The Saga of Zammar the Great #5: Candahar pt.2

Note: This is part five of a story. If you are seeing this for the first time, you may benefit from reading the previous parts as can be found here: http://zammarahmer.blogspot.ca/search/label/The%20Saga%20of%20Zammar%20the%20Great

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

The high sun beat down on Abasi's bare back, burning the giant gash that had opened vertically across it. He gritted his teeth and kicked the tired camel beneath him in frustration, reminding himself that it was just pain. His left arm pounded with more where the monster had crushed it beneath the large taloned feet. Oh well, he had gotten even with that one...and the arm still functioned well enough. He wanted to drift, to fall away like his single sleepy eye kept encouraging him to in the desert heat. His vision was narrowing, the blackness of his eyelid slowly taking over from the painful glow of the sun. He felt himself swaying just slightly, his head slowly drooping down...Just a bit more and he'd be off this bothersome camel. Just a little bit more...

"How much further do we have to go?!" Jamil's irritatingly high voice crooned out in complaint behind him, instantly bringing Abasi back to the world with a start. He cursed under his breath in anger. 

"Kairo is on the other side of the world you retard...We'll never make it." Hadi replied glumly, his own voice being a pitch lower but similarly irritating. 

"Fuck man, I wanna go home...I don't want nothing to do with those fucking things no more." Jamil replied. 

Abasi sighed inwardly, furious with himself for picking Hadi and Jamil. How was he meant to know how spineless the pair were? They were both above blackness of eighty and neither were badly wounded. He had figured that meant they must have been good, pure blooded fighters. Now, he realized it was probably just proof that they hid away during the fight. 

Their constant complaining had done nothing but chip away at his patience, breaking it down in tandem with the heat. It was remarkable how different the weather was on this side of the Dragon Peaks. Here, it felt like autumn hadn't even started to bathe the world in cool. Once they had crossed the furthest reaches of most small streams from the mountains, the landscape quickly changed from the grassy prairie to a vast, barren desert of hard rocks and loose dust underfoot. Many rivers still coursed through here, fed by the headwaters in the mountains to west, none of which were conveniently close to the path that Abasi had chosen to travel. 

"Imad, weren't you from around here?" Hadi asked. 

"From there." Abasi turned just slightly at the deep voice to see the tall, muscled man pointing his long hand to the massive plume of smoke they were approaching. His face seemed completely impartial to the destruction of his childhood home. 

"Fuck...sorry man." Hadi replied. 

They stopped their camels at the edge of the village; the fifth ruin they had come to. The air had grown noticeably heavier as they approached, and now the smell of burned wood hardly prevailed over that of flesh. It was impossible to tell the layout any more; all the wooden structures had collapsed and burned. Few logs remained, the rest of which had been transformed into ashes littered with bones and limbs. Amongst the debris, the once vibrant colours of childrens toys stuck out of the otherwise monotonous scene. On a tall pole, still standing in the center of the village, the lonely flag of The Blacklands flew lazily in the warm wind. The black canvas, bordered with red, had been slashed where the golden headrest was meant to be.

Abasi turned to face his men, he didn't really want to look at the ruin of a loyal village, the bodies were still too visible, the failure of The Blacklands military far too clear. 

The memories of the battle were still fresh in his mind. It was far worse than any he had been in before. At least when you fought a human, you expected a human to fight you. There was mercy, empathy; hesitation at your pain. But not with these monsters. They had charged through his forces, ripping good people to shreds without a second thought...Playing with the bodies like toys. That was truly horrifying, even for a war hardened man like him. He stood by his men, watching the good soldiers be shredded apart in gory fountains of blood and organs. The things he saw that day still haunted his dreams several nights later, it had been painful and horrifying; well beyond inhumane. Kampalla definitely had not been ready. 

After the gates fell and the enemies began to stream down the ramps, he had commanded all remaining troops to retreat to Fort Koboko, using a thick barrier of brave, sacrificial soldiers to hold off the enemy and buy them time. It was the only choice, the monsters would have circled around to surround all of the forces from the rest of the causeway. 

