Chapter 4

Horohan stands motionless in the training grounds' wreckage, reminiscing the fight, some time after Naci tied the crimson ribbon around his wrist.

A shadow detaches from the feasting fires.

"Careful, Horohan," purrs a familiar voice. "Stare too long at a wildfire, you'll go blind."

Temej emerges like a fox from its den, all russet silks and sly grins. The eagle on his arm—Sartak, with wings the color of storm-smoked sky—mantles at the scent of Horohan's dried blood. Behind them trails a pack of giggling children, their faces smeared with stolen honey.

"Shouldn't you be charming widows at the victory feast?" Horohan tugs his sleeve over Naci's ribbon.

"And miss your moping?" Temej tosses Sartak skyward. The eagle's cry splits the gloaming, scattering starlings from the prayer poles. "Besides, Sartak prefers his entertainment raw."

The bird circles once before plunging toward a horse's pen. The horse rears, snapping at feathers as Sartak snatches a strip of dried venison from its saddlebag.

"Thieving khar!" A herdsboy hurls a dung clod. Sartak banks lazily, dropping the meat into Temej's waiting palm.

"Gratitude, mighty hunter." Temej bows to the cursing boy before offering the spoils to Horohan. "Dinner?"

Horohan bats the meat away. "Why are you here?"

"Same reason the crows follow battles." Temej plucks a charred ribbon from the ashes, winding it around his fingers. "To pluck shiny stuff from the wreckage."

Horohan turns toward the hills where Naci's torchlit procession climbs like a glowing serpent. "She's..."

"A sandstorm in human skin?" Temej finishes. "Oh, we all noticed." He produces a felt doll from his sleeve—crude stitching, Naci's braids rendered in unraveling yak hair. "The children already make idols. Old Batr's brewing 'Warrior Queen' ale."

Just then, hoof-beats sound like summer hail—Naci has returned, sudden, glittering, dangerous.

Temej steps forward, bowing with exaggerated flourishes. "Naci of the Jabliu! I bring greetings from Sartak, mightiest of Alinkar's eagles"

She dismounts in a swirl of dust and defiance, eyes narrowing at the felt doll in his hand. "What's this?"

"A tribute!" Temej brandishes the doll like a holy relic. "To be enshrined in the Hall of Ancestors! Assuming," he adds, dodging her swipe, "it survives your temper."

Horohan watches them circle. "Enough." His voice stills them. "Naci, this is Temej. My..."

"Keeper of secrets," Temej interjects, sketching another bow.

"...occasional conscience," Horohan amends, rolling his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Do not let his boyish charms deceive you. Temej might appear young and innocent, but he is one of the most astute minds in our clan."

Temej, standing at an average height, is not imposing in stature, but there's an unmistakable presence about him that draws attention. Waves of dark brown hair, occasionally caught in the gusts of the Tepr wind, frame a youthful face adorned with a smattering of freckles. When he smiles, dimples form, giving him an almost mischievous look.

His attire is both practical and symbolic. A deep blue tunic, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, flutters slightly in the breeze. Intricate silver embroidery, showcasing the motifs of the Alinkar clan, decorates the sleeves and hem. His pants, made of durable material, are tucked into soft leather boots, perfect for long treks across the terrain. Adorning his neck is a pendant, carved from a single piece of turquoise, representing the eagle—the spirit animal of his clan and a testament to his role as the keeper of these majestic birds.

The way he moves is fluid, each gesture and step deliberate and graceful, hinting at years of training not just with the eagles but perhaps in dance or some form of martial arts. His interactions with Sartak, the eagle perched on his arm, showcase a bond of deep trust and mutual respect. He communicates with the bird with minimal gestures, a slight nod, or a subtle movement of his fingers, emphasizing their connection.

But perhaps what's most captivating about Temej isn't his appearance or his bond with the eagles; it's the aura of genuine warmth and authenticity that he exudes. There's an innate kindness in his demeanor, a genuine interest when he listens, and a ready laughter that hints at an optimistic and jovial nature. Yet, beneath that affable exterior lies a shrewd and analytical mind, as Horohan rightly pointed out, making Temej a vital asset to the Alinkar clan.

