Atark watched him ride off and then slowly turned back to the bound hetman. “There is no hope for you or your people now. And in a few moments, you shall be in hell.” He looked to the nearest swordsman. “This one dies last.”
He turned again and strode toward the platform.
“Let us begin!”
* * * * *
Matt sighed in relief. The Glovina, at last! They had ridden hard for the last three days. By yesterday they had outrun the last signs of Kaifeng depredations, and he had allowed them to turn east. The previous evening he had known they were close to the river, but he was not sure how close. They had been riding only two hours so far today, and the river was now in sight. His men laughed and joked. Once on the far bank, they would be safe.
At least for a while. He had little doubt that Berssenburg would fall eventually—if, indeed, it had not fallen already. And once the Kaifs were done looting it, they would continue east. He was absolutely certain of that. There were a few more important Berssian cities to the east and then they would reach the other kingdoms and duchies. Would they be able to mount a defense? Was there any answer to the fireflies? Well, if not, then they would have to learn to fight with sword and lance and bow again! They would stop the damn Kaifs one way or another!
The other men with him were all Berssians. They planned to just find the nearest garrison and fall in with some other regiment. Matt had other plans. The Berssians could never stop the Kaifs on their own. This was going to take a combined effort of all the Easterners. But would they see that?
By the gods, I’ll force them to see it!
Matt was not going to stop on the other side of the river. He had made up his mind to keep going. Keep going east until he reached those smug, fat kingdoms beyond Berssia. He would tell them what he had seen and what he knew. He would make them listen!
His horse suddenly whinnied and all the others did, too. They were frightened by something. Matt dismounted and tried to calm the animal. But then the ground quivered slightly beneath his feet and there was a low, faint rumble. It was like distant thunder, except there wasn’t a cloud in the sky this morning. The shaking stopped, the thunder faded, and the horses were calm again.
“What the hell was that?” cried one of the men.
“I don’t know,” said Matt, “but we are not waiting around to find out! Get mounted! We are crossing the river today!”
Chapter Fourteen
Kareen looked apprehensively down the rubble-choked street. The city had fallen a week ago, but there were still bands of Kaifeng roaming through it, looking for more loot and slaves. It was unlikely that anyone would bother her, considering how she was dressed and that she was Atark’s slave, but you never knew. If the warriors were drunk enough, they might not care. She was carrying a basket with food and drink for Atark’s midday meal. Thelena would have gone herself, but she was still feeling poorly.
The magic Atark had worked to take the city had nearly killed his daughter. She had moaned and shrieked and clawed at her face until Kareen had managed to restrain her. She had held her close and rocked her and whispered stupid things in her ear, while the earth trembled around them, until it had passed. Thelena had lain in a stupor for a day and a night. Kareen had tended her, and even Atark seemed grateful to her for it. She was doing much better now, but she was still unsteady on her feet, and thus Kareen had been sent into the city with the basket for Atark. There was certain to be food in plenty wherever the shaman was, but Thelena took or sent a basket each day. It was a gift of her love as well as of food.
It was the first time she had been to Berssenburg since she and Matt had ridden through here over four years ago. Had she not known where she was, she never would have recognized it. The city was a shambles. The initial explosions and fires had done a lot of damage, but that was as nothing compared to what Atark’s last spell—and the sack that had followed—had done.
The terrible shaking that had brought down the walls had also destroyed a great many buildings. Collapsed houses were everywhere. The damage was greatest on the western shore, but the main part of the city on the east bank of the river was also heavily damaged. Even the great Temple of Hadron was missing its tallest spire. The shaking had upset candles and lanterns and many fires had raged unchecked for days. More buildings had been burned when the Kaifeng had sacked the city.
They were still sacking the city.
From the stories that Kareen had heard, the bulk of the city’s defenders had been crushed under falling stones when Atark brought down the walls. The Kaifeng had then been able to charge into the city virtually unopposed. They had butchered the few remaining soldiers and swept across the single surviving bridge to take the eastern part of the city.
Despite the vast damage, there had still been unimaginable amounts of loot to be taken. The King of Berssia, his immediate family, and retainers had managed to slip away, down the river on a boat, in the confusion of the assault, but he had left most of his treasures behind. The kas occupied his palace and now lived among small mountains of gold, silver, jewels, and wealth too numerous to classify, let alone count. Hundreds of lesser nobles had not been so lucky as their king. They were dead or prisoners, and their more modest palaces were occupied by the noyens. Even the youngest Kaifeng warrior had more loot than he could carry.
Of course, he could always get a slave to carry it for him. Berssenburg was normally a city of around two hundred thousand, but even before the army had marched to its doom, a tide of refugees had descended on the city from the villages and towns to the west. After the word of the army’s destruction reached here, even more people had fled to the city. Some had kept right on fleeing and headed east. But once the Kaifeng had gotten their horsemen across the river, they had closed off any retreat and penned everyone up inside. When the city fell, most of them had been caught. Many had been killed by the earthquake, and a surprisingly large number had broken through the cordon and escaped to the east, but most had been trapped in the city. They were all slaves of the Kaifeng now. The kas had given orders that any of the men who surrendered were to be spared. Probably not all the Kaifs had obeyed that command, but still, there had been a minimum of wholesale slaughter. The kas wanted the slaves to help harvest the crops that were standing unattended all around the city. Many thousands of them had already been driven out of the city to do just that.