A part of him had felt guilty, horribly guilty for abandoning the thousands of people that lived between the Eastern gate and the fortress. His only comfort was that most of them should have evacuated to the west, and those that didn't were probably retarded half blooded refugees anyway. 

Fort Koboko held for at least two hours, but there was no hope. The monsters had them surrounded, and Abasi knew he had to get out and get word to the Pharaoh. He grabbed two men from the parapets, based on blackness and injury severity before finding Imad. Though he was pretty beaten up, Abasi trusted that man with his life. He led the trio deep underground to the emergency passage that only the commanders knew about, which took them safely outside the Kampallan ring. Abasi had half expected his colleagues from the other gates to be attempting an escape through there, but it was eerily empty. 

By the time they found the camel pens, giant hordes of monsters were streaming out from the other end of the city and in to the Blacklands. Kampalla had fallen, leaving The Blacklands open for the taking. He, as a commander, should have died with it. But his sense of duty was more important than some absurd notion of honour. The most important thing was that the Pharaoh knew about this new threat...Before it was too late. That was what the guilt ridden Abasi kept telling himself. 

"Fuck man...Those monsters were brutal!" Jamil said, urging his camel forward as he looked at the ruins of the village fearfully. He was a scrawny man, with a flat, hairless face and short cropped hair. He looked incredibly unsteady on the back of the animal, as if the slightest gust would topple him.

"I know, what the fuck. How were we meant to fight that? Shit. Look what they did to these poor people." Hadi replied, slightly taller and more muscled than Jamil, his face was a lot more angled and sharp, with a neatly cropped goatee. 

"Fight? you can't fight those things!" Jamil wailed annoyingly.

"Shut the fuck up you two." Abasi growled, regarding the two young soldiers with his single eye. "I don't give a fuck about how strong our enemy was." 

He gestured to the ruin behind him. "You see this, you little shits? This is our fault. We were meant to protect these people, they were fucking counting on us. And look, now they're fucking dead. So shut the fuck up and accept your failure as a man of the pharaoh. Then don't let this fucking happen again." 

Hadi and Jamil turned to each other quickly before casting their heads down in embarrassment. "Yes chief..." Hadi managed to whisper hoarsely. 

Abasi turned to make eye contact with Imad, the man was scanning the ruins of the village impartially. The multitude of cuts and bruises across his bare chest were only just beginning to heal and still glistened in the bright sun. His long, braided hair swung sideways as his head moved side to side. 

"Imad, you okay?" Abasi asked. 

"Yes chief." His reply was calm. 

"Good. Let's get moving, we need to find more water." He didn't wait for an affirmation, turning to lead his camel off the path to the north. Though it was away from the necessary direction, the Iury river ran somewhere along there, and their canteens were dangerously dry.

His camel had just stepped off the paved road on to the dusty rock when Imad called behind him. "Chief, look there." 

"Eh?" He grunted, wearily turning around to follow the mans gaze. In the distance, an immense trail of dust was being thrown up by something moving incredibly fast. Silhouetted by the high sun, it shot across the hazy horizon like a blurry hallucination. He squinted to try and make it out as his camel hobbled over to Imad. "What the fuck is that?" 

"I think a horse, Chief." 

Abasi's eye grew wide in surprise. There were no horses in the Blacklands. And this one, it moved with incredible speed. Surely no one would dare enter the realm of the Pharaoh? He squinted again, finally making out the galloping figure at the head of the dust trail. There were three silhouettes sitting on its back. 

"Holy shit, those fuck heads." His voice was a quiet whisper.

"What is it Chief?" Hadi asked. 

"Fucking white people. They think that just because Kampalla fell they can enter The Blacklands? Fuck that." He kicked his camel until it started to trot. 

"Chief? Where are you going?" Jamil called after him. 

"Come on," he yelled over his shoulder. "We're gonna stop those little shits." 

But even as his camel trotted forward at its fastest, the horse and its riders had already disappeared beyond the horizon. 

**

"Candahar." Zammar said solemnly as Arion summited the gentle hill that formed half of the shallow valley before the city. The recently risen sun painted the scenery with an orange glow, bringing life to the gentle slopes as it glimmered off the grains of dust. The resulting glare was almost blinding in its bright intensity. 

