wondrous tales of the wealthy and luxury to their homelands. These foreign rulers had seen the diamonds and rubies and gold in the eyes of the teller, and they would lust after it themselves. Countless armies and thousands of men were sent from the north to cross the sea to the wild southern desert to seek adventure and riches and glory.

If the sea did not kill the soldiers, then the extreme heat and dryness of the desert would. Or the scattered tribes would. And if these northern armies happened to make it across the desert to civilization, then they would be so weak and half-dead that they would be in no condition to fight against the highly skilled Sirabian soldiers who were trained from a very young age. No one in the world could match their skills, discipline, and loyalty. Most of the northern soldiers would sicken and die. The stronger ones would be sold into slavery or servitude. And most, if not all of them would never see the shores of their homelands again.

The Sirabian people would be praying that the gods protect them once more.

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Across the desert and sea, the man whose presence lingered so dangerously in so many of the Sirabian people’s minds, was rapidly planning his quest for the white city. They were at last ready to depart on the morrow. He had enlisted the best men, had spoken at long lengths with them, warning them of the hardships in store for them. He also spoke of gold, jewels, and beautiful, exotic women.

He’d had the men training night and day, had denied them water for long periods of time, knowing the water they’d bring would be precious and scarce. He wanted his soldiers to become accustomed to it. He had them working in the hottest sun the north had to offer. He had them running along the beach to strengthen their muscles for the soft sands of Sirabia. And Javius was always right by their sides, sweating and cursing and screaming inside as his muscles protested. And the men loved him for it.

He had also gained an ally in Sirabia's neighboring land and enemy, Maleece. The two countries had warred for thousands of years over the lands and rivers between them, and Maleece was only too willing to ally themselves with the north, to bring her sister country down to its knees. None of the previous northern kings had bothered with Maleece, seeing it as a small, inconsequential country. And in turn, Maleece distrusted the Hilgoths, not wanting to be another southern country to fall to the northerners. But Javius Imal had sent envoys to the Maleecian court with promises that they woud be allies, not master and servant in any way. Behind his promises, he had sent jewels, gold, the finest horses, the softest wools. Aknal Gamud had accepted and in return, promised the Hilgoths fresh food, water, supplies, soldiers, and a place to recuperate in relative comfort.

Now, finally, after months of training, they were having their last meal in Hilgoth together. Before they began, Javius Imal stood up to speak to them.

“Many great men and armies had tried to cross the deserts to reach the city, and they have all failed, to become buried in the sands,” he said, staring out at the sea of eager faces. “But we shall not fail, we shall not be defeated by the hot sands and sun. We shall overcome them. We shall live to see the white city, this I promise you.”

Some of the men slammed their silverware or cups against the tables as lusty cheers erupted from their throats.

“Once we claim the white city, you will forever live in history, in legends, as the greatest army in the world. When we return to Hilgoth with all of the wealthy and beauty Sirabia has to offer draped over your shoulders, great and powerful men will be killing themselves to hire you. I promise you will not live to regret this venture, and I shall be proud to march by your sides.”

This time, the entire room exploded with cheers and shouts of jubilation as they too saw their prince’s dream in the near distance.

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Practice and exercise were an essential part of discipline, and discipline was necessary for practice and exercise. Aysa did not allow a day to pass without practicing with her weapons to remain strong and flexible. She was standing before her private armory, which included a golden spear with sharp steel blades on either end. She also had a sword forged to exactly fit her hand. Her collection of daggers sat in velvet boxes. A bow made to fit her hand, as well, hung beside the stacks of arrows made from the strongest wood, the tips made of the strongest metal.

It was early evening when Aysa made her way to the sandy arena. It was an enclosed circle of about one hundred yards in diameter and filled with sand. Torches blazed all around the arena on posts and attached to the walls. Several men and women were practicing, stretching, or fighting in mock duels. As usual a small crowd of spectators sat and watched.

One man, upon seeing Aysa, came over to her and bowed. He was an older man in his thirties, quiet and sardonic. Herus was a nobleman and a captain in the army. He himself had also been her instructor in the arts of fighting.

“Will you be needing my expertise?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Not tonight, Herus. I am still perfecting my other moves you assigned me last time,” she replied back in jest.

“Of course. But I shall be watching you and I do expect perfection. You’ve had a week to work on them.”

Aysa laughed as the older man moved away. Once left alone, she surveyed the collection of dull-bladed practice swords, and after a few moments, she found one the right size for her to wield. The cool sand shifted through Aysa’s toes as she swiftly moved about, swinging the sword in practiced moves. She was unaware of any other person, of the eyes on her, of the spectators whispering. She went through a routine of twists, turns, punches, and kicks. Her method was to do the move in exaggerated slow motion, and then repeat the same motion with lightning speed.