Their women had stayed behind. In all the previous battles, there had always been far more Kaifeng than there had been women to be captured. Not this time. The rape of Berssenburg had gone on for a week. It was still going on, if Kareen’s ears were not deceiving her. Such things did not really shock her anymore. The scale of it was rather horrifying, she supposed, but she knew full well what the individuals were going through, and she knew that most would survive. The sheer number of women available probably meant that they were having an easier time of it than she and her fellows had.
She reached the river and paused to look around. It was still choked with debris. Four of the great bridges had collapsed into the river and were obstructing the flow. The dockyards had mostly burned before they had been flooded out. Parts of the city were still burning and the smell of smoke was everywhere. There were Kaifeng guards on the one remaining bridge, but they passed her through with scarcely a glance.
Kareen could not help but wonder what was going to happen to all the Berssian women—in the long term. Their short term fates were not in doubt. She had talked with Thelena about it, but apparently Kaifeng customs did not quite cover the current situation. When they were out on the plains, the Kaifeng tribes would fight each other at times and steal each others’ women. It was customary. They would also take foreign women when they could. Kareen had been surprised to learn that there were other lands that bordered the Plains of Kaif and other people who lived in them.
If a Kaifeng warrior took a Kaif woman in a raid, he would almost always take her as a wife. With common languages and customs, it was not usually a hard transition. If
the man already had a wife, then the new woman would become the junior wife and be taken into the peculiar joint marriages that the Kaifeng had. It had taken a while for Thelena to get the idea across to Kareen. When a man had more than one wife, it was not as if he were marrying each woman individually. Rather, all the partners were marrying each other. The man to the women, the women to the man, and the women to each other. It seemed strange and even a bit sinful to Kareen, but it did explain some of the things she had witnessed and experienced among the Kaifeng.
If a foreign woman was taken, then her status was a bit different. She would be a slave in her captor’s household, serving the warrior and any wives he might have. But if she served well and adapted, she quickly became just like a junior wife, especially once she had borne a child or two; those children would grow up as Kaifeng.
The capture of Berssenburg was presenting some real problems, it seemed. The Kaifeng customs worked just fine with the normal state of affairs which might see a few new women brought into a tribe each year. But this enormous influx was unprecedented. The new women actually outnumbered the Kaifeng women. Some of the noyens had taken five or even ten new slaves, and the Kaifeng women were not happy about it. Of course, not all the captured women were being added to Kaifeng households. Just the young and pretty ones—which also did nothing to improve the mood of the Kaifeng women. Thelena speculated that a lot of the excess women would be sold to the new Kaifeng who were arriving, or possibly shipped west in slave caravans.
Kareen got the impression that Thelena was actually amused by the situation, although she could scarcely imagine why. Her amusement had vanished when she asked Thelena what exactly her status would end up being. Atark had yet to touch her, but was that going to last? Would he take her into his bed? What if he did? What if she bore him children? Would she then be his wife? Would that make Thelena her step-daughter? Thelena had brushed off the notion, but Kareen could see she was disturbed by the thought.
She pushed the subject out of her own mind as she reached the gates of the palace. The king’s former residence did not seem too badly damaged, although one section had a collapsed roof and an outbuilding had burned. There were many more guards here, and they were far more alert than the ones on the bridge. But they still passed her through once she identified herself. They pointed to the great central hall, and she nervously strode down the broad avenue that led to it. The carefully manicured gardens on either side were already showing signs of neglect, and tethered horses were grazing on the flowers. A lot of the palace’s windows were broken, although that might have been from when the gunpowder works exploded or the earthquake, rather than deliberate vandalism.
She reached the grand staircase leading up to the doors of the hall. She was getting tired: this was a far longer walk than she had imagined. Atark had refused to move his quarters into the city as the rest of the kas had done, and his tent was easily four or five miles away. There were more guards at the doors, but once again, they did not stop her. The foyer of the hall was magnificent and hardly damaged at all, although there was a large mound of broken glass that had been swept into one corner. Another set of doors led to the great audience chamber. She could see and hear that a large number of people were gathered there. Atark would surely be there, too.
She came to the doors and halted. Something was going on inside, and she was not sure she wanted to know what. The assembled leaders were there, as she had expected, but she had not expected to see a hundred terrified women kneeling in the center of the chamber.
* * * * *
“So then, we are agreed,” said Ka-Noyen Zarruk. “These women, the daughters of the nobility of Berssia, shall be sent west along with fine clothes and precious jewelry. They shall be presented as gifts to the greatest noyens in the land. They shall be an invitation to them to join us in our conquest of the east!”
There was a great cheer by the assembled kas and noyens, and Atark saw the women huddling against each other in fear of what it might mean. As the cries of approval died down, Ka-Noyen Ferache stepped forward.
