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Authors: Fiona Patton
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different parts of the temple complex. Both the Hearth and Healing Gods maintained contingents of followers at Estavia-Sarayi to support the warriors in their protection of the city. The Battle God’s song would not begin until first one and then the other had ended. But it would be soon. As the last note faded, a single mounted figure crossed the courtyard. The waiting companies tensed.
Marshal Brayazi had served as the temple’s supreme commander for over a decade and as kaptin and ghazi-priest in Bronze Company for thirty years before that. Her long black hair, bound in several thick braids, was streaked with gray, and her face, nearly as dark as the Battle God’s own, was deeply lined, but she still carried herself as stiff and straight as an arrow. Her black eyes swept across the assembled companies; then, in one swift motion, she drew her sword, standing up in the saddle to call out the first, loud note of Estavia’s Invocation. A moment later they heard the answering call from far out on the Bogazi-Isik Strait as the admiral of Her Battle Fleet joined in. Across the city and from every tower along the shores of Gol-Beyaz, each kaptin took up the call, adding the strength of their voices to their marshal’s.
Estavia’s power rippled through the assembled warriors. Another call, another thread of power, and Kemal felt a chill run up his spine. His sword arm tensed. She was near; he could feel Her hovering just beneath the surface of his awareness. Another note, this time deeper and richer than the two before it, and he saw Yashar’s head tip back, the tendons in his neck standing out with the strain, his teeth shining brightly through the dark thickness of his beard. His own chin began to lift. Around him, the warriors shifted and moved as their God’s presence began to flow through them. A third note, a fourth, and his muscles began to shake with the steady buildup of power. As always, he felt his own will begin to wash away under the overwhelming need to do Her bidding as a blood-red fog washed across his vision, and his fists clenched with the sudden fierce desire to do battle, to kill and maim the bodies of Her enemies in Her name. Finally, the power grew too strong to be contained, and he and every other warrior in the courtyard jerked their weapons free as Estavia burst into being above them with a crack of displaced air.
Red eyes blazing, She spun Her swords above their heads and, as one, Her people raised their own weapons to meet them, bolts of deep-red energy crackling down the blades like gouts of fire. Kemal jerked as his own sword sent a rush of power shooting through his arm and it was all he could do not to turn his blade on the others. Instead, he rode the sensation, feeling his entire body stiffen in response to Her power. He felt invulnerable, unstoppable, and drunk on the power of Her touch. The feeling grew, became almost unbearable. Then, as fast as She’d come, Estavia’s presence exploded into the morning sun and vanished. Around him, the others staggered about the courtyard before discipline brought them back into formation. But Kemal was left reeling from the violence of Her passing, unable to speak, his vision spinning with the knowledge that something hovered just beyond his understanding, something he was supposed to know, something he was supposed to do. Before he could reach out for it, Marshal Brayazi held her sword aloft for one more heartbeat, then shot it back into its scabbard. The Invocation was over.
Breathing hard, Yashar threw one arm over Kemal’s shoulders to support himself as the assembled broke into a hundred ragged groups, many of then heading for a private corner. “That was better than sex,” he panted. “I hope we get to kill something soon. I don’t think I can take many more of these peacetime Invocations.”
Kemal could only hold his head groggily as Jaq bounded across the courtyard to swipe his tongue across his face.
“She’s angry about
Marshal Brayazi had served as the temple’s supreme commander for over a decade and as kaptin and ghazi-priest in Bronze Company for thirty years before that. Her long black hair, bound in several thick braids, was streaked with gray, and her face, nearly as dark as the Battle God’s own, was deeply lined, but she still carried herself as stiff and straight as an arrow. Her black eyes swept across the assembled companies; then, in one swift motion, she drew her sword, standing up in the saddle to call out the first, loud note of Estavia’s Invocation. A moment later they heard the answering call from far out on the Bogazi-Isik Strait as the admiral of Her Battle Fleet joined in. Across the city and from every tower along the shores of Gol-Beyaz, each kaptin took up the call, adding the strength of their voices to their marshal’s.
Estavia’s power rippled through the assembled warriors. Another call, another thread of power, and Kemal felt a chill run up his spine. His sword arm tensed. She was near; he could feel Her hovering just beneath the surface of his awareness. Another note, this time deeper and richer than the two before it, and he saw Yashar’s head tip back, the tendons in his neck standing out with the strain, his teeth shining brightly through the dark thickness of his beard. His own chin began to lift. Around him, the warriors shifted and moved as their God’s presence began to flow through them. A third note, a fourth, and his muscles began to shake with the steady buildup of power. As always, he felt his own will begin to wash away under the overwhelming need to do Her bidding as a blood-red fog washed across his vision, and his fists clenched with the sudden fierce desire to do battle, to kill and maim the bodies of Her enemies in Her name. Finally, the power grew too strong to be contained, and he and every other warrior in the courtyard jerked their weapons free as Estavia burst into being above them with a crack of displaced air.
Red eyes blazing, She spun Her swords above their heads and, as one, Her people raised their own weapons to meet them, bolts of deep-red energy crackling down the blades like gouts of fire. Kemal jerked as his own sword sent a rush of power shooting through his arm and it was all he could do not to turn his blade on the others. Instead, he rode the sensation, feeling his entire body stiffen in response to Her power. He felt invulnerable, unstoppable, and drunk on the power of Her touch. The feeling grew, became almost unbearable. Then, as fast as She’d come, Estavia’s presence exploded into the morning sun and vanished. Around him, the others staggered about the courtyard before discipline brought them back into formation. But Kemal was left reeling from the violence of Her passing, unable to speak, his vision spinning with the knowledge that something hovered just beyond his understanding, something he was supposed to know, something he was supposed to do. Before he could reach out for it, Marshal Brayazi held her sword aloft for one more heartbeat, then shot it back into its scabbard. The Invocation was over.
Breathing hard, Yashar threw one arm over Kemal’s shoulders to support himself as the assembled broke into a hundred ragged groups, many of then heading for a private corner. “That was better than sex,” he panted. “I hope we get to kill something soon. I don’t think I can take many more of these peacetime Invocations.”
Kemal could only hold his head groggily as Jaq bounded across the courtyard to swipe his tongue across his face.
“She’s angry about
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