I Am A Barbarian: I Am A Barbarian, #1

By L. Ahossou

At fourteen, Delta has crossed half the continent and braved innumerable trials alongside her nomadic family. But her toughest challenge still lies ahead. Tasked with attending a sorcery academy in the far-flung city of Samarzal, she must first survive the perilous journey there.

 

With her uncle and cousin, she joins a caravan that ventures onto the notorious Forsaken Road, a treacherous path plagued by hungry demons, evil necromancers, and murderous locals.

 

Not all is darkness, though. Unlikely bonds of friendship are forged along the journey, but some travellers harbour secrets darker than the Forsaken Road.

 

Delta is no princess or kickass heroine with flowing skirts. Just a girl from the plains, coming of age in a brutal, fascinating world. Would her resilience and newfound allies be enough for her to complete her journey?

 

A special note for readers: this book contains a lot of different characters and a lot of worldbuilding. If you prefer your settings West European medieval and your story focused on a few heroes and villains, you probably won't enjoy this novel.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thousand Tales
• Release date: May 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215377697

Book preview

Chapter 1

The rhythmic marching song of the caravan drivers drifted back, the familiar melody a constant companion these past three weeks. They sang it as they marched, as they loaded the shaggy, double-humped camels, as they made camp, even as they sat around the evening fires. Delta thought she loved the song too, but after all that time, it sounded like useless noise.

A gush of wind whipped a wet strand of black hair under the brim of her leather cowl. She felt a trickle of icy water run down her collar.

So, how do you address the Empress Mother? rumbled Holu’s gruff voice.

Ash and dust, not again! Next time, I swear, I'll throw him off the path! She scrunched her face at the back of the grizzled warrior. He was striding two paces ahead, scanning the mountain path.

Your Sapient Majesty, Resplendent Rose of Wisdom, she recited above the patter of the rain. They had been repeating the same lesson for the last two weeks. Like any man of the sword, Holu was a firm believer in daily practice.

She sneezed. The last thing she needed was a cold. As a proper Plain nomad, she hated walking. Hadn’t her Mountaineer father forced her to do long treks, she would have already collapsed. To make matters worse, Holu had insisted she wore her sword, and the long, unfamiliar steel weighted her right side.

One camel ahead, Yahir was laughing and preening, pulling his cowl over his unruly albino mop, dyed black for the trip. That irritated her even more. Since hitting puberty, her joking cousin seemed to have forgotten her. He was only interested in the stirrings between his legs. All morning, he had been trying to charm Izumo, the quiet, lanky Gbani peddler. Hardly the behavior befitting a soon-to-be shaman. 

Probably why Grandma sent him to Samarzal before he makes a fool of himself.

Holu’s voice cut through her wandering thoughts. And how do you address a great priestess?

Very Wise... Uncle Holu, do you think this is the right place for etiquette lessons?

He tugged his sheepskin greatcoat to stop it flapping and turned to give her a stern glare from under bushy brows. Why not? At fourteen, you can’t think, walk and talk at once? I’m asking about manners, not potions!

She turned back to hide her scowl, pretending to check on the beasts. Water was streaming from the oiled skin bags nestled between the humps of Spring, the young female camel. It was the one she had to keep an eye on. Behind it, Rain, Cloud, Dust, and Night, the ponies, and Flower, Coal, and Leaf, the warhounds were well-behaved, stoic, and smart, they just plodde on.

Ahead and behind, over a winding path strewn with rubble, trudged two hundred women, men, and beasts, horses, mules, camels, sheep, dogs, nobles, servants, merchants, pilgrims, laborers, priests, or jugglers. Most hailed from the crumbling Twelve Realms, especially Gban, with fair skin and snub nose, their brown hair cut in a fringe across their foreheads. There were also many Dejwa, lithe, and copper-skinned in their wide riding trousers. Scattered among them were Rane nomads like herself, short, stocky, and darker, swathed in leathers and furs. There were even a few slim Triskelians the color of wet earth, under wide-brimmed hats. Every two-dozen people or so walked a wary caravan guard.

