On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [88]
Terku’s lined face creased into a smile. “A good and true answer, Jashemi. I can ask for no more. Had you agreed, I would never have trusted you.”
He had passed some sort of test. He thanked the Great Dragon, for he sensed that what he would learn would affect everyone in Arukan…and perhaps beyond. Unbidden, the milk-skinned, sand-haired man came into his thoughts. He forced the face away. The circle made room for him, and he sat on the rug that covered the sand. Terku turned to Melaan, who began to speak.
“We have always thought that we were alone,” said Melaan. Clearly, he was restating what the others already knew for Jashemi’s benefit. “We were wrong. Some of the more northerly clans, such as the Clan of the Mountain and the Warcry Clan, have reportedly been attacked by men unlike any they have ever seen. They are pale, with light skin and eyes. Sometimes their hair is pale as well.”
Jashemi’s breath caught in his throat, but he was careful that his expression reflect the surprise he was no doubt expected to show, not the horror of certainty he felt.
“They crash upon us like an avalanche from the mountains, and the clans they have attacked have been all but destroyed. They do not take water or goods, but slaughter merely for the purpose of killing. They take prisoners, and force them to fight in their army. The few Arukani who have escaped capture or death have fled their own lands, fearing recapture by this dreadful enemy. This is painful to these clans; unlike us, they have a bond with their land.”
Jashemi nodded his comprehension. The Sa’abah Clan was nomadic, but he had spent all his life in the same place, as had his father before him. As would his son, should he have one. He was already pining for home after a short time away; he could not conceive of being frightened enough to flee the land which had succored him.
“They have weapons such as we have never seen. Though they have taken many clansmen, we have never been able to take one of them prisoner, to interrogate him; they ingest poison before they can be captured. But we managed to take this.”
He gestured, and a servant approached bearing a wooden box. Melaan opened the box to reveal a piece of folded fabric. The other men leaned in; clearly, they had not seen this yet either. Jashemi licked lips suddenly gone dry.
“It is their standard,” Melaan said, “the symbol of their Emperor.” Grimly, the Second unfolded the fabric, and Jashemi’s heart spasmed.
Prancing on a field of white, stained by the blood of the fallen, was a graceful creature that appeared to be a combination of many other beings. It was the general shape of a liah, with cloven feet and a single, curved horn in its forehead. It was covered in light brown fur, save where scales encrusted its back and neck. The tail of a simmar curved around it, and a long mane streamed in the wind. The slight, tufted beard of a goat adorned its chin, and its eyes were large and brown. A gold chain encircled its neck.
For a moment, Jashemi couldn’t even see, so overcome with horror was he. He blinked hard, swallowing to force down the bitter fluid that suddenly rose in his throat.
While the craftsmanship of the flag was admirable, it didn’t even come close to capturing the beauty of the creature as it had appeared to him while he slept. But there it was, complete with a golden chain, which in his dreams had trailed off into shadow.
Now he knew why he had felt such a dreadful sense of impending danger when he had seen the beast. It was the symbol of the unknown Emperor, who seemed poised to descend upon Arukan with all the merciless force of a desert storm.
A name came to him. Ki-lyn. Somehow, he understood that this was the name of the creature. Where had he learned that? Had he heard it in his dream?
Jashemi stared at the ki-lyn, as did all the other men gathered. No, not quite all the other men. Jashemi felt a prickling at the