“Ongud, to me,” Ashok called.
The Akershani warrior rode up beside him. Ongud was a round-faced and squint-eyed young man, who seemed possessed with great enthusiasm. “Yes, General?”
“Have you been here before?”
“I’ve only passed through. Those of us from Akershan who joined the Sons are from a vassal house to the south.”
“It’ll have to do. Does this city have warriors stationed in it?”
“Only a handful to keep order. The main barracks are out of Chakma, a city a few days from here. This is mostly a worker town, only exists because there’s a mighty lot of coal here. The number of warriors stationed here might’ve changed since last year though. Word is this place hides many of the faithful.”
Being infested with rebels was why the warriors had sent three full paltans to handle it. Ashok stared at the opposing force on the far side of the valley. Someone of great importance had to be leading it, because they’d erected a rather impressive command tent. Easily five times the size of the humble one he’d invaded last night. He could see a commander’s flag atop it but wasn’t familiar with the heraldry.
“Whose symbol is that?”
Ongud squinted. “I’m sorry, General. I can barely see the tent from here and it’s big as a house. They’ve got to be a mile away.”
“The flag is three red stars over a green field.”
“The gods have given you the eyes of a hawk!”
“The gods have given me nothing. What I have in sight I lack in patience. Who is it, Nayak?”
“Sorry. That’s the phontho of the Chakma garrison himself.”
A high-status man made a valuable hostage. “Excellent.”
“He’ll be traveling with a reinforced paltan, probably seventy or eighty men, heavy cavalry, lance and bow, all very good on horseback. We destroyed Chakma 3rd Paltan. So the other one will be the 2nd or 4th, horse infantry. Sorry, in the Akershani warrior caste that means they ride to battle, but usually fight on foot. They’ll be spearmen more than likely.”
“Then we’ll engage them inside the casteless quarter.” Then Ashok grew curious why a lowly junior nayak would know so much about an entirely different garrison. “What was your obligation?”
“I wanted to be cavalry, like my father, but there was some suspicion that I was a believer in the Forgotten…Which was correct, but—”
“Spit it out, Ongud. There’s no shame in any obligation. Every man has his place.”
“I was a mere logistics clerk, sir. All I did was keep track of storehouse inventories and supply lines.”
Akershan was a vast place, but resource poor. Soldiers can’t eat grass and armies ran on their stomachs. Ongud thought of himself as less because his caste had put him in a position with little chance for glory. Only he knew all about their enemies’ most vulnerable systems. The gods hadn’t given him superior vision—that had come from the Heart of the Mountain—but maybe they did give gifts after all.
“We will speak more about this later. Your knowledge is extremely valuable. Try not to die during the coming battle.”
Ongud swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
Their poorer riders had finally caught up. The swamp hunters looked terribly uncomfortable. They were going to hate this next part.
“Shekar, raise the banner.”
Being a rather straightforward sort, Ashok wasn’t inclined to deception. But that was what he had Somsak for. It had been Shekar’s idea to fly the stolen banner of the paltan they had just defeated. Their enemy was expecting another force to join them. He’d give them a force all right.
A cold wind was blowing through the valley. It made strange patterns in the grass. He waited until he saw a commotion in the other camp. They had been spotted. Surely a phontho would have someone with a spyglass, so they’d be able to make out the banner of 3rd Paltan.
“Sons of the Black Sword.” Ashok raised his voice so all of them could hear him over the wind. “The enemy is under the mistaken impression that we are their reinforcements. The phontho will expect us to wait for his signal before beginning our attack. Instead, he will see us charge directly into the casteless quarter. He will believe that we’re trying to steal the honor of striking first and will rush to catch up. Warriors of such status do not like being insulted by upstart risaldars.”
“They’ll be running into something a whole lot worse than insults!” Shekar shouted.
“They’re expecting casteless, not men who’ve slain a demon,” Eklavya said. “We’ll trounce them so hard that Risaldar Jagdish will hear about our victory all the way in Vadal and smile with pride.”
