“Search all the rooms!” Inugami ordered. “Remember my orders. We don’t kill anyone who doesn’t have a gun. Women and children are to be spared!”
Confirmatory shouts signaled that his words had been heard. Many steps, people running, sounds from the house, screams. A cacophony of death, the music of blood. Inugami smiled. Achak would indulge in this tune, and probably did, somewhere else. But Inugami didn’t enjoy it. He was just happy.
He looked around. The resistance here was broken. Battle noise continued to ring from the rest of the house, there was bitter struggle for every room. Inugami paid tribute to the king’s tactics. Provoking a lengthy and bloody house fight was not a bad idea. Nachi suspected that Inugami wanted to conquer the city largely intact, had no time and little resources to rebuild a sea of rubble. No fires were started, at least not by the attackers, and nothing was willfully destroyed.
But the Lord of Yaxchilan may have been less scrupulous in his defensive situation.
Inugami hurried out onto the street. There was also fighting in the surrounding buildings. Screams and deaths everywhere, the sound of weapons, victory and defeat transcending every minute. He had no overview. He had to trust that the fight was going in his favor.
His bodyguard gathered around him as he proceeded up the main street to Palace Square, where the city’s last and most important line of defense was, most of the soldiers and the new king of Yaxchilan himself.
Inugami wanted to go there. But carefully. He kept looking around, watching closely. It would be fatal to move away from the main body of his troop, to advance too quickly. That could seal its premature end, and thus the end of the battle. Inugami had no illusions. If he fell, his troops would disintegrate and run away like rabbits. There was no leader like him who could jump in the breach. That was the truth, and it was not bitter, because it was exactly what the captain wanted.
Everything with him. Nothing without him.
He kept marching. Every now and then one of his men came closer to him when a danger became apparent, for example a warrior screaming wildly on the street, blinded by the intoxication of killing and then struck by a targeted blow. Another atlatl archer appeared on a roof, the greatest danger to anyone using the road, and aimed at Inugami, but missed the captain and then had to fight back the attackers who had fought their way up through the building.
A blessing of luck was upon him. Inugami thought it was providence. He was destined to win and live here.
So he remained undeterred. Every now and then one of the sub-commanders ran up to him, reported on the progress in the streets next to them, dispelled the ignorance, painted a rough picture of the progress of the battle. The struggle was arduous. They cleaned every building of enemy warriors, and that turned out to be exactly as difficult and bloody as could have been predicted. There were setbacks. There were obstacles and defeats.
But there was fighting.
None of his warriors eased his efforts.
Inugami saw civilians driven out of their homes, frightened, some injured, but all able to run away from the attackers’ weapons. He saw that no one was chasing them further, they were just being pushed out of the way, no blade was aimed at them. The greatest damage they did was to stand in the way, and the greatest damages they suffered were bruises and light wounds. It happened the way the captain had imagined it, but the greatest test was yet to come.
He reached the place. Stopped. Examined the army in front of him, and for a tiny moment a doubt crept over him.
Several hundred women and children stood there like a chain, close to each other, staring at the advancing warriors with a mixture of defiance and fatalism, which Inugami involuntarily admired. He knew that given a good time of teaching and development, the Maya would one day be able to develop a real culture that deserved the name of civilization. They certainly had this potential, although they had a long way to go, and the longer he stayed among them, the more he was moved to this concession. The determination with which the women stared at the warriors was a pointer to the emotional supplies that Inugami had tried so hard to tap into. At that moment, he felt confirmed in what he was doing – and in his decision not to let the slaughter happen.
He raised a hand. The warriors paused.
For a moment, the sweaty, heavily breathing men stood there, stained with the blood of their opponents, and the women and children opposite just stared at each other, looked for relatives. Everyone knew what was happening here, and many feared the worst. Eyes locked into each other. There were soft complaints. Children wailed. Warriors lowered their arms, their shoulders hung. Observation. Relief. Fear.
Some shouted something. Hands were stretched out. Someone was called by name, then another. Inugami still raised his hand, warning the slave warriors to discipline. He saw Yaxchilan’s men line up behind the women, saw the atlatl archers on the steps of the temples hesitating to shoot, because they risked hitting their own people.
Nobody raised a weapon. Nobody stormed into the crowd of people waiting. The Mutalese warriors, too, remained calm and obeyed the command. It was a strange, tragic moment that decided so many things. And with every passing second, it became clear that there would be no attack.
And that the Lord of Yaxchilan had underestimated him.
Inugami hid his smile. He waited a moment longer for a runner to stand by his side and whisper something in his ear. The Mutalese men began to fill the streets around the square, still wrestling for every building and intersection, and were a lot more ruthless than the slaves, for this city was truly their enemy and every dead enemy a righteous victim to their Gods.
And they pushed on while everything was standing still here. Yet.
“Now!” Inugami called, dropping her arm.
His army started to move.
Screams of horror and fear rang out, women pressed their heads to the children, stared in horrified eyes at the warrior slaves, their husbands and brothers, and sons, as they took a few steps forward with their arms raised, apparently blind to the pleading requests, the tear-wet cheeks and the arms stretched forward.
