All-Flag Rangers: Part XIII, The Shifting Sands
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Elsweyr, 4E97
Ra'shazzad crouched on the sand bank leaning against the dune. With one hand he held a looking glass to his eye, watching the encampment below the cliff. The bandits were milling about in three groups. Four were gathered in the center around a campfire, roasting what looked and smelled like dunerat. Three were farther back, against the cliffside, huddling around a broken wooden chest counting the goods they'd plundered. Two more were off to the side, one pissing into the sand while the other was apparently... watching? Laughing? Ra'shazzad scoffed. Humans. Disgusting.
He took his eye away from the looking glass and licked his chapped lips, wishing they were back in the hold where he might have some good rum, drink in peace while gnawing on some sugarmeat. Ra'shazzad gestured for his second to come closer. Hata scurried forward, crouching next to the battlechief and awaiting his instructions.
Ra'shazzad spoke to him in the slow, languid ta'agra accent of the Ne'Quin-aliiti . Ra'shazzad had heard a Pa'alatiiniit speak once, or he thought he had. He'd heard something but it did not sound like words to Ra'shazzad.
Hata ran off to follow his instructions. Ra'shazzad smiled. He liked Hata, but always thought it was a shame he was ohmes-raht. Almost furless, though better than an ohmes. Ra'shazzad had known an ohmes once, and then he had known her, and after he felt he knew what it would be like to know a boiche, and he didn't know how he felt about that - which must be bad because Ra'shazzad always knew how he felt about knowing people: like he'd like to know them again, very soon and possibly with friends. But not Hata. Hata was an ohmes-raht and that meant he was probably very ugly.
He looked through the glass again. The two bandits had finished their piss and were now behind the big tent, discussing something with large animated gestures. They reminded Ra'shazzad of the imga that seemed to think they needed to accent every word with big hand-wavings and movements. Ra'shazzad did not like imga, they smelled disgusting - worse than the boiche who Ra'shazzad was sure never bathed or touched perfumes of any kind. At least ohmes-raht smelled good. Imga had better fur however, even if they did not groom it properly.
There was the sound of shuffling on the sand behind Ra'shazzad. Hata would not make any noise, softly padding on the sand like he would. That meant he had brought the leader of the prisoners. Ra'shazzad turned around to see that yes, he was correct, and that pleased him. Hata was standing behind the one they'd brought. J'agashe, a big cathay, almost big enough that many mistook him for cathay-raht, but he wasn't cathay-raht and Ra'shazzad knew this - he had no barbs, as Ra'shazzad had discovered much to his displeasure. What was the point of the tickle without a little of the slap?
The prisoner had a gag around his mouth. Hata pulled the cloth from behind the human's mouth, letting the gag drop. As he did this Ra'shazzad put a finger to his own mouth.
"Shh," he said, his other hand caressing the hilt of his dune-knife. He hoped the prisoner got the message - it would be much less of a spectacle if they had to engage the bandits in open combat because this stupid man went and yelled out their location.
"This one welcomes you to the lavish landscapes of great Ne'Quin-al, where all are rich in sand and wind," Ra'shazzad said with a grin, though he was grimacing inside. He hated speaking in Tamrielic - it had no wind to it, nothing like Khenarthi's breathy speech. It was dry and flavorless, like human cooking.
Ra'shazzad found himself continually distracted by the man's eyes - though it was not uncommon for Ra'shazzad, like any khajjit, to be distracted, and often - which were curiously unmanlike. They seemed almost lizardlike to him, like an argonian, but the kind that slithered on it's belly.
The man was staring at him. Ra'shazzad realized that several seconds had passed in silence while he stared at the prisoner's eyes.
"This one has a question for you, and you will answer," said Ra'shazzad, "for you are Ra'shazzad's honored guest - certainly not a trespasser like those who sit beyond this dune - and that means you will speak truthfully to Ra'shazzad, and Ra'shazzad will thank you and let you go without letting the sands drink of your redness. They are very thirsty, these sands, and this one does not wish to quench them today."
The man said nothing. Ra'shazzad gestured to J'agashe who grabbed the man by the back of the neck, lifting him easily and placing him on the side of the dune next to Ra'shazzad. The man's chin eased onto the sand softly, where he could see the distant form of the bandit camp. Ra'shazzad dropped the looking glass onto the sand in front of the man's eyes, adjusting it so he could look through.
"You see yes? Men, like yourself. But these are not guests," said Ra'shazzad, "these are trespassers on our tribelands. Bandits, murderers and thieves. One might assume, being a man yourself traveling with other men, that they are with you, for few men travel this deep into the desert. One might assume so, but that would mean you are not guests, but trespassers, which surely you are not. So as guests you will tell us what these bandits intend, yes? Yes you will, because if you say nothing then you must certainly be a trespasser, so awed by our hospitality that you are left silent, and silence makes us uncomfortable because the throat, it is made for speaking you see and if a throat is not being used, well we might as well just slit it and be done with it."
Ra'shazzad felt that somewhere along the way that speech had gotten away from him, but he was not like some kitten, chasing a tail round and round trying to reach it's end. He would let it meander on it's own until it found it's own end and not waste time trying to force it.
