Pro Patria

Pandelia, Grikus; Imperial Citadel, midday

"My liege, the raiders to the south have stung us a dozen times in the past month. I suggest we neutralize them once and for all!" Ulg Pastar, Lord-Mayor of Soobil demanded of Queen-Empress Yensil. The Council of Elders was meeting to discuss the state of the Empire, and Lord Raspar was not happy with the state of his domain.

"Lord Pastar, this is the third time you have brought this up in Council," the Queen-Empress said firmly, "and I shall answer you this: a diplomatic mission has been dispatched, and is on their way to the raiders' capital even as I speak. This is no longer my father's reign, Raspar, and I do things differently from him."

Lord Pastar was taken aback by this response, and quickly rallied, "What is the need for this new 'diplomacy'?" he replied futilely, clearly the loser of the argument, "It is deep-rooted tradition to answer such problems with overwhelming force, is it not?"

The Queen-Empress simply made the Griki equivalent of an eye roll. "As I have already said, Lord Pastar, this is a new era, a new reign," she looked straight at him, daring him to disagree, "a time of new traditions."

All the chastized lord could do was the equivalent of sitting on his hands and keeping his mouth shut.

Approaching Dalicho, Ismaea; midday

Ambassador Krelan Aspa 'ran' with the rest of his entourage, which consisted of a Trelid (lit. Century, unit of 100 warriors), as well as a couple dozen enslaved Sardhel carrying chests full of gifts to the Treshill (lit. Raiders). They seemed to be approaching the first actual city on the trade route they were following to what was alleged to by the Treshill capital.

The group carried with them the banner of the Empire, a simple vertical-horizontal red cross on a dark green field. They also carried a plain crimson banner, the Griki equivalent of a white flag, to indicate that they were a diplomatic group traveling in peace.

They arrived at the city's gates in short order, and were stopped by a pair of terrified-looking guards. An equally terrified-looking Lemurian was brought forward as a translator.

Ambassador Aspa spoke first, "We are a diplomatic mission of the Empire of Grikus and we come in peace." Aspa said 'smoothly', with the Griki equivalent of an amused smile (which consisted of baring the front teeth). "We are on our way to your capital of Bethaminael and request use of your lodgings for the night. You needn't worry about payment, we have enough of your currency for a night."

The Lemurian listened to teh ambassador speak and turned to the guards, saying the translation to them in a slightly-accented version of their language. The guards seemed to relax as the 3-foot tall monkey-like being spoke to them.

One of them nodded of the Lemurian finished, "We've got a few inns your guys can stay at, but just for the night," he said quickly, trying not ot look at the seemingly huge group of lizards. The Lemurian translated.

Ambassador Aspa nodded, "Thank you for your hospitality, kind sir." he said, half-mockingly. The guards nodded and smiled as the Lemurian translated. And the both of them stepped aside a bit as the group marched into the city.

OOC: this is the first of a 3-part intro I have for Ismaea, so I'm going to get the next two parts (one of which deals directly with the Griki ambassadors at Dalicho) as soon as possible.

Act One
The Griki lay stunned on the ground as hands pressed him down, tearing off his armor and binding his arms and legs. When he tried to bring his head around to bite at those invasive hands, a swift kick to the head left him seeing stars as a muzzle of tough leather was quickly fastened about his face. Still struggling, the Griki was roughly dragged through the sand and forced into a kneeling position.

There were perhaps thirty figures around him, dressed in robes of gray or green or a dry brown the same shade as the deserts of Ismaea. They were short -- none stood over five feet -- and all were armed with spears, long knives, or strung bows with their arrows aimed at the center of the Griki's chest. Each wore a black cloth that they had wrapped about their head and face, leaving only a narrow slit through which dark eyes stared impassively at the Griki. His attention was caught, however, by one of the figures who instead of black wore a cloth of deep indigo blue, and who now approached.

"What is your name, lizard?" the figure asked in accented Griki, drawing back the blue cloth from to reveal a long face of leathery brown skin, a flat nose with wide nostrils, a small mouth, and two hooded amber eyes which regarded the Griki with quiet amusement.

The Griki said nothing and instead stared angrily back at the Ismaean, who shook his head. "You must have a name, everything -- even a lizard -- has a name. Only dead things do not." He smiled, exposing a row of wide flat teeth. "My name is Lucas, son of Nameth. Have you heard of me?"

