Azazor finishes crossing the rope bridge that connects two cliffs of the great ridge. A very rudimentary bridge. A rope at the top to hold on to and a rope at the bottom to put his feet on. Obviously, impossible to cross with a mektoub.
Carrying all his stuff on his back since his departure from The Citadel, the climb was a hell. Between stairs carved in the bark, ladders most of them extremely worn, ropes to pull oneself up with the strength of arms and legs, and now this izam bridge as they call it, because many izams like to perch there. Yes, he knew it was going to be hard, but not that hard. He hadn't had this much trouble since crossing the Verdant Continent, when he had to climb big roots with the mektoubs. Such a crossing would be for him so easy today… That time seems to him so distant. He was still with Eeri then, he was still trusting her...
He sits down for a moment to catch his breath. No kitins on the horizon, unlike yesterday when he had to wait several hours because a group of kirosta were blocking the road. He had taken the opportunity to study them in the distance. They didn't seem to be very different from those that one can meet in the desert, except by their size: all of them were at least as big as Nymton. So he had not tried to confront them as he could have done in the New Lands. Who knows how fast they could run and especially how much damage their blows could make. And maybe their poison was more powerful. He should have asked the Marauders before leaving them. In any case, they didn't fit the description of the Flamboyants he had been given. They must have been classic kitins, just a little bigger and more dangerous, like almost all the animals here...
Opening his bag to take out something to eat—some dried varinx meat—he finds Eeri's notebook that he had brought with him. He flips through it mechanically while chewing his meat without pleasure. Then he puts the book down, picks up his own journal and begins to write.
Azazor's logbook
I've been climbing for hours. Now that I can finally settle down, I have to go back to that evening spent with the Marauders, the last one before my climb. It was a shock, one can say so. The group I had accompanied until then had to settle in one of these semi-permanent camps I had been told about. I was invited to share a meal and to sleep there before my departure the next day.
We had gathered in a kind of particularly gigantic cave to which one reached after having followed many tunnels dug in the cliff. The entry in the cave was through a narrow tunnel after the climbing of a tumulus blocking the entry. It was explained to me that the entrance was once much larger, but a landslide had been deliberately set off to block the entrance during an epic battle against the kitins. It was while telling me about this battle that I heard for the second time, after Barmie Dingle, about the Flamings. Contrary to what I had believed, not all Flamings were kitins of the kipesta species. In fact, this name "Flamings" is given to the whole new generation of red kitins that appeared in the desert, and it is the term "red dragons" that specifically designates the kipestas among Flamings, for their fire is particularly destructive and their abdomen bristled with spines. During the said battle, many Marauders had perished trying to defend the entrance to the cave where many of them had taken refuge. Since then, the cave has become a symbol for many. The Flamings had continued to multiply, making access to the desert almost inaccessible. The Marauders said that the Karavan was hunting them down and targeting them first.
Inside the cave was a huge camp, visibly less rustic than the previous ones. There was a sort of infirmary in a tent, a kitchen area stocked with enough food to feed an entire regiment, a stable full of mektoubs, hundreds of beds dug into the walls and even some sort of tubs filled with water for washing. Here and there, a few devices and tools reminded me that the Marauders had mastered a rather advanced technology, linked in some way to the Powers.
High on the walls, one could see several holes connected by walkways. There must have been other rooms behind the walls and on several floors. It was a real miniature city, lit by the glowing of gigantic braziers. One of the Marauds of the company, probably a little too talkative, explained to me that there was also an armory, laboratories and a library somewhere, hidden in this maze of tunnels connecting them to the cave, which served as the main reception hall.
But what surprised me the most were the children. Until then I had imagined The Citadel as a huge battlefield, and yet here I found children, old people, a whole bunch of homins that I had not expected to find here.
Finally, I understood that this cave was used as a resting place, but also as a research area and a place to fall back in case of massive attacks, as it happened sometimes. These few spaces were in fact the only stable areas of The Citadel. The nerve centers of this movable city, reconfigured with defeats and victories. However, there was no guarantee that the kitins would not succeed in taking these places, as had already occurred a few times. Everything was designed to be easily moved, as evidenced by the shape of the furniture and the many mektoubs equipped as if they were on departure.
The evening was enriching, especially on a cultural level. As I watched them laughing with their loved ones, talking about their last day, helping each other with daily duties, playing music and dancing, I realized that these Marauders did not fit our idea of them. Their ability to create moments of life for themselves, while a few dozen kilometers to the east, a gigantic swarm of kitins threatened to swoop on the Oflovak Road, generated in me confused emotions. Respect, but also a strange sense of pride. As I watched these Marauders, I remembered that the first of them were Fyros. Fyros who decided not to flee from the kitins, but to fight to keep their homes, and who were still fighting today. I even felt some anger at the Empire of the time of Cerakos II, which had abandoned its people to flee from the kitins.
