grievinglands
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Book 5: Chapter 39 - Distant Horizons (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 09:11:13 +0000 UTCAll life is part of nature’s grand tapestry.
- Unknown.
I woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed, ready to face another day and whatever challenges it might bring. Yet when I glimpsed my reflection in the small mirror by the bed, I nearly gasped at what I saw. A fresh scar now ran across my upper cheek, just under my eye, thin but unmistakable, a jagged reminder that I had come much too close to losing more than a patch of skin. For a moment, I struggled to remember how it got there. Then the memory hit me, a filthy elf had somehow slipped a blade through the eye slits of my helmet in the midst of battle. At the time, thanks to thrill of the fight and my unique skills, I had barely registered the pain. But now, safe in my room, the recollection brought a small shiver. An earlier version of myself would have been paralyzed by such a near-death experience. Instead, I simply stared at the scar and shrugged. What was another scar, after all?
With a wry smile, I recalled that my Greater Heal spell could banish every blemish and scar my passive regeneration had failed to erase. However, it came with an annoying limitation: using it would reset my Asura gauge. It made me curse the fate that had brought me here for denying me any “cheat” skills or easy shortcuts. Sometimes, it felt like the world was designed in such a way to make me toil for every meager scrap of success. Why was it always my lot to labor, bleed, and suffer?
Then again, all my successes had been earned through effort. Complaining about life’s unfairness was pointless, and I quickly banished the thought. There were gods in this world, of that I was certain, but they were indifferent at best, and cruelly sadistic at worst, delighting in mortal struggles rather than offering any mercy. Not really worthy to be called gods, yet sulking about it would not change a thing.
A soft knock sounded on my door, and I told whoever stood outside to enter. A servant girl slipped in, bowing slightly before announcing that a messenger waited below. Irritated, I nonetheless made my way downstairs. The common room of the inn was quiet at this early hour.
Standing near the center was a youth of perhaps sixteen summers, though I’ve never been great at judging age. He wore sand-brown robes that concealed light armor beneath. Next to him stood Naira, her posture rigid, her eyes showing little emotion—except for the dull grief that still lingered there. She wore dark fabrics, the only reflection of mourning. For a moment, I pictured her naked and grunting under me, undressing her with my eyes. Poor, unknowing Naira. If only she realized the truth of her daughter’s fate...
“First Tamkar,” the messenger said formally, bowing his head. “You are expected at the Gates of Welcome, by the direct order of the Minister of War.”
I sighed. “Time to save the city again,” I muttered under my breath. “Tell the First Minister I will be there in a turn of the glass,” I said more loudly, doing my best to keep the annoyance from my voice.
“But, samasa, please,” the messenger insisted, fidgeting. “He stressed the urgency of—”
“It’s always the end of the world,” I cut in, my nostrils flaring before I reined myself in. “I’ll be there in half an hour—no sooner.”
The youth glanced uncertain but quickly bowed and hurried off. I turned to Naira and addressed her curtly. “Naira, please have someone wake Larynda. I’ll need help getting into my armor as quickly as possible. Grab as many hands as you can; we haven’t the luxury of time.”
She inclined her head. “Very well, Gilgamesh. But there is the matter of—”
“Yes, payment. You’ll find more than enough gold in my room,” I assured her. She bowed again, relief evident in her eyes—though her sadness did not abate.
As I climbed the stairs to prepare, I could not help but shake my head at the situation. A hero’s work was never done, and once more it looked like I would have to answer the call. At least when all of this was over, I would be sure to bill the city for my troubles.
***
A bleary-eyed Larynda helped me into my heavy armor at the break of dawn, her slender fingers skillfully working with clasps and buckles of the armor that seemed to weigh as much as she did. A handful of servants crowded around, all struggling to lift each ponderous piece before fastening it onto my frame. The young girl’s green eyes shone with a silent discontent, burning with words she dared not speak. One sharp glance from me was all it took to still her tongue, though I read the unspoken reproach on her face clearly enough.
She insisted on accompanying me to the Gates of Welcome, despite the tension that still lingered between us from the night before. “Who knows what sorts of trouble an old man like you will get into if I leave you by yourself?” she sniffed, trying to mask her concern beneath a show of bravado.
“Why?” I asked, more out of curiosity than annoyance. “I thought you’d had your fill of… all this.”
Larynda merely threw me a haughty look, as if to say I should mind my own business. And I did—people rarely appreciate having their mistakes pointed out, especially when they already know they are wrong. I felt a small twinge of pride in my own restraint. Perhaps I was growing wiser, or at least weary enough to keep the peace.
At last, we finished wrestling with the straps and fastenings. My pauldron creaked ominously when I tested its range of motion. Satisfied that it would hold, I gestured for Larynda to follow. We left without guard or escort, for Farzan, the Minister of War, knew well enough I had no love for such a thing. They were often more hindrance than help, especially on the cramped and twisting streets of Al-Lazar.
The city seemed to brood around us as we made our way toward the seaward Gates of Welcome. There had been a time when those gates had truly offered glad tidings to merchant vessels docking along the wharves, but now in the modern age, Al-Lazar had not welcomed a merchant ship in many generations. Still, the salt-laden air tasted of suspicion and tension. People gave us a wide berth, many not even wanting to look upon us, as though expecting violence to erupt at any moment. It made for an speedy pace.
Halfway to the gates, events took an interesting turn. Without warning, a figure dropped down from the rooftops, landing softly in the dusty road ahead. My hand flew to the war hammer strapped across my back, ready to crush any immediate threat.