Tristan looked down at the city with growing joy. A large, muddy river ran along the eastern edge, gently coursing through the flat landscape. Hardy plants painted the coasts with green, in stark contrast to the desert they had been riding through. Across the water, fertile farmland stretched far to the horizon. From above, the entire city looked like the leaves of a palm tree. A long mud structure that resembled a palace was situated right at the edge of the river. From it, roads branched out in long, graceful curves that stretched to the edge of the city. Smaller alleyways shot off from these, disappearing behind the cube like huts that lined all the streets. Somewhere near the center of the city, all of the roads converged in to a large, circular clearing. Here, three rectangular platforms were being erected by small groups of people, slowly beginning to take shape as wooden planks were hammered in to place.

Beyond the roads, the walls themselves were made of wooden poles that reached twenty feet high, ending in sharp points. Together, they formed a single structure encompassing the entire city, creating a giant semicircle with the river along its straight edge. The two layers were separated by a walkway that was brimming with dark skinned, bare chested people carrying spears and decorated shields. 

Behind them, the houses that surrounded all of the roads were indistinguishable. Similar to the cuboid of a palace, they were simple mud cubes with crudely cut windows and rags that acted as doorways. Having only ever seen the wooden huts of his forest village, it was a style completely foreign to Tristan. Although he had to admit that it did make sense, considering the complete lack of trees anywhere in sight.

He had also never seen so many people in one place. The entire city seemed bustling with the dark sea of bodies, though from the distance and height they looked remarkably small. Despite that, the fact that so much of the roads were hidden beneath the people meant he could imagine how crowded it must be. Even then, Candahar must have been less than a quarter the size of Kampalla. 

"We made it." He whispered to Ren, who sat in front of him, her arms tightly wrapped around Zammars muscular abdomen. 

"Yeah..." The joy on her face, as she turned back to give him an angelic smile made his heart skip a beat. "We got here in time." 

"All thanks to this guy," Tristan added, patting the soft brown coat of fur beneath him. As if in response, Arion began a slow trot down the hill. Crowds of Candaharran people were already gathering in a large group around the gates to stare up at the horse. 

Tristan was sore. Three of them had ridden on horse back - a new experience for him, for two days and two nights. Arion on the other hand did not seem nearly as fatigued. The horse carried the burden of all three effortlessly, never asking for a break until insisted upon by Zammar. And the speed with which the beast had traversed the desert was magnificent, galloping across rock, dirt and sand alike with reckless abandon. The least Tristan could manage to do was keep Ren on the horse whenever she dozed off. He didn't really get much rest himself. On the other hand, the current slow trot was a welcome change.

To add to his misery, Tristan had never been somewhere so hot before. His village had always remained cold, even deep in the summer months. But here, the sun combined with humidity to wear him down, draining his energy and drowning him in his own sweat. It had contributed to his self consciousness, but Ren, who seemed similarly affected by the heat, had been hard pressed to notice him with Zammars glistening back in front of her. Still, he felt much more comfortable, for a multitude of reasons, travelling through the chilly nights. 

"Do you think they'll let us in?" He overhead Ren whisper to Zammar. 

"Candahar is...rather distant from Kairo. They are a bit of an outlyer in The Blacklands; abandoning the Kairan religion lost them favour with the pharaoh. And look, they prepare for the attack, they know the Und'kal are coming. They have to let us in." The man's reply was a lot bolder. 

"Why wouldn't they?" Tristan inquired, only to be met by awkward silence.

They were approaching the gates now, where a large group of people had gathered to watch. Tristan had never seen anything like it. Most wore nothing more than a plain loincloth, revealing dark, sweaty torsos to the unforgiving sun. Some had decorated gorgets made from metal rings of various colour, and fewer had exotic headdresses with red feathers that stuck straight up.

Women, like men, carried the long spears that dripped with black liquid. Their bare breasts were not at all covered by the intricate, rainbow like necklaces. Tristan was mesmerized for a moment by the way they bobbed up and down, with large, dark nipples staring up at him. He had seen Sangmu's breasts often enough when she had to feed the babys, but most of these were immense. Even Rens weren't...He blushed at the thought and looked back down at the horse.

