Chapter 19

In the expansive landscape of Tepr, under the weight of a sun that bathes everything in gold, Temej, rides with the urgency of a tempest. His horse, a robust steed with a coat as black as the night, gallops with fervor, hooves thundering against the hard-packed earth of the windswept steppes. The horse's mane and Temej's own hair, both long and tousled, flutter as one in the gusts, becoming fleeting shadows against the vast horizon.

Despite his urgency, Temej's eyes scan his surroundings meticulously, aware that the territory he ventures into is not welcoming of his kind. The open expanse slowly transitions into the outskirts of Haikam territory. Soon enough, he's proven right.

Emerging from behind a dense tree line, a group of Haikam hunters intercept him, bows drawn taut, arrows pointing at him with deadly precision. They wear tribal insignia that speaks of their allegiance, their eyes radiating a mixture of suspicion and disdain.

"Alinkar dog! You dare trespass into our lands?" one of them snarls, his stance unyielding, muscles tense with anticipation.

Temej reins in his horse, pulling it to a skidding halt. He raises his hands in a gesture of peace, his breathing measured, trying to mask the anxiety coursing through him. "I come in peace and seek to speak with your chieftain."

A mocking laughter emerges from the group. "Our chieftain has no words for the likes of you," another hunter jeers, his voice dripping with contempt.

Realizing that words alone won't help, Temej, with utmost care, reaches into a pouch and reveals the fledgling eagle, Uamopak. The bird, its gaze sharp and wild, flutters its wings in mild discomfort but remains in Temej's grasp.

"Do you recognize this bird? It belongs to Naci of the Jabliu," Temej announces, desperation lacing his voice.

The hunters exchange uncertain glances. One, slightly older with lines of wisdom etched onto his face, steps forward, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you carry Naci's bird? What have you done with her?"

Temej swallows, his throat suddenly dry, "I come on her behalf. She entrusted me with Uamopak to seek help. Please, time is of the essence. Your quarrel is not with me, but with the misguided decisions of the Alinkar elders."

The older hunter, his face a canvas of skepticism, contemplates for a moment. The air grows thick with tension, each second stretching painfully long. Finally, with a nod, he speaks, "We will take you to Pomogr. But know this: if this is a ruse, it will be the last you ever pull."

Temej, relief flooding his veins, bows his head in gratitude, "Thank you. You will see my intentions are true."

As the party moves deeper into Haikam territory, Temej clutches Uamopak close, hoping that the trust he has managed to secure will be enough.

Amidst a labyrinth of tents, the Haikam encampment sprawls beneath the vast canopy of the sky. The distant hum of daily activities, from the clinking of utensils to the gentle murmurs of conversation, permeates the atmosphere. The Haikam people go about their tasks, casting wary glances at the stranger in their midst.

Temej, escorted by a trio of formidable warriors, is led towards the largest yurt, adorned with symbols that mark it as the dwelling of Pomogr, the chieftain.

As they approach, the guards stationed outside the yurt throw open its entrance, revealing a dimly lit, spacious interior. Within, seated atop a raised dais, is Pomogr. Flanking him are the tribe elders, their faces lined with age.

Temej is ushered inside, and immediately, he feels the weight of many scrutinizing eyes upon him. The atmosphere inside the yurt is tense, thick with anticipation.

"Speak," Pomogr's voice booms, echoing within the confines of the tent, "Why does an Alinkar come to us, bearing the bird of the Jabliu girl?"

Drawing a deep breath, Temej begins, "The Alinkar have subjugated the Jabliu in the absence of Naci and Horohan. They've taken control, seizing their lands and taking many as prisoners." He pauses momentarily, weighing his next words carefully. "I come to seek your help in righting these wrongs."

An elder, his gray beard cascading down like a waterfall, narrows his eyes. "And why do you, an Alinkar, betray your own kind?"

Temej meets the elder's gaze, his voice laden with conviction. "Our current chieftain, Urumol, is unworthy of his title. He is a tyrant, driven by his thirst for power and conquest. I've seen the chaos he brings, the needless bloodshed." He swallows, memories of the massacre flashing before his eyes. "I was part of the force that attacked the Jabliu. I witnessed the destruction firsthand. It's something I can never forget."

Pomogr's expression darkens. His hands, which had been resting on his knees, clench into fists. Without warning, he lunges forward, striking Temej square in the face. The force of the blow sends Temej sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from his nose.

The yurt is filled with murmurs, the elders exchanging alarmed glances, while Pomogr, panting heavily, looks at his own hand, surprise and regret evident in his eyes.

"I... I apologize," Pomogr stammers, extending a hand to help Temej up. "That wasn't meant for you, but for the horrors you described."

Temej, gingerly touching his bruised face, nods in understanding. "I share your rage, Chieftain. That's why I'm here. Together, we can stand against Urumol's tyranny and bring justice to the land."

Pomogr, still reeling from his outburst, studies Temej intently, as if gauging the depths of his sincerity. "How did the Alinkar know that Naci and Horohan were away when they chose to strike? Such impeccable timing cannot be mere coincidence."