To my surprise, that evening, many of them shared moments with me. Their friendliness surprised me. Of course, they considered me as a stranger, and kindly told me not to insist, when I asked them about their links with the Powers and if I could consult the books in the library... For the rest, they seemed happy to share this evening with someone coming from so far away, and asked me a number of questions. Especially since this time the stranger was not a Ranger! I was a stranger among strangers. I also believe that they respected me very much for undertaking such a dangerous journey to carry out my research. As in Fyros society, Courage, Honor and Truth were strong concepts in Marauder society.
Yet, several hundred kilometers to the west, Akilia was waging a dirty war against the nations of the New Lands, not hesitating to recruit criminals and commit terrorist acts. Why such a difference? I dared to ask the question to one of my hosts who expressly ordered me, in a low voice, to change the subject. A Fyros who was passing by our group at that moment heard my question and launched into a violent monologue defending Akilia's policy. Then, raising his head towards a footbridge above him, he turned around and walked away while mumbling. I raised my head and saw that some guards had stopped up there to watch us. So, from what I could see, at The Citadel pro- and anti-Akilia people stand alongside. Though, probably, many don't take sides. Like my hosts who, visibly uncomfortable, hastened to change subject.
A Tryker told me later, under the tone of confidence, that if the pro Akilia were present in minority in The Citadel, and frawned upon by many—because suspected of fomenting conspiracies—they were nevertheless admitted in these places. First, because many of them were members of the oldest clans, from the Melkiar era, and were among the most powerful and feared Marauders. Second, because conflicts between the various clans had always been commonplace, and it was implicitly understood that no dissension should ever endanger Marauder society. Thirdly, because The Citadel was the home of all Marauders, and to be permanently banished from it was the heaviest punishment of all... The Tryker added, however, that what was most important, and what everyone agreed on, was the fight for survival and against the kitins. To imagine that the Marauder society owes its cohesion, and thus its existence, to the presence of a monstrous swarm at the gates of The Citadel, seemed sadly ironic...
Finally, I ended my evening by telling some children the History of the Cult of the Great Dragon. It was a real delight to see their eyes both amazed and terrified at the adventures of Liriope. I never thought I would find children here, so close to danger. I thought they would all be in Sentinel, but that was a mistake. The Citadel was the heart of the Marauder people, the place where life was beating. And when I saw these Marauders children, I thought of my own...
Uzykos...
He drops his arma thorn and puts down his logbook, suddenly worried.
So he has a son. A Fyros. A redhead. A real one. And there he is, thousands of miles away from him. This time, he can't blame Eeri for keeping that from him. What would he have done if he had known before leaving? He couldn't have brought himself to abandon him, and yet... Yet... At least the lack of thatinformation had come in handy. Eeri was right on this point. Not every Truth is right to be told.. At least at the moment, she could have added.
Of course, he has qualms about having left her in the hands of the Marauders. But what could he do? She had lied to them, she hadn't play fair. There was nothing he could do about it. And it wasn't for lack of him warning her.
His mind escapes towards the horizon. From where he is, he cannot perceive the desert of his ancestors. He still has many cliffs to cross before he finds himself at the top of the ridge and hopes to see what lies beyond. But already, he begins to feel something. Like a sort of nagging call, Fyros voices flying in the wind... voices that are more and more real. Which call to him, Azazor!
Turning around, he sees Eeri at the izam bridge, closely followed by three Marauders obviously in pursuit.
- Aza, pass me your axe!
- My axe ? Wh…
His gaze rests on his axe, his faithful "Courtesy", the only weapon with his hatchet "Politeness" that he has brought on this insane journey. In a daze, he takes the big axe with both hands and approaches the izam bridge while Eeri is still halfway. One of the guards starts to step on the bridge while the others yell at Eeri to stop if she wants to live. Azazor raises his axe above him, ready to strike as soon as Eeri is within reach. He's so close to his goal that there's no way she's going to ruin all up. Eeri gives him a frightened look but continues to advance on the bridge, swinging at the same time to make fall the guard who clings on and shouts even more to the homina. Arrived near Azazor, she throws herself behind him in a roll. This one then crushes his axe... on the ropes of the bridge which breaks, making fall the guard still hung in front of the exorbitant eyes of the two others who waited on the other end of the bridge. The two adventurers don't take the time to translate the insults shouted in Marund. Azazor hurriedly picks up his stuff before leaving on a fast walk towards the next part of the itinerary while Eeri stands up incredulous and follows the Fyros without a word.
After one hour of walking with no word exchanged it is Eeri who decides to break the silence.
"akep! I thought you were going to..."
"I was going to do it. Don't you dare believe otherwise."
"But you didn't."
"dey."
"And you cut the ropes of the bridge! Why?"
"I need you still," he says with a growl.
He then throws one of his two bags to the ground. Eeri picks up the bag, smiling. Azazor's grunt bodes well. She has gotten to know him over the years. It's when he doesn't growl that you have to worry. They will need a few more days to finish their climb and reach the plateau of the ridge. From there, they will head east to reach the edge and follow it.