“From atop his pile of treasure!” Shekar finished for him.
The men laughed. Despite the odds and their exhaustion, they were in high spirits. That was good. Ashok wasn’t used to taking into consideration the morale of others, but he was trying.
“We will be waiting for them. Casteless quarters are packed tight. Dismount, let your horses run free to add to the confusion. Use the terrain to funnel their superior numbers. Do not attempt to follow me. You will not be able to keep up and you’ll only get hurt. Stick to your havildar. Follow their commands. Archers on Shekar. Armor on Eklavya.”
“Try not to fall off until we get there,” Shekar told the flustered Toramana.
“We will not let you down, Warrior!” Toramana shouted back. “The gods will keep my ass seated upon this animal, or I am not chief of the Wild Men!”
“Give no quarter. Break them utterly. Ride, Sons!” Ashok kneed his already exhausted mount, but it still leapt forward. “Ride!”
Down the hill and across the plain, the Sons tore toward Dhakhantar. Soft earth was thrown high by their hooves. Akershani horses were fast and eager to run. As cavalry mounts they were second only to the massive black beasts of Zarger. Their charge made a sound like thunder. The warriors bellowed their war cries. The workers and hunters just hung on for dear life.
Across the valley, the other camp burst into activity. Considering the time of day, their arrival had probably interrupted the phontho’s lunch. As they closed the distance, he could see the enemy soldiers rushing about, grabbing weapons and saddling mounts. They thought they were in a race for bragging rights. They didn’t realize they were about to enter a fight for their survival.
He nudged his horse straight for the center of casteless quarter. The untouchables must have realized something bad was happening with so many soldiers camped outside, because there was no one in the open. Many frightened eyes were peering through doorways or tears in the fabric of their walls. They were all hiding inside so as to not draw the warriors’ ire, and they immediately ducked down when they saw Ashok looking their way.
As soon as the Sons were between the ragged gray homes, Ashok leapt off his still galloping horse, skidded to a stop, and bellowed, “Bring me the overseer of this quarter!”
The Sons rode in behind him and dismounted. His havildars took in the layout of the quarter, and then began barking orders. Horses were slapped on the rump and sent running. Depending on how the battle went, there would either be plenty of spare mounts around at the end of this battle to claim, or they wouldn’t be needing rides at all.
The place smelled like coal and shit. A hushed silence had fallen over the quarter, but in the distance, the workers’ district sounded of hammering and steam whistles—they were too industrious to stop their labors just because a small army was camped nearby.
Then a horn sounded. The enemy was on the way.
“Come out, overseer. Time is short. We’re not here to kill you. We’re here to protect you.”
A tiny casteless man ran around one of the tents with a long pole in his hand. “For the Forgotten!” He went to one knee and pointed the pole toward Ashok. The end of it was capped in metal, and from the way it was wobbling around, it must have been very heavy.
“Are you the overseer here?” Ashok wasn’t sure what the little casteless was doing, so he started walking toward hi
m.
There was a sharp crack. The puddle next to Ashok’s boot suddenly erupted in a geyser.
Ashok didn’t even need to say the word. Both the Sons of the Black Sword and the Wild Men had fought wizards before. They simply reacted. Several arrows and crossbow bolts flew through the haze of white smoke to pierce the casteless. He flopped into the mud with a splash, pierced in several places.
As the droplets rained down on him, Ashok thought, Fortress magic? Such things were a terrible crime. Its presence also meant the warriors were right and this place was infested with rebels. That made Ashok annoyed, and tempted him to leave these fools to their fate.
But he had orders…They might be fools, but they were his fools now. So he raised his voice loud enough the entire quarter could hear. “I am Ashok Vadal, you imbeciles. I am here to save your stupid lives. Warriors are coming from the west to kill you. Stay out of my way so I can kill them first!”
