Chapter 120

Marc wondered back through the jungle overgrowths, checking the frontlines of the vanguard units, perusing the formations as they kept up their training.

A rainstorm had forced most of the units into their tents – which by this point were tattered and torn vestiges of their former selves. He could imagine the eyes of the Pipers as they slept before the towering might of the city across from the jungle ravines. They were looking at what would soon be theirs – and yet knew that taking the place was simply a means to an end.

It would be a proper siege, Marcus found himself admitting as he nodded to some of the still practicing Tauron in the field, Hialjia knocking a few of their heads together. And the memory of Grindlefecht was still strong in his memories. Maybe, if he was being truthful, that was what was keeping him from signalling the command to strike.

By this time, Nagoya was sure to be back on his throne. Either that, or he’d succumbed to the elements and died alone out in this jungle. Marcus had been spared most of the horrors of its inhabitants by the strength of his forces. The Prince would have no such backup.

But that royal snake was strong. He was resilient. And he was a survivor – Marcus knew such a man by his demeanor alone. They had that in common, alright.

“Hialjia,” he called as he walked the grounds of their camp. “You can give it a rest for the night, you know. Your men may be mounds of muscle, but I’m sure they tire just like any other.”

Some of the massive minotaurs in her corner of the camp chuckled darkly at the suggestion. Hialjia shot them a single look and they quietened their mouths almost instantly.

Respect, Marcus thought with surprise. Almost naturally shown.

“Hialjia is glad to see you back, small Shai-Alud,” the woman grunted at Marcus, pointing a massive finger at his chest. “Now Hialjia can eat bones of the little Prince, right?”

“In time,” Marcus chuckled awkwardly. “But you should cease your training for the night. When this storm abates, we’ll need your strength to bring those walls down.”

Hialjia grunted. “Hialjia’s unit has not been training tonight.”

“But I thought –“

A few chuckles from the minotaurs behind the great Princess started up again, and Hialjia took Marcus aside with a small, childish grin.

“Hilajia has been having Chukrat tonight.”

“Chukrat?”

“Human not have this word,” Hialjia mused as though remembering a prior conversation she’d had with Mari. “In human tongue it is like ‘proposal’. When two are matched together.”

Marcus stared at her, wide eyed. “You mean…all that head smashing and yelling over here was…a display of affection for you?”

Hialjia rolled her eyes. “Tauron male is fighter in all ways,” Hialjia said. “When they find strong female, they are to best all opponents in combat to win her hand.”

“Sounds a little…problematic.”

Hialjia shook her great horned skull.

“Female look for best male only,” she said, pointing at her wounded warriors who had gored eachother through the night. “Why female settle with small, puny man? Female want big Tauron child to kill enemies and raise armies. Biggest male only match for biggest female.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Marcus shrugged. He’d heard far more barbaric ceremonies since coming to this world.

“So?” he asked her. “Have any of your prospective suitors won your heart?”

“Bah!” Hialjia spat, sweeping an arm over the males by their campfire who shied away from her shaming. “Hialjia is Princess of Gorebash tribe. We are famous for making big babies. Our children come out of womb with axe in hand! None of these cows know how to fight like Hialjia.”

“You know, that might be because they were enslaved all this time.”

“Hialjia was slave, too,” the great Tauron growled. “Hialjia never stop fighting. Heart of warrior is never broken by chain or whip. Warrior is not something Tauron of Gorebash chooses to be. It is something Tauron is.”

“You know, you’re quite the poet in your own way,” Marcus laughed as he looked with the Princess at her harem. “You care about the future of your Clan in your own way, just as your males do. But I wonder, Hialjia, what does the lore of Gorebash say about killing unarmed civilians?”

The Tauron furrowed her brow at the concept. “Shai-Alud is meaning snakes? Bah. They could not hurt Hialjia. Hialjia does not care whether they live or die.”

“You don’t have the fires of vengeance in your heart?”

“Vengeance? You mean for slavery? Hialjia does not blame puny snakes. The win their battles and take slaves because their opponents are weak. But the people in their cities are puny and weak, too. Snake-people life is weak life. They are not deserving of good death.”

That, at least, might be a point we can agree on…even if it’s a crude one.

“I happen to agree with you, you know,” Marcus said as he rose and bid the great behemoth adieu. “Let’s crush the real enemy on the field of battle tomorrow, and then we can have your marriage service in a place free from rain.”

