The Withering Sword

Chapter 21: Letters and Stowaways

AMRAXES

Central forests of Miihing (subjugate kingdom of the empire)

The village emerged out of the foliage. Amraxes almost didn’t spot the first few buildings, built from mud and straw and leaves. A group of five or six naked children ran up to greet them, shrieking excitedly. Their parents hung back, their expressions ranging from curious to wary.

Amraxes dismounted in the round cleared space at the center of the village, in front of a blue temple. His men followed suit. Around them, close to twenty villagers stood and watched.

“Good day,” he said. “My name is Amraxes Myagadhar.” No one looked surprised at this news. They must have known he was coming. Only three days’ ride from the capital, this village must get news much more often than the ones buried more deeply in the vast Miihing forest toward the south.

A young, dark-skinned man stepped forward. “Welcome, Myag-myos,” said the young man. He had a heavy Miihing accent, but he spoke intelligibly. “We have set aside a house for you, though we do not have room for all your men.”

“That won’t be a problem. They will pitch tents outside of the village.”

The young man inclined his head. “If you follow me, I will show you the house.”

Amraxes threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and followed the young man to one of the larger, tidier-looking buildings. Two of his men followed with the rest of the bags.

Inside the house’s single room Amraxes found a small bed, a table with several plain cushions grouped around it, a rustic set of shelves, a chamber pot, and a wooden tub. It smelled of the jungle, like the outside did, with a pinch of some sweet incense he’d never smelled before, and was pleasantly lukewarm after the humid heat he’d endured all day.

“It is not fitting for a prince,” said the young man nervously.

“It’s good,” said Amraxes. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Grelin, if it please.” The young man bowed. “Shall we bring you water for your bath, Myag-myos?”

“That would be excellent.”

“Myag-myos,” said one of his men as Grelin closed the door behind him. “We should do a sweep of the area to make sure it’s safe.”

“Very well, but be discreet. I don’t want them to think I don’t trust them.”

The soldier nodded and both men left. Amraxes exhaled, rubbed his temples tiredly, and sat on the bed, hearing the steady creak that spoke of age rather than poor make. Since leaving Bainling, they had stopped at a much larger village, almost a small city. It had gone much better there than it had in Bainling―at least no one had burned down anything. The next night they’d camped in the jungle, and other than having to chase off a few hungry felines, it had been an uneventful stop. He and his men had played dice, drank, and told stories, and Amraxes had enjoyed the evening more than any other since he’d arrived in Miihing. It was so much easier to speak with his men, with no expectations set on him and no language barriers. He breathed deeply again, steeling himself for what would come later that day.

After the bath, Amraxes turned down time to rest and accepted Grelin’s offer to introduce him to everyone in the village. Amraxes found it difficult to keep all the foreign names straight; he usually had no trouble with Gyoto names, and he knew how much it pleased his men when he remembered the names of their wives and children, let alone their own.

One name stuck with him easily, though. Toward the end of the introductions, a young woman who spoke halting Dhogyo came to him with a small baby.

“He is three month old,” said the young woman. “I name him after a Gyoto hero, like you, Myag-myos. Neraxes.”