The silvery waters of the Great River flowed ever southwards. Khezer took comfort in the fact, in its unchanging nature in a world that seemed in constant flux. Raiders from the west came in search of slaves, while local chieftains rose to power by trading, too, in flesh, the warlord Sog Ankeram gobbling up one clan or village after another in his quest to master the land.

 

By the blessing of The Seven, no raiders had yet come to his cottage, set a short distance back amongst the trees from the river. By Their blessing he and his daughter remained safe despite the madness in the world.

 

It was fourteen years since Meni had come to him. Khezer had fished her from the river, but the pale child with the moon-blonde hair had come not from upriver, but the heavens, an exile from the silver orb of Shen, expelled into his keeping for the sin of pride. Raised the child of a humble woodsman, humility was now her lot.

 

With few interruptions, their life was a peaceful one of order and regularity.

 

Khezer sighed and stood with a groan; winter was months off, yet his bones ached with the approach of age. He picked up his basket of river snails and carried them back to his home.

 

Before the cottage grew a silver-barked moon willow, grown from a seed the child had brought with her, a gift that brought a good profit from the sale of its leaves.

 

“I’ve brought dinner,” he called.

 

Meni looked up from where she sat outside the cottage door, spinning thread upon the wheel.

 

“I’ll cook them just as soon as I’m done here.”

 

He thanked her and carried the basket inside, patting her head as he passed.

 

“People are coming. On horseback,” Meni suddenly called. Her voice was perfectly calm, despite the chill that ran through his blood: A forested country, the only people who rode horses were the raiders from the west and the warriors who emulated them in their quest for power.

 

He grabbed his spear and stepped outside.

 

“Please, Father, put that away. For my sake: I would not see you killed.”

 

It pained him to do so, but he obeyed her command. His daughter was wiser than her mortal years implied.

 

Three horsemen rode into the clearing. Each wore armour shaped from bands of lacquered wood coloured a dark crimson with highlights in a hunting green. Their open-faced helmets were adorned with crests of blood-red horsehair that spoke of their standing. Small round shields of wood hung from their saddles. Two carried short spears from which fluttered red pennants. It was the third who swung himself down from his mount and spoke:

 

“I can see you are the Moon Maiden whose beauty is spoken of, wide-and-far.”

 

There would be no doubt: Meni was distinctly pale and delicate with blue eyes, unlike any Kirim, with waist-length silvery-white hair.

 

She gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

 

“Do you have a name?” the man asked.

 

“I do.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Not for you to know.”

 

He ignored her disrespect. “I have been sent by His Glory, the Master of Men, Sog Ankeram.”

 

Meni laughed. The man looked at her in surprise.

 

“I’m sorry, forgive me, but your boastful words amused me.”

 

The man bristled. “Do not speak so, girl. Are you unaware of Lord Sog’s power, how he marches ever onward towards mastery of the entire world? His glory is not to be mocked.”

 

“Yet, he mocks the gods with his empty titles. His domain is small, his rule fleeting.”

 

The emissary’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword, but he took a deep breath, then continued to speak: “You are young and live here, far from others, and doubtless are foolish and uninformed. Lord Sog is a great and powerful man, a chieftain to whom chieftains defer.”

 

He paused just a moment. “My master claims all the best things in the world. He has heard of your beauty and the awe in which you are held, and he desires to possess you. He would take you as a concubine. I am ordered to return with you, that it so may be.”

 

Meni laughed. “I am not a trained hunting cat that comes when called. Your master must continue on without me.”

 

“I am ordered to return with you and return with you I shall. Do not think I haven’t taken other unwilling maidens for my master. You will be his.”

 

Meni’s voice grew hard. “Return to Sog and tell him I am no chattel to be taken by force.”

 

The man’s confidence suddenly seemed to ebb and he swung himself back into his saddle and turned his horse.

 

“My master shall be displeased.”

 

“I will pray he turns not his wrath on you.”

 

The riders spurred their horses and rode away.

 

Khezer let out his breath, but Meni shook her head and said, “They will return.”

 

~ * ~

 

They did. It was a week later and the same three riders rode once more up to the cottage.