Naci plucks the doll from Temej's grasp. Up close, the stitching resembles less a warrior queen and more a drunken hedgehog. Her snort sends nearby children into gleeful hysterics.

"Fine tribute," she deadpans. "Do I get an eagle too?"

Sartak chooses this moment to land on her shoulder, talons piercing ceremonial silk.

"Careful," Temej murmurs. "He mates for life."

The eagle's beak hovers near Naci's eye. She doesn't flinch. "So do I."

Temej, sensing an opportunity to bridge the cultural divide and perhaps foster some understanding, proposes, "How about this? Let's go on a hunt. You on Liara and me with Sartak. And if you win, I'll help you get one."

Naci smirks, "Challenge accepted."

Horohan raises a brow, casting a sidelong glance at Naci. "Are you sure, Naci?"

Naci's smirk widens, "What's the matter, Horohan? Afraid your clan's symbol won't live up to its reputation?"

Horohan chuckles, "Oh, I have full faith in Sartak and Temej. I'm merely concerned about you getting too competitive and forgetting the main purpose of the hunt."

Temej laughs heartily, holding up his hands in a mock defensive stance. "Now, now, let's keep it friendly. This isn't about competition but about having some fun. Though," he adds with a wink towards Naci, "a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone."

Naci nods thoughtfully, "Very well. But let's set some ground rules. I propose we both go after the same target."

Temej grins, nodding in agreement. "Sounds fair."

Naci chuckles, "Alright, Temej, prepare your eagle. We hunt at dawn. Horohan, are you coming?"

Horohan, not being fond of this show of strength, shrugs, "I'll patiently wait for the results."

…

Temej rises before first light. Sartak rustles in the makeshift perch near the corral, wings stirring the chilly air with a slow beat. Outside, the last embers of a cook-fire glow like dying stars, casting faint orange halos on the canvas walls of the Alinkar encampment.

He mounts his stout, brown steed soon after, guiding the horse away from the half-dozing watchman who fusses with a smoking torch. The morning sky has begun its quiet transition from ink-black to ashy gray, though a single bright planet still lingers overhead as if reluctant to surrender to dawn. Naci appears soon, leading Liara, her snow-pale mare, through the maze of tents and tethered animals. She moves like a shadow among these foreign yurts, sharp-eyed and guarded, every muscle coiled as if expecting a trap.

A faint smile bends her lips when she sees Temej already mounted. "You're eager," she remarks, her voice muffled by a gust of wind that smells of dew and old ash.

"No sense in wasting daybreak." Temej pats Sartak's side, and the eagle shifts its weight, talons gripping the leather brace on his arm. "We hunt better on an empty stomach—or so my uncle always said. That man insisted fighting off hunger builds character."

Naci's snort betrays mild amusement. "Brave words for a clan that roasts a goat at every sunset." She swings into Liara's saddle with practiced ease. "Shall we see what your eagle can do?"

They set off across the Tepr steppes, the wind sweeping from horizon to horizon, bending the grasses in waves of gold and green. A few stray goats watch the pair pass, chewing lazily on tough shoots while a small boy dozes against a milk barrel. Now and then the boy's mother emerges to scold him, brandishing a ladle sticky with honeyed porridge, only to vanish when she spots Temej and Naci riding by.

The hooves of their mounts stir up dust that catches in the dawn light, swirling into brief ghostly apparitions. Naci's gaze darts from Temej to the expanse around them, reading the land, testing it beneath Liara's hooves. Though the Jabliu are children of the wind, this terrain feels subtly different—there is a hum in the air, an undercurrent of hidden water and ancient spirits that watch from beyond the grass.

Temej notices her focus. He nods toward the distant smudge of dark green on the eastern horizon. "That's the Bepr Forest. It rises from a network of hidden springs beneath the soil. To outsiders, it must seem like an oasis in a sea of blades."

Naci leans forward, the better to see the tapering treetops. "I've heard the tales, but never believed them. I imagined a cluster of scrawny brush, nothing more." Her eyes widen when the canopy glimmers in the strengthening sunlight. "Incredible. The Alinkar truly guard a treasure."