As Arion came to a stop a few meters in front, a tall, aging man wearing a headdress and ornate gorget stepped forward from the gathering. He seemed to be the only one that wasn't staring at Zammar in muted, but strangely wary awe. "You should not be here, leave now!" His hoarse voice carried across the silent valley, adding to the heavy atmosphere that had fallen so suddenly.

"My friend, we come in peace and seek entry to your home." Zammar said, dismounting Arion. Tristan followed, and put out his hand to help Ren down.

The man narrowed his eyes. "You will not pass the requirements...You should not even be in The Blacklands."

"The Und'kal are coming...We can help you!" Ren cried abruptly, stepping forward to stand next to Zammar.

The man looked at her. "We do not need the help of a weak white woman."

"Hey! She's not weak!" Tristan almost yelled, stepping forward past Ren. She looked up at him with wide eyes, a single hand clutching his sleeve weakly. He hesitated at her touch, slowly glancing down at his other hand. It was resting threateningly on the cold hilt of a scimitar on his belt. When had he placed that there? When had he even picked up that blade? It must have been from one of the villages, but why couldn't he remember? And why did he take a dead mans sword?

"Tristan don't," she whispered.

"Why won't they let us in?" He suddenly felt disoriented.

"Hey you, look at me." The man yelled, causing Tristan to jump. He had watched the exchange warily and now glared at Tristan for a long time, trying to assert his authority, before taking a quick, fearful glance towards Zammar. "We'll check just for formalities, but you people will need to leave." He motioned to another man behind him who walked forward carrying a large, bulky black box.

"Don't!" Ren cried, clutching Tristans arm. But that didn't stop the man with the box. He took Tristans free arm and stuck his hand through a small opening in the boxes side before quickly pulling a metallic lever on its other side.

"Ouch!" Tristan exclaimed, pulling back his arm in surprise after a sharp sting.

"Look," The man motioned to the top of the box, where a glass cover showed some liquid swirling behind it. On a wooden platform above the fluid, Tristan was surprised to see a visible patch of skin. He looked down at his hand and noticed the small pink square where it had been stung, matching the dimensions of the skin. With a suddenly malicious grin, the man began to crank a wheel next to the lever and the platform slowly lowered. Once the patch of skin drifted off it, the white liquid instantly turned to a milky green colour.

The man grinned, and turned around to the crowd. "He's only a twenty five!" He was met by rambunctious snickering and jeering, the crowd suddenly lost in some unknown joke. The sudden, mocking laughter ringed with the harmonic overtones of a hundred voices as they echoed lightly off the shallow valley, banishing the heavy atmosphere of a moment before. It was soon met with the incoherent babbling of voices as loud conversations and movement began forming in the crowd.

"What?' Tristan was startled when Ren turned him around and embraced him in a hug.

"I'm sorry!" She whispered into his chest.

"I'm okay...what's going on?" Tristan asked, patting her back.

"Enough with this pointless and absurd ritual. Let us in!" Zammar boomed with finality, unsheathing Calesol and bringing it down in front so that the blade stuck in to the ground with his hands rested on the pommel. The hundreds of people that had gathered from the city instantly fell quiet at the imposing picture of the muscled man and his giant blade. The change was instantaneous; the cheery crowd transforming in to a petrified mass, the loud laughter cut off instantly in fearful silence. The air seemed to grow even heavier.

"No!" A voice called out from the crowd. A man ran forward, bracing his long spear and pointing it at Zammar. His entire body was shaking in fear, despite the otherwise steady stance. His bravery seemed to be embolden the rest of the crowd, as dozens more people ran forward to stand by his sides with their weapons ready and pointed at Zammar. "Leave our land, white man!" The first man yelled, braver now by virtue of his companions.

"What's going on here?" A strong, deep voice boomed from behind the crowd, cutting through the delicate tension. The gathering parted suddenly, with remarkable precision, to reveal a dark, well muscled man standing under the open city gates. Like his loin cloth, he had a sash made of leopard skin, which stood out from the rest of the gathering. His headrest was larger than any others Tristan had seen, with an alternating arrangement of long red and white feathers. The gorget around his neck reached well below his chest line, hardly hiding the many ancient scars that covered his torso and legs. Similar flaws added an uncanny hardness to his otherwise plain face, placing the man in an eternal, angry frown.

