He stopped in mid-stride, a dozen paces from the tent. No. It would not do to go there now. He was too upset to concentrate properly. And the Ghost would immediately sense what was on his mind. He suspected that the Ghost could not reach very deeply into him to get information, but anything he had been thinking about was there like an open scroll. He did not want the Ghost to know what Thelena had done!
He clenched and unclenched his fists and breathed deeply until he had calmed down. This was not as bad as it all seemed. His daughter had made a mistake. A very bad one, it was true, but he knew that she was truly sorry about the deaths. She had spoken of some debt she owed to the slave and her brother. Perhaps she did. And Shelena and I always taught her that debts had to be paid. But now the debt had been paid and hopefully that was the end of it.
He stood there, locked in indecision. He could not go to the little tent with the Ghost, and he did not want to confront Thelena again just now so he could not go to the big tent, either. So where should he go? The additional practice with the spell could wait; he would need to find more sacrifices somehow. The Ghost said that at least five hundred would be needed, and there were less than a hundred in the pen right now. That was where he would go: to Zarruk’s tent to talk about finding more.
As he walked, he reflected that finding the sacrifices quickly could be a problem. All of the Berssians in the immediate area had already been found. Most of the men were just killed, so there were few male prisoners. He supposed that he could always use women, but he did not want to do that. Partly because he simply did not like the idea. Women—even enemy women—were not for killing. Slaves, yes, but not sacrifices. More importantly, all the women who had been captured were already the property of the warriors. It could cause very hard feeling to order them to give them up—even if their loss would mean the fall of the city and countless thousands of new slaves to replace those lost.
So, the warriors would have to scour the surrounding countryside to find the sacrifices he would need. That could take weeks. He sighed. The delay probably was not critical. Winter was still several months away, and surely they would have the city long before then.
As he walked, he suddenly chuckled. Thelena’s ‘mistake’ had done one good turn already. The cunning little vixen had had the slave tell the guards that Teskat had sent her! The noyen of the Kuttari had denied it, of course, but he was still humiliated and under suspicion. All knew that he hated Atark, and the fact that the escape had hindered his magic only made people more suspicious of Teskat. He had already petitioned Zarruk to transfer his allegiance to one of the other kas, and Zarruk had granted it. One problem solved anyway! Teskat could still plot and scheme, but against some other ka! By the time Atark reached Zarruk’s tent, his good humor had returned…
…only to be lost again once he stepped inside. Zarruk was seated there, surrounded by his two wives, the red-haired girl and his new slave, the former mistress of the Berssian general—who looked neither quite as young or quite as pretty once stripped of her finery and makeup. But it was the other person seated there that destroyed Atark’s good mood.
A Varag! What in the name of the gods is that animal doing here?
Zarruk sprang to his feet as soon as he saw Atark. The Varag rose a bit more slowly. Zarruk’s wives greeted him warmly, and the two slaves pressed their faces to the carpet.
“Mighty Atark!” cried Zarruk. “I was just now speaking of you! Let me present Hetman Reganar. He has ridden here to offer the services of his warriors.”
“Indeed,” said Atark, his voice as flat as the Plains of Kaif.
“Yes, but please sit down. Slaves, wine for the shaman!”
Atark carefully sat down, as far away from the Varag as he could manage. In spite of Zarruk mentioning this to him days earlier, he still could not believe a Varag had actually dared come here.
“Hail Atark,” said the Varag once they had their wine. “I have heard many tales of your powers. Now that our common enemy, the Berssians, have been humbled, I feel that it is time for long-sundered kindred to reunite.”
You mean that now that your former masters can no longer pay you, you hope to help pick their bones! Atark’s anger was growing. The comment about ‘sundered kindred’ rankled especially—particularly since there was some truth in it. Long, long ago, the Varags had been kin to the Kaifeng. But the Varags had moved east across the mountains and become a different people. A mongrel and degenerate people, in Atark’s opinion. For centuries, they had served the Berssians and raided the Kaifeng. They had murdered his wife and son and raped his daughter, and now they wanted to join them?
“I realize there may be a few difficulties to overcome, Atark,” said Zarruk, eyeing him cautiously. “But Reganar tells me that there are many thousands of Varags to the south who are eager to join us. Their strength would be very welcome just now. More tribes are still arriving, but too slowly. With the forces we have gotten across the river to bottle up the Berssians effectively removed from what we can use for any assault, we could use Reganar’s men.”
“Yes,” laughed Reganar, “my men would be most eager to help finish off the damn Berssians! Provided, of course, your powers don’t also affect our own firearms.” The Varag drew out one of his pistols and Atark tensed. He could burn the man to ashes in an eyeblink, if necessary. The man did not cock the weapon, but he waved it around in an unfriendly fashion, the muzzle pausing for an instant on both Zarruk and Atark. The man laughed again and put the pistol away.
“Atark has already destroyed all the gunpowder in the city,” said Zarruk. “He probably won’t need to use that spell again.”
“I was not planning to, no,” said Atark. His anger continued to grow, but then a very interesting thought struck him. “Tell me, Hetman Reganar: how many men will you bring and how soon will you arrive?”
