merlins godson 1 & 2

by H. Warner Munn

  He assured me in all seriousness that such things were of constant occurrence, and furthermore should this mischievous elf be seen in its true shape (for it often simulated the appearance of some common animal to further its evil designs), it inevitably brought death to the beholder. Nor would he describe it to me, being in great terror lest what he might say would also bring the curse upon me that he felt would assuredly be his bane. So I sent him to his quarters and had another guard posted in his place and returned to my own couch, smiling, for the thought now came to me of the great-eyed owl which I had seen before on two critical occasions—once as I had lain in peril upon a roof in the City of the Snake, and once after my rescue as we’d retreated, though in a manner victors, from that place of blood.

  And I suspected that this visitor of the night had brought some news from Myrdhinn, or betokened his nearness, and entering my own quarters I found that the former was the truth. Before a rushlight sat Gold Flower of Day, in her cotton nightwear, puzzling over the unfamiliar Latin letter which she had removed from a bronze cylinder that this creature had hurled at me before it had fled.

  So I hurriedly smoothed out the scroll, and forgot the sentry and his fears, which was unjust, for at that moment he lay with his own stone knife embedded in his heart, though no one knew it till dawn.

  It read:

  To Varro, Legatus of Aztlan, from Merlin Am-brosius, Imperator; greeting.

  The People of the Long House await the new moon, to march upon the City of the Snake. Runners have spread the word among the tribes of Chichameca, to roll down upon the frontier forts, from the Inland Sea to the Mica Mines. The kings have agreed to attack on that date. Follow the plans we arranged. Take the fort at the junction of the rivers, garrison it, and push on to meet us. We strike with all strength. God with us! Let us avenge Marcus!

  Vale.

  17 The Eagle and the Snake

  Now, after this message from Myrdhhm, we all were elated, for we had not known if our friends were alive or dead, in which latter case our plans were ruined and we must make haste to evacuate and return whence we had come. Indeed, for the last month complaints had been growing at our inaction and the first enthusiasm was long since dulled. The people of Alata are peculiarly without patience. They can win a battle, but find it difficult to win a war. They are not willing to wait, but would rather settle everything by a headlong rush, which is the reason that Mian discipline had, so long held the country.

  Had it not been for my constant drilling on the parade grounds and the discipline that irked their savage spirits, but which was recognized as necessary by the most intractable, I believe my force would have been halved by desertion.

  However, the chief credit must go to their women, whose unquestioning faith in my aims was of much importance; for they argued to themselves, as they watched the eternal marching and weapon-play, that such long training could not be for nothing, and under their criticizing looks that warriors vied for supremacy over their fellows.

  Here, too, while encamped, I originated an order of knighthood, with a graduated scale of honors, colored mantles and badges which they might wear to show their rank, and much solemn ritual to be used in initiation of the chosen. I dubbed these selected few “Valiants” which became in the common talk “Braves” (though now, in these latter years, the idea has spread far beyond my people, and all over Chichameca the barbarians deck themselves with feathers to denote honors attained, and any male, of age and below a king’s rank, calls himself a brave).

  All these things kept them under my order, until the day when we learned that the Hodenosaunee awaited only the day to pour over the borders with ax and fire. All Chichameca was seething with unrest and could the voices that rose from those dark forests have been blended into one, it would have been a cry of hate to freeze Mian blood to the last drop.

  We bode our time to the appointed day. Then, leaving a guard of five centuries, the engineers, and the women, we quitted our forest home and entered the trees again, our destination being the fork where Tlapal-lan’s two greatest river-highways met.

  A strong fort was situated here, but not strong enough to resist us. Its defenders were not used to our method of fighting; the savage tribes roundabout did not have the perseverance to stay with the attack and consequently they had always been thrown back.

  ^We invested the fort, and for two days and nights shot arrows into it, many of them flaming—nor did we allow the defenders to reach water, their earthwork connections with the river being constantly pelted with a dropping patter of missiles. On the third morning, the fort surrendered.