"I don't know," the man spoke, finally. He looked bored, and that was not good. Ra'shazzad would be insulted if he was bored, "I can't see very well, these eyes you know, they don't work so good. I need my second, my second sees better." Ra'shazzad let out a sigh, then turned to his own second.
Hata seemed to have caught sight of an insect. He was watching it with interest, following the path it carved through the sand. Then in one swift movement Hata swiped it with his paw, crushing the creature. This seemed to please Hata. Ra'shazzad saw this, and it pleased him. Ra'shazzad waved to get Hata's attention, then told him to go fetch the prisoner's second in command, the dark one.
Hata returned with the second prisoner, who struggled a little walking forwards. Hata had to grab her hands - which were tied together behind the back, and twist a little to get her to stop struggling. She grimaced in pain, then acquiesced and calmed down. Hata deposited her in the sand next to the first. Ra'shazzad passed the looking glass to Hata who held it up to the second prisoner's eye.
"Tell them what you see Iszir," said the first man.
"I see bandits, murderers and thieves," the woman said in a bored voice, "and strangers."
Ra'shazzad was not amused.
"And you could not see this, hmm?" he said to the snake-eyed prisoner, "You could not tell that, knowing no one else in the desert, you did not know them? This one finds that difficult to believe."
"Do you know what I find difficult to believe?" snake-eyed asked, "That you allow your people to so roughly treat your prisoners."
Ra'shazzad's face darkened, "You are not prisoners, you are guests. We do not take prisoners in the desert. Prisoners use up too much water. We would rather water the sands than take them with us. Would you like to be prisoners? It will not be a long engagement."
"Iszir, do you know why I find it so difficult to believe?" Snake-eyes asked his compatriot, ignoring Ra'shazzad's threat.
The woman responded, "I know."
"Oh, good."
There was silence. This upset Ra'shazzad, his tail swished back and forth. He waited, but the prisoners said nothing. He hissed before spitting out,
"What? What is the why of the difficulty of the believing?" he said, not bothering with thinking his sentence structure through.
"Oh?" said the snake-eyed one, "Well it makes it really easy to get a cat's claws real close to ropes."
There was a blur and the woman was on her feet, one fist clutching Hata's throat while the other smacked into J'agashe's stomach, chest, and crotch. The cathay crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain, while Hata let out a thin choking hiss, clawing at the redguard woman's iron-like hand that enclosed his throat. The first man, who was still lying stomach down in the sand facing the bandits, spoke,
"Now you'll be kind enough to untie me, and our friends, and we'll go on our way. I regret we don't know anything about yon bandits, truly, and don't particularly care," he said, "this isn't the Empire so we don't have any reason to care about them. This guy though, your friend? We care about him, and his throat. So unless you want him to water your sands, you should let us go, now."
Ra'shazzad hissed, "We have fifty cats in our band. You may kill him, your speedy woman may even kill me, but the rest of the band will lay you low before you walk three feet, and all your friends are still bound in the camp. Shall we all journey to the sands beyond the stars together?"
"You're underestimating my rangers if you think fifty cats will make any difference. Iszir will kill twenty by hirself, and I've three more like Iszir."
Ra'shazzad looked at the redguard appreciatively. She was fast. He'd seen faster though. Ra'shazzad rose his arm above his head to where it was visible above the sand bank, then gestured towards the looking glass before lowering his arm again. That was the signal, he hoped she'd seen it.
"This one thinks the snake-eyed one should look through the glass at the bandits, and see what they may expect of my warriors.
The tied up man did so, wriggling to the side so he could put his eye to it. This is what he saw:
There was a cat on the cliff above the camp. Not a khajiiti cat-man, not a khajiiti battlecat, just a regular cat. By all appearances a simple brown and white-furred housecat, wearing a little red shirt that covered it from neck to lower chest. It softly leapt down from rock to rock till it landed in the dirt, then meandered around the back of the tents. One of the two bandits hanging behind the tents saw it, a nord, pointed it out and then crouched down, calling it over. They seemed to be assuming it belonged to some merchants or something and had gotten away. The cat walked past them, nuzzling against the nord's leg. They turned and followed it, trying to get it's attention. The cat walked around the tent, leading them towards the center of the camp where the four other men were gathered around the cooking fire.
The nord said something, getting the attention of the bandits around the campfire. One of them, a big man with nibenese facial tattoos, stood suddenly, pointing at the cat and yelling. The nord and his buddy seemed confused, while the three around the fire stood and drew their weapons, also somewhat confused. The three men over by the treasure chest were watching in further confusion. The nibenman gestured at the cat, who was sitting innocently, waving his weapon at her. The nord laughed, saying something that was probably rather rude at the nibenman, then bent down to scratch the cat's neck. As he did so the cat stood on its hind legs up against him, putting its paws around his neck as he crouched down, and the nord crumpled into a heap. Before the other men could do anything the cat was dashing through the sand and leaping onto the next man, landing on his chest and thwapping the side of his neck twice before pushing off his chest and onto the nearest tentpole, landing gracefully on the thin wooden beam.
