Blood Song

“You should forget him,” I told the Lady Emeren. “This obsession will be your ruin. Go home and raise your son. I beg you.”

I was appalled to see she was crying, tears streaming from her eyes, although her face was rigidly devoid of expression. Her voice was a whisper, but fierce as ever, “Not until the gods claim me, and even then I'll find a way to send my vengeance through the veil.”

Part V

In longer games, where the Liar’s Attack or one of the other openings outlined above has failed, the complexity of Keschet is fully revealed. The following chapters will examine the most effective stratagems to be employed in the long game, beginning with The Bowman’s Switch, taking its name from a manoeuvre employed by Alpiran horse archers. Like the Liar’s Attack, The Bowman’s Switch employs misdirection but also retains the potential for exploiting unforeseen opportunity. A skilled player can move offensively against two objectives, leaving their opponent ignorant of the ultimate target until the most fruitful opportunity presents itself.

Author unknown, Keschet – Rules and Strategies, Great Library of the Unified Realm.

Chapter 1

He took Spit and rode westward, keeping to the shoreline, finding a campsite sheltered in the lee of a large grass-topped dune. He gathered driftwood for a fire and cut grass for tindling. The stems were dried by the sea breeze and lit at the first touch of the flint. The fire grew high and bright, embers rising like fireflies into the early evening sky. In the distance the lights of Linesh seemed to burn brighter still and he could hear music mingled with the sound of many voices raised in celebration.

“After all we did for them,” he told Spit, holding a candy up for the war horse to chomp on. “War, plague and months of fear. Hard to believe they’re happy to see us go.”

If Spit cared anything for irony it was expressed in a loud snort of annoyance as he jerked his head away. “Wait.” Vaelin caught hold of the reins and unfastened the bridle before moving to lift the saddle from his back. Shorn of the encumbrance Spit cantered away across the dunes, kicking through the sand and tossing his head. Vaelin watched him play in the surf as the sky dimmed and a bright full moon rose to paint the dunes a familiar silver blue. Like snow drifts in the height of winter.

Spit came trotting back as the last glimmer of daylight faded, standing expectantly at the edge of the light cast by the fire, awaiting the nightly ritual of grooming and tethering. “No,” Vaelin said. “We’re done. Time to go.”

Spit nickered uncertainly, forehoof kicking sand.

Vaelin went to him, slapped a hand on his flank, stepping back quickly to avoid the retaliatory kick as Spit reared, whinnying in anger, teeth bared. “Go on you hateful beast!” Vaelin shouted, gesticulating wildly. “GO!”

And he was gone, galloping away in a blur of silver blue sand, his parting whinny resounding in the night air. “Go on you bloody nag,” Vaelin whispered with a smile.

There was little else to occupy his time so he sat, feeding the fire, recalling that day atop the battlements at the High Keep when he watched Dentos approach the gate without Nortah and knew everything was about to change. Nortah… Dentos… Two brothers lost and about to lose another.

It was only a slight change in the wind bringing a faint scent of sweat and brine. He closed his eyes, hearing the soft scrape of feet on sand, approaching from the west, making no pretence of stealth. And why would he? We are brothers after all.

He opened his eyes to regard the figure standing opposite. “Hello Barkus.”