The Magelands Origins

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘How different?’

  ‘Like they’d been trained, Captain. They were disciplined, and were working together. Not like last year, where they would shove, fight, and sometimes even kill each other to be the first to attack us.’

  ‘As the mob at the gate behaved?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Chane said, ‘but the second wave acted like they actually knew what they were doing. Behaving like fucking soldiers. Ma’am.’

  ‘Then why are they waiting?’

  ‘My guess, Captain, is that they’re securing the perimeter of the fort to ensure they’ve got us surrounded, and when they’re ready, they’ll come at us from all sides at once.’

  ‘That sounds like they might be wanting to capture us alive,’ Daphne said.

  She met her captain’s eye. ‘The Sanang don’t take prisoners.’

  ‘But like you said, maybe this lot are different.’

  Chane snorted. ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

  There was a long low blast on a horn, followed by another, then a third.

  ‘Movement from the main road,’ shouted one of the crossbow team from the barracks wall.

  Daphne and Chane squinted through the gloom in the direction of the command tent, as a line of flickering torches appeared. At the same time, lights could be seen coming along the roads in the direction of both the east and south towers.

  Daphne moved into the centre of the square. ‘Everyone, to me!’ she cried. ‘Four lines, shields on the outside.’

  The Holdings troopers, about fifty in total, quickly drilled themselves into a rough square, two deep. Most looked terrified, but Chane had ensured they were all armed.

  They watched as the torches approached from three sides. Despite her battle-vision, Daphne was starting to feel a deep exhaustion take hold within her, a dull throbbing ache in her bones that screamed at her to lie down and sleep, and it took all of her will to remain alert and on her feet.

  Just as the first Sanang were becoming visible under the light of their torches, there were shouts at her back, and she turned towards the gatehouse.

  There stood the Sanang warrior with the tattooed head, who had led the chaotic first wave. He was in front of the gatehouse door, grinning at them as dozens of his warriors rushed out of the building behind him.

  He was gripping something in his left hand, which he lifted and hurled into the mass of Holdings soldiers. It thudded and rolled over by Chane’s feet, but Daphne’s view was obscured.

  ‘What is it?’ she called over.

  Chane looked up, grimacing in disgust, ‘What’s left of Lieutenant Dex, Captain.’

  The tattooed Sanang started shouting and gesturing at his warriors, and they roared in reply, raising their weapons, and beating their chests. At his command, they charged at the troopers.

  The Sanang crashed into the locked shields of the Holdings square with heavy ferocity, pushing the exhausted troopers back several paces. Gaps opened up, and their lines collapsed into a chaotic melee.

  ‘Time for a prayer to the Creator,’ Jaimes muttered.

  ‘For victory?’

  ‘For a quick death, Captain,’ he replied, raising his sword as the first Sanang broke through to the centre. The sergeant’s sword hacked downwards, taking off an enemy’s right arm at the elbow. Daphne parried one blade, twisting to dodge another that glanced off her breastplate. She lunged out at the first attacker, aiming for his throat, but she was tired, and the tip of her blade grazed off his shoulder. She was over-extended, and as the Sanang raised his sword to finish her, she saw Jaimes’ arm sweep past, hitting her attacker across his chest. He went down, but another Sanang rushed forwards and struck the sergeant a cleaving sword blow to his neck and shoulder. Jaimes spun on his feet and crashed to the ground, his throat opened.

  Daphne roared in anguish and fury, and starting swinging her sword wildly at the Sanang, surging her fading powers to batter him backwards. Surprised, he tripped and fell to the earth. Daphne leaped forward and with a great stroke cut his head off.

  She screamed. Not Jaimes, her Jaimes. Her head swam, and her sight blurred with tears. All around, she could hear the sounds of her troopers fighting and dying. She dropped her sword and fell to her knees, looking down at the bloody earth, red and brown. This was where she was going to die. As she started to fade, she heard more horns blowing, and she slowly drifted…

  She came to as Chane slapped her hard across the face, her other hand gripping the edge of Daphne’s breastplate.

  ‘Wake up, ma’am!’ she shouted, shaking her. ‘The fighting’s stopped.’

