Many thanks to Nick Brooke (See our Etyries Link) for his seriously excellent Carmanian background material from which this piece takes much inspiration.
The acrid smell and gentle pops and crackles of the small fire we had fashioned had a calming effect on me. The three of us lay on our sides, forming a rough triangle around the flames to keep the warmth and the light in. I had my cloak wrapped tight around my shoulders although we had escaped the highlands. A night outdoors in the Sartarite Sea season still chills you to the bone when you have been raised within the Glowline. The smoke seemed to have a hypnotic way of following me around the fire. I could feel the wind pushing my cloak against my sweat soaked back, biting at me with icy malice, and yet the smoke was constantly in my face, never theirs. This was the price, I feared, of consorting with Carmanians.
My companions were my own countrymen, all of us Lunars, but I had never met their like before. The warrior did most of the talking, but the wizard was the leader. He exuded command in an unspoken way that had even me silently acquiescing to his smallest gesture. There was more than gratitude for my life in this. Over the years I have come to be a leader of men, and my first lessons were gleaned in the deportment of this quietly commanding Carmanian. I assumed his leadership was by virtue of his nobility, but then it turned out that his companion and bodyguard, Kytaharnes, was also of noble birth. Kytaharnes referred to himself as a fallen Hazar Knight. I had heard of the legendary Carmanian heavy cavalry, though never seen them in action. More to this tale was never ventured, but it was clear that it was a source of great shame to this young noble, and that his present duty was a means by which he felt he could atone for this nameless crime.
We had been travelling in daylight, as slowly and stealthily as we could manage through these hostile lands, and by the third day of our companionship, he felt able to confide in me that our companion, his lord and master was a leader of some stature, who Kytaharnes referred to as Karmanoi. This phrase meant nothing to me, lower class street trash from Raibanth that I was, and indeed under the circumstances of our escape the only one who looked dressed according to their social station was me, anyway.
I had seen the wizard work powerful magics on the night of our escape from the Telmori, and knew that he would have been afforded a major part of the ritual that was at the heart of our doomed undertaking. However, apart from his strangely compelling demeanour, there was little to mark him as noteworthy. By the third day he had only spoken to me twice, once to tell me to be quiet, and secondly in response to a question I had asked of Kytaharnes.
“So where the hell are we?” I had asked.
“We have followed the west bank of the Lorthing River for most of today.” Our leader replied. “Behind us and to the west are the Quivini Mountains, and behind us to the east are the lands of the Culbri Sartarites. It was they, in part, who ambushed us. Ahead lie the lands of the Cinsina Tribe. They live on the open plains and cannot afford to incur the wrath of the Lunar Empire. They will fear any divination which may mark their culpability. We will find a degree of safety there, even in the current circumstances. We must cross to the east bank if the opportunity presents itself.”
Well, at least one of us seemed to have had a better plan than “North”.
As we lay huddled around our fire, Kytaharnes stoked the flames with a scavenged stick and questioned me in his sincere and slightly naive manner.
“Where do you return to, Cleo? Do you have family?”
“My father was crucified. I do not know of my other family. They will have endured or they will have not. I am dead to them anyway.”
“We share a bond, my friend”, he nodded sagely, an act that contrasted comically with his youth. “My name is like the mist over Lake Oronin – gone by the time they awake. I can but hope that it lives on in their dreams.”
His earnest manner brought guilty feelings to me as I smirked inwardly at his attempt at a poetic metaphor. It was difficult not to like him, despite his noble birth. His ironic smile showed that he too saw the humour, and his gap-toothed grin was infectious. Even the Wizard let out a chuckle.
“But where are you from?” repeated Kytaharnes.
“I grew up in Raibanth, in the slums by the Sharoakan Wall on the west bank of Oslira. It doesn’t merit more description.”
“Raibanth? This city was once under the heel of Carmania. Cartavar the Conqueror, grandson of the First Bull Shah once took your city and Yuthuppa from the Dara Happans. You did not know of this?” He had recited this fact as if learnt by rote.
“Perhaps I would have done if he had managed to keep it.” I replied, feeling a stab of anger. “When I last saw that fleapit, the temple at the top of Ayeshara's Mount was dedicated to the Red Moon.”
“Yes”, interrupted the leader. “You are a Lunar, Cleombrotus of Raibanth, as are we, after a fashion. Your people lie at the beating heart of the Empire, and yet you are utterly subservient to it, your true, proud name subsumed beneath a doctrine that has been forced upon the world in the name of freedom and enlightenment. We, however, are Carmanian first and foremost. We walk the path between Full and Empty Half, walking between the light and the dark, and though we may serve the Goddess now, we alone of this Empire will continue to live on after her downfall. The Magi have foreseen this and know of its ultimate truth.”
I suppressed another angry response, and even as I did so I became aware of its incongruity. I had already decided to forsake the Empire. I didn’t know where I would go, or what guise I would take, but my course was set. It was good fortune that had placed me among these strange Carmanians rather than fellows of Dara Happan or Pelorian origin, for my own kinsmen would be more difficult to escape. From the words of the Carmanian sorcerer, I knew that he had little or no concern for my ultimate fate. Kytaharnes, although more honourable and genuine in his outward demeanour, and who I was sure would feel some loyalty after our shared escape, would ultimately do what this Karmanoi instructed and, as like as not, without question.
This became even more apparent in a later conversation I shared with Kytaharnes as we marched northward toward Dangerford, and the Lunar fort there. I had stumbled on a hidden rock, and he had joked about it. I had angrily replied that he sounded like an old woman and that his missing teeth made him look like one. He told me then, stiff backed and proud, that his teeth had loosened and dropped in the aftermath of a battle in which his master had used up most of his magical power. Kytaharnes had offered his very being to the Karmenoi for several Tap spells. I was aghast. However, it was clear that the young Carmanian had done so from a deep seated sense of duty, and considered it an act of some personal note that he had willingly made this sacrifice. Looking at the tragic ruin of his young face, aged beyond its years, it seemed needlessly cruel to reply in anger, and I swallowed my own feelings. In the times since when I have reflected upon Kytaharnes and wondered at his ultimate fate, it is this moment that springs to mind, his face staring at me, resolute and proud. It was, as I have said, difficult not to like someone so earnest, and it was my own reflected guilt – guilt at my yearning for a life free of obligation and duty - that ultimately drove me down the blood-soaked path that I have since followed…