Mules brayed, and camels groaned under bulging bundles. Their bells jangled while their feet splashed in the puddles. The place was just wide enough for a single loaded camel and his driver to walk abreast, and now it was littered with the manure of the three hundred beasts who had already passed. On the left, rose a towering wall of rock. On the right, a sheer drop led into the gorge of the Swan River, its waves churning with an endless roar. Tufts of grass clung to the cracks. Here and there, scrawny trees grappled with the rocky slope. 

With the rain, one misstep could send you crashing to your death. Not the best weather to cross the Hundred Mountains, but the Crescent Moon Caravan had no choice. Heavy spring rains and an earthquake caused a landslide damming the Swan River. It had burst its banks and flooded their usual path. They had to take another route.

The fierce Mountaineers had stared at the passing foreigners with hungry eyes. The caravan mistress had paid their chieftain the usual toll and added lumps of salt and chunks of amber, but the local rules of hospitality were as uncertain as the weather. Better to be out of sight as fast as possible. That was why the caravan has been trudging along since dawn, wet and miserable, on the side of the North Sister. The camels groaned and labored. Sometimes their load slipped, and everyone behind stopped to wait for it to be shifted back into balance.

Delta sneezed again. This reminded her of her bladder, but there was nowhere to empty it without escaping her uncle’s snide comments. She was getting too old to attend to her needs on the spur of the moment. Uncle Holu, when will we get to the other side?

If Ori doesn’t play one of His tricks in about three hours...

She wiped her nose. The head of the caravan must have already reached Bearstone Rest. There, they would light fires and make hot soup. Why did they let those rich merchants go first?

Holu lowered his voice, although nobody could speak Rane around them. Look around you, hetman’s daughter. We are vulnerable here, and most of our bowstrings are soaking wet. But most bandits are after easy work. They try to grab the goods and run. So, Mistress Khana has left the most valuable things—silver, pelts, amber, and carnelian—at the front or at the back with the guards. That way, if bandits attack us, they might make off with the goods or the spare camels, but they will leave the middle of the caravan alone.

And the merchants are happy with that?

What d’you think? But that’s the Laws of the Road. People before goods. If they want passage with the Crescent Moon Caravan, they must abide. That’s why they’ve brought their own guards, besides those of Mistress Khana. He paused and briefly turned his head before adding, If we meet bandits, I just hope they will be of the normal variety. I’ve heard that Stonehead outlaws have stolen some floatstones from the Anvil Marquess. They might try building a windship... Holu mouth hardened. I can’t wait to leave this bloody place.

She lifted her head involuntarily and peeked from beneath her cowl. Across the gorge, the Twelve Steps and the South Sister were looming against the laden sky. The head of the latter was totally lost in the clouds. Like everyone else, Delta had heard about the Triskelian windships. She hoped to see the entire fleet on parade in Samarzal. One day.

Let’s not be distracted, said Holu. How do you properly enter a Triskelian home?

She fought the urge to scoff. You think I'll ever set foot in one of those?

Why not?

They look down on us! They call us bab... huh... bar...

Barbarians. Still, they need us, like the Rose Empress needed your grandmother.

It was long ago. And then, the Rose Empress was not yet Triskelian, was she? She was travelling to Samarzal as an envoy and Grandma was looking after her horses.

Holu turned back with a grin. Yep! She was fourteen just as you are now! He retrieved a wad of chewing tobacco from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Back to the lesson, daughter. How do you properly enter a Triskelian home?

You cross the threshold without stepping on the sacred line, then turn left to face the shrine of the house’s ancestors and bow. Then, you receive a symbolic bowl of water, of which you pour a few drops on the floor as an offering and drink the rest.

Remember: you’ve got to take the bowl with your right hand. Never use your left for anything important.

Yes, yes. Still can’t understand why.

Sophisticated people have strange beliefs. What’s the cost of a bowl of plain rice on the streets?

Four copper roses.

After a few more questions and answers, they rounded a bend and the Swaying Bridge came into view. It was a simple row of sturdy planks lashed together with ropes and rawhide, anchored to the cliffs on either side with metal rings bolted into the rock. Additional ropes formed a net along the sides for safety. It swayed and creaked as a man and two donkeys inched along. Delta swallowed hard. Being the lightest, she would have to cross with the camel and again with one pony. Just thinking about it turned her knees to water.

