Kazimir comes to grips with the grim realities of his situation, but will he have a chance to see his dream through or will he be destroyed before having a chance to begin?

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PRINCE KAZIMIR- CHAPTER 7

Tungai launched himself forward, scimitar drawn and eyes fixed on Kazimir. Some of the warriors began to shift, moving towards Kazimir in an instinctive effort to protect him, but they were drunk and clumsy, having engorged themselves at the feast. Kazimir, exhausted, fought similarly to do something, anything, to resist but he had been spent. Even Mauno could do nothing but look forward, his hands still bound behind his back. Tungai seemed to grin ever so slightly as he pulled back his arm, timing his strike so that all of his momentum would be put into it. He would have Kazimir’s head.

Suddenly, almost in a blur, four figures poured out of the stunned crowd, knives drawn and teeth bared. In an amazingly precise move they caught Tungai in both arms, spun him around using his momentum, and flattened him on the ground face first. Within moments Tungai’s confidence transformed into bewilderment. Who in this pavilion would dare raise arms against him, and so quickly at that?

Kazimir was equally surprised. Tungai had fallen literally at his feet, and the vicious, fatal blow he expected to strike him never came. When one of his saviors looked up to meet him in the eyes, he realized that the figure wasn’t dressed like the warriors- none of them were. Beneath their clothing he caught curves, breasts. Tungai had been stopped by females, and none too soon either!

“Who-? Agh! Release me!” Tungai protested.

“So, you would try to kill a visiting dignitary, eh?” One of the defiant females laughed, “Good thing the Hetman is so interested in you lot, or she wouldn’t have sent us.”

Kazimir, still shocked and confused, fell back on his noble station.

“Who are you? As a prince of the clans I demand to know what’s going on!”

“I am Bianka, my lord, a Druzhinik of Clan Ulic. My compatriots are fighters as well.”

Tungai roared out as the females tied his hands, then his feet together and turned him onto his back.

“What sort of madness is this? Female Druzhina? Female Hetmen? Your people are worse than traitors, you are insane!”

“I do not appreciate that your Hetman sent spies into our camp under false pretenses,” Kazimir sat upright, addressing Bianka directly. “However, you have saved my life, and for that I am grateful.”

“It is all within the course of our duties, Prince. Say the word and we will dispatch this rat immediately!” Bianka’s tone shifted from elegant formality to eager cruelty as she slid her knife against Tungai’s scalp.

“Clansmen! Warriors of the Rosomai! Tonight I am a traitor, but this prince before you is an impostor!” Tungai yelped out. “He has been stripped of his title and nobility! You have been fighting for an outcast since we left on this journey. Your fight has been for nothing, and Kazimir, this impostor, has tricked all of you into following him!”

Unlike Mauno’s trial, which was typified by outbursts of anger and calls for death, this bold slur on Kazimir’s character elicited stunned murmurs among the warriors. The Druzhina grew despondent, turning to each other for assurance and finding none. Eventually, one of the warriors spoke out.

“Prince Kazimir, is this true? Is there any truth to Tungai’s words?”

Another voice shot back, “Do not dishonor your prince by falling prey to this traitor’s lies! Tungai may have led us into battle, but Kazimir led us out! Have you forgotten that?”

“Clansmen, please,” Kazimir reluctantly said. “Tungai is a traitor. He will be punished as a traitor, but his statement is true. I am no longer a prince.”

The pavilion exploded into grumbling and discontent, disbelief sweeping over the warriors. Kazimir continued, having to shout over the growing rumble of frustrated clansmen.

“On the night of the war council, you heard me speak. There are those who believe that my words were dangerous and harmful to the clan, but I still stand by what I said! This war must be carried forth for the sake of all Rosomai-“

“Kazimir, you do not understand! The Druzhina do not fight for mere ideals and glory! Such has never been the case. We fight so that we might be granted lands, income, and the blessings of our nobles! We killed the Holischiky because we wanted their lands, but without your nobility, you cannot reward us!”

Kazimir roared out, “Rosomai! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Our race is on the brink of greatness or disaster, and the choice is ours to make! We cannot waste time squabbling over lands and titles! Now is not the time to obsess over money!”

An older warrior stepped forward, meeting Kazimir’s eyes, “With respect, Kazimir, I wish that you would listen for a moment. Every Druzhina, wishes to do what is right for the Rosomai. Unfortunately, without food and money they cannot accomplish any of these things. Our livelihoods as professional warriors depend upon the opportunity to own land, to claim a piece of what we have fought for. Were it your authority to grant us lands, we would gladly fight by your side, but as of now we are fighters without a lord and survivors of a hollow victory.”