  Not a building remained standing. Everything inflammable was burned to the ground, and those defenders remaining alive were none of them unwounded.

  They must have expected torture and death, but no Tlapallico flinched as they marched forth into our ranks and cast their weapons into a pile.

  We fed them and set them free in their coracles, to scatter into the land and spread the tidings of our coming. We hoped that the inhabitants would seek the shelter of the forts. We could deal with forts, I felt certain, and those people left outside, by reason of cramped quarters, must of necessity be the enslaved part of the population, which I felt would hasten to join us.

  Leisurely then, we rebuilt the gutted fort, sent a force back to help dismantle the fort we had encamped in and bring the women and engines here, to help make this place doubly strong. After they had arrived I increased the garrison by five centuries more, and shortly after set out up the lesser river toward the Four Cities.

  While we were active in this section, to the east, north and south all Tlapallan’s frontier was rocking to the impact of the Chichamecan hordes pressing forward upon every fort in all that far-flung chain, holding the Mias and Tlapallicos inside while the federated tribes rushed on in their thousands between the embattled fortifications.

  None inside could sally forth to hinder, and drums beat unanswered and smokes talked from pinnacle to peak without any result.

  Alata was a shrieking arena, and ·Tlapallan was becoming more of a red land than ever its christener could have dreamed!

  We, Aztlan and Tolteca, were farther advanced than any, being well within the gates and nearing day by day the Four Cities, Tlapallan’s heart. Little villages and settlements were rolled over and absorbed. Weeping women, stern-faced, broken-bodied men bony from animal toil in the fields, armed with anything which might cut an enemy’s throat or smash an oppressor’s skull—so many desperate ones joined us to strike a blow for freedom that toward the last days I gave them separate commanders, formed them into centuries and used them as shock troops, for they fought as though they had no desire to live.

  From the frontier we entered the forest belt which lies between that and the tilled lands. At night our many fires reddened the sky—by day we marched on, unchecked, but not unhindered.

  Occasionally a man would drop, pierced by an atlatl dart from some tall tree. Sometimes a boulder would fall from the heights and rebound among us. But never a battle, nor even a skirmish. I began to suspect that we were hurrying into a trap.

  Once, loose stones set a whole hillside sliding, killing many of us below, the rubble flying like rocks from a battery of ballistae. Our scouts hunted down the assailants and slew them. Our ranks reformed. We marched on—deeper and deeper into .the hostile land.

  Then back from a dark, close wood of pine came a tattered and dying scout, last of his band, with the word that within it a host lay in wait, of trusted Tlapallicos, and beyond them was encamped the flower of the Mian nation, ready to cut up what remained, should we struggle through.

  We paused and debated. I called a council of my tribunes (they had been kings in their own right before I had come to Aztlan) and admitted several centurions from the most trusted companies of our recent additions. Many suggestions were advanced and discussed, but one of the former slaves originated the thought that saved us, and I gave that centurion the power to order and to act.

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nbsp; » This battered, whip-scarred warrior, named Ga-no-go-a-da-we, or as we might say “Man-who-burns-hair,” was of the Clan of the Bear, and had been greatly surprised to learn of his kinsmen’s prowess in the north— he being of the Great Hill People, and a slave of the first degree, ten years in unremitting toil and heartbreak for his people. Never was a man more fittingly named.

  At his command, the seven centuries, under him, entered the trees, taking advantage of every rock and shrub. They made that wood theirs, as water fills the interstices in a cup full of pebbles. They fought and killed, and were killed, and a few came back. Behind those who returned, the forest flamed to high heaven— and they defiled before us, waving aloft long belts and chains of bloody scalps, armed with the finest of Mia weapons, which they brandished at the barrier of fire which held our enemy from us.