He laughs, low and proud. "Treasure indeed. The forest teems with boar, deer, creatures we hardly have names for. My clan thrives on these spoils. We trade wild game, rare herbs, even glean healing mushrooms that sprout in the damp shadows."

"And that is how your clan holds sway in Tepr," Naci murmurs, remembering the whispered rumors that drift through Jabliu fires at night. She pictures cunning Alinkar traders exchanging crates of salted venison for tapestries, steel, or the occasional favor. "You command prosperity one arrow at a time."

The path curves, skirting the edge of the forest. Sunbeams filter through the thinning mist, flitting between leaves like restless spirits. The horses step cautiously here, hooves muffled by soft soil. Sartak ruffles his feathers, clearly restless to hunt.

Temej slows his mount, letting Naci ride abreast. He gestures with his free hand at the stand of towering pines that mark the forest boundary. "It wasn't always ours," he says, voice dipping. "Long ago, another clan claimed this land. They were fierce and wealthy, rumored to harness magic from the forest's heart."

He pauses, glancing at the dark spaces between the trunks. Sunbeams slant in, but fail to illuminate the secrets beyond. "Their downfall came when our ancestors took to the skies. Eagles soared above their fortifications and guided our archers with unerring precision. We ambushed supply lines, scouted hidden outposts, and shattered their advantage. Brute force alone would have bled us dry, but eagles tilted the war."

Naci's face betrays more than curiosity now. There is respect in the way she sits straighter in the saddle. "They are guardians of your legacy."

Temej lifts his arm, and Sartak tilts his head toward Naci, as though acknowledging her words. "They are an extension of us. Without them, I doubt Alinkar would be more than an afterthought in these steppes."

A hush settles between them. Somewhere in the forest, a raven croaks, and an echo answers from deeper within. Naci's gaze drifts across the layered pines, then back to Temej. "The forest shapes you, and the eagles preserve you. A powerful alliance."

They ride on in companionable silence, the horses' hooves striking a slow, steady tempo. Here and there, they pass Alinkar villagers who gather juniper sprigs for dyes or coax stubborn goats away from vegetable plots. One red-faced herder curses loudly at a misbehaving ram that tries to butt Naci's mare; Liara side-steps with grace, and the ram tumbles face-first into a clump of weeds.

"Your people are… spirited," Naci says dryly, unable to stifle a chuckle.

Temej only winks. "Try offering them fermented mare's milk after sundown. You'll see real spirits then."

As the sun climbs higher, ribbons of light sweep across the steppe, revealing rolling hills dotted with scattered stones that might be old altars or tombs. The morning has fully awakened, though the warmth remains gentle for now. Sartak fans his wings, scanning the horizon with sharp, predatory focus.

Temej breaks the comfortable silence that has settled between them, his voice thoughtful as he contemplates their surroundings. "As beautiful and resource-rich as the forest is, it isn't the best terrain for Sartak to demonstrate his prowess. Eagles, especially ones as trained as he, excel in open environments like the steppes."

Naci casts a teasing glance at him, her lips curling into a playful smile. "Oh, so our steppes have worth after all? And here I thought the eagle could have a bit of a holiday with such a rich hunting ground right here."

Temej turns to her, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and pride. "Talking about that. Sartak senses prey," he says, pointing straight ahead.

Sartak's talons dig into Temej's leather-guarded arm. Naci squints at the wavering horizon where heat devils dance above the grass—a taunting mirage of lakes that have never existed. Somewhere beyond the illusion, a marmot's shrill alarm call pierces the stillness.

"Twenty leaps," Temej murmurs, stroking the eagle's storm-gray plumage. "A hare, probably grown bold on stolen grain."

Naci raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. "Twenty leaps? That's quite specific. Are you sure you're not just trying to pull a fast one on me?"

"Ah, but Sartak sees tomorrow's stew." With a fluid motion, Temej removes the eagle's hood. The bird's pupils contract to pinpricks, wings half-spread in predatory anticipation. "Shall we wager?"