Temej hesitates, opening his mouth to reveal the truth, when a playful, almost sing-song voice emerges from the shadows, halting his words. "Ah, the spirits have their ways," the voice says, rich with mischief. As the voice's owner steps into the muted light, the familiar face of Konir becomes visible. With his nimble movements and sharp eyes that always seem to dance with mischief, he possesses an aura of both youth and wisdom. His attire, colorful and adorned with patterns, rustles softly as he moves.

Temej stiffens, surprise evident on his face. He hadn't noticed Konir's presence when he'd entered.

Konir grins, a flash of white teeth against his jade skin, his eyes narrowing slyly. "The Alinkar shaman is no fool. His connection with the spirit of long travels is strong. Perhaps the spirits whispered to him of Naci and Horohan's departure, guiding the Alinkar's hand."

Temej's brow furrows, and he's about to protest when Konir continues, raising a hand to silence him. "But no matter how it came to be, the tides have turned. The Orogol now stand firm against the Alinkar menace," he declares, locking eyes with Temej.

His voice drops, turning almost conspiratorial. "My friends," Konir starts, leaning in closer to Temej, a smirk playing on his lips, "You find yourself at a crossroads, a pivotal moment where destinies are forged. Choose wisely."

Pomogr, having listened to Konir's cryptic words and Temej's passionate plea, takes a long, contemplative moment. The weight of the decision pressing down upon him is palpable. Finally, with a nod, he speaks, "The Haikam will stand with you against the Alinkar. We will begin preparations for war."

Relief spreads across Temej's features. "Thank you, Chieftain."

Pomogr continues, "In the meantime, seek out the Nipih. They were once subjugated by Naci, and they will fight for her. They may be weakened now, but their spirit remains fierce." His gaze turns more intense, "When you arrive, seek out a woman named Selir. She will be your guide amongst them."

Temej bows deeply, gratitude evident in his eyes. "I will, Chieftain. I am in your debt."

As Temej turns to leave the yurt, Konir's nimble form is hot on his heels. The two of them step outside into the cool evening, the sky painted with hues of twilight.

Temej, without looking at Konir, questions sharply, "What are you playing at? What do you want?"

Konir tilts his head, feigning ignorance. "Whatever do you mean?"

Temej's tone grows colder, "You know exactly what I mean. The Alinkar were aided by the Orogol in their conquest."

Konir sighs heavily, his voice taking on a slightly patronizing tone, "You really don't understand the intricacies of diplomacy, do you?"

Temej's patience wears thin, and as he grasps what Konir implies, a flash of anger ignites in his eyes. "Diplomacy? Betrayal, more like." With a fluid motion, he moves his hand to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it.

Suddenly, someone strikes the back of Temej's knee, forcing him to collapse onto the ground. Before he can react, a blade presses threateningly against his throat. Through narrowed eyes, he glimpses a young girl, her expression steely and her stance lethal.

"Careful now," she hisses venomously, with a thick accent that reminds him of the Moukopl merchants.

Konir, nonchalantly, waves a dismissive hand at the girl. "Enough. Scram."

She sneers at Temej, shoving him roughly so he sprawls on the ground before disappearing into the shadows with the same speed she appeared.

Temej, catching his breath and still reeling from the sudden assault, turns his gaze back to Konir, who simply smirks. "Remember my words in the yurt, Temej," Konir says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness, "Make a choice that serves the greater good." And with that, he saunters away, leaving Temej in a pool of his own confusion and anger.

Under the starlit canopy of the night, Temej makes his way through the Nipih territory. The exhaustion weighing down on him is palpable, both in mind and body. He chooses a quiet spot, sheltered by a grove of trees, to set up camp. As the world around him continues its nocturnal dance, Temej succumbs to the lure of sleep.

The first light of dawn hasn't even graced the sky when raucous laughter and shrill voices jerk Temej from his slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he spots a group of Nipih children, their energetic forms darting around his campsite. They're chasing his eagle, Sartak, who, flapping its majestic wings, spirals gracefully in the air above, evading their playful clutches.

"Stop that!" Temej exclaims, the concern evident in his voice. However, a part of him can't help but be amused at the sight.

One of the children, a little more daring than the rest, suddenly emerges from the melee, clutching Uamopak tightly to his chest.

"Hey!" Temej calls out, quickly moving to intercept the child, "Be gentle with her!"

The child's eyes widen in surprise as Temej catches up to him, gently prying Uamopak from his grasp. The fledgling lets out a soft chirp, nuzzling against Temej in a gesture of familiarity.

Just then, a stern voice pierces through the commotion. "What is going on here?"

A shepherd woman, with a staff in hand, approaches. Her gaze sweeps over the scene, taking in the disheveled campsite, the group of children who've now halted in their tracks, and Temej, with the two eagles perched close by.

She chides the children, her voice firm yet not unkind, "You know better than to trouble the creatures of the land. Off with you now!" The children, their faces downcast, mumble apologies and scatter away.

Turning her attention to Temej, she arches an eyebrow, "An Alinkar, so far from home? What business brings you here?"