He walked forward, past the gathering, with his head held high. Despite being a similar height to his compatriots, he seemed to stand a head above them. Behind him was a procession of more men, undistinguished from the rest of the city men but for the leopard skinned loincloth and the feathers that streamed at the tip of their spears. They followed in two straight lines immediately to his sides, their faces locked in complete neutrality.

"Move." He commanded as he reached the weapon bearers that had formed an arc in front of Zammar. Reluctantly, they split in half, circling around to Zammar's sides while still bearing their blades.

"Abejide." Zammar said in a strong voice, with the slightest nod of his head.

The mans eyes narrowed in recognition. "Give me one good reason why I should let you in." His voice was firm, without the slightest indication of the usual hesitation that usually accompanied talking to Zammar.

Zammar opened him arms with a gorgeous smile. "Is not our old friendship reason enough?"

The man cocked an eyebrow. "You have a habit of bringing trouble to my people."

"And I'm sorry to say that I bring more."

"The monsters that have swept across the land. Yes, we know. As you can see, we are preparing to fight. What is this?" He asked, motioning to Tristan and Ren forcefully.

Zammar placed both hands on Rens shoulders and moved her in front of him. "This, Chief Abejide, is Brenda Ansari - The Queen of Torst."

The Chiefs eyes grew wide in surprise as he looked between Zammar and Ren in confusion. It was a short while before his confusion slowly turned to a shrewd smile. "You sly bastard." He whispered under his breath.

"I suppose that is a good reason for me to let you in...Come." The Chief announced, more loudly. He turned, and his procession of men suddenly spread out so that Zammar, Ren and Tristan were within the circle they enclosed. Together, they walked through the ornate wooden gates in to the city streets. Behind them, the crowd started muttering quietly, the weapon bearers angrily, but with great relief, relaxing their stances. Tristan felt their hard stares pierce his back, adding to his disoriented confusion. Why were the city people so reluctant to let them in?

However, the moment they walked through the gates, he completely lost himself in its marvel. Around him, people of all ages and gender were running, shouting and socializing. The preparations for battle were well under way. The ends of spears stuck out from enormous cauldrons that bubbled with thick, black and vehement liquid. Next to these, wooden tables had piles of the dangerous looking weapons, around which people were crowding. In other huts, an orange glow permeated the dark interior where hot furnaces melted metal. The air filled with clanging as old men beat the metal in to shapes with powerful swings of a hammer.

Naked children ran around between the city streets, but everyone stepped aside for the Chiefs procession. Their reception mirrored that given at the city gates. These people stared at Tristan, Ren and Zammar with wide, surprised eyes. Tristan saw disbelief and wonder, he even winced at the way some of the men were looking at Ren. But despite the curiosity in a few people, many seemed brimming with rage. They looked at him and her with angry eyes and neutral composure. It made him feel out of place, like he did not belong here, like he was not wanted.

The most common looks were those given to the immense figure of Zammar. Women all stared wide eyed and dropped what ever they were carrying. They did not even manage to gossip to those around them, so stunned were they by his incredible presence. The men too could not stop themselves from turning back to look at him continuously. Tristan knew the feeling all too well.

The city though! How wonderful! There were an incredible number of people. All living harmoniously under the same rule and behind the same walls. The scale of it was well beyond what he could comprehend. From the ground, it seemed to stretch forever. The streets, filled with mysterious noises and scents, disappeared in to the low horizon, hiding their mysteries in dark alleyways that branched off unexpectedly. And the people, each of whom lived a life as full as his own. They all looked so similar to him, contributed to by the fact that all of them dressed the same way. Loincloths and bare chests on all. Men and women seemed to be performing tasks in the same number, regardless of what it was that they did. Just like men, the women helped forge weapons, and just like women, the men carried bundles of strange yellow fruit in big baskets on their head.

Having lived in a village that numbered less than fourty for his entire life, Tristan could hardly believe that there were so many other people in the world. He recalled the stories that travelling bards would bring, of enormous cities, bustling with culture and livelihood. If this was Candahar, then what must Kampalla have been like? How many people had made their homes in that ruined city? What about Torst?