Then another command, loud, barked in many voices by subordinates, rehearsed exactly like a dance.
The army flowed aside.
The men turned right and left and ran to the side, along the line of relieved and stunned civilians toward the surrounding buildings, fast, efficient, and so surprising that the opposing troops began to react too slowly.
The long line of women and children remained motionless. The storm slid by them and fought to disappear from the square, leaving them alone, unscathed, completely untouched and helpless.
Inugami also ran.
Now it was time to force the decision.
They stormed the temples and the palaces. The fighting spirit of his warriors had not diminished. They had spared theirs, saved their valuable lives, had not stained their hands with the blood of those who were dear to them, and did not die by the hand of those who wanted to force them to murder their own families. They were slaves, but they felt free, and the power of that freedom flooded them as they raised their weapons against the Yaxchilan men, and they did the act Inugami had asked them to do.
The fight started again. The captain himself marched toward the building, which was clearly identified as the king’s palace. It was his job, part of his charisma, to personally kill this enemy, to face him in battle. He knew how important this kind of standing was, and he hurried up the stairs, ducked behind the shield of one of his bodyguards, then ran on. He raised the pistol, took aim, a shot was fired at one of the defenders who was about to sink his ax into one of the warrior slaves, and saved his life. Nimbus. Legend. Messenger of Gods Inugami, who saves the life of the lowest in battle with the miracle weapon, another story that would spread and that would lift him out of the crowd, more than pure violence and power could ever achieve.
Inugami had now understood
that. He had to follow this path. Aritomo Hara was almost right when he called for measure and consideration. It was almost understood that there were different types of loyalty, and Inugami had to replace what he lacked in connection with the Mayan gods with a different charisma and legitimacy.
Hara had been correct without saying that.
When Inugami fired another shot that struck a powerfully dressed warrior like lightning right, he apologized to his first officer.
Then he had climbed more steps. Left and right of him men died, and it was horrible. But Inugami marched through the chaos as if nothing could happen to him. He ignored the desperate looks of his bodyguards, who struggled to keep up with him and provide adequate protection. The messenger of gods attracted attention. Courageous warriors who figured a chance jumped in his way and got the gun’s attention. Inugami shot slowly and methodically, his arm safe. Every shot, every bullet, more precious than all obsidian and gold, hit its target. He took no chances. He still owned a few magazines, and he wanted no cartridges to be wasted. The invisible death, which was announced only by a sharp bang, was like a large arrow that hovered in the air. He drew resolute enemies to himself, as did loyal slaves, and so the battle culminated, with Inugami as the focus, and with every bang the men of the messenger realized that their prophet was walking among them and judging the enemy as they were.
The Yaxchilan defenders showed great bravery. Inugami paid them respect. It was the courage of despair, and this gave birth to acts of exceptional nature, a selfless intoxication of blood that, despite all the wounds, kept pushing some warriors until they found salvation in death. Inugami paid great attention to it, concentrated on details, only allowed himself to be carried as far as necessary so as not to lose touch with the front. He noted how the fighting was going on and the weaknesses of the enemy and friend. This battle was a school, and it produced lessons that Inugami intended to implement in the future training of his army. There would be more enemies, and they would be at least as determined as these men here. Only a small part of them would throw themselves in the dust in front of the messenger, and for the Captain, these were the most unworthy of them. Maybe useful, but without any dignity.
He reached the center of the palace. Every room was fought for. Screams of pain, expressions of anger and despair, everything echoed through the hallways. The stone floor had become slippery with blood and innards, some warriors lost their grip and stumbled into their opponent’s weapon. Inugami did not have to move wildly or swing an ax, although he carried one with him. He stopped, sighted, pulled the trigger, all in cold calm, unmoving, the recoil easily intercepted with his arm, the next target already identified in the corner of his eye. It became tight as the corpses grew, the smell of the blood obtrusive, almost unbearable. When Inugami entered the throne room, seven opponents were standing around a man in a royal headdress, drenched in sweat, wounded, but upright, with arms raised, ready to sell their king and themselves as dearly as possible.
Inugami raised a hand.
The fighters paused. The warrior slaves and men obeying Mutal took a step back. While the noise of killing could still be heard in the rooms around them, silence fell on this room, and the group of defenders divided and let the king step forward. He was not an old man, perhaps the age of Inugami himself, slim and muscular, and he exuded a dignified defiance that did not suggest surrender. He stood in front of the Japanese, eyed his weapon, the sweaty uniform, both so strange, and then nodded slowly.
“You are Inugami, who is called the messenger of the gods.”
“You are Nachi Cocom, formerly King of Yaxchilan,” the captain replied bumpily and was only comparatively eloquent, because he had anticipated this meeting, longed for it, and could recite the sentence by heart. Inugami waved, and one of the bodyguards came to his side, a young man with a watchful expression on his face, who fought alongside the messenger mainly because he had proven to be particularly understanding and receptive in the English lessons. He would translate for him.