Up ahead, the peddler’s camel stumbled. Its master cut short his discussion with Yahir and whirled around, cursing, his coin necklace jangling at his neck.

Your beast’s load is slipping, young man, called Holu, switching to the vernacular.

The peddler blinked. What? Where?

Better fix it before the bridge. Delta, fetch a rope.

She went to retrieve one from Dust’s saddlebag. She brought it to Yahir, who grinned at the peddler.

Here, Izumo. I lift the chest, you tighten the strap and add the rope.

The man tied the camel to a scrawny tree and made it kneel. It took some persuasion. Behind them, the line was waiting patiently. Delta fished out the handful of nuts she had hoarded the previous day. Like all girls of her age, she was perpetually hungry. She popped them in her mouth one by one, trying not to imagine slipping from the bridge and plummeting into the misty gorge. Somewhere above, she heard a faint crack. She ducked her head, expecting a rain-loosened stone to come tumbling down. But nothing fell. Instead, Spring tried to snatch the nuts from her palm, and she had to smack her muzzle.

Excuse me! Sorry!

A warrior in the soaked blue tabard of the Unicorn Company was coming up the line of travelers. He was followed by a tall woman holding a leather umbrella and a fair-skinned, blonde girl of about Delta’s age, wearing red trousers under a fur-lined cape. As they reached the ponies, Delta recognized the daughter of some princeling who had joined them at Pharzel with a dozen Unicorn bodyguards, a governess, a cook, two servants, a chariot, and a cart full of stuff. The chariot and cart had been dismounted, loaded onto spare camels, and now the girl was trudging like everyone else, no doubt complaining at length to her governess.

The peddler glared at them. The woman made a polite cough. Excuse me, my lady ward wants to press on and be dry as soon as possible. She does not wish to be kept waiting any longer—

Hey! shouted the guard ahead. No overtaking!

She smiled sweetly and waved her hand. We do not want to break the rules, worthy warrior. But she is a child. She dug into the folds of her coat and produced a handful of silver coins. Perhaps we can find an arrangement with the good people ahead and—

Through the rain, Delta heard a thin twang. By sheer habit, she threw herself onto the muddy ground. A blur passed in the corner of her eye. Something heavy fell on her. She realized with horror that it was the bodyguard. A cacophony of screams erupted, and she felt a strong stink of rock oil.

When she crawled from under the thrashing man, she found the girl and her governess folded in a screaming, sobbing heap. An oblong shadow was blotting out the sky. She froze on her knees, mouth agape. The shadow was swaying gently. She realized it was the hull of a boat like the ones on the Riversea, except that instead of floating on water, it was floating in the air, twenty good feet above her head.

From there, a male voice snapped in the ragged tongue of the Mountaineers:

Don’t shoot, idiots! You might kill her.

A heavy mass fell on her, and this time, she recognized Holu’s cloak. It was also covering the girl, totally oblivious to the situation.

Stay hidden.

Apparently, the princeling had enough sense to shut up. Or maybe she was just in shock. Sophisticated people had odd reactions to danger. Delta peeked from under the sheepskin. Holu was holding his sword. The governess brandished a knife, eyes darting about. The dogs were barking madly. The peddler’s camel was thrashing, an arrow sticking out of its side. Screams ahead grew louder, while smoke was rising from the Swaying Bridge.  Over it all, Delta barely made out the voice shouting:

Listen! We don’t want to fight! Just give us two people! We’re looking for a girl, and—

The boat’s side exploded in a gush of flames. It went careening above the gorge, then crashed into the mountainside, raining splinters and screaming men down into the abyss.

The whole thing had not taken more than a few minutes. Holu pulled Delta to her feet. She was dazed, soaked in blood, rain, and camel dung. The bodyguard was splayed face-down in the mud, dead. Spring and the ponies were shifting nervously, threatening to knock over the girl, who was crying in the arms of her governess. Izumo’s camel was struggling madly on the ground, oblivious to the abyss a few feet away. The young peddler stood without moving for a few heartbeats, then, as he turned towards his beast, a look of utter terror passed over his face. No! No!