The man she'd thwapped fell to the ground as well, both he and the nord unconscious. The men turned and charged the cat with their axes and swords drawn, but the cat had already leapt onto the ground between then. One man swung an axe at the cat but it dashed through the sand and his axe sliced through the nibenman's leg, who screamed and fell to one knee. The cat was there suddenly, paws thwapping points in his wrist, elbow, and shoulder of both arms, which after dangled uselessly, the man moaning in pain and frustration. The cat was dashing through the sand and the three men remaining gathered around it, pinning it back between themselves and a tent. She hissed, then slapped at the ground sending a spray of sand. One bandit turned in time but the other two were blinded, and by the time the one who'd dodged turned back the cat was gone.
The man felt a weight on his back, and two thwaps on either side of his neck dropped him into darkness. The two blind bandits were scratching at their eyes with one hand, swinging their weapons wildly with the other. The cat turned away as their weapons inevitably met the other's flesh, and they fell groaning, bleeding and blind into the sand. The cat turned to the cliffside, where the last three bandits were clutching the wooden chest of goods between them, shuffling through the sand to try and escape. She watched as three arrows flew in from the east, landing in their chests and necks. Then she turned and sauntered towards the dune where Ra'shazzad was being threatened.
The man looking through the looking-glass whistled.
"That is some kind of luck."
"S'basa is not lucky," Ra'shazzad said, "S'basa is skilled in Black-Milk Rawlith Khaj. S'basa defeats a camp of bandits without killing a one. S'basa is but one of Ra'shazzad's many warriors. Your friends will not survive your escape attempt."
"No not that," said the snake-eyed imperial, "I mean that I think she's exactly who we came here to find. Iszir, let our friend breathe."
The more the man spoke, the more confused Ra'shazzad felt. But the redguard let go of Hata's throat and took her foot off J'agashe's, and this pleased Ra'shazzad. He turned and looked over the dune to see that S'basa was almost upon them. She was limping through the sand, running on three paws with one raised to her chest.
"Are you wounded?" asked Ra'shazzad in ta'agra as she approached.
S'basa shook her had, mewing a reply, "A blade cut this one's budi. It will fall." She looked embarrassed.
Ra'shazzad grimaced and looked away. After a moment's thought he reached to his side and unknotted the strings then removed his own shirt, passing it down to the alfiq. S'basa's eyes widened inquisitively. Ra'shazzad shrugged. It was indecent, but at least he only had two nipples to distract the other warriors with.
S'basa nodded gratefully. She took it in her mouth, turning away and beginning to work it into a tight sari she could wrap around her torso fur.
"This man, he says he and his warrior band have come looking for you." Ra'shazzad said to the alfiq. S'basa was awkwardly fixing the sari with her paws, she looked over her shoulder at him.
"S'basa does not know them, what is their purpose? Perhaps they are with the bandits?"
"The snake-eyed one, he says they are not, and shows no issue with their deaths." Ra'shazzad turned to J'agashe, "Go, bring one of the bandits here. We will question them."
The big cathay nodded and stumbled over the dune, still feeling nauseous from the redguard's attack. He returned with the nibenman, dragging him through the sand by the scruff of his shirt, a trail of blood from his leg wound dragging through the sand. He brought him and carefully set him up on the sand bank, moving him into sitting position. The man's arms still dangled uselessly. Ra'shazzad looked at S'basa, who had a questioning look in her eyes. He nodded, and she approached the bandit, who growled at her, wincing in pain.
"I told 'em, watch for cats. Told em you fuckers look different in Elsweyr, but they never listen to Plontinu do they. Shit!" he spat. S'basa sat in front of his wounded leg, her tail twisting around to touch his leg with it's tip. She closed her eyes, and her tail seemed to glow with a faint golden light. His wound sowed itself up, slowing closing as if it'd had a few weeks to heal. The man stopped groaning, looking confused.
"Do not move much," Ra'shazzad said, "Or it will open again. And do not worry, your arms will work fine again within a few minutes. S'basa does not harm people permanently." He glanced to the side, where the snake-eyed man was standing and rubbing his now untied wrists. Ra'shazzad shrugged and turned back to the bandit.
"Do you know these humans?" he asked.
"Fuck no, who the fuck are they some fucking imp fuc-" his tirade was cut off by Ra'shazzad's dune-knife dipping into his throat. The khajiit moved to the side before pooling it out, the blood shooting out in an arc. He bumped the back of the bandit's head so he fell face first into the sand where he would make less of a mess. S'basa was glaring at him. Ra'shazzad shrugged again.
"He said no, we had no further use for him," he turned back to the imperial and the redguard, "It seems our honored guests are good and honest, as this one suspected. Ra'shazzad invites them to camp with us this night, and share our food. Come, we will gather your friends and my band, and we will eat together freely and discuss why you have come for S'basa."
Iszir looked at Aurelius, who nodded and thanked him. They followed Ra'shazzad and S'basa, Hata and J'agashe towards the tribe's encampment to discuss business.
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