With a determined gleam in her eye, Naci urges Liara forward, her steed bursting into a swift gallop, the powerful beats of its hooves kicking up clouds of dust. Temej watches with an amused smile, his hand resting gently on Sartak, signaling the bird to stay perched and not join the chase just yet.

The wind whistles past Naci as she rides, counting the leaps in her mind, each one bringing her closer to the elusive prey Temej claimed was hiding in plain sight.

Wind tears at Naci's braids as she counts strides between Liara's hoofbeats—eighteen, nineteen, twenty. The world narrows to the thunder in her ears, the bite of the bowstring against her cheek, the—

A blur of brown explodes from a tussock.

The hare moves like liquid fear, zigzagging with desperate cunning. Naci's first arrow buries itself in the beast's shadow.

Temej's laughter echoes in the distance as he launches his eagle into action.

"Hurry!" Temej shouts, already mounting his dun-colored gelding. "Before we claim all the glory!"

A quick intake of breath, her heart thumping loudly in her chest, she swiftly notches another arrow. This time, she anticipates the hare's erratic movements and lets the arrow fly with calculated precision. The shaft hurtles forward, promising to strike true.

However, Sartak has been watching closely, gauging the perfect moment to strike. With impeccable timing and a fierce precision, he swoops down, talons outstretched. Just moments before the arrow can find its mark, Sartak's talons grip the hare firmly, pinning it to the ground. The bird's beak swiftly descends, delivering a merciful end to the prey even as the arrow thuds into the earth just inches away.

Naci reins in Liara, coming to a stop, her chest heaving from the exhilaration of the chase. She can't help but marvel at the efficiency and prowess of the majestic bird. Temej rides up beside her, a triumphant grin on his face.

Naci's shoulders slump slightly, the weight of her miss pressing down on her. There's a fleeting pang of embarrassment, exacerbated by the ease with which Sartak had bested the hare, despite the generous lead Temej had provided her. Her fingers brush the feathers of the arrow she had loosed.

"Cheater!" Naci lobs her quiver at Temej's approaching form. "You said twenty leaps!"

He catches it deftly, grinning. "Eagle's distance, not mare's." Dismounting, he tosses Sartak a sliver of liver from his belt pouch. The bird swallows it whole, still guarding his kill. "But fear not—the loser provides the cooking wine."

They build the fire where the hare fell, its blood seeping into ancestral soil. Temej skins the carcass with ritual precision, humming the Eagle-Bearers' chant. Naci watches his knife work—the way he separates sinew from bone, preserving every tendon for bowstrings.

"Oh, bury me not in the father's fire,

Where worms mock my mother's name!

Let the eagle's crop be my funeral pyre,

And the sky my burning fame!"

"Your mother taught you this?" she asks, tossing another dung chip onto the flames.

"Yes," Temej smiles. "She taught me everything I know about eagles."

Naci studies the eagle now preening on a nearby rock, his bloody talons gleaming. "How old were you? When you bonded?"

"Seven winters." Temej skewers the hare on a spit.

As the meat sizzles, Naci's gaze drifts to the horizon where Liara grazes beside Temej's gelding. The mare's coat glows like polished moonstone against the dun-colored grass. "Could I…?"

"What? Tame an eagle?" Temej barks a laugh. "You can barely handle a horse. Also you lost the bet."

She chucks a pebble at him. "Liara handles me just fine."

"Liara's a saint." He turns the spit, fat dripping onto coals. "But if you're serious…"

"Deadly."

"The Alinkar don't keep eagles. We ally with them."

Naci leans forward, the fire painting her face in warrior hues. "Teach me."

Temej sighs, plucking a charred morsel from the spit. "First, you'll need to—aiya!"

Sartak swoops low, snatching the meat from his fingers. The eagle retreats to his rock, mantling over the stolen prize with a triumphant screech.

Naci's laughter startles a nearby ground owl into flight. "Well negotiated, master."

"Hush." Temej rubs his scalded fingers. "Tomorrow, come and visit my mother. If any fledgling will tolerate your temper…"