Yahir grabbed his shoulder. Don’t try to rescue it. It’ll kick you right off the path.

The man seemed to recover some composure. He pulled out a long knife, jumped on the camel with surprizing speed, seized its head, and cut its throat in one swift move. Holu mechanically mumbled the ritual prayer.

The peddler flung himself to his knees on the muddy ground. Master Holu! I beg you! My little brother’s coffin is in this camel’s pack. I cannot abandon him! He must be laid to rest in our family vault. Please, let me buy your camel and its load at twice its price!

Holu frowned. Well... there are four hundred pounds of wombsleep grass and fifty pounds of dried stopblood there, er... I was expecting to get two hundred silver roses for the lot. And the camel is a four-year-old Barsani black.

Izumo fished something from his belt pouch and opened his palm, revealing ten Triskelian gold roses. Holu's eyes widened. It was way more than what he asked for. He exchanged a look with Yahir above the man’s shoulder. The young shaman gave the ghost of a nod. Holu shrugged and took the money.

Delta, pass him Spring. Carefully... I guess you won’t mind if I take off a piece of meat from your beast, young man?

Not at all! Please be my guest!

Delta carefully led the nervous camel over the dead bodyguard. With Yahir’s help, the peddler quickly discarded the bundles of grass down the gorge and replaced them with a chest and his pack, both wrapped in skins.

The governess hurried to shepherded her young charge back towards the rest of their retinue. Around them, the caravan was in shambles. Anxious calls were coming from the rear.

What’s going on, by the Seven Hells? Did you get rid of those motherless bastards?

No, looks like they set fire to their own ship and smashed into the mountain!

Good riddance! Can we go on?

They have burned the bridge!

Shit and blood!

The discussion went back and forth, relayed across the length of the caravan. Delta suddenly remembered her bladder. She backed against the rocky wall as far as possible from the corpse—the dead deserved respect—and relieved herself without further thought. Then she simply squatted, her back to the rock face, and shivered. Flower came to lick her. In the meantime, Marzay, the captain of the rearguard, had made his way up to the remains of the bridge. Delta could hear him and the caravan mistress shouting across the gorge.

Where did those rabid dogs come from?

The Traitor knows!

How many dead do you have?

Three, Mistress Khana. Two shot. One has fallen to her death. What shall we do now?

Retrace our steps to the foot of the thrice-damned mountain and spend the night there. On the morrow, go back to Pharzel and join another caravan bound for the Southern Road. You shall catch up with us at Samarzal.

But what if those Stonehead clansmen we passed hours ago lie in wait for us? Maybe they were in cahoots with those jackals in the windship!

There was an ominous silence.

You are right. Leave the path halfway and spend the night at the Field of Stones. You will block the path behind you. At first light, make your way to the abandoned caravanserai behind the mountain, lock yourself there, and wait until you are certain you are not followed. Then, take the Forsaken Road. You should reach White Bridge in four or five days. After that, you will get to Shambasha in a week. We will wait for you there.

Also, we got only a few days of supplies.

What can I say, Marzay? Make do. Kill some beasts. Find some game. Once at the river, you will get some fish. Also, the Boar tribe still lives somewhere along the way. They used to be friendly and eager to reopen this abandoned route. They might have supplies to spare.

Another pause. Although her father was a Mountaineer, Delta had only a vague idea of the layout of the Hundred Mountains. Like everyone else, she knew the place was huge. A wall between very different lands. To its west lie her native grassy Plains, to its north, the hills and forests of the Twelve Realms and the rising dominion of the Dejwa. In the south, the mountains ended at the dry Anvil plateau, and behind it spread the lush Triskelian Empire. The Mountaineers lived in a maze of secluded valleys sheltering them from the violent storms off the Plains and from more pernicious threats, such as news and knowledge. They cultivated a strong hostility toward anything from outside, except for gold and slaves. That was why their neighbors called them Stoneheads. She groaned. There was more walking ahead. Maybe more walking with