He heard their panicked whispers as they spoke his casteless name. Fall. At times it seemed like every untouchable in the world knew about him, though in their version he was one of them who’d taken an ancestor blade, and then been raised up by the gods to be their avenger. But once the reality of his words sank in, a multitude sprang from their hiding places and began fleeing in every direction.
Ashok drew his sword and started across the quarter. From the sound of hooves, the warriors were in the process of charging across the valley. In the open, they would have the advantage in mobility and massed archers, but in the cramped and disorderly confines of the casteless quarter, chaos would reign.
He shouted at his havildars. “Let them enter, then engage.”
Shekar was right behind him. He was grinning from ear to tattooed ear. “Was it like this when you went to fight us in Jharlang, General?”
“I had an ancestor blade then. Now I have you.”
“Not a good trade, that!”
“Take the archers, fall back behind Eklavya’s men. Look for targets of opportunity. Hit and run.”
“That is what we do best.” The Somsak signaled for his men to follow him as he broke away.
The quarter didn’t have streets. There were no straight lines in a place like this. The casteless either lived in the round felt tents, and these were the soggiest, dirtiest, ragged things he’d ever seen, or they lived in huts made of whatever building materials the workers had thrown out, like cracked mud bricks and discarded sacks. Filthy streams ran through between the homes. Chickens clucked and pigs squealed.
Eklavya Kharsawan was beside him in the red lamellar plate of his house. Every man with him was wearing at least leather and chain, and even the worker-caste Sons were wearing armor they’d looted from the Lost House or the stores of Chattarak. In addition to the swords at their sides and shields on their backs, they were carrying spears, battle axes, or war hammers. And they’d spent the last few months being trained relentlessly by Jagdish and sparring against Ashok. The Sons were certainly not the feeble and half-starved opposition the warriors would be expecting.
Most of the untouchables were fleeing, but a few of the brave ones were staying in place. They watched the Sons march by, and some began to chant, Fall, Fall, Fall. Ashok saw them picking up tools that could be used as weapons, like hay scythes and shovels. Then they got in line behind the Sons. They were wide eyed, terrified, and out of their element, but the Forgotten’s warrior was here. Why wouldn’t they fight? How could they lose with the gods on their side? The whole situation made Ashok very uncomfortable, and they’d only just begun to violate the Law today.
There was a great deal of noise and furor as the Akershani warriors entered the opposite side of the quarter. Ashok could feel the vibration through the ground. In their eagerness to strike first, the heavy cavalry hadn’t bothered to dismount. Casteless screamed as they were crushed beneath hooves. Arrogant, they intended to boldly crash right through the whole slum. They would meet here, halfway through the quarter, in terrain which would most favor the Sons.
Ashok lifted one hand and made a motion for his men to take cover. They immediately complied, ducking into tents or crouching behind crumbling walls. The casteless volunteers were too dim to know what that sign meant, so he snapped, “Hide, fools!”
As the Sons spread out and prepared their ambush, they could still hear the angry shouting of warriors, and the death cries of the casteless. Many would perish because he’d chosen to stop here, but all of them would die if the Sons were defeated.
Then the warriors of Akershan were upon them.
Even deprived of the ability to feel fear, Ashok could fully understand why heavy cavalry were so intimidating to a man on the ground. They shook the world. They used the strongest horses, dressed in barding which made them look even bigger, and the warriors atop them were armed with lances which gave them incredible reach. With such an impressive thing thundering toward them, it was no wonder that even the most fanatical gods-inspired rebels turned and ran.
And the warriors gave chase, riding right past the hidden and waiting Sons. He waited until several of them had gone by.
“Now!” Ashok roared as he stepped from around a tent and swung his sword at a horse’s leg.
If he’d still had mighty Angruvadal, he could have removed all four of the animal’s limbs in one blow, but the blade of regular steel merely sheared through flesh and clipped one thick bone, but it was enough for the speeding beast to trip. Horse and rider went down, crashing and sliding into a felt home that crumpled around it. Immediately Eklavya stepped around the animal’s thrashing legs and punched a hole through the downed rider’s helmet with the spike on the back of his hammer. Blood squirted from around the cap.