 

“Greetings,” Meni called from where she had been sorting leaves from the moon willow for sale. “I am gratified to see your master did not react too harshly upon hearing of my refusal.”

 

The emissary grunted. He didn’t dismount. “He was displeased. You should know that those who have refused him have brought down calamity upon themselves and,” his eyes flickered towards Khezer, “their loved ones. But, it seems my master was more intrigued than offended by your wilfulness. As a result, he has sent me hence once more to bring you to him as his concubine.

 

“And, this time, he offers your weight in gold as a gift to your father. Come with me, now, and you shall ensure your father lives the rest of his life in luxury. Refuse, and…”

 

Meni shook her head. “Please, return to your master and inform him my answer remains ‘no’. Gold cannot buy me any more than threat or force can compel me.”

 

“I shall tell my master, but do not believe he will show you any further mercy. You may have caught his interest, but such fancies will soon fade.”

 

“As do all things. Return and tell him.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Once more, they rode away.

 

~ * ~

 

At their third coming, Khezer didn’t need to rely on his daughter’s fine hearing to alert him to their approach: The blare of trumpets and beating of drums announced their coming well before they reached their cottage. Birds took flight, squawking in fear.

 

It sounded as if Sog Ankeram had sent many men for Meni. There was, Khezer knew, no way he could fight them all to protect her.

 

“We should go,” he told his daughter.

 

Meni shook her silver tresses in dismissal of the notion. “You may go, Father, but I shall face what comes. This warmonger shall not possess me.”

 

“That fact I do not doubt – it is his reaction that terrifies me.”

 

“Trust me, Father; all shall be well.”

 

He wished he could believe her, but neither could he leave her, so he waited impotently for the horsemen to arrive.

 

Four mounted warriors entered the clearing first, two passing to either side. Then, a figure rode in wearing armour painted a deep black and decorated with gold. His visage was hidden by a faceplate styled like the face of a tusked and snarling demon with a mane of blood-red horsehair. Further horsemen rode in after him.

 

“Sog Ankeram,” Meni said, looking pertly up at him.

 

The rider leapt down from his saddle and pulled his helmet off with a flourish. His face was scarred, but not unhandsome, although there was a curling sneer to his lip and air of pride about him.

 

The emissary who had visited them before dismounted beside his master and acknowledged the girl’s observation.

 

“My master demands an audience with you.”

 

Meni twitched the hint of a smile and Khezer wondered if she were remembering a former life.

 

“You have twice had my answer; do you really think a third time will be any different?”

 

Sog Ankeram fixed her with haughty eyes. “I always achieve what I set my will upon; that is how I became the Master of Men. All bend their knee to me or die. You will be no different, you shall yield to me.”

 

Meni laughed. “Well, you certainly are persistent. You will not accept my answer?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then, perhaps, I shall let you woo me.” Meni looked away, almost shyly. “Very well, you and your men shall dine with me this night, beneath the moon. It is not, I know, the grandeur to which you have grown accustomed, but this is my home.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Meni nodded. “There is a stream a little way to the south of here where you may pasture your horses. You will have to recline upon the ground, but we have reed mats upon which you may sit. You shall eat the best meal you ever shall and realise why I would make you the perfect wife.”

 

“Wife?”

 

“Concubine is less than my worth. Woo me, if you would make me your queen, and you might yet know success.”

 

She smiled coyly as she turned to leave and the warlord watched her go with a predatory grin.

 

Khezer watched them aghast and unbelieving, a sickness of fear and confusion in his stomach.

 

Sog Ankeram turned to him, still grinning. “Rejoice, old man, for I shall give you honour and riches.”

 

Khezer’s hand gripped empty air as he wished it held his spear.

 

~ * ~

 

Meni returned a little later with two baskets of food gathered from the Great River and its bank, which, added to the fish her father had caught earlier and hung to dry, made a meal for the warlord and his score of men.

 

She kept a close watch on the lily flowers boiling in their pots and fish frying upon fire-stones and, all the while, Sog Ankeram stood close by her, praising her, flattering her for her beauty and breathing deeply to compliment her upon the meal she was cooking.