There was a flicker of recognition in the Griki's eyes, but no response. "Or perhaps you know me by another name," Lucas went on. "I've heard lizards like you over the border have another name for me. What is that?"

There was a long pause. "We call you, 'The Ghost's Wind'," the Griki said, speaking at last, though his words were muffled by the muzzle over his snout.

Lucas laughed. "So you have heard of me? Yes, that is what I am called. I make it a habit to be here one moment and gone the next, not that it stops lizards like you from trying to catch me." He wagged his finger in mock reproof. "It was very foolish of you to try and follow me, and even more foolish to do so with a patrol of only fifteen. But now that you're here, I am very eager to speak to you."

He took a squat before the Griki, and when the Griki lurched forward with a growl strong hands took hold of him by the shoulders and yanked him back. Lucas laughed again. "You are brave, lizard, though I have no use for such thing. I remember when I was young, my brother Maroth and I were ambushed by raiders. I surrendered, but Maroth chose to go down fighting. He was very brave, but now it has been twenty years and he is still dead while I am still alive, so I ask you, who between us was the smarter brother?"

He did not wait for an answer but instead went on, "So tell me, lizard, where did you an your patrol come from?" Lucas scratched his chin. "I will guess you are from the fort near Bir-Houani, since your mounts are still relatively fresh. Tell me, how large is the fort's garrison?"

"I will tell you nothing, desert rat," the Griki replied with a hiss.

Lucas shrugged. "I didn't expect you would tell me, lizard." He rose to his feet. "But you have made a mistake by entering my lands unbidden, and now you must be punished for your trespass. So now I must decide what to do with you. You would be too much of a nuisance if I tried to take you back and sell you at the slave market in Lorelai. So what to do, what to do?"

He made a show of pacing back and forth as if deep in thought. "I could just kill you, but I promised my men that I would give them some entertainment. I admit I was tempted to just go and leave you here to try and find your way home. The desert is a dangerous place, and if the sun or the thirst or scorpions don't finally kill you there are always sand crabs and any number of other creatures who are always looking for a meal."

"But," Lucas went on, "The last time I did that, the lizard somehow managed to survive and tried to hunt me down. I don't like having to kill something a second time, so I think I'll do something different this time. Jonas?" He took a step back and nodded to one of the other Ismaeans, who hefted a weighty club and advanced.

The Griki bellowed in pain as the club swung down again and again, breaking both the creature's legs. When it was all over Jonas stepped back and Lucas nodded in approval. "That's much better." He bent down and grabbed the Griki by the back of his neck so that he couldn't look away.

"Do you know what this, lizard?" Lucas asked, holding up a bone whistle. "This is a very special thing, for it makes a very special call: that of the desert wyvern." The smile was gone, and the Ismaean's voice was cold as he spoke. "So you better crawl fast, lizard, since I've never known a wyvern to pass up so easy a meal as you."

In a single motion he pulled off the muzzle and leapt back, laughing as the Griki's snapping jaws missed his own feet. The other Ismaeans laughed as well as they began to gather up gear and mount the camels which had been picketed nearby. "We ride to Bir-Houani," Lucas said when the group was ready, and as they began moving he blew into the whistle. The call, a terrible and piercing sound, echoed out across the barren expanse of dunes and sandswept rock, disappearing at last into the stark blue horizon. A moment later, faintly, came a reply, and Lucas smiled as he urged his camel into a steady trot.

The Griki scrabbled madly in the sand, struggling to move down the slope as he dragged his broken and useless legs behind him. The call came again, closer now, and the Griki searched desperately for some shelter or hiding place, but there was nothing-- no cover of any kind -- just sand.

A shadow fell upon him.

Act Two
"Shiin!"

The harsh squawk of Laban's voice sent Shiin racing out of the back room, hoping that she could get to Laban before the fat baker's wife had to call her again.

Too late. "Shiin!"

Shiin came to a halt at Laban's side. "You called, mistress?" she asked, bracing for the blow she knew would come.

"Of course I did," Laban snapped, giving Shiin a swat upside her head. "Why didn't you come when I first called?" she demanded, jowls wobbling. "Lazing about as usual?"

"I came as fast as I could, mistress," Shiin replied dutifully, imagining herself planting a fist in the middle of Laban's fleshy face. Shiin was fourteen, thin as a rail, and human. She had been a slave all her life and had never met her parents, though she'd heard that they'd been born free and brought here to Bethaminael.