“And where are we going today, First Tamkar?” purred Kanaia of Holder House Alim.
She was clad in dark blue Coralith armor that hugged her lithe frame, accentuating each subtle curve. Her long hair, bound in a single braid, swayed like a whip at her back. The curious metal plating of her gauntlets ended in wicked claws, a style reminiscent of the old katars. I could not help but admire her form, even as I grimaced at her sudden arrival.
“Do you truly wish to do this here and now?” I asked, my voice low. “Are you unaware of who I am and what I do?”
The citizens around us had already scattered, skittering away behind closed doors like crabs scurrying to hide under rocks. Shutters slammed shut, leaving the once busy street empty save for us, Larynda, and Kanaia.
“Peace, Gilgamesh,” Kanaia said, raising her hands in mock surrender. Yet the gleam of her clawed gauntlets betrayed more threat than concession. “You are a difficult man to find. Alim has questions that have gone unanswered. Some of us still chafe at the new order of things… and as for you, you’re but an instrument of a tyrannical regime. Tell me—how fares my dear friend Aelayah these days? I have not seen our new Sultana in quite some time.”
I curled a lip in a silent snarl. “I’ve no desire to trade words with you on that matter. And I do not relish being threatened. Let’s not pretend this ambush is anything else.”
Kanaia’s lips curved in an oily smile. “It will cost you nothing to satisfy a few small curiosities, Gilgamesh, and in return, you might gain favor. Alim does not forget who helps and who hinders.”
I allowed myself to relax, if only a little, though my grip never wavered on the hammer’s shaft. “And what, pray tell, would favor from House Alim entail?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Kanaia stretched out her syllables as though she were savoring a rare delicacy. “Perhaps the other Houses may be moved to show more enthusiasm for the city’s defenses. Every ruler needs capable allies, after all. Especially in these difficult times.”
I offered her a slow nod, yet kept my expression guarded. “You are all fools to think that now is the time to play such games. You underestimate the threat before you. Still, I will consider it. But for now…”
Kanaia arched a brow. “Yes? What would you have of me?”
“For now,” I repeated, my voice firm, “get out of my way. I must go to the Gates of Welcome.”
An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Then I wish you swift passage. What you see there may push you closer to our side, whether you will it or not. Choose your allegiances carefully, First Tamkar.”
With that, Kanaia leaped back onto the rooftop with eerie grace, a single bound carrying her to the tile overhead. Within moments, she was gone, leaving only the echo of her warning in the hush of the street.
Larynda exhaled a pent-up breath beside me. “That was… unsettling.”
She had a gift for understatement, this girl. “Come. The day grows no younger, and we will have much work to do. And mark my words, next time she appears before us unwelcome, I will end her.”
The girl parted her lips, poised to loose a sharp retort, but the iron in my tone stilled her tongue. Larynda, more than anyone, understood the weight of power behind my words. She knew full well that if any soul could lay claim such, it would be me—and that my threats, idle or otherwise, were never lightly made.
Together, we resumed our march through Al-Lazar’s quiet streets, aware that each shuttered window and closed door almost certainly hid a pair of eyes looking at us with worry and fear. Good, I thought to myself, it was better to be feared than loved anyways.
***
We were met at the Gates of Welcome by a Raqib flanked by half a squad of guards, their armor thick and layered in lamellar with plates at the shoulders and shins. Only their dark, gleaming eyes could be seen through the veils of chain and metal that obscured their faces.
“First Tamkar, Minister Farzan awaits,” the Raqib said, his voice echoing behind his mask. He offered a courteous nod, though it wavered with a certain apprehension.
I dipped my head in silent assent and removed my heavy serpent helm. Surprise flickered across the guards’ eyes as they beheld my face—young, though no longer unscarred. Scars, among these folk, were marks of valor and proof of battles survived. Yet in my own reckoning, the deadliest warrior carried no scars at all—or was simply luckiest.
Here, in this place that the sane would only call barbaric, a warrior’s skill decided a greater part of his fate on the battlefield. In my world, where weapons were much more powerful and indiscriminate in nature, luck and fortune played a much stronger role. War in this world was much less random, much more personal. Death could not be delivered from behind a screen many kilometers away.
Such musings churned in my mind as we ascended the stone stair spiraling within one of the Gate’s tall towers. I spared a glance for Larynda—she climbed in silence, her breath even. Once, she would have groused at every step, but those days seemed distant now.
An arrow slit offered me a glimpse of the threat beyond. What I saw halted me in mid-stride: a new horde had gathered outside the city walls, a dark, shifting sea of the Mer’s armies. Their ranks stretched wide across the horizon, as oppressive as a thunderhead. The ancient walls of Al-Lazar were tall and broad—built by the Giants of old, or so they claimed—but a Hydra’s corrosive breath could undo mighty fortifications. If not the stones themselves, then certainly the men perched atop them, for that fetid exhalation brought swift and agonizing death.
I knew I could face a Hydra alone, if pressed, but I could not stand on every wall, not at once. The horde would test our defenses wherever I was not. The thought tugged at me, a gnawing certainty that mere one man, not matter how powerful, might not be enough. Perhaps I should have accepted Kanaia’s offer…
But a quieter part welcomed the numbers I saw, seeing them for they truly were. Pathetic existences who only existed to be added as numbers to my character sheet. Though the people of Al-Lazar would suffer, I personally could not be defeated.
A small grin, I followed the Raqib onward, letting the tower’s winding stair carry me toward Minister Farzan and the next step in this unwelcome war.