“It looks like your motions could use some work.”

Aysa froze, then turned to face the entrance. Lumki stood half in the shadows of the torches. Slowly, he stepped forward into the light, his hands crossed in front of him, his eyes on her intently. His voice had been loud and carrying, and many paused in surprise as they tried to discreetly watch the prince and princess while continuing what they were all doing.

“It looks like your judgment of important matters could use some work,” Aysa replied coolly as her grip on the wooden sword tightened.

Lumki’s handsome face screwed up with open loathing and hatred. But surprisingly, his features settled back down into an inscrutable and calm expression. “The king is erred in his own judgment. But time will soon enough reveal that.”

“What mean you by that?” Aysa demanded sharply, taking a step toward him.

“Are you going to run me through, sister dear? And with a blunt sword? Do I not even have the chance to defend myself?” Lumki then sauntered over to the stands holding the practice swords. He stood for a moment, scrutinizing them, testing them for weight and balance. At last, he found one and faced Aysa. “Will you honor me with a duel, my lady?” he asked as he mockingly bowed.

By now, everyone had begun to openly watch them in curiosity and interest.

Aysa shrugged while she mentally sighed. Her brother never missed a chance for attention. “I never refuse a challenge.”

As the two removed their outer robes and sandals, those who had been practicing deserted the sand and went to the side to watch. Aysa sized her opponent up as she stretched. She had never fought Lumki before, though she had watched him on many occasions. He was strong, light on his feet, and quick. He liked to go on a strong offensive. And she had to remember, most importantly, that her little brother was a man of eighteen.

Once they had completely prepared themselves, Lumki bowed and said, “Guard.”

They tensed and crouched in attack position, like two tigers ready to strike. The watchers began to make wagers and to shout encouragements and cheers. Lumki suddenly lunged forward and tapped her sword, almost instantly withdrawing again. An ugly smile played on his lips. Aysa continued circling, keeping her eyes on his shoulder to follow his movements. She met his sword as he jumped forward and attacked, forcing Aysa to retreat. She allowed him to advance, to attack, in hopes of tiring him out. He was stronger than she had expected, though, and it took an extra effort to block his parries.

Then their swords locked, and Aysa cursed. She had no choice but to break away, spinning to avoid being hit with his blade. He brushed his hair out of his hazel eyes. He tapped her sword teasingly again, as if daring her to attack him, his eyes mocking and challenging. She sat back and waited calmly, looking for an opening to finish him.

Lumki began to switch his sword from hand to hand. And with that, Aysa found her opening. She bolted forward and hooked her blade beneath his hilt and thrust upward with all of her strength. Lumki’s blade soared out of his hand and into the air. Aysa easily caught it and a smile tugged at her lips as the spectators clapped and cheered. She crossed both swords across her chest and bowed.

“Well fought, my lord,” she said gravely as she threw his sword in the sand. “But you should not make it a habit of playing with your sword if your life were to be at stake in a real duel.”

Lumki’s chest was heaving from exertion. He bent down to retrieve his sword, and without warning, he swung it at Aysa. But the gods had blessed Aysa with quick reflexes, for she blocked him at just the last minute, but the impact sent her sprawling into the sand. He gave her no time to recover and his sword came bearing down on her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and rolled away to avoid his blade again.

As their eyes met, all Aysa could see was his unveiled hatred. He was now on top of her, pressing the sword down against her throat. She tried to scream, but all the air was blocked. She grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into Lumki’s eyes. He fell back from her with a cry, and that was when a dozen hands were pulling him away and restraining him. Aysa was on her side, gasping for air and coughing. A pair of hands was helping her up, and she faintly heard voices all around her.

Herus was looking down at her with concern and ill-concealed anger. The air was being filled with Lumki’s curses. Once Herus had assured himself that Aysa would be all right, he strode over to Lumki.

“Interesting, tactics, my lord,” Herus said cuttingly, his eyes narrowed and filled with disgust. “Your father will be pleased to hear of this.”

“We were just having a mock duel,” Lumki said quickly, his voice thick with rage. “I suppose it got out of hand.”

“That is the greatest understatement of the year,” Herus said coolly. Then he turned to Aysa, who was being helped to her feet. “We should return you to your chambers, my lady,” he said gently.

“Thank you,” Aysa said, her voice raspy and hoarse. She was eyeing her brother with new eyes. He was not anymore the petty and jealous younger brother. He was a man of seventeen, a dangerous man with strength and cunning.

And as she accepted Herus’ arm in support, it was with discomfort that she turned her back on Lumki and the old wisdom ran through her head, to never turn your back on your enemy.


"Heart of the Dessert 2"