 

“Save your praise till you taste it,” she laughed, “then do so copiously, for you shall never taste another better.”

 

“I can believe it.” He ran his hand gently down her arm. “I shall stay the night and, should you please me sufficiently, I will make you my queen.”

 

She gave him a shy smile and returned her gaze to the frying fish, before finally announcing that the meal was ready. Overhead, the moon rose full and swollen.

 

“Relax,” she told the warlord and his men, “and I shall serve you.”

 

“Mm, this is delicious.”

 

The warriors agreed with their master. The fish and lily flowers and rush hearts tasted as sweet as the rarest delicacies and the rice wine was intoxicating.

 

Sog Ankeram patted his stomach. “You have satisfied me so far.”

 

“Then, I trust you will enjoy the aftercourse. This is a rare delicacy, a type of oyster that can only be found along this stretch of the river. Savour them in your mouth, but swallow them down whole.”

 

There followed a series of ribald jokes as she handed out the firm but jelly-like globes to her guests.

 

The warlord looked at his emissary, who slipped one into his mouth and swirled it from side-to-side, then gave a swallow.

 

The man licked his lips and nodded. “An unusual texture, like a segment of lemon, I would say. There is a sweetness to it and a hint of salt.”

 

Sog Ankeram grinned. “Well, you haven’t died, nor vomited, so it seems fit to eat.”

 

He placed one in his mouth and savoured it upon his tongue, then swallowed. His men followed suit.

 

“Please, have more if you wish,” Meni said, carrying the bowl to any who gestured for more. Sog Ankeram took the lead, gobbling down a dozen.

 

Finally, having fed them all she seated herself upon a mat before her father and her suitor.

 

The warlord smacked his lips. “You have pleased me greatly. Please me, tonight, and I shall make you my queen.”

 

Meni smiled at him. “I do believe you shall find yourself displeased with me tonight.”

 

Sog Ankeram grinned back. “I doubt it.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “I find you most pleasing.”

 

“Ah, but you shall shortly learn that what I told you were oysters were no such things.”

 

“Really? What were they?”

 

“Eggs.” She grinned, now. “A voracious relative of the salamander. They will shortly hatch, hungry for flesh.”

 

The warlord cursed and jumped to his feet. He reached for his sword, but had laid it aside with his armour before sitting down to eat. Instead, he pulled a leaf-shaped dagger from his belt and pointed it at her. His followers looked about in consternation.

 

Meni laughed. “Threaten me all you wish, strike me down, but it will not change your fate. You claim to be protected by the demon of death, Lord Sog, but Keram will shortly claim your soul.”

 

He drew his blade back to strike, but then cried out in pain and clutched his stomach, dropping his dagger. Then, he fell to his knees, features twisting in agony.

 

His men were also collapsing, crying out in pain.

 

Meni knelt beside him and put her lips to his ear. “As your appetite for conquest has devoured your soul, Lord Sog, so your gluttony will cause your body to be devoured from within. The misery you have inflicted upon others is at an end and the pain you have caused is cast back upon you.”

 

The warlord fell to the ground, blood frothing from his mouth and his belly bulging. His scream turned into a gurgle and, then, fell silent and he died. The screams of his men ceased, too.

 

“Father, if you would, help me to carry them to the river.” She saw a look on his face and shook her head. “We cannot leave them here to rot – and their babies will soon chew their way out, and it would be better they do so in the river.”

 

“I cannot believe what you have done.”

 

“Would you prefer I married him and ruled over the enslaved survivors of his wars?”

 

“No, but…this?”

 

“Was necessary. He never would have accepted my refusal and, whether I was wed to him or carried away by force, would have ridden forth to further war. Had he been a reasonable man, not one driven by his desires, he would not have presented himself here as my victim. He chose his path; all I did was offer him a destination.”

 

Khezer shook his head. “Sometimes, you scare me.”

 

“Sometimes, it may be wise to fear me. But, believe me, father, I would never harm you. Now, help me dispose of these bodies.”

 

From that night on, Khezer looked at his daughter in a very different light, wondering what the future held.

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