“I can be here with six hundred in three days—if we can reach an agreement here.”
“What a wonderful coincidence,” said Atark, forcing a smile. “The assault on the city will take place in four days. You and your men will be just in time.”
“Four days?” said Zarruk in surprise. “Will we be ready that soon?
“I will be ready. But to be ready, I must begin my preparations at once. If you will both excuse me.” Without waiting for an answer, he got up and walked out of the tent. Outside, he began to tremble with anger, but he contained it as he walked back toward his own tents. Once there, he found Gettain.
“What do you wish, Lord?” said the commander of Atark’s escort.
“How many men do you command?”
“Lord? I have about a hundred men who have been judged worthy to serve you.”
“Could you find more if they were needed?”
“Oh yes, Lord! Many, many men—and women—have pleaded with me to be allowed to serve you. But you said that you wished no more than necessary. How many more do you desire?”
“I will need another five hundred,” he said, and Gettain’s eyebrows shot up. “And I will need them in three days. Good strong men who will obey orders—any orders.”
“I will have to work quickly, but I think it can be done, Lord.”
“Good. And send some men out to gather up all the best brandy and wine they can lay their hands on. And a hundred pretty wenches to serve it. And some good food. Musicians. Jugglers.”
“Yes, Lord.” The man looked very puzzled. Atark smiled at him.
“We are going to have guests. And I want them to be treated as they deserve.”
* * * * *
Matt crawled through the thicket and spread a few leaves so he could look out the other side. It was a cold morning and he shivered. He’d managed to find some clothes in an abandoned farm two days earlier—even some shoes, although he was certain one of his toes was broken and the shoe hurt terribly—but he was still chilled to the bone after another night where he did not dare light a fire. There was some low-lying fog so that it was hard to see very far, but he did not see anyone. Good. H
e turned and crawled back to where the others and the horses were waiting.
“Looks clear,” he said. “Everyone ready?”
The four men who were waiting for him all nodded. “Right, Captain,” said one of them. “You sure about us traveling in daylight?”
“We’ve been going too damn slow trying to ride at night. We’re only about sixty miles in a straight line from Berssenburg. The damn Kaifs are going to be all over us unless we put some distance between us and them.”
The man looked dubious, but he didn’t argue. The five of them had hooked up the day after the breakout and had stuck together since then. That was three days ago; they had seen numerous parties of Kaifeng warriors since then. It wasn’t certain if they were looking for them or just looting, but it would make no difference if they were caught. Once again, Matt was the only officer in the group. Fortunately, one of the men had been from his brigade and knew who he was, so there was no question about them accepting his authority.
They mounted their horses and rode northwest. With all of the abandoned villages and farms, they had managed to find almost everything they needed, including saddles and tack for the Kaifeng ponies. Almost everything: they were basically unarmed except for some knives and small axes; certainly nothing to let them fight the Kaifs on anything approaching equal terms. So they would not fight, they would run.
So far they had done well moving by night. The Kaifs would make fires at night and all they had to do was stay away from them, but traveling in the dark was slow going. Matt had a growing fear that if they did not get farther away, they were going to be in trouble.
Once out of the woods, they broke into a trot, a pace the sturdy Kaifeng ponies could keep up for hours. They rode for most of the morning, hugging the edges of the numerous woods and forests in the area. This would make them harder to see from a distance and give them some place to hide. It seemed as though the Kaifs did not like this closed-in land, and they tended to stay in the open spaces.
Around noon, they saw some smoke in the direction they were riding, and Matt shifted course a bit farther west to avoid it. They halted in some woods and had their meal. So far, finding food had not been hard. The Kaifs had looted most of the places, but there was always something left. While they were eating, they spotted a party of twenty or so Kaifs heading south. They never got closer than a few miles and eventually disappeared. They waited an extra hour and then went on. By late afternoon, Matt was feeling a lot better. They had covered at least forty miles that day. If they could do that for two or three more, he might consider turning east and heading for the river. Thelena had said to ride for three days, but he was sure she was expecting them to be riding fifty miles a day or more.
As they stopped for the night, he found himself thinking about the Kaifeng woman who had freed them. He surely hoped that she would not be caught or punished for what she had done. Why had she done it? Gratitude for what he and Kareen had done for her? Perhaps. The thought of his sister wiped out the satisfaction he had been feeling over the day’s ride. Blown up with the fort. Quick, probably painless. Far better than what might have happened to her, he supposed, but she was still dead. He felt very lonely. Chenik’s death was weighing on him, too. The sergeant had been with him since his first day in the army. There was a huge empty space at his right side that nothing could fill. Could he have done anything to save Chenik? No, if he had not ridden out when he did, they would both be dead. Well, so what? It’s not like he counted for anything, really. Just one more man.
