Kazimir prepares to celebrate his first victory, but his activities haven't gone unnoticed, nor are they approved by everyone...

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PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 6

Kazimir strode across the hillock, trying to gain a sense of where everything was. The town of Opaliye was less prosperous than his home town, with many people living in simple yurts. Even so, the Ulic had a beautiful custom likely attributed to the long nights of winter: The hanging of curious lanterns in front of their homes and along the streets. The lanterns emitted a peculiar odor somewhat like burning tar only much more mild, but cast beautiful, bright light through the township.

He followed his nose to the apparent location of this feast, catching the telltale shape of a pavilion around a hodgepodge arrangement of yurts. The scent of cooked seafood filled the air, and it became apparent that the feast would likely include a lot of the dried fish and sea serpent that the Druzhina hauled away from the Holischiky colony. While it was considered something of a delicacy, Kazimir had never really liked seafood, but he reasoned that it was something he would have to get used to now that he had effectively waged war on the Holischiky.

The pathways leading to the pavilion were quiet, but it was clear from the raucous laughter and song drifting through the air that the celebration was well underway. Kazimir heard the dry, frosted grass crinkle underfoot. He stopped for a moment to take in a view of the town when he couldn’t help but hear the footsteps of three other individuals behind him.

He spun around to look, but the outskirts of Opaliye were not as well-lit as its main avenues. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see three Druzhina in padded jackets and iron helmets striding towards him. This piqued Kazimir’s curiosity, as warriors tended not to wear the helmets out of battle as they tended to play havoc with one’s hearing.

“Hail-“ He uttered a greeting just in time to see the daggers each held in their right hand.

The three grim figures now knew that he was onto them, breaking into open pursuit. Kazimir, unarmed, instinctively went towards the nearest source of light, finding one of the peculiar smelling lanterns. His back was to the wall of a yurt and he had nothing in the way of a weapon save the claws on his hands and the teeth in his jaws. These might be enough in a duel against an individual, but three opponents with swords were quite another matter. Desperate, he improvised. As the assassins quietly closed in Kazimir took hold of one of the lanterns by its base, pulling it from its hook and flinging it towards the enemy on his far left.

Whatever kept this lantern ablaze splattered all over the assassin before the wick touched it, instantly bathing him in fire. He screamed out in horrible pain, falling to the ground and rolling around, but the fire had tasted fuel and began to spread all over his body, completely immolating him.

This sudden and unexpected event gave pause to Kazimir’s attackers. He quickly lunged forward, making a grab for the weapon of the assassin on the right. He tried to wrest the dagger from his grip, but his frontal assault hadn’t been quite quick enough and the miscreant had tightened his grip. Kazimir wasn’t quite sure what to do next, suddenly detecting the other assassin directly behind him. If he didn’t do something immediately, he would be stabbed in the back and left for dead.

With a bit of quick thinking that put him just ahead of his assailants Kazimir leaned forward and lashed out with his back foot, catching and reversing the assassin’s momentum with his foot and knocking him backwards for a moment. Just afterwards, his face pressed close to the enemy’s, he opened his mouth, bared his fangs, and clamped down viciously on the other’s nose. He could feel flesh pulling away as his enemy instinctively pushed him away. Kazimir must have done something right, as he could taste blood and flesh in his mouth while the assassin yowled and screamed in pain, clutching his shredded and bleeding nose. He noticed that the wounded assassin was holding his dagger in a peculiar fashion, pointed forward.

The attacker to Kazimir’s rear made a second attempt, slashing his sword towards Kazimir. It was a clumsy attempt, hardly the practiced work of a true assassin, and Kazimir was able to take control of his enemy’s weapon arm, then his shoulder, then his entire body mass. This he pivoted and swung towards the enemy’s extended knife tip, the motion of his body planting the dagger directly into his chest.

The last wounded assassin, horrified that his careless blademanship had killed his fellow assassin, found himself alone against his quarry, and now neither had a weapon. Kazimir wasn’t much better off than his foe, however, and even this brief flurry of activity had effectively drained him of what little energy he could hold onto. The healing spell continued to extract its toll on him.