Nachi Cocom did not show whether he was angry because Inugami had already set him off rhetorically. It spoke for his adversary that he didn’t bother with formalities, but rather got straight to the point. “It looks like you’ve won, messenger of gods.”
“I have that impression too.”
“What are you going to do with my city?”
“I make it mine, just like those before me and just like many afterwards.”
The king looked closely at the Japanese. “I heard about your plans. You have great visions. Are you sure everything will fall in your lap if you just keep going?”
“No. Yaxchilan didn’t fall in my lap. I count many dead among my warriors.”
“That could have been avoided.”
“You would have surrendered, king?”
“No. But you shouldn’t have attacked.”
Inugami smiled. “Yaxchilan attacked Mutal.”
“What is it to you? You are not a Mutalese.”
“But Mutal belongs to me now.”
Nachi Cocom nodded slowly, as if this realization finally reached him, and he gradually accepted it.
Inugami thought that was theatrical. The King of Yaxchilan knew exactly what was going on, and that rhetorical games would sow no doubt about the legitimacy of the messenger of the gods. Nevertheless, Inugami enjoyed the exchange. That was something different from the murmur of the other deposed rulers and the acidic remarks made by Chitam.
“What is going to happen to my city?” the king asked with mild interest, as if none of this mattered to him anymore.
“I’ll secure it, spend some time here, and then a governor will be appointed, an administrator who rules on my behalf and enforces my laws.”
“What is your next goal?”
“Time will tell. Do you care?”
Nachi Cocom frowned as if irritated by the question. “What role do I play in your plans, messenger of gods – and the men here who are with me?”
“Your warriors, if they surrender, gain freedom. Whoever is caught with a weapon, I make him my slave. Whoever puts down the weapon and submits without further struggle should go.”
The king looked surprised. Hadn’t he expected such mildness?
He looked at his bodyguards and said something, briefly, quickly, so that the captain didn’t really understand. But the explanation came from the actions of the men, who pretended to refuse their king’s command, then gave way to his iron gaze. They put their weapons on the ground, fell on their knees, leaned their upper bodies forward, and pressed their foreheads to the floor in front of Inugami.
The captain looked down at them and left them in this position for a few moments to strengthen the impression and to show them that this was more than a formality.
“Rise,” he said then. “Go.”
The guardsmen exchanged glances with Nachi Cocom, who in turn made it clear to them to follow the instructions. Without further hindrance, the warriors left the room, accompanied by some of Inugami’s men.
One could never be sure enough.
The palace had calmed down.
The fighting subsided. It could not be said whether this was also true for the rest of the city. The sounds from outside were swallowed up by the thick walls of the building.
The king continued to stand in front of Inugami and, unlike his men, he had neither put down his arms nor changed his dignified attitude. “What happens to me, messenger of gods?”
“I’ve had bad experiences letting people like you live,” Inugami said. “It seems that this special form of grace is always badly paid back to me. So I think your death will be necessary.”
“You say that in a tone that sounds like regret.”
In fact, Inugami noticed that he must have spoken that way. He hesitated for a moment to see if he had any feelings, and found that the thought of killing Nachi displeased him.
&n
bsp; Did he soften?
No, that was unlikely.
“I respect people who show bravery and determination,” he said honestly, as the man deserved it. He spoke to a corpse and knowing that made it easier for him.
“Then I have to thank you for that.”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
“Messenger of gods, I have a family. Wife and children. Will they share my fate?”
“No. As you may have noticed, former king, I have not ordered any of my men to kill the weak.”
“That was smart. But does that also apply to my relatives? My son might think he should have the throne and plan to overthrow you.”
Inugami laughed. “Many are making plans. He would only be one more. Should he become a danger, he will share his father’s fate. And I don’t mean to usurp this throne. If he is reasonable, he can have a peaceful life, grow old, and die unmolested, as your gods think it is right. Let’s see what kind of upbringing he enjoyed.”
Nachi Cocom didn’t look like he was very sure about it. Nevertheless, it was clear from his stance that he was relieved and believed the words of Inugami. This was all the more remarkable given that the captain absolutely intended to keep his promise. It only made sense in exceptional situations to roam through conquered cities and show cruelty. And it didn’t help to promise things and then not keep them. He was the word. The word was the truth. He couldn’t contradict himself.
Inugami felt that the conversation was at an end. He raised his gun. Nachi Cocom fixed the strange thing in the hand of the messenger with a mixture of interest, fatalism, and a little fear on the face. He pressed his lips. No further communications to the world. That was fine; the audience was small anyway and now had other, more pressing things to do.
Inugami pulled the trigger, it popped, and the king’s head was thrown back, the body slid to the ground, hit, and lay motionless. The bloody wound in the middle of his forehead stared upward, as did lifeless eyes of the shot man. Inugami made sure that the man was really dead – sometimes even people with skull wounds survived – and then turned to one of his warriors. “Take him out, tie his body to a stake. Everyone should see him. Don’t disgrace the corpse, ensure it is not disgraced. Let him hang out for a day and give him to the family for a funeral.”
The Emperor's Men 8 Page 24