  Daphne felt a lit cigarette placed between her lips.

  ‘I hope you’ve got more to drink,’ she croaked, her cheek starting to swell.

  Chane reached into her tunic and produced another flask. She passed it to Daphne, who took a drink. Rahain brandy this time. She moved from her haunches into a sitting position, grimacing at her aching limbs. ‘Better than the last stuff,’ she said, handing the flask back to the lieutenant.

  Chane sat down on the earth next to her, and took a swig. ‘Was saving this one.’

  Daphne looked around. There was a wedge of piled-up corpses in front of her, mostly Holdings. Somewhere in that pile was Jaimes, but she couldn’t see where. The surviving soldiers of her company now sat around her. Many had injuries. A few still clutched their weapons, but she saw that several were unarmed. There was not a single battler present among them. A few paces beyond, a solid wall of Sanang spears and shields ringed them. These warriors eyed them with cold professionalism.

  ‘What did I miss?’ she asked Chane.

  The lieutenant studied her for a second. ‘The first group from the gatehouse were cutting their way through us, when this lot arrived.’ She gestured at the lines surrounding them. ‘They ordered the first group to withdraw, and when they weren’t obeyed, they waded in and pulled them off us. Since then they’ve just been standing here staring. Looks like you were right, Captain. Maybe some of them want us alive.’

  The wall of Sanang suddenly opened to the east, allowing a group to approach. It was more Holdings survivors, rounded up from the other end of the fort. Sanang soldiers shepherded them into the square. Around half of the group were civilians, including doctors and engineers. In among the dozen or so troopers, she recognised Lieutenant Mink, one eye blackened, and his head bowed. The ring of Sanang expanded to allow the new group to settle down with the others.

  ‘Good to see you, Chief Engineer,’ Daphne said, as Dreff limped over and sat next to them. Manahan and his three junior doctors also joined them, looking shocked but unhurt.

  Dreff glanced around.

  ‘She didn’t make it,’ Daphne said. ‘Sorry.’

  Dreff’s face crumpled, and he closed his eyes. Chane glanced at her in surprise.

  There was a noise to their left and both Daphne and Chane looked up to see Mink approach.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ Daphne said. ‘Please report.’

  Mink looked away, saying nothing as he sat down.

  ‘Maybe the black eye from the Sanang has left him concussed,’ Manahan said.

  A sergeant strode up. ‘Was me that gave him that, sirs,’ he said. ‘The lieutenant was experiencing an attack of the nerves when the Sanang assaulted our tower. He wasn’t making any sense, so I helped calm him down a bit.’

  All eyes turned to Mink in silence. His head was bowed, and he looked humiliated. So the rumours about her lieutenant’s courage in combat were true she thought, feeling sorry for the man.

  ‘Very well, Sergeant Weir,’ Daphne said. ‘Let’s hear the report from you then, if you would.’

  ‘They snuck up on us in the dark, Captain,’ Weir said, crouching by the surviving officers. ‘Scaled the wall like monkeys. The guards on the parapet never heard a thing, not until they were right on top of us. A whole two hundred, we think, including their chief, who was armoured like one of our battlers. He cut his way through half of us on his own. Lieutenant Mink surrendered, and their
chief accepted. He’s got a Holdings man with him…’

  ‘What?’ Chane asked. ‘Who has?’

  ‘The armoured Sanang chief. He has a Holdings man as a slave…’

  This was too much. ‘A slave?’ several of them of called out at once, in tones ranging from outrage to disgust.

  ‘That’s what the man told me,’ the sergeant replied.

  ‘You spoke to him?’ Daphne asked.

  ‘Yes. The Sanang chief’s using him as a translator. That’s how we knew he’d accepted our surrender.’

  ‘I had to surrender,’ Mink muttered. ‘I had no choice.’

  ‘No one blames you for that, Lieutenant,’ Daphne said.

  Mink glared in anger and hurt pride, but said nothing.

  Manahan leaned over, and peered at Daphne.