Kazimir and the assailant traded blows, to little avail. Neither had really trained for this kind of combat and resorted to mainly taking swipes at each other. Kazimir managed to knock his assassin to the ground, but the determined fighter wrenched a tent stake from the earth and held it firmly. Kazimir suddenly realized that his assailant was left-handed, but it was too late to try and exploit this knowledge. The wooden stake plunged deep into his right shoulder as Kazimir grappled with his opponent.

Kazimir howled in pain and recoiled, his enemy kicking him in the chest and knocking him to the ground. The tables had turned in favor of his enemy, whose bloody face and bloody hand held a bloody stake and was ready to drive it into any part of Kazimir that would kill him. Kazimir reached out with both arms and felt the familiar, cold profile of a stone, the kind used to hammer tent stakes into tough earth. He clutched the stone in one hand. Then, just as his enemy raised his left arm, Kazimir lobbed the rock with his right.

He heard his adversary’s lower jaw snap shut with a clap, as well as the more muted sound of mashed bone. His face a bloody, deformed mess, the assassin seemed to quiver on the ground, floundering senselessly. Kazimir picked the stone from the ground and clutched it firmly in his hand, his primal instincts getting the better of him. He smashed the rock into his enemy’s head again and again until he realized that his enemy wasn’t squirming at all, but simply convulsing. The chaotic spasms subsided quickly, the life drawn from the would-be killer’s body. Kazimir dragged himself to his feet, coughing. He put a hand over his right shoulder, warm blood oozing onto his fingertips. His head throbbed with pain while his shoulder seemed to burn, but he was alive.

With one assassin beaten beyond recognition and the other burnt alive, Kazimir tried to gain the identity of his attackers by examining the remaining corpse. He pulled off the wretch’s helmet and recoiled, shouting in anger and a measure of anguish. This was one of his warriors, a Druzhinik, whose life Kazimir had saved a day ago through the healing spell. Now he lay dead, a wasted attempt to kill his ‘beloved’ leader.

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As Kazimir stumbled into the pavilion, legs crossing and knees knocking in sheer exhaustion, he scanned the face of every warrior he could, trying to catch a sign, an expression, anything that might have given his arch-conspirators away. Instead, he saw nothing but concerned faces, a flurry of anxious questions filling the pavilion. Everyone wanted to know how he had gotten hurt, who might be responsible for this, whether or not he needed healing, and so on. Kazimir put his throbbing head in his hands as he failed to find a remorseful or disappointed face in the crowd. Confusion turned into suspicion, and the warriors of the various tribes began pointing fingers.

“Druzhina! Please!” Kazimir shouted out, his voice intoned with much of the anger and frustration of his warriors. He fought to camouflage his fear and rage, “It’s alright. I had an accident, there’s no need to be alarmed. I’m hungry and tired. Did you leave anything for me?”

The suspicion and fear in the air quickly evaporated, or at least appeared to. Within a minute the warriors were feasting, laughing, and drinking again. Kazimir was relieved to see that no one had prepared a ‘special’ meal for him and that everyone more or less ate from the same potluck. It was difficult to chew, and even more difficult to swallow the food. He was so tired and dismayed that the stew, bread, and mare’s milk hardly carried any flavor. He obsessed over the attempted assassination in his mind. Who could have done this? Was this the work of their Ulic hosts? Was it a cabal of villains within his own ranks? Could it have been Mauno?

The last thought struck him. Yes, Tungai may have had a point. The strange magician claimed that the torpor he had experienced was the result of the spell, but suddenly Kazimir wasn’t so sure. He had gotten close to Kazimir far too quickly, sickening him with exhaustion, weakening him before the kill. It was also warriors that Mauno healed who had attacked him, possibly the work of some strange magic of the mind. It was too convenient to simply be coincidence. He turned and whispered to one of his warriors.

“I want you to return to my yurt and see if the Hirvi shaman is still there. If he is, I want him brought here. If he resists, restrain him. Am I understood?”

“Of course, my prince, but might I ask, has this anything to do with your shoulder?”