  Then it became a race to circle the spreading flames, find a defensible position and be there in time to fore-stall the Mian army which we knew would march at once to cut us off. But they, not knowing in which direction we would be most apt to break by the burning forest, divided their forces and committed suicide.

  By the time the first division, which vastly outnumbered my two cohorts even though it was only half of the original array, was ready to attack us, we had thrown up earthworks, fronted by a deep ditch, and were almost ready for them.

  They camped, night being upon us, and being out of atlatl-shot they thought themselves safe; but by the time they were well settled, our bows rained death among them, some lucky shots setting fire to dry grasses near their supply of food, causing them much damage.

  The fear of hunger was responsible the next day, though their camp was now out of bow-shot, for deciding thek commander to risk an immediate attack instead of waiting for the other section.

  Just at daybreak they rushed our works.

  Beyond atlatl range they began to drop by scores, then by hundreds.

  They littered the meadowland; they struggled into a little swamp and made solid footing there with their own dead bodies; they choked a brook that gave us drink, till the very course of it was changed and it ran red and wild like a mad, living thing across the meadow, drowning the wounded who lay in its course. They came nearly to the works, faltered, reeled back and fled. Down upon their heads and backs drove pitiless arrow-sleet, piercing plates of copper and mica, harrying them, scattering them, far as bow could reach.

  They re-formed and came again. Gods! What men they were!

  This time they gained the rampart, but it was a feeble stroke they dealt. Ax and knife and spear could not down my matchless swordsmen. From afar the Mias had died, struck down by the new weapon their Kukul-can had been too slow, too niggardly, to furnish them. Their ruler was a man of little vision, a lecher, uxorious with his women, and because of it his country died!

  Now his betrayed soldiers met still another new weapon—the pitiless, mutilating maccahuitl, the sword with glass fangs, which smashed down and tore flesh apart in a single stroke.

  They had never dreamed of an instrument like a sword. They threw their lances, closed to finish with ax and knife, and were hurled away, maimed, mangled, beaten, and when the ramparts were clean the terrible bows behind them sang death to the runners again.

  So the Eagle of Aztlan bit deep into the Snake of Tlapallan!

  It was a red day and we longed for rest, but we knew the woods were full of wanderers, and somewhere an untried, unafraid army of Mias and Tlapal-licos was hunting along our track.

  We searched the meadow for arrows and other weapons, ate and drank and were easy in our camp, but our sentinels were alert.

  The day ended, and in a black night, hidden from spies among the trees, we dug till skies began to lighten, making wolf-pits to trap the enemy we expected. And it was well we did, for by the third hour of light they were upon us.

  They could hardly have allowed themselves much time for rest, after their long journey, for some staggered with weariness as they debouched into the clearing.

  Yet, as they saw us there entrenched, new spirit came to them, and without a cry or cheer they charged across the bodies of their dead.

  Nearer they came and nearer, and not an arrow flew.

  “Steady!” I passed down the word along the line. “Steady! Wait till they strike the pits!”

  Closer still, they surged upon us in a wide crescent with leveled lances. Upon their grim faces we could see stern determination and we knew they meant to end the affair at once, without mercy.

  To them we represented all that was evil, savage and vile. We were to be obliterated, stamped into the ground.

  Behold them as they charge! Their bodies glisten with sweat and oil. Their long conical heads are flung back in pride. The stag antlers upon the helmets clash and rattle; mica scales and burnished copper glitter in the morning sun. The ground rumbles to their tread.

  They are coming! The undefeated hosts of Tlapallan, the terrible disciplined array that conquered the irregular scattered tribes of Alata and stole the best lands in a continent! They come, and Aztlan, the despised, but also undefeated, is waiting with arrow feathers close against the ear.

  Man-who-burns-hair raises the shout of the scalp dance:

  “Ha-wa-sa-say!

  Hah!

  Ha-wa-sa-say!“

  Someone stops him.