  ‘Are you alright, Captain?’ the doctor asked. ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘The captain’s been running battle-vision for hours,’ said Chane. ‘She’s now so exhausted, she’s liable to lapse into unconsciousness at any moment. And when she does, she could be out for days. I’ve seen what happens when battlers burn out.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Daphne said, lighting a fresh cigarette from the smouldering end of the one she had just finished.

  ‘Has anyone seen the priest?’ she asked after a while.

  There were headshakes and shrugs.

  ‘I haven’t seen him since the briefing this morning,’ said Chane. ‘Yesterday morning, now.’

  ‘Did you doctors not see him in his quarters?’ Daphne asked.

  ‘There was no sign of him all day,’ Manahan replied. ‘I assumed he was out ministering to the troopers.’

  ‘And I assumed he was praying in his rooms,’ Daphne said.

  Chane sneered. ‘Are we to believe that the company priest, our spiritual leader, has absconded?’

  ‘I happened to see Father Rijon this morning,’ Sergeant Weir said. Daphne had forgotten he was still crouching by them. ‘He was outside the walls, said he was off to collect some things he needed for a prayer ritual or something.’

  There was a collective groan.

  ‘He’ll never make it,’ Dreff said, speaking his first words in some time. ‘It’s twenty days to the assembly point.’

  No one disagreed.

  There was a noise growing from beyond the ring of Sanang. The shield wall parted, and a group walked through towards them. There were eight in all. Four guards each had breastplates and spears, and one held a torch. The other three Sanang were also armoured, and carried swords. One of them was decked head to toe in an almost complete panoply, except for a helmet under his left arm. He was broad and powerful, and his eyes shone with a grim intelligence. The eighth member of the group was a dark-skinned Holdings man, poorly dressed, slim with long hair, who looked to be in his early thirties. He was wearing a wooden and leather collar around his neck, with a rope attached, the other end of which was held by one of the guards.

  They stopped at the edge of the gathered troopers, and the chief said something to the slave. To Daphne’s ears, his language sounded like a combination of chewing leather and spitting.

  The Holdings slave nodded and stepped forward a pace to scan the prisoners. He looked from left to right, stopping when he saw Daphne’s party. He pointed and spoke in the Sanang tongue.

  The chief nodded and started walking towards them. His guards went ahead, gesturing with their spears to the folk in the way to move aside, and a path was cleared. The chief halted a few paces away. His slave scanned them again, staring at each. He started pointing, at her, at Chane, and Mink and Manahan, each time saying something to the Sanang chief.

  Daphne summoned her strength.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called out to them.

  The slave and the chief exchanged a glance and a few whispered words. The slave nodded and stepped closer.

  ‘You are blessed by the presence,’ he said, gesturing at the armoured Sanang, ‘of the great Chief Agang Garo, the mighty and the merciful lord of the Beechwoods, commander of a thousand spears and two hundred swords.’ He paused. ‘Probably more like three hundred now.’

  He pointed at the small group sitting before him.

  ‘The great Agang claims you as his prisoners.’

  He turned and spoke to the Sanang guards who, to Daphne’s surprise, obeyed him. The slave began to point. He started with Daphne, then Chane, Mink, Dreff and the four doctors. The guards started to urge them to their feet. Daphne looked at the slave and nodded at Sergeant Weir. The slave shrugged and motioned at a guard to include him.

  Chane and Weir helped Daphne to her feet, each taking an arm over their shoulders, and together the small group were shepherded apart from the others to a separate section of the square. They reached a clear space where they were ordered to sit, while a new ring of shields moved efficiently into position around them. On its edge, Daphne saw the slave talk to Chief Agang. After a brief exchange, Agang nodded and strode off, his officers and guards following. The slave remained. He turned towards where Daphne’s group huddled, and edged his way through the shieldwall.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ he said to her. ‘The chief has claimed you, which means that no one who values his life will come anywhere near.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked. Chane and Weir sat beside her, one at each shoulder.

  ‘My name is Ethan, once of Long Holding.’ He looked up into the dark sky, the first signs of the dawn’s light a mere smudge in the east. Daphne saw that he would be a handsome man, if cleaned up. ‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘At sunrise, Chief Agang Garo will be leaving, to inform the other chiefs of his victory.’