Laban stared at her with beady eyes. "I'll bet you did." She hit Shiin again, then settled back on her stool. "I need you to get me more salt," Laban said, grudgingly giving over two copper prutahs. "And I expect you to run all the way there and back."

"Yes mistress," Shiin replied, sprinting out of the room before Laban could land another blow.

The street was hot and dirty and crowded, but Shiin didn't mind any of it. She was glad to be away from the baker's shop, with its scorching ovens and irritable Laban, and when she was out in Bethaminael she could close her eyes and pretend she was free.

Shiin darted nimbly down the narrow lanes and alleyways of the city, dodging donkeys loaded down with bundles of wood or flax, perfumed merchants in robes and turbans, and slaves like herself in gray shifts and metal collars. Every race was to be found: Ismaeans, Griki, Sardhels, Lemurians, and humans. It took her quarter of an hour to reach the Street of the Spice-Sellers with its exotic aromas and elaborately sculpted piles of colorful powders, and then another five minutes to haggle out a price for a small bag of salt. She was on her way back to the baker's shop when a commotion down the street made her pause.

"Make way, make way for the Aminael!" A squad of the city guard were pushing aside the crowd, using their spears to clear a path in the narrow street. Shiin found herself backed up into a doorway by the crush of people, and watched the proceedings with wide eyes. The procession was led by a contingent Guardians, the bodyguard of the Aminael who marched past with eyes locked straight ahead and the sun glinting off their helmets and chainmail.

Next came a dozen priests, chanting in low voices as the lead priest swung a thurible in a slow arc. Shiin wrinkled her nose at the smell of the sickly-sweet perfume, but then she forgot about all else as two new figures appeared. One was an Ismaean with a graying beard and dressed in black robes with silver trim. Shiin recognized him as the Shieldbearer Joseph, son of Samuel.

All eyes were, however, on the other figure: the Aminael. The Knower of the Name of God was covered from head to toe in a shimmering white silk embroidered with gold thread in elaborate patterns and symbols, leaving only a small slit about the eyes. The Aminael moved at stately pace, seeming to float down the street as the watching crowd murmurred and some bowed their heads.

As the Aminael went past Shiin, the Aminael's head turned slightly and Shiin found herself staring into a pair of vivid green eyes. Their gaze seemed to bore into her, and after a moment she lowered her gaze. Then the Aminael stopped.

Joseph, son of Samuel turned to the Aminael and asked, "What is it, Knower of the Name of God?"

To Shiin's surprise, the Aminael pointed at her and replied in a clear woman's voice, "Bring that girl to me. She will know the Name."

There was a gasp from the crowd and in an instant all eyes were upon Shiin, who shrank back into the doorway. The Shieldbearer stared at Shiin in surprise. "But..she is a human. And a slave."

The Aminael shook her head slightly. "It is God's will. She will know His Name."

Shiin found herself suddenly alone as those nearby her edged away. Joseph, his face still showing disbelief, held out a hand. "Come here, girl."

Shiin hesitated, then took a tentative step forward. The Aminael watched her approach, the green eyes unreadable in their expression. "What is your name, child?"

Somehow Shiin managed to gasp out her name, and the corners of the Aminael's eyes wrinkled slightly in amusement. "And what is that in your hand, Shiin?"

She looked down at the small bag still clutched in her hands. "It's salt, your Lordship. For my mistress."

The Aminael laughed lightly. "I'm afraid your mistress will have to find her salt elsewhere." A thin hand appeared from the silk and gestured beside her. "Come, take your place, child."

With leaden feet Shiin moved to the Aminael's side, still conscious of the crowd's stare. As the procession began again, she heard the Aminael's voice in her ear. "God has chosen you, Shiin. Your new life begins now."


Act Three
For Abijah, son of Hul, of the House of Ithrea, there was nothing that he touched that did not seem to turn to gold. It was a gift that he had inherited from his father, along with a lucrative business running spices on the caravan leg between Dalicho and Bethsamiel. Abijah had since then expanded into textiles, ivory, metal, and slaves, and had underwritten caravans going as far as Tamarra, Grikus, and beyond. Life was good.

Abijah whistled happily to himself as he rested easily in the saddle of his camel, balancing against the odd back-and-forth movement as it moved. The caravan was moving slowly through Dalicho's narrow gate and into the caravanserai just beyond, and the air was filled with shouts and the sound of camels.