He took his eyes off from the mud huts that seemed so identical to him, with the smallest variations in decoration and structure, and turned back to the conversation ahead of him - it was probably important.

"So, Torst was the first to fall. Here I thought that all the rumours filtering through Kampalla were fraudulent. And now, they have fallen too. We have lost all communication with the villages west of Tyar." The Chief said to Zammar.

"Indeed, without Kampalla, The Blacklands were ripe and open for the taking. The villages were brought to ruin, we passed the remains of many. A lot of people are dead Abejide. A lot."

"May the gods save us."

"Abejide...take the advice of an old friend, do not underestimate this enemy."

"Indeed, but you know my people, we can not run. It is not our way, and here we have survived purely because of our supposedly obnoxious stupidity."

"But your walls are wooden! And The Blacklands don't have the cannons of Torst...Even those did not help my home...Chief you can not hope to prevail here!" Ren intervened from next to Tristan, shocking him at her conviction.

The Chief turned to face her. "Young Queen, whether we win or not is of no concern. We will stand here, at the home of our ancestors and fight to shine them in the honour that is due."

"But, you can retreat further in to The Blacklands, get more allies. I will work to unite us with The Whitelands, together we can coordinate a proper counter attack. Stay here, and your people will die..." She was practically pleading.

"Young Queen, you have noble intentions and a just cause. I wish you the best in those. However, that is not our way. Besides, our ancestors founded this city on the outskirts of The Pharaohdom to escape the Kairan religion. The Pharaoh is not exactly our most avid supporter."

"Ren, I hate to admit it but by the time Candahar has mobilized to move, the Und'kal will be upon us. And there is no other city close enough for sufficient reinforcement." Zammar said, looking at her sympathetically.

"Then Candahar will stand alone?" She asked, turning to look at the wooden walls trepidly.

"I feel you underestimate our resolve, young queen. Still, may the gods watch our glorious demise." The Chief replied with a smile.

Ren was quiet for a moment before turning to him with a wide grin. "No, not alone...You have the full support of the Torstian army...Which isn't really much any more by the way." Tristan took a quick glance at Zammar, he was smiling warmly in her direction. I'll support her too, he reaffirmed.

The chief was incredulous. "My queen, you must go to the Pharaoh...Unite the shattered lands, that was your mission. We can buy you time to do that."

"I will not abandon you, Chief Abejide. We'll make it through this, somehow."

Abejide looked at her with a blank expression for a long moment before breaking in to a smile. "Thank you, my queen. If we do survive this, you have my full support as well as respect."  He turned to look at Zammar, "And it will be good knowing that you will be on the battlefield."

Zammar smiled, "Always an honour, chief."

"Very well, I will convene a meeting with the elders and Chief Hirat to discuss these new happenings. My queen, is there anything I can get you or shall we get started right away?"

"Abejide, we have journeyed long and hard. The Queen is tired, allow her rest and let me speak in her stead this once." Zammar said firmly, laying a hand softly on Rens shoulder.

"If she is okay with that."

Ren nodded. Tristan hadn't realized it, but Zammar was right. She had been fighting it, but Ren looked just about ready to topple over.

They had reached the palace at the end of the city roads. There were no fountains of water or flower gardens as he had heard about the palaces of Indus. Rather, it looked similar to every other hut in the city, with the same box like shape. The difference was in its significantly larger size, and the dome that made its roof. The barren, single story walls stretched for a few hundred meters in each direction from the large gateway that they were at. Along them, small windows hinted at the mysteries of the rooms within. The gateway had red streamers dangling down from its sides, displaying an emblem of a large black tribal mask.

Tristan had never seen such a large building before, or at least an intact one. Then again, the Fortress at Kampalla must have been magnificent in its former glory.

Though the sun hadn't really risen yet, he was grateful for the shade as they entered the spacious and surprisingly dark reception hall. The rectangular room was situated directly underneath the large dome in the center of the palace. It curved overhead in its entirety, composing a roof that seemed remarkably distant at its apex.

