Legends of Belariath

Nobles and Other Significant Characters

Qu`Selashya Pasha

Ill-starred from birth, damned by a legacy from a distant and long-dead ancestor, inheritor of a pair of deep blue eyes, the girl child who became known as Qu`Selashya always walked a fine line. She was saved from immediate death in the vain hope that her eyes would, in time, somehow change hue, and due to the soft hearted nature of her father, Yal Pasha, ruler of the lands of sand, who wished not to upset his favourite wife.

Named Mah`muht (Desert Dream) by her doting mother ‘til she would take on her adult name, the infant girl grew up in an environment of barely concealed dislike and mistrust. Learning how to defend herself at an early age, normally by taking to her heels and departing in a small flurry of kicked up sand, she gained the use name of Qu`Selashya (Swift Wind) after the swirling wind that brings forth small eddies and whirlwinds.

Time passed and her eyes stubbornly refused to change. Low mutters began to be heard around the camp: until Yal Pasha could ignore them no longer. He had to decide what to do with his problem child. She had become skilled at arms, and had taken to loitering, unbidden, within the council tent – listening to the business of the tribe. If not for her accursed eyes, she would one day make a fine leader. Managing to forestall the inevitable decision until her coming of age, Yal finally pronounced his sentence: not death, but a fate equal to, or even worse, than death. Forbidden to take on an adult name, Qu`Selashya was decreed to be mah'krulash'kal (outcast): never to be welcomed by the tribe; indeed to be slain should she be seen by any of the blood.

Accompanied by only the clothes she stood in, the low wails of her mother, and the braying hisses of the tribe, Qu`Selashya was turned out to live or die at the whim of the land. Knowing that she would not live beyond a week should she try and live in the shadow of the camp she vowed to set out and strike for the world beyond the desert.

Only her knowledge of how to seek out likely sources of water and food kept her alive and her grim determination to not have her bleached bones be found by the tribe allowed her to survive. Weight fell off her in her dismal and lonely trek as her body adjusted to the meagre diet of roots and the last vestiges of puppy fat burned away. A lucky find of the skeletal remains of a camel and rider, flesh picked clean by the sandstorm that caught them unawares most likely saved her life. Augmenting her belongings with a scimitar, dagger and, far more importantly, a water skin, she was now able to eke out her food with the occasional, hapless, small mammal.

For close on to a three months Qu`Selashya pitted her wits, skill and rugged determination against the land, the elements, and the creatures of the desert. A raid on a small caravan gained her new clothing to replace the sun-bleached and rotting rags she wore. It also gained her a long sword to replace the scimitar that broke – leaving the shattered blade imbedded to the hilt in the throat of the guard.

Despite the ill-luck that surely was her heritage; the gods seemed to smile upon her, sending small tokens of chance her way just when it seemed the desert would prevail in the uneven struggle. The caravan, lightly guarded due to the lack of goods on the return trip, that provided much needed food and water; the wrinkled hermit she stumbled across who cared not about her eyes. He was the one who passed on the secrets of his magic to her before death claimed him. Each brief encounter shored up her reservoirs of strength and re-doubled her determination to live long enough to see an end to the shifting sands of what had been her home.

In time she came upon others who had been outcast, or had just decided that the ‘stifling’ rules of the tribes were not for them. The germ of an idea formed in the girl’s mind, and instead of competing or fighting them, she tried subtle persuasion. Some of them retained enough of the old traditions to mutter about the colour of her eyes, but a few well placed kicks and prods with the point of her sword soon put paid to those.

A new tribe was what she suggested in low tones, one that she would lead, and lead to a place where life was no longer ruled by the shifting sands of the desert. In her throaty, seductive voice she spun tales from whole cloth about the lands to the east, full of greenery and bursting with life, where water was so plentiful it fell from the skies.

Desperate for a life that was not bounded by the need to search for water or food most of the tribesmen fell in with her. Making their way in the general direction of east, they encountered more small bands of outcasts. Stopping her ‘merry band’ from falling on them and slaying them out of hand was hard, but her will prevailed, and most of the bands listened to her words and promises. A few even joined her, the rest staining the sands with their lifeblood and further equipping her troops with weapons and scraps of armour.

Just as low, mutinous grumbles were being voiced about how the sands were endless and the land of plenty to the east was just a tale the band, now numbering about 30 strong, finally stumbled onto a rocky area that marked the end of the desert. The tribesmen cried out with wonder at the sight of trees and bushes and it was all that Qu`Selashya could do not to join them. Instead she just looked at the men and women of her tribe with a smug expression and more thanks within her than she could have imagined.

“This, my people, is ours to take and hold. Here will we call others to come and join us. With plentiful supplies some of you will return to the desert and bring others to us, others will create a camp. A camp to begin with, but soon, soon my people we will have a camp that will not need to move with the seasons, or in the search for water.”

The tribesmen let out a roar of approval, even if they were not quite sure of those radical thoughts, but overwhelmed by the sights ahead of them.

“But what shall you be doing whilst we do all this?”