Five riders went down fast. The ones behind them realized too late that they should’ve dropped their lances before entering the tight confines of the casteless quarter, when they couldn’t turn to meet the Sons who were rushing at them from all sides. Horses reared and kicked as their riders were speared or hooked and yanked from the saddle by pole arms. One Akershani stood up in his stirrups and began shouting a warning to the riders behind him, but a Wild Man’s arrow struck him in the mouth.
“Hound them from the quarter, but do not chase them into the open,” Ashok ordered Eklavya. “I must go.” Then all he could hope was that Jagdish’s lessons had stuck, and his havildars would know what to do, because in a situation like this, Ashok was far too valuable a weapon to be wasted giving commands. He needed to range ahead, spreading chaos.
Ashok picked a narrow path and ran, using the Heart of the Mountain to give him incredible speed, leaping over debris and cowering casteless. He paralleled the path the heavy cavalry had taken. There were more spears and the plumes of helms poking above the shacks to the side, and once he reached a spot where the warriors seemed unafraid and unaware, he vaulted over the roof of a shack, launching himself at the enemy.
The first rider never even saw death coming. It was as if Ashok had fallen from the sky, like Ramrowan of old. The horse went galloping off, headless body still in the saddle.
Ashok hit the muddy ground, rolling, and came right back up to his feet to meet the next surprised warrior. That one tried to ride him down, but Ashok sidestepped, called upon the Heart to provide inhuman strength to his limbs, and struck the animal in the head with his fist. The thin metal chanfron designed to protect the horse’s face bent around his knuckles.
The animal collapsed. The rider was flung down. Ashok stepped over the struggling man and jammed his sword deep into the warrior’s back. With a twist the spine was severed, and another died.
He heard dismounted soldiers moving a few alleys over, the metallic clank of weapons, the creak of armor, the splashing of boots in mud, and then the screams as casteless were yanked from their pathetic homes. Ashok ducked into the felt tent which separated him from his next victims. It was dim and musty inside. There was a woman and casteless children huddled in the corner, terrified that he’d come to massacre them. He knew that look well,
because he’d seen many faces like theirs before, thin, dirty, and afraid. Only this time he was here to save them, not destroy them.
Before they began pleading for their lives and crying, he whispered, “I am Fall.” Then he put his finger to his lips. “Shhh.”
The young mother nodded fearfully.
The opposite side of the tent lifted as an Akershani warrior stuck his head inside. He glanced over the huddled children dismissively, but when he saw their mother, he grinned and began to move inside. “Hello, little lamb.” Then he caught sight of Ashok crouched there, waiting, and before he could cry out, a sword tip was driven through his eye socket and deep into his brain. The only sound he made was a pathetic squeaking noise, before Ashok wrenched the steel free and dropped him in an unmoving heap.
“Stay down. It will be over soon,” he assured the casteless family as he moved past the corpse. He slightly parted the felt with his free hand, saw a multitude of warriors rampaging, and picked his next targets.
“Risaldar!” An Akershani warrior approached at a run. Blood was running down his sleeve. “There’s resistance ahead.”
“They’re only casteless,” a man out of Ashok’s sight snapped back. “Just kill them.”
“The vanguard was ambushed and are being slaughtered! These are real warriors.”
Ashok was pleased. The phontho’s heavy cavalry had been prideful. They’d thought they would be able to ride down starving casteless with impunity. Instead they’d found themselves in a twisted maze of shacks, where their horses made them clumsy, and their height made them easy targets for lurking archers.
Before the puzzled officer could formulate new orders, Ashok came out of the tent swinging.
Chapter 11
The phontho was confused and displeased. “Give me that.” He snatched the spyglass from Bharatas’ hand and put it to his eye. “Why are they flailing around like that? What are they doing down there?”
Destroyer of Worlds Page 9