The domes underside had been painted black, and studded with stars. Many of these linked together with white lines to form humanoid figures whose faces that indicated various expressions. They formed circles from the outside of the dome, the outer most one composed of small people locked in some dance. These circled outside a smaller ring that contained more dancing figures of greater size. Three more rings of dancing figures continued to the center of the dome, the size of the figures in each ring increasing as the quantity decreased. Finally, three figures stood solemnly in the central most ring, looking down on the guest hall with completely neutral and surprisingly man like expressions.

 Each figure looked remarkable humanoid, apart from the three in the center. These had strange, animal bodies with a human head. One was clearly male, despite the four legs and tail, another was female, despite the wings on her back. The third, displayed the most humanoid body, which had both breasts and a member.
Tristan was hard pressed, but finally he began to recognize some of his known constellations. Except, here they had been drawn over and many encompassed parts of more than one figure. It seemed that in this city, these constellations did not even exist. The dark roof merged seamlessly with the walls, which had been painted in a gradient that went from the similar dark of the roof to a much lighter blue by the uncannily plain floor.

Abejide and Zammar had already left, leaving behind two men to guide the queen. He followed along as Ren was led through the hall to a room at the far end of the palace. It was a cozy enough place, despite the lonely emptiness inside. A single window set high in the wall gave a view out to the river just a few meters beyond. Below it, a bed made of the same mud as the walls had been prepared with thin pieces of straw. Once the chiefs men had left, Ren walked over to sit on it.

"I think I'd rather sleep on the mountain ledges." She said, palming the hard mud softly.

"Here," He removed the pack from his bag. A little white figure scurried out of it and on to Rens lap as he took out the Yak fur sleeping bundle and started setting it up on the bed behind her.

"What about you?" She looked at him with big, apologetic eyes.

"Don't worry about me, I don't even need sleep!" He replied, taking a seat next to her and stroking the little fox kits fur. It was almost fully grown now, with a thick coat of white fur broken only by a few small patches of brown, and fully independent. He had stopped feeding it completely, and had been proud of the way it had learned to hunt without a mother. Animal instincts truly could be strong. He thought of what it had been like to be an Und'kal warrior. Apart from the Prime directive, their lives seemed to be commandeered solely out of instinct. And, it had been a remarkably powerful instinct.

Ren dropped her head to the side, resting it on Tristans shoulder. His heart leaped for a quick second, but he was used to the contact. She was quiet for a long while, that he spent calmly breathing in her aromatic scent.

"I'm scared..." She finally whispered.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to let the Und'kal hurt you. And I don't think Zammar would either." He tried sounding brave.

"I'm scared they won't accept me."

"Oh, the people of the city?"

"Everyone..."

Tristan sighed inwardly. There really was nothing he could to reassure her about something that he felt so certain about. He moved his arm to put it around her, snuggling her in closer. "They will." He whispered.

They stayed like that for a long time. Tristan allowed himself to get lost in thoughts of his home. Had the villagers safely reached Kathman and Lions Gate? Most of them had never even gone beyond the plateau...And Kathman was a high eyrie situated at the summit of a tall mountain. Without their own birds, it was near impossible to reach.

"What did you think of the city?" She asked.

"Uhm, it is very strange." He replied.

She gave a short, sad laugh. "How come?"

"Hmm, I guess I feel a bit like an outsider. It's lovely to see all the people here, but they all look very similar... And I keep thinking I saw the same person even though I know it's a different one...I also don't understand what happened at the gate, why weren't they letting us in?

Ren didn't say anything.

"Oh, and also I don't think they like clothes very much." He added, causing her to giggle glassily and slap his leg.

"Don't pretend, Tristan, I did see you staring!"

"Wha? Me? No no, I would never!"

She laughed again. He would kill to hear that sound.

"It's nice how everyone is preparing to fight together. No one seems scared, they're all making each other stronger."

"Will you fight, Tristan?"

He hesitated, "Yeah..."

Ren pulled away to look up in to his eyes. "Tristan, you don't have to..."

"No but, you're right. So many people are dead...We have to stop them, we have to stop them from killing more, right?"

She placed a hand on his face. "But be careful okay? They are vicious...They...They're horrible."