  Now they rush into the thick of the heaps of dead. A young officer leaps from the ranks, copper plate upon his antlers betokening high rank. He bounds into the air, brandishing his lance, and howls like a wolf.

  He waves on his company, now ululating their war-cry, “Ya-ha-ee-hee!”

  He leaps again and hurls his lance—an empty threat—they are yet too far—and drops to earth which opens and swallows him whole, gulping him from sight, and the roar of wonder from his men is threaded by his cry as the stake below tears through his entrails.

  Then the whole front rank, pushed on by those behind, drops into the wolf-pits. The drumming thunder of the sandaled charge dies down, and into those left standing our winged arrows bite.

  I give credit to brave men.

  They re-formed amidst the arrow-flight and came on, filling the second row of pits level full of dead men over which their comrades advanced. Atlatl darts buzzed and whined over our wall. They struck the third row, faltered and were checked but not halted. The fourth row was too much. When almost touching our earthworks they broke and ran, and our arrows cut them down as hail lays flat the corn. Their officers beat and beseeched them, but being flesh and blood, not iron, they would not stand, and behind them as they fled I saw officer after officer, the highest and the low, fall upon his lance and go to his gods with honor untarnished by defeat.

  I could hold my fierce people no longer. With exultant cries of “Al-a-lala! Al-a-lala!” they poured over the earthworks, streamed among the empty pits and dashed after the Mias, I leading, lest I be left entirely behind.

  As we neared the wood, out burst the remnants of that mighty Mia army in close array, like a wounded bear, blood-blind who smites about him in every direction, hoping to kill before he dies.

  Shame was burning them and they meant to make their mark upon us!

  Then our long days of discipline told. Peremptorily my trumpet sang through the shouting, answered shrilly by the war-whistles held by tribunes and centurions, and instantly our whole ragged advance stiffened from a mob into an army, whose even ranks separated, giving room to those behind that they also might shoot. Now, facing the Mias, stood the harrow formation of the quincunx, from which poured such a devastating volley that the attackers shrank back upon themselves. “Stand fast!” I shouted, expecting a rally, but they were beaten. They broke and ran, scattered for the last time.

  A great cry went up from behind me. Man-who-burns-hair plunged past, his face like a fiend’s, dabbled with paint, distorted with hate and fury. Following him, the slave centuries entered the forest, out of formation, obeying no command, hunting, each man for himself like a hungry pack of wolves harrying
the fleeing deer, chasing the panic-stricken antlered man-herd.

  Not many returned. In the forest they fought and died, counting death a little thing in the avenging of so many wrongs. A few came back while we were hunting out the bodies of our dead and piling them into a mound for mass burial, outfitting each with weapons and water bottle to be used in the long journey to Mictlampa, Land of the Dead. Others appeared while the priests were writing out the passes which each must have on the journey, in order to go unhindered by precipices and dangerous monsters. All the dogs in camp were killed, that they might precede their masters into the underworld and help them across the last barrier—a broad river.

  How Myrdhinn would have been shocked, could he have seen it!

  I myself was more than a little dismayed at the treatment of our numerous captives. Many were flayed, to the glory of the gods, others killed in unfair combat, being tethered by one foot to a stone, and pitted singly with toy weapons against four fully armed men, while a large basket called “The Cup of Eagles” was completely filled with the hearts taken from those who had been fastened to scaffolds and filled with arrows there that their blood might drip upon the ground as a libation to the gods. And I was one of the gods!

  I was glad that Myrdhinn was away.

  At length these dreadful rites were over, though night came upon us before the heap of bodies was smoothly rounded with well-tamped earth.

  We made tamalli cakes of meal and supped; but there were many, I knew but could not prevent, who had red meat, though it had been long since we had hunted for game.

  In the night I heard a whisper at my hut-entrance. “Tecutli [Lord].” I did not answer, but in the morning found Man-who-burns-hair lying across the opening, the last to return from the harrying.