Epilogue
Even with the several thick fur covers upon the bed, Kulira could feel the chill. Especially after Daryya slipped from beneath them. Winter had descended upon the Graatfeld earlier than expected and that had put paid to the campaign until Spring arrived. They could only camp here at the Winter site until the weather became more favourable.
It didn't help relations with the Gaeradine, either. Already, the island folk had become skittish and impatient. Their leader, Anganurg, had still not returned from his foray to the Temple Valley and his search for those blasted Ever Wands.
Kulira could only hope that that barbarian Steppes dweller, the Indūrzj descendent, had put a stop to Anganurg's plan to unite the wands. Of course, Anganurg would return at any time, now. The nose of his small contingent bloodied, but ready to fulfil their obligations and fight to unite all the Strings of the Graatfeld under Kulira's name.
He curled into a ball, clutching the furs under his chin and thinking that Daryya should be in bed with him and, together they could warm each other up. One way or another. He couldn't sleep, though. Not only because of the cold, but also because of the noise outside his Urit. Like a murmur spoken by a thousand voices. Then the curtain door flew aside, letting a frigid wind blast into the Urit and finding every little fold in the furs.
"My Lord! Something has ... someone has ..." Daryya, fully dressed, unfortunately, dipped his head into the Urit, leaving the door curtain open, like a fool.
"What is it, Daryya? Stop the shouting, get undressed and warm me up." He poked his eyes above the furs to give Daryya a playful scowl. Daryya, however scowled already.
"My Lord, you should see this." Daryya entered the Urit and began gathering Kulira's clothes from the cane clothes horse beside the fire pit. He began arranging them to be worn and looked at Kulira with a fearful urgency. Not fear of him, though, Kulira noticed. "The Gaeradine. They're leaving."
Kulira flipped the fur covers aside and felt grateful that Daryya knew his true worth, as the cold hit his naked body, contracting his nether regions to almost nothing. He grabbed his breeches, slipping them on at a speed not seen since his younger, more sexually adventurous days, he stamped his feet into his boots and grabbed his fur lined cloak, forgetting his shirt.
Outside, he could see his own warriors staring at the flurry of movement in the Gaeradine side of the camp, whispering among themselves. Cursing the Gaeradine. Cursing the weather. The Gaeradine had already broken camp and now began marching away to the west, leaving a wide circle as they moved.
"What are you doing? Anganurg ordered you to wait for him!" Kulira grabbed the nearest Gaeradine, who shrugged his arm from Kulira's hand and gave a curt nod to the centre of the circle that the warriors moved around.
Pushing forward through the marching, disgruntled and disheartened raiders, he asked the same question again and again. None answered. Some became aggressive, pushing him away. All pointed towards the centre of the circle. Kulira pushed and shoved his way through until he passed the invisible barrier and his mouth dropped open in shock.
There, upon a stake, in the centre of where the Gaeradine camp had been, was the head of Anganurg. Open eyes and mouth staring and seeming to scream in deathly silence and, at the bottom of the stake, sat Anganurg's hands.
"That ... that is unexpected." Kulira whispered to himself, covering his mouth with the fur collar of his cloak, trying not to retch.
Without the Gaeradine, Kulira could not hope to conquer any of the Pony Rider Strings, let alone all of them. He turned away from the ghoulish sight of Anganurg's head and considered that sending the old man, Brorzjav Indūrzj, against the Gaeradine had been a terrible, fateful error.
(If you enjoyed this story, please check out the other stories in this series, either by searching for the tag, #PatronsWorld, or through this reading list: https://www.wattpad.com/list/1544232111)
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These Old Bones
Fantasi[Book Three of the "Patrons' World" series.] What was he without war? No longer a husband. Never a father. No family or friends to speak of. For decades, war had carried him from one side of the world to the other and back again, but never home. Now...