"Master ben Hul, Master ben Hul!" Abijah turned to see his house slave Dhaal pushing through the crowd toward him. The Lemurian had been in the service of the House of Ithrea for thirty years, and despite his age held the bridle of Abijah's camel firmly and pulled it into a seated position. "How are you, Master?"

Abijah swung himself out of the saddle and brushed the dust from his purple robes. "Excellent, Dhaal, excellent. It's good to be back."

"A good run?"

"Better than I could have hoped," Abijah replied, putting a hand. "I didn't sell a single slave for less than forty zuz a head. I'll spend the night here and but I have a load of silk bolts and cumin that will net a pretty profit in Grikus if I can get there fast enough."

"Ah yes, Master..." Dhaal paused, "There is something you must know."

Something in his voice made Abijah pause. "What is it?"

"There is a Griki envoy staying in your house, Master," Dhaal said, eyes downcast.

Abijah stared at his servant, the clear membranes which shielded his eyes from sandstorms slipping down in the Ismaean expression of surprise. "Griki? Here? In my house?"

"They are traveling to Bethaminael," Dhaal replied, looking miserable. "They demanded boarding for the night, and..." He trailed off, but Abijah understood. Only the poorest or cheapest stayed in the caravanserai; a traveler passing through Ismaea could expect to stay in private homes in every town along the way. With one of the finest homes in Dalicho, Abijah had hosted many travelers before, but never Griki...

"And Jada?" he asked.

"The Mistress is well," Dhaal replied, "But she will be happy to see you back, I think."


***

Abijah's home lay down one of Dalicho's narrow and dirty alleyways, marked only by a large red-painted door set into the mud-brick wall. Behind the door was a large open courtyard with the kitchen and stables on one side and a second, smaller door which led into the house proper.

The courtyard was filled with Griki soldiers who lounged about and paid little attention to Abijah as he slipped past into the house. In the style of Ismaea it featured a dozen or so rooms centered around a small decorative courtyard, which was where Abijah was led by Dhaal and another of the house slaves.

"My love, thank God you're here," exclaimed Jara, rising from her seat by the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Abijah had two other wives, in Bethsamiel and Nafur, but Jara was his first and favorite.

"How are you, my sweet?" he asked, embracing her.

"There are lizards in our house," she hissed furiously, "in our house!"

"It's only for a night," Abijah said with a reassurance he did n't feel.

"They're animals," Jara went on, "And they'll eat us out of house and home, if they don't just go ahead and devour us in our sleep. And they want to speak with you."

"With me?" Abijah squeaked, "About what?"

Jara shrugged. "I don't know. I can barely understand that ugly language of theirs. But the lizards are in the guest quarters."

Abijah gulped, then walked slowly across the courtyard to the far side, barely nodding to the two house who bowed as their master passed. Two Griki guards stood at the entrance to the guest quarters and barred the door at Abijah's approach. He took a deep breath and, summoning his courage, said in Griki, "My name is Abijah, son of Hul and this is my house. Your master asks to speak with me."

After a moment's pause, the guards stepped aside and Abijah, heart pounding, stepped inside.

Dalicho, Ismaea; House of Abijah, son of Hul; late afternoon

As Ambassador Aspa walked into the lavish bedroom, he had the Griki equivalent of approval on his face. He turned to the woman who had escorted him and his guards to the room, and said in accented Ismaen, "I thank you for you kindness, madam. May I have a bit of meat, raw is how I prefer, if you will?"

The woman, who seemed terrified and furious at the same time, simply nodded, seeming to shift to fury as she walked toward the kitchen. "Oh, and madam," Aspa called after her, "if your husband arrives, I would wish to see him immediately." She turned a bit and nodded again, not even slowing down.

Aspa turned to the guard commander, "You may go," he said, "and tell the troops to behave." The commander bowed to the ambassador and left without saying a word.

--------------------

When the woman's husband arrived, Aspa had been reading (yes, reading) a scroll about Ismaean caravans of this area that he'd found on a shelf by the bed he now sat on. He put the scroll dow and stood up diplomatically when he heard a man's voice from the entranceway.

When the man entered, Aspa spoke first. "Abijah, son of Hul, I presume?" he said in that same accented Ismaean. The man, in appearance, seemed a decent, fit fellow, though a bit fearful. On the other hand, other peoples always seemed to be fearful of the Griki, especially when they were lodging in their homes.