Gathering himself, Temej narrates the series of events that led him to Nipih lands and ends with, "I've been told to seek out a woman named Selik."

The shepherd woman contemplates for a moment before nodding, "Follow me."

Temej is led to the heart of the Nipih encampment. Amidst a sea of yurts stands one that's slightly larger.

As they enter, an elder woman, her face a tapestry of wrinkles and wisdom, looks up. This is Selik.

Temej, taking a deep breath, repeats his story, stressing the urgency of the situation and the need for Nipih's alliance.

Selik, after a long pause, speaks, her voice deep and commanding, "We are under Naci's rule. Her word is law here. If she commands, we follow. But remember, we do not do this for you, Alinkar, but for her."

Temej nods, understanding the weight and implications of her words.

As the day progresses, Temej finds himself amidst the Nipih, trying to familiarize himself with their ways and culture. Their customs, their way of life, and their stories resonate with the tales of tribes he has heard of, but the nuances make the Nipih distinct.

While exploring the encampment, a spirited young man, probably in his late teens, approaches him with wide-eyed fascination. His gaze is fixed on Sartak, the majestic eagle that accompanies Temej.

"It's a beautiful creature," the young man marvels, his voice tinged with awe.

Temej, sensing an opportunity to lighten the mood, playfully remarks, "Would you like one? You'd just have to give me something valuable in return."

The boy chuckles, the light in his eyes dimming slightly, "I wish I could. But, I don't really own anything of value. Our previous encampment... well, it's all gone."

Temej, picking up on the boy's sudden change of demeanor, gently prods, "What happened?"

The boy hesitates for a moment, then begins his tale. "We, the Nipih, once tried to raid the Haikam. We thought we had them, thought we'd won. But the next day, Naci and Horohan turned the tables. They ambushed us, and by the time the sun had set, our encampment was nothing but ashes."

As the young man narrates the story, a bitter realization dawns on Temej. He'd held onto the hope that allying with Naci would mean fighting for a more righteous cause, a stark contrast to the tyranny of Urumol. But as the boy's words echo in his ears, he confronts the grim truth: perhaps the line between right and wrong isn't as clear-cut as he once believed.

Could it be possible that Naci, the one he thought would be Tepr's salvation, was not much different from Urumol, the chieftain he so despised?

The weight of this revelation bears down on Temej, casting a shadow over the rest of his day. He shares meals, listens to songs, and engages in Nipih traditions, but his heart remains heavy, the burden of doubt and confusion ever-present.

As night blankets the world in its serene embrace, Temej retires to his makeshift tent. The gentle rustling of the wind outside and the distant murmur of the Nipih's nocturnal activities should have lulled him into a deep sleep. But tonight, his thoughts are a storm, churning and roiling, preventing any semblance of peace.

Torn between his loyalty to Naci and the revelations of the day, Temej struggles to find clarity. With a deep, weary sigh, he finally succumbs to a restless slumber, the echoes of doubt haunting his dreams.

…

As Naci's world tilts on its axis, a familiar, grounding presence draws near. Temej approaches, the elegant form of Uamopak nestled securely in his arms. Extending the bird toward her, he remarks with a tinge of trepidation, "You might want this back."

Their eyes meet, and the swirling emotions within both are palpable: doubt, and uncertainty. "Naci," Temej begins, his voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent of sadness, "Go to your Jabliu tribe and prepare. You'll need to be ready."

Naci's response is swift, a storm of emotions in her voice. "I won't leave without Horohan, and Liara, my steed, is with my father. You expect me to walk there unarmed and unaided?"

A momentary silence ensues, the air thick with tension. Temej exhales slowly, "Then come with us to the camp. We'll ensure you're equipped and ready."

Naci gives a curt nod, and as they turn to make their way behind the hill towards the waiting coalition, an all-too-familiar voice pierces the relative calm. The woman, who'd initially released Naci and brought her sustenance, emerges from the encampment, her face contorting with surprise and then anger. "Naci is fleeing! She's with them! The Alinkar are under attack!" she cries out.

Recognition sparks in Naci's eyes, memories of the same woman taunting and jeering at her and Horohan flooding back. It acts as the trigger, igniting the powder keg of rage that had been building within her.

With a primal scream, Naci launches herself at the woman, her fingers seeking and finding the soft, vulnerable throat of her tormentor. The woman's eyes bulge with terror as Naci's grip tightens, her struggles becoming more frantic with each passing second.

Temej, witnessing the raw, unchecked fury unfolding before him, is paralyzed with shock. The scene, starkly contrasting against Naci's usual carefree demeanor, sends shivers racing down his spine, painting a vivid, nightmarish tableau in his mind.

As the woman's struggles weaken and her life force ebbs away, Naci's grip remains unyielding, her face a mask of unrelenting anger and pain. Only when the woman's body goes limp does she release her, letting the lifeless form crumple to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Naci slowly straightens up, her eyes darting to Temej. The unspoken question, the shared horror of the moment, hangs in the air between them, casting a dark shadow over the choices and paths that lie ahead.