Kazimir frowned, then massaged his brow. The warrior was right. Kazimir had no right to keep the Druzhina, as he no longer had his station. The idea, the dream of driving out the Holischiky and ushering in a new age of prosperity for the Rosomai was crumbling before his eyes, all because of details he had foolishly overlooked. Even so, he stood by his principles, and for the first time in a long time he knew that in spite of it all he was right. This had to be done, and he had proven that it could be done. The Druzhina had to learn this.

“Noble Druzhina. For hundreds of generations you have fought loyally and valiantly for the Rosomai and for your Hetmen. I understand that some of you have families, and that all of you seek to better your lives through the grand struggle at arms. However, I want to make it clear right now that as long as you fight for something material, something you can eat, spend, or sleep in, your fight will be meaningless. Be the reward coin, land, or food, if you do not fight for what you believe in you will never be true warriors. You will simply be merchants of war, mercenaries trading your battle lust for sustenance and the illusion of wealth.”

Kazimir stood to his feet, summoning his strength, “I cannot and will not force you into life’s battles. Those choices will always be yours. I will pass along what I know, however. Each of us can touch glory, and while glory lasts but a moment obscurity lasts forever.”

The words hung in the air, and for a change the Rosomai seemed to appreciate and absorb the message, but somehow they didn’t seem to take it to heart. The old warrior, gray of muzzle and of tired, but compassionate eyes, spoke out.

“Glory, as sacred as it may be, cannot fill the bellies of my children. I am sorry, Kazimir, but I can no longer stay with you.” The old warrior turned to the other Druzhina, “Kazimir has given us the courtesy of a choice. I took a gamble with my life, and Kazimir saw to it that I won, but now the stakes are too high and I must return home. As such, I plan to begin the journey at sunrise. You can choose to stay with Kazimir or follow me.”

Kazimir waited to see what would happen. More than anything he wanted the warriors to stay, but he couldn’t ignore the realities facing them. After the warriors grumbled and filed out of the pavilion, only Mauno, the females of the Ulic clan, and the traitor Tungai remained. Kazimir accepted a bitter truth. The entire social fabric of the Rosomai seemed to be leading it towards oblivion, and to change the course he would have to do something radical. He just hoped that the Ulic clan would be capable of realizing such desperate ambitions.

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Tungai died a traitor’s death. Some of the Druzhina stayed to watch his execution, some of them to indulge their thirst for capital justice and others to remind themselves of the bitter truth that their leaders had in one way or another betrayed them. After his gibbeted and mutilated body swung in the breeze for an hour, a rider retrieved his naked body and delivered him onto the steppe, where his body would be unceremoniously dumped onto the ground and ultimately picked clean by scavengers.

Kazimir felt little different himself. Tungai’s clothing had given up a secret directive written by his tribal chieftain. While Kazimir had no way of knowing how much correspondence had passed back and forth, he got the impression that the attempt on his life was made with full knowledge of his exile. His ideas and his words had apparently caused a stir among his people, and the conservative chieftains wanted to cut the radicalism off at the source. If they had known about the ideas Kazimir had cooked up last night they would surely have sent an army of assassins to slaughter him.

He felt pangs of anger and vengeance. He wanted to plunge back into the lands of his native clan, raising Cain and exacting deadly justice on those who had tried to kill him, but after some thought he realized that there would be no point in it. Without a single warrior to call his own, he was now completely at the mercy of the Ulic.

Kazimir had been instructed to meet with the Hetman at his leisure, but something compelled him to hurry. Perhaps he felt that his destiny shouldn’t be kept waiting, or perhaps it was the simple desire not to anger the one person whose blessing he needed now more than ever. He remembered that the Hetman had a reputation for greed, whoever she was, but the fact that she had taken the radical step of allowing females to become Druzhina indicated to him that this was a forward thinking society compared to his clan.

The Hetman’s palace was opulent and gaudy compared to his father’s. Mauno’s reassurance that the Hetman ‘took much in order to give much’ seemed hollow in the great, vaulted chambers filled with elegant carvings and exotic hides. One particular artifact that struck his eye was an elaborately carved fountain that was upon close inspection made with Holischiky ivory! Kazimir had seen whistles and charms made from the tusks of the Holischiky warriors, but to craft something so large and sumptuous out of the bones of other humanoids seemed outrageous. Kazimir did, however, admire the fact that many Holischiky must have died to give up this much ivory, and that somewhere among the Ulic there must have been an entire community of warriors well versed in fighting them.

Kazimir’s every step was watched by the vigilant eyes of the Hazor, the personal house guard of warriors whose job was to protect the Hetman and the clan leader’s family. As he made his way to the great hall he saw both female and male warriors in the Hazor, their lamellar armor gleaming by the light of the Ulic’s curious lanterns. He also caught a familiar face, that of Bianka. The previous night Bianka had been draped in the clothes of a courtesan, so to see the same female dressed in the proud regalia of a Hazor warrior left him with a distinctly different impression. Her delicate facial features and sly looks were buried under the armor and taciturn frown of a professional soldier, but somehow this seemed to enhance her appeal, at least in Kazimir’s eyes.

