Xahala - Ch01: Ian of the Mountains

Read the Prologue? No? Check it here before reading this chapter:
"Xahala - Prologue: The Water Enchantress" 

Capitain Mael fought the tears while he took his youngest brother's body from the arms of his king. Five arrows. With the eyelids burning and an overwhealming pain in his throat, he pulled them one by one and then waited for the women who would prepare the body for the cremation. No wife, no children. The young man had lived for war and died in battle. Such a waste of youth. Mael's heart was full of sorrow, but he wouldn't pretend he or anyone else felt for that death more than Ian. The King of The Mountain Warriors just stood there, motionless, drowning in shadows, the green eyes completely dry, the face frozen like a mask. For years that boy had followed him around, idolizing him, trying to learn how to fight and how to rule. Mael knew Ian had taken the kid as a kind of godson, a possible heir.

"Ian, he always had courage. Think of my brother with pride."
"Mael, I'm so..."
"No. Don't blame yourself, my friend. You are the greateast leader we ever had, and we all knew what we signed up for."

* * *

The small village in the mountains, home of the Warriors, was politically connected to the city-state of Riverbed Town, one of the last three independent cities of Xahala, the only one who never made a treaty with Baltus. Well-fortified and geographically lucky, Riverbed Town was located on the southern side of the last permanent river. Because of that privileged location, they had almost no trouble getting food and water, and the distance from the dictatorship headquarters in Vizin made it extremely difficult to be conquered by force. Or so the population believed. Gazing down from the window of his war-room, Ian could see the city and the whole valley, with its small tribes of ordinary men and women, easy targets for the hungry mercenaries that worked for Baltus.

Ian did his best to protect the valley tribes, but the enemy incursions were becoming more frequent, more organized. He knew that tactic all too well. First came the hired thieves and assassins, they would weaken the province defenses and pillage as much as they could. When the Dictator decided that was enough, the official army would take over, facing little to no resistance.

“They will come back sooner than we expect, won’t they?”
“Yes, Mael. I am sure they will. We sent them away for now but our losses were greater than theirs. Soon they will start to win. If they reach this side of the river, Riverbank Town will be in danger.”
“Should I start building a line of defense? I can ask for Alina’s archers.”
“No use, her archers are better on the city towers. Come here and look down, Mael. See that? It’s night, and they are working the land. Look at their care and devotion. So little fertile land on the margins, and yet they are able to take everything they need from it without wearing it out. This won’t last. I’m afraid this time is over, and when I think of what is coming, I see nothing but darkness.”

The king remained still as a statue while he spoke, with his back turned to his friend. He was tall and majestic, the perfect image of an old lost nobility, always standing with his back straight and his chin up. More than anything, Ian knew his appearance had contributed to turn him into some kind of legend in these ten years on the throne, almost as if people believed he had been born in the job rather than elected for it. He was aware that he was handsome, but he probably had no idea that his green eyes glittered with a much deeper light than beauty.

“Baltus was never able to break through Riverbank Town’s defenses, Ian.”
“Has he ever really tried? No, he is waiting for the right time, and I’m afraid it will come terribly soon.”
“We have beaten him more than once.”
“With guerilla. Setting up traps, spreading false information, fooling his spies and scaring mercenaries away with tricks. We never dealt with a real army except for a few third-rate starving battalions.”
“Ian, what are you trying to say?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that placing our horsemen down the valley and just waiting for the next attack will be useless. Sooner than later, we’ll need to evacuate the tribes, send everyone to Riverbed Town and try to buy the city a few weeks of peace.”
“You mean attack the mercenary hordes before they attack us? Sounds good to me.”
“I was sure it would, Mael.”

A real army. Ian had been flirting with that idea for a while. He remeber what it felt like, a decade before, when he led the Warriors on a last desperate attempt to honor the Cities League. It was a bittersweet victory, and it was that victory that gave him his crown, a light strap of white gold that felt so heavy on his head, tearing him in two and reminding him of an older loyalty he left behind.

Next: Chapter 2 - The land and the eight city-states.