  ‘And us?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll be staying here,’ he replied, a frown passing over his face. ‘Agang will be leaving a detachment, and he has also ordered one of his… allies to garrison the fort. He will be back in seven days.’

  Daphne’s heart sank. ‘Which ally?’

  ‘You might have seen him,’ Ethan said. ‘Has tattoos all over his head.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘He is B’Dang D’Bang. He is not someone to anger or provoke, regardless of the chief’s claim on you.’

  ‘Why him?’

  ‘A punishment,’ he replied. ‘He disobeyed orders, attacked without permission. Did you think the chief had planned to attack at night? No. Agang had ordered them to bunk down and wait for dawn. B’Dang ignored him and charged. So Agang is making him stay here, to guard the fort. He wanted to go along to see the chiefs, to boast and brag, so Agang told him no. I’ll be staying too, to keep an eye on things.’

  ‘Have you truly turned to the Sanang?’ Daphne asked.

  ‘Agang is different,’ he said, ‘as are his men. Nothing like the mob led by B’Dang D’Bang. Agang may look like a fierce warrior to you, and he is when he has to be, as do any who wish to lead the Sanang. But he’s a reluctant warrior, more fond of books than he is of fighting. Look,’ he said, ‘just keep your heads down, stick close to me and these soldiers here, and you’ll get through this just fine.’

  He got to his feet.

  ‘Wait,’ Daphne called.

  He looked down at her.

  ‘What will happen to the rest of my troopers?’ she asked.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and made his way back through the shield wall.

  Dawn was soon in coming, though not as swift as on the endless plains of home. The Holdings officers watched as Agang’s men picked up their weapons, shields and packs, and marched out of the fort. Agang himself was still by the broken gates, hectoring B’Dang D’Bang, pointing back at his prisoners, and making slitting gestures across his throat. B’Dang gazed past him, bored and unimpressed.

  Once the chief had left, his slave Ethan strode across to the squad of Agang’s warriors left behind to look after his personal captives. He motioned to them, and the warriors ordered Daphne’s group to their feet.

  Again, Chane and Weir assisted Daphne to rise. She clenched her jaw in grim determinat
ion as she forced herself upright. After hours of sitting, every muscle screamed.

  They were herded towards the nearest of Chane’s barracks blocks, which necessitated passing the rest of the Holdings prisoners. Three dozen or so exhausted troopers huddled together in the morning light. B’Dang’s men had replaced Agang’s force, and were surrounding the sitting prisoners in lazy groups, drinking and smoking narcotics.

  B’Dang appeared, hands on hips. He looked over at Daphne and her small group with contempt as they went past, and she saw the ring of B’Dang’s men tighten around the remaining troopers. B’Dang D’Bang raised his sword, his eyes still on her, a smile on the edge of his lips. He roared out to his men, and they fell like wolves upon the exhausted prisoners. A few fought back, but were cut down in the onslaught. Rage gripped Daphne as she watched her soldiers massacred.

  As they approached the barracks, Daphne wriggled free from the grasp of Chane and Weir. She rolled to the ground in a tight bundle, avoiding the onrushing limbs of their Sanang escorts. Once out of their reach, she staggered forwards, unsheathing her sword, which throughout the night they had never taken from her, the Sanang too arrogant to bother disarming such a worthless foe. She ignored the angry and fearful shouting coming from behind her.

  Ahead, B’Dang and a few of his cronies were standing, watching her unsteady approach with amusement.

  Well I hope you find this funny, she thought as she ceased staggering, and leapt at B’Dang, swinging her sword, expending everything she had for one final burst. Her blade flashed through the air, but B’Dang was faster. He grabbed one of the smaller warriors standing next to him, pulling him between Daphne’s sword and himself, the blow slicing the hapless warrior through the neck. His body slumped to the ground as Daphne landed, falling to one knee onto the hard earth.

  She looked up to see B’Dang laughing. He bowed his head to her in approval. He sheathed his sword, smiled, and picked up a large studded bat.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ she said to the ground, not knowing who she was talking to, but feeling sick and overwhelmed with loss and guilt, and wanting it to end. ‘I’m so tired.’