Giving the speaker a glare that rapidly changed to an open smile from under her ragged veil, Qu`Selashya thought quickly, “I? I shall venture further east and see who, and what, else lives here, for someone must live in such a bountiful land. I shall see how the wind blows with them, and decide if we ally with them, or we conquer them.” With a wry grin she pointed to the sharp tongued man, “whilst I am gone, you will lead the tribe, speaking with my voice.”

And so it was that Qu`Selashya made preparations to leave, first ensuring that her newly nominated deputy was capable of running things as she wished and that the tribe would not want for food or water. After a week of what passed as a life of unbelievable ease, she made her farewells and set off into the sunrise.

For a week she walked before finally stumbling across a small hamlet. There, the first pitfall became clear; these people didn’t speak a civilised language. Blessing the old man quietly, she called upon her knowledge of the spell of Tongues so that at least she could understand them. Eking out information from the garbled speech of the villagers she found that the ruler of this land was a mighty Emperor called Stormbringer.

Dismissing most of the tales as pure gossip she set forth again to seek out this, so-called, Emperor and his court. As she travelled she came across hamlets, farming villages more and more frequently. With her limited words of their speech and expedient usage of the spell of Tongues, Qu`Selashya managed to get more accurate directions to the whereabouts of the court.

Her travels led her in a more northerly direction through fertile lands that took her breath away, the mere sight of the first stream she encountered bringing tears to her eyes. It was just two months since she had left her nascent tribe that she saw the castle silhouetted against the evening sky. Stunned by the sight, and filled with not a little trepidation she made her camp and slept fitfully.

Come morning, she roused and with a feeling of dread made her way to the castle that towered over the dwellings that surrounded it. At the castle gates the language barrier was just about getting to the stage of drawn weapons when the court mage made his appearance to find out just what all the screaming was about. To Qu`Selashya’s delight the mage seemed able to understand her speech quite easily, “doubtless,” she thought, “the old goat is using a spell even as do I.”

Greatly amused by her demands to be taken to see the Emperor and her defiant statements that she was his equal, the mage motioned to the guards to let her pass, “this tempestuous chit of a girl will be my responsibility, I shall take her to the audience she craves – I am sure my Lord Stormbringer would enjoy some amusement after breaking his fast.”

Glaring at the mage Qu`Selashya made an important choice; she bit her tongue and didn’t rise to the bait. Following the mage as she swept through the castle she tried not to stumble and fall over her suddenly nerveless feet – here was wealth and power on clear display; guards in bright mail, men and women in colourful, and clean, garb. “Alliance,” she thought, “definitely alliance.”

Ushered into the presence of the tall man who lounged on a vast throne, surrounded by courtiers, and with a beautiful maid in gauzy attire at his feet and gazing up at him with adoring eyes, it was all Qu`Selashya could do not to turn tail and flee.

“My Lord Stormbringer, may I present Qu`Selashya Pasha, if I hear her right, a mighty ruler from the lands to the west, who begs an audience with you. If I may be permitted Sire, I will translate her words as she is not yet adept with our language.”

The man on the throne looked at the girl in front of him, taking in her stained and threadbare robes and didn’t bother to hide a smile, “so, you are a great leader are you? What can such a one want, or need, from me?”

Qu`Selashya’s mouth went dry and her brain seemed to shut down on her, any words that she had prepared to say fleeing in gibbering fear to the darkest parts of her mind. Swallowing noisily, she cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, hoping that whatever tumbled out would be coherent. Before a syllable could pass her lips, the mage coughed gently and spoke, “I believe, my liege, that she offering an alliance of sorts, promising to swear fealty to the Imperium and to guard the western flank of your Empire.” With twinkling eyes the mage turned to look at Qu`Selashya with a raised, bushy eyebrow, “is that not so?”

Grasping the offer with both hands and clinging to it tightly, Qu`Selashya shook her head in agreement, “Yes, that is so, but I am unaccustomed to your ways and knew not how to phrase such an offer.”

Stormbringer frowned at the shake of her head and looked to the mage for a translation and laughed softly when he heard her words. The laughter now was gentler, with a hint of introspection: maybe he recalled other times, other places. His gaze flickered over the young woman again. “My eyes are turned to the north at the moment, and I have not the troops to waste to the west. Such an alliance could be interesting, my lady.”

The mage choked back a bark of laughter and shook his head as Qu`Selashya bristled at the response, realising full well that her limited spellcraft had misread the words as an intention to bed the girl. She subsided somewhat as the old man explained but her eyes remained suspicious, “First, I shall walk amongst your people and see just who I am dealing with, for it is from the common man that I will know you Stormbringer. Once I have done this, I will let you know my will on this matter.” With a feral grin at the mage, who now had to translate that in diplomatic terms, she bobbed her head in a half bow, “lashqu'bet qualuk'deq” (may your waters be eternal) and turned to leave.

Leaving the throne room to the accompaniment of a deep roll of laughter and a brighter giggle from the pretty maid at Stormbringer’s feet, she heard his final words, “I think I like her.”