“Hialjia get married in mud if it is to right man,” the Tauron replied as he left. “And as long as she can eat Fancy-Prince snake’s bones. He is man who matches Hialjia in combat. He is deserving of Hialjia’s teeth.”

Marcus at first wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

“…Hialjia,” he said as he walked off into the rain. “When we’re done with him, you can have any piece of him you like.”

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--Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives--

Prince Yamrah and his father stood wrapped in conversation, both wishing the other to simply see their point of view.

“I will not risk another son in this war,” Patriarch Jung was saying.

“Is that why you are sending Yaresh?”

“Yaresh is a commander of a fleet, and has an army of ten-thousand at his back.”

“Exactly. Then it will be safe enough to accompany him.”

“I said no.”

“Father –“ the young Prince began, desperately pacing up and down his gilded Patriarch’s balcony. “Why do you deny me the chance to protect our heritage? What good is it for me to sit around here and play games with you?”

“Is that what you think you have been doing all this time?” Jung countered, his cold eyes flashing the heat of barely concealed anger. “Learning the ways of statecraft? Understanding the operations of the council – even being allowed input in the wartime decisions of the nation? You think these things are playing?”

“You know what I mean, father. I am not a child no longe-“

“You are my child,” Jung replied. “You shall always be my child.”

Before Yamrah could plead again, the doors to the Patriarch’s chambers were flung open. Into the room walked a lizard with gleaming battle armor and a cape flowing behind him. He strode into the room, straight-backed and regal, and flung his massive arms open to embrace his father without standing on ceremony.

“My father,” he said, amber eyes twitching with glee. “Witness my return.”

“It would be hard not to, my son,” his father replied, throwing himself into his son’s powerful embrace with laughter that told Yamrah he was done with their prior conversation. “Your fleet’s klaxons can be heard by the Kingdom of heaven itself.”

Prince Yaresh released his father and drank in the sight of him. When he then turned to his Brother Prince, he did so with just as much gumption.

“And look at you!” he beamed. “Look at you – the garb of the statesman suits you, little Brother. Though I must admit you’re packing on the pounds. Has father been over-feeding you?”

“No more so than usual,” Yamrah replied, smiling in spite of his Brother’s candor. The almost childlike enthusiasm of Prince Yaresh had always been as infectious as it was obnoxious.

“We were on our way to greet you among the Council,” Jung said, guiding his son towards the Pagoda balcony. “Which – might I add – is exactly where you should be right now.”

“Oh, please,” Yaresh replied as his father called on a slave boy to pour them all a glass of wine. “Father, I can’t stand those stuffy ceremonies. You know that if I’d spent all my youth obeying every one of our ancestors’ commandments, I would have become a politician instead of a frontline fighter sending humans to their graves by the thousands! Hah!”

Yaresh plopped down on a seat and took his glass without even looking at the serving boy – a pallid Yokun with cracked scales. His father and brother, however, did not meet his statement with enthusiasm.

Only now, looking between them, could he see that he’d interrupted a heated conversation.

“So…come now,” he said. “Tell me what I’ve been missing back on the home front. You a married man yet, little brother?”

Jung watched Yamrah squirm at the question with an impish grin.

“That – well – that is not a-“

“Because I have some very interested young girls I picked up in the North. And let me tell you, they’re approaching their mating season…”

“I – my duties here keep me preoccupied, Brother.”

Both father and eldest son stifled a laugh. Not even Yamrah could make himself believe that.

“Alright, out with it, both of you,” Yaresh stated. “You wouldn’t have recalled me home out of love alone, father. As happy as I am to land in Hokiyama’s shores again, I know there’s something up.”

Jung eyed Yamrah as the latter tried to avoid his brother’s cheerful smile.

A smile that was beginning to die away with each passing second.

“My son,” the Patriarch said as he settled into his chair again. “The situation in the South has changed.”

“The South?!” Yaresh practically spat. “Father – let Nago deal with it. That stuffy fancy-pants was head on the Pale Lady’s heels last I heard.”

Again, Jung and Yamrah shared a look.

“Yes,” the young Prince said. “I thought so, too…”

Yaresh put down his glass and observed their reactions. Slowly, his demeanor was beginning to change.

“Nago,” he stated. “W-what’s happened?”

“Something that concerns you, I’m afraid,” Jung answered over the lip of his glass. “I have a new assignment for your fleet.”