“And when shall that conquest begin, my lords? The year is growing late. The rains are coming. Snow will follow in less than two moons. Are we to press eastward through the snow?”
“No!” cried Ka Battai. “We are warm and comfortable here. Let us spend the winter in this hospitable city and start fresh in the spring. That will allow time for the others to come and swell our numbers.”
There were a number of men nodding their heads and murmuring assent. Atark was none too fond of Battai, but he had to admit that there was some wisdom in his words. He and Zarruk had discussed this very thing and had reached much the same conclusion.
“You speak wisdom, Battai,” said Zarruk. “But there are still tasks to be done before the snows come.”
“And what tasks do you speak of?”
“We must send at least one helar east to seize the towns that lie within fifty leagues of here. Right now, they will be ripe for capture, and holding them will ease our task in the spring. Of more importance, however, will be to send another helar south and west to crush the Varags. If we can burn their villages now, most will perish in the winter.”
“Had it not been for your shaman’s rash actions, we would not need fear the Varags,” said Battai harshly. “Already the Varags sniff around the edges of our herds, looking for revenge. Instead of adding to our strength, they will take from it.”
“What is done is done, Battai,” said Zarruk, casting a stern glance in Atark’s direction. “We must move our herds south from here for the winter. To do that, the Varags must be dealt with.”
“Then send the mighty shaman to deal with them! He will be needed to silence their guns, in any case.”
“He will also be needed in the east to secure those towns,” said Ka Oliark. “Surely the time has come for Atark to share his skills with the other shamans. The spring will see us at war with all of the east. His magic powers will be needed in many places at once.” All eyes now turned to Atark. Another well-reasoned argument from Oliark, and he had been expecting this. He rose to speak.
“Yes, you are surely right, Ka Oliark. As I have said before, the teaching is a long process. Up until now, the demands of the war have denied me the time I need to teach the other shamans. But the winter will mean months of enforced idleness. I shall be happy to teach those who wish to learn during those months.” There was whispering among those in the hall now. Clearly some were not expecting this answer. Atark was not terribly happy with it, himself, but there was no way to postpone it any longer.
“And what of the immediate campaigns? The ones Ka Zarruk desires for this autumn?”
“I would suggest that we move against the towns to the east at once. We know where they are and they will not move. I can destroy the gunpowder in those places in a week or less. The warriors can then occupy them at their leisure. After that, I can turn my attention to the Varags. That will be a more difficult campaign, but if we move boldly now, we can cripple them before the winter and finish them come spring.”
“This could work,” said Zarruk, “but only, as Atark says, if we move boldly. We require one helar to go east and another to go south. Who shall have these tasks?”
“My lord!” said Atark suddenly. “Forgive me, but I believe the time has now come for the kas to name a re-ka who will command all. We have delayed this as long as we might. We need a leader!”
Silence filled the great chamber. Then, slowly, a low murmur began which quickly grew to a loud clamor of voices. Eventually, there was a shout for silence. Atark saw Teskat whispering in Ka Battai’s ear. Teskat had found a new home, it seemed, and was already spreading his poison. Battai was now the one to speak.
“And how is it that a shaman is the one to instruct the kas in what they must do? You have grown mighty, Atark, and you think that gives you leave to order our decisions. Is that why you have kept the magic for yourself alone? To eventually rule us all? You tell us we must have a re-ka.
Then you shall tell us who it must be. Why not dispense with this all and name yourself re-ka! If we protest, you can simply burn us to ashes as you have your other rivals!”
The silence returned, thicker than ever. Out of the corner of his eye, Atark saw motion. He turned his head slightly and almost laughed out loud. Thelena’s slave was working her way toward him bearing his lunch basket! The woman had no clue what was happening around her. The future course of the Kaifeng was balanced on a knife’s edge, and she went blindly about her chores.
“Atark is here as the shaman of my tribe,” said Zarruk coldly. “His place here is assured by law and by custom, and surely no one else here has done more to earn it!”
“Nevertheless, a shaman’s place is to advise, not dictate our policy!”
There were a few snickers at this. Shamans had always worked behind the scenes to influence policy! But it was true that Atark had been far more visible—and vocal—than was customary.
“It is true that Atark’s role here is greater than normal,” said Ka Oliark, echoing Atark’s thoughts, “but let us be truthful and admit that this is not a normal situation. And let us not reject the truth in Atark’s words simply because he is not a ka. We do need a leader! We have succeeded so far because we have acted as a single army with a clear goal in front of us. We have been able to agree on a course of action. That time will soon be past. Indeed, it is past. We shall now need to send our warriors in many directions. kas will not be able to meet and converse. And tasks may need to be done that are not so pleasant as looting a city.” Oliark paused as there was considerable laughter. “Sometimes an unpleasant task will require doing, and it will be necessary to order a ka to do so—not ask and wheedle him! Only a re-ka can do this. I agree with Atark, it is time to choose!”
Atark breathed a sigh of relief. He and Zarruk had hoped they could count on Oliark, but they had not been certain. He glanced at Zarruk and was pleased to see him standing up. Now for the final lance into the ox!
Fires of Memory Page 30