Kazimir deflected the question, “He has wronged me and I simply wish to hold him accountable. Don’t injure him.”

“Of course, Hetman’s son.”

Kazimir continued to eat and drink slowly. He didn’t enjoy it. If the food was reluctant to go down, it was even more reluctant to stay down. His insides were knotted up, the food bubbling in the cauldron of emotions. He would find the ringleader, even if it meant tearing the entire town apart.

A few minutes later, two Druzhina entered the yurt with Mauno, his face a mixture of confusion and contempt and his hands tied behind his back. The two Rosomai gruffly pushed the shaman onto a cushion, standing on either side of him. Kazimir scowled, shooting a piercing gaze into Mauno’s eyes. Mauno, defiant, met Kazimir’s eyes and frowned. Kazimir turned to his clansmen, shouting.

“Druzhina! Clansmen! There is something you must know!” the pavilion quieted down, giving the Hirvi a rather disquieting look. Even though he had healed them, he had not yet earned the warriors’ trust.

“Tonight, as I was approaching this feast alone, three Druzhina from our own band of warriors attacked me with the intention of killing me. They failed.”

The pavilion erupted into anger and alarm, and the simmering suspicions that had drifted across the room when Kazimir entered exploded into a riotous din. Many saw the Hirvi and wanted to scapegoat him, shouting.

“It was the Hirvi! It was this creature of magic!”

“Burn him! Toss him into the fire!”

Kazimir shouted repeatedly to get them to listen once more.

“That’s enough!” He paused. “Everyone in this pavilion, including this Hirvi, could be behind this. I reserve the right to question him. If I find that he is not responsible, I continue my questioning with everyone in this pavilion until I find the truth.”

Another clamor began to build up, but Kazimir quickly put a stop to it, turning back to Mauno.

“Mauno. You stand accused. What have you to say in your defense?”

“You are quick to distrust magic, Kazimir. That is common. You must use your head, though. What would I stand to gain from killing you?”

“I do not know, but until a few minutes ago I considered you a friend and an ally. The burden is on you to earn my trust. If you were the one, if you confess, I will see to it that your death is as quick as possible.”

Malmo’s composure began to break down, “Prince Kazimir. I’m sorry. I have no evidence to protect myself, but I am innocent!”

The crowd bayed and jeered, forcing Kazimir to turn around with a snarl.

“Enough! If I have to raise my voice again it will be to issue the order to burn this pavilion and everyone in it! Then we can all die knowing that justice has been done!”

He turned back to Malmo, “You’d better build a case, Hirvi.”

Malmo paused, eyes locked shut, breathing shallow. For a second Kazimir worried that he was readying some sort of spell or trickery. He instinctively leaned back. Suddenly, Malmo’s eyes flew open and he turned to meet Kazimir’s eyes.

“I know! I know who it was! I remember!”

“Spit it out, then! Who?”

“It was Tungai! It was Tungai alone!”

“What?” Kazimir’s anger flared into a boil. “That can’t be. He was by my side for days! We fought together in battle! You have no right to accuse my brother in arms of this depravity!”

“After the spell we both became unconscious, but I awakened first. I pretended to be asleep. I heard Tungai whispering with three warriors about your death!”

“Liar!” Kazimir snarled. “If he had intended to kill me, he could have killed both of us while we were unconscious! He stayed at my bedside to protect me!”

“No. He left me alive because he needed a scapegoat. He stayed by your bedside to protect me. If I had been killed-”

Kazimir caught a breeze at his back and turned around. Tungai’s looming form filled the doorway to the pavilion, his body decked in the heavy raiment of battle. In his hand he carried a scimitar, but this was not what struck Kazimir the most. He turned his eyes to Tungai’s face and caught the expression he had been unable to find in the pavilion all evening, an expression of anger, disappointment, and a measure of shame.

No one else in the pavilion was armed or fitted in their armor. Most couldn’t comprehend that their chief officer was capable of treason, or if they could they were too shocked to act. When Tungai charged towards Kazimir’s unprotected back, no one tried to stop him.