Why didn't she understand? The Und'kal didn't know anything else, it was their instinct at the most basic level..."Don't worry, Zammar's been training me!" He gave her his best smile.

"Okay, but just...don't hesitate okay? They...They've done terrible things...Torst, your home...all those people...Tristan, please just promise me you won't hesitate, okay?"

He wanted to hold her tight, reassure her that he would fix this, that he would bring peace to all, and ease her burden. "Okay, I promise." He said instead.

She sighed in relief. "Good, I want you to have this," she reached down to her belt and pulled out the Torstian longsword from its sheathe.

Tristan looked at it with wide eyed surprise. "But...no...That's special, that's from Torst, that's yours!"

"Don't worry, I have my bow. Listen, I want you to hold on to it...Hold on to it and remember your promise to me, okay?"

He took it from her tentatively, "I don't know what to say, Ren..."

"When we're done and through this nightmare...give it back, okay? Promise you'll be there to give it back."

"I will be Ren, we'll survive this." He snuggled her back in, placing the sword at his other side.

"I hope..." She whispered to his chest.

The long silence that followed was broken by the fox kit yapping happily and rolling in Rens lap to scratch behind its ears. She looked at it tiredly.

"He's so carefree." Her voice sounded drowsy.

"Yeah."

"So...I know you don't like naming animals...But can we name him?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Air...Because he's free, like the wind."

Tristan chortled slightly. "Anything you say your majesty."

She gave a soft, tired giggle. "Go out and find yourself a nice girl Tristan, I know you like them here..." Her voice slowly died down to a whisper.

"I already have..." He whispered eventually, to the back of her head.

"mmm..." she replied drowsily, drifting off to the vestiges of sleep.


Authors Note: 

Hello again my friends! As usual, I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this story. Your time is greatly appreciated! (really, it is!).

Anyway, following in the example set by part 4, part 5 is similarly short. It ended up being longer than I had initially planned, simply because I edited in a lot more detail. However, I think it turned out for the better.

With all that said, there are a few things about this story that I wanted to clear up. I mentioned a lot of these facts, or implied them in the previous parts...But I think that part 1 especially, which was really important in this regard, was not written well enough to bring emphasis to these points. I would love to rewrite that part some day, but for now I just wanted to clarify a few things about some of our characters.

Ren: In part 1, Ren had a flashback where she was 7. That was 10 years prior, so she was 17 when Torst fell. By this point in the story, she is 18. 

Tristan: In part 2, Tristan mentioned that Ren was around his age. He is 19 at this point in the story. 

Zammar: age:?????? 

Abasi: Abasi is an old, war hardened man. His exact age isn't mentioned, but you can imagine him to be somewhere in his 50's. 

The Und'kal are aliens that came from a planet named Ghekyal. Their story is shown in part 4, but many mysteries still remain as to their society. Zammar was the first to make contact with them, and he brought bits of knowledge (such as what they are called, and the types of Und'kal) with him to the humans, this was implied in pt.1 but I think it wasn't that clear. 

The story is set in an alternate universe, that is geographically similar but not identical to Earth. Mainly, we start off in a mountain region similar to the Himalayas, known in this universe as "The Dragon Peaks." A large portion of this mountain range falls under the neutral territory protected by Torst. The territory is centered such that it shares a border with the four others - Indus, The Blacklands, The Whitelands and The Dragon Empire. 

It does not however share the same timeline as real history. Each territory warred and isolated itself from the others in the historic 5 great racial wars and their aftermath, to the point where each evolved technologically separately. As you can see here, there are no horses in The Blacklands. 

Each territory is comprised of people representing a skin colour. This means that the type of people you will see in various parts of the universe differ from those found in the real world in the same place. For example, this part described dark skinned people of The Blacklands. 

In the story, " ** " is a symbol that indicates a character switch. This is usually accompanied by a time skip of some sort. " * " Indicates a time switch, but not a character switch. 

There are probably lots of other things you are confused about! If so, please don't hesitate to ask me. And on that note, please tell me what you think of the story so far and what you thought of this part.

It is a bit weird, since "Candahar" was basically meant to be one uniform series, and separating it in to chapters sometimes feels like not enough is happening. But I think, and hope, that it will come together.