Matt shook his head. What was done was done. He was still alive and he planned to stay that way until the chance came to kill some more Kaifs. He unsaddled his horse and pulled out the bag with his food. He had some stale bread and a sausage. Tomorrow they would have to do some foraging, and that would slow them down. He took out his knife to cut up some of the sausage. It was the knife that Thelena had given to him. He was glad he still had it—even though it wasn’t a very good knife. The blade was too short and the handle was strangely thick.
He stopped to look at it more closely, and he realized that there was a strip of rawhide that had been wound about the hilt and that was why it was so thick. One end of it had come loose and was unraveling. In the last light of the day, he saw that there was something under the rawhide. A piece of paper?
His curiosity was aroused and he unwound the leather strip. Yes, there was no doubt that a small piece of paper had been wrapped around the hilt of the knife and then tied in place with the rawhide. A message? From Thelena? She had learned to write pretty well during her time in the fort, so it was possible. He put aside the knife and the rawhide and unfolded the paper. It was badly wrinkled and a bit torn and discolored with dirt and his own sweat, but he could just make out the writing on it:
Mattin,
I pray the gods that you are safe to read this. I wanted you to know that Kareen is alive and safe with me. She would not allow me to tell you, because she knew you would never leave without her. I will protect her as much as I am able. I promise. Go now. Ride to safety.
Thelena
Matt crumpled the paper and bowed his head. He was sure the other men were wondering why he wept. He did not care.
* * * * *
Atark’s head hurt. The previous night had been long and loud and filled with drink.
But the feast had been very successful, very successful, indeed.
He walked toward the platform his men had erected. It overlooked the Berssian city and the quickly massing helars of the Kaifeng. There were five helars now. Just in the last four days, enough new tribes had arrived to create a new score of score of scores. Word had it that even more were on the way, hoping to take part in the sack of Berssia and the east.
The latecomers might still enjoy future triumphs, but they would miss the sack of Berssenburg—for the city would fall today.
The defenders had seen the Kaifeng warriors assembling, and they were clustering atop the ancient walls of the city. Good. So much the better. They would all be swept away when he brought the walls down. He had worked with the Ghost almost non-stop and had mastered the new spell. In spite of his aching head, he was prepared. The army was prepared.
The sacrifices were prepared.
Six hundred men knelt behind the platform in neat rows. They were all very tightly bound. Forked sticks had been pounded securely into the ground, and the neck of each sacrifice lay tied in one. One of Gettain’s men stood by each one. One man in every six held a carefully sharpened bronze sword. They had not been able to find enough of the bronze weapons, so each executioner would have to dispatch six men.
Atark walked to the front of the sacrifices and stood before the first one. Hetman Reganar looked up at him in combined fury and terror. He, like all the others, was gagged, so he could only make a muffled grunting sound.
“Today, you and your men will die,” said Atark. “And after you are dead, I will dispatch warriors to where your village is. All of your sons will die just as you are about to, and all of your women will be our slaves.” The man thrashed violently but uselessly in his bonds. “And after your village, we shall go on to the next and the next and the next. Until the last Varag man is dead and the last Varag woman is the slave to a Kaifeng warrior. None will remain, Hetman Reganar, none. A year from now, the Varags will be a people known only in legends.” His thrashing grew to a climax and then ceased. The man now had tears on his cheeks.
“The Berssians, at least have some honor. They fight for their homes and their families. But you, you and all your jackal kindred, have no honor. You will serve anyone who is stronger so that you may prey on those weaker. You deserve nothing but the fate I have decreed for you!”
Atark turned to go to his platform, but just then Ka-Noyen Zarruk and his escort galloped up. His face was twisted in amazement and anger. “What is this?” he demanded. “Why are these men here?”
“They are the sacrifices for my magic,” said Atark.
“They are our allies!”<
br />
“It is true that they pledged us their aid, Mighty Ka,” said Atark. “And they shall aid us now in a fashion far better and far truer than any other.”
“I promised them safe conduct!” protested Zarruk.
“And they received it. Your honor is unblemished, my lord. I never gave them any word of any kind. But you and the other kas promised me whatever aid I needed in carrying out my spells. I require the service of these men, and they shall now give it to me.”
“Atark, you cannot do this! When the word of this reaches the other Varags, they will pledge an eternal blood feud! It will be war to the knife with them forever!”
“Yes, and so it shall be. But we hold the knife, my lord, and the blood that is shed shall be theirs. We could never trust them, Zarruk, you know this. This answer is best. Now, if you will return to your troops, I will commence the magic and the city will fall. Victory today, my friend!”
Atark stood there, quivering slightly. He had never done anything so high-handed with Zarruk before. For all practical purposes, he had just dismissed his own ka and bade him return to his duty! Some would think such an affront would warrant death, and in the old days they would have been right. What would Zarruk do? It was a foolish question. What could he do? Cut down the only man who could give them victory? Tell the other kas that the war was over and they could all go home? No, he had no choice at all, and the look on his face told Atark that he was well aware of those facts. The hot anger faded to be replaced with a cold mask, devoid of expression.
“Very well, Mighty Shaman! Since it seems you now command the army, it shall be so!” Zarruk savagely turned his horse about and galloped off, followed by his escort.
Fires of Memory Page 29