“Kazimir. The Hetman is expecting you. I’ll announce your arrival.”

Bianka disappeared from view for a few moments, then returned and beckoned Kazimir forward. She guided him into the magnificent great hall of the Ulic, a giant communal area nearly equal to the Great Pavilion of his home, except far more impressive for the fact that the massive structure was built with stone and timber, an extravagant and permanent symbol of power. At the end of the hall were two thrones, but only one was occupied by an elderly female. Her wily appearances and exotic clothing could have been mistaken those for an old Rosomai witch doctor, but Kazimir knew that this female was the Hetman of the Ulic clan. Far from the tired and taciturn way his father carried himself, this older female sat with poise and clearly kept herself busy with matters of state, her throne surrounded by a jumble of scrolls, quill pens, and something familiar to Kazimir- a musket.

“Ah! The exiled prince has arrived! Come, come, young one. We have much to discuss.” The Hetman seemed unable to stay on topic for long, “Bianka! Where is his friend, the Hirvi?”

“We sent out a couple of Hazor to retrieve him from his village an hour ago. They should be back soon.”

“Very well. Go on, back to your duties!” Zhoka waved her guard off, now engrossed in something else. “Now, Kazimir, was it? I am Zhoka, Hetman of the Ulic. I understand you are in the midst of a dilemma. A rather formidable dilemma. Fit for a prince, is it not?”

“Yes ma’am. If I might ask, though, what use could I be to a person of your station? I have been stripped of my nobility until I can earn it back.”

“Oh, yes, I realize that. Last night’s events demonstrated that quite well.” The Hetman leafed through a few parchments, pulling one out and setting it aside before turning her attention back towards him.

“It’s just as well that your warriors left. I do not trust the company of strange warriors. Even so, you could still prove useful as a diplomatic envoy.”

“I-“ Kazimir hesitated briefly, piquing Zhoka’s interest. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much use to you as an emissary either, ma’am. The traitor you executed this morning was acting on orders from within my own clan, and my father will not allow me into his house.”

For the first time, the Hetman seemed engrossed in him and him alone. She looked at him with intent, surprise, and a little dismay.

“A clan that tries to kill their own prince? Why, they’ve gone mad!”

“These are mad times for our people. The Sabalazmon-“

“Yes, yes, yes, I know about the Sabalazmon.” Zhoka gave a quizzical look to Kazimir, “Kazimir, every male heir to the Hetmanate concerns himself with three things: status, diplomacy, and war. Since you lack status and have no use as a diplomat, I can only imagine that you are here for war. The question is, who do you wish to fight?”

Kazimir paused. He had to choose his next words carefully. Zhoka was clearly testing him to see what he thought of war and how to apply it.

“I am here because I wish to wage war on the old ways of the Rosomai.”

“I thought that you had waged war on the Holischiky,” Zhoka quirked an eyebrow.

Kazimir gulped, “The war on the Holischiky is a means to an end. Even from the beginning, I wished to see the Rosomai and Sabalazmon meet them in battle- as allies.”

Waves of cold coursed across Kazimir’s skin, so great was his anxiety. He had divulged to a stranger something that he had never divulged to another soul. The thought of the Rosomai and Sabalazmon actually fighting as allies was so deeply radical that it could very easily kill him, but at this point he had little to lose by speaking from his heart.

Zhoka’s suspicious frown began to crack. A grin crept across her face. She leaned back, cocking her head into the air and letting loose with a delighted laugh. After a few moments of uncomfortably watching her laugh, Kazimir wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear her response.

“Kazimir, you are as a saint. For decades I have shared this thought and kept it to myself. You have done what no other Rosomai has, including me. You have laid bare the truth in all its ugliness, and now at last I can speak of it. We are now as equals.”

Zhoka withdrew a small blade from deep within her clutter of things, gripping it firmly while taking to her feet. For a moment Kazimir feared murder, but as she drew the blade across her palm, drawing blood, he knew what had happened.

“Rise, Kazimir, and accept the blade.”

The blade tipped out of Zhoka’s hand into his. He held the tip of the knife at the edge of his palm. Zhoka abruptly took a hold of his wrist.

“Kazimir. Understand this. The blood oath cannot be broken. By taking it, you forsake your old clan and become one with the Ulic. Your father and your clan might never accept you again.”

Kazimir didn’t need to respond. He readied the blade, sliced open his palm, and joined it with Zhoka’s. He knelt to one knee, facing downward as he felt the warmth of their mutual blood join in their palms.

“You are now Ulic. Rise and be welcomed to our house. We will have great need of you in the coming weeks.”