by S E Turner
The clan knew, the brothers knew. They all knew it was time.
Out on the horizon, a caravan was edging up the hill. Four horse drawn wagons which carried the cages full of slaves, the rations for the men, and the provisions for the horses teetered on the brow of hell. They were tired now and far from home, for this had been their most arduous journey yet. They had been marching north for two months and were finally going to attack the Clan of the Mountain Lion. Some people thought the General had left this tribe to last because he was afraid of the savages there, but the soldiers dismissed that. General Domitrius Corbulo was afraid of nothing. Even death was scared to face him.
The black horse began to strain at the bit and whinny, her ears swivelled back and forth, her nostrils flared. She pawed the ground with a frustrated hoof. 'Steady girl, steady, all in good time.' He didn't take his eyes off his goal and gently stroked her smooth velvet neck with a gloved hand. 'We will be home for the winter, my beauty. Our work is nearly done.' A murderous grin swept across the wicked face as he anticipated the rewards of his brutal endeavours.
The monumental cavalry concertinaed to a halt. The boys in the cages tried to cry out a warning to those below but were butted in the ribs with torturous bayonets. Unforgiving chains were pulled tighter. Strangled voices were carried away by the teeth of a gale, and the haunting sounds of the howling wolves were swallowed up by tumultuous clouds.
As the boys waited anxiously and pitifully in their prisons, the rest of the party waited for the command from their General.
Chapter Twelve
General Domitrius Corbulo waited silently, watching the celebrating party below him. 'Let them enjoy these last few minutes together,' he lamented to his captains and neatly arranged his white gloves around his fingers.
The breeze quickened its speed, circling and growing in strength as it howled and raged through the branches of the trees. It tried to push the General and his army off course. It blew hard with all its force, but the General stood firm. The wagons rattled, the cages shook, the wolves were on the move, the horses were scared and whinnied, but the General stood defiantly still, unperturbed by the frenzied supernatural events around him. Eventually the wind died down as abruptly as it had started and dropped to a deathly silence.
This was Corbulo's cue. He had waited long enough and signalled to his captains. They, in turn, sent the force of the cavalry storming down the hill to the unsuspecting victims .
The clan was prepared, but not ready for this assault. They had been celebrating the spiritual journey of two brothers and were now about to witness how wretched a fellow man could be.
Namir rang out his orders. 'Men, look out! They are here! Quickly to your posts! This is not a drill! This is the real thing!'
Fathers ran to their positions. Farm workers took up arms. Labourers prepared the monstrous timber catapults.
Norg and Bagwa sprinted to their long line of traps and waited for the command from Ronu. Namir jumped onto his waiting stallion and created a dust screen as the animal pounded up and down the banks of the river—this allowed precious time for the women and the children to take a safe path into the refuge of the cave. The women were crying, and babies were whimpering. A generation of inquisitive children had been told about the monsters in the cave to stop them going in there; and so now, as the wind picked up speed, the echoes of a deadly predator became real again.
'We must hurry. There is such little time. You will be safe in the cave. Lyall has been all the way through and there are no monsters we promise,' chanted Zoraster.
Namir was still creating a diversion. Lyall was assisting Laith and Zoraster. 'We must make haste. The cave will be your sanctuary for the time being.'
'We will be all right. We will be safe, I know that,' said Laith. 'But I fear for you and your brother.'
'This is no ordinary man, Lyall. This is a devil, you must be careful,' echoed Zoraster .
'We will be fine. Don't worry, either of you.'
Orla called out to him. 'You need to speak to the clan, Lyall. See how scared they are.'
Lyall ran ahead to ease the panic. 'Please do not be afraid. You will be perfectly safe in the cave. I have been all the way through, and there is nothing in there, I promise.'
'But it's dark,' cried a young girl.
'You have to be brave, little one. Sing the lullaby that Laith taught you, the one your mother sings when you are scared. I have to go now and help my comrades. Be brave, little one, and summon your totems. We all have to be so very brave.'
He looked over to Hali who had grabbed his mahogany bow and was stacking his platoon of arrows in front of him. A proud smile had time to reveal itself as he saw that Silva had made one, too, and both boys were a squadron to be reckoned with. He darted to get his own bow from its hiding place, lined up his own ranks, and sent them pulsing through the air.
Clebe ran into the supplies hut to grab as much as he could. Sling shots, arrows, rocks, spears—all sharpened and lathed for this most treacherous of assaults. 'Hass, Wyn, come with me. You will need to line up the weapons for me. Be quick on your feet, lads.'
The two boys skidded ahead of Clebe for their lives depended on it. The other men of the village formed an impregnable barrier and got into position with their weapons.
As the cavalry advanced, Ronu shouted out the order to Bagwa and Norg. They cut the heavy rope holding the long line of batons down and on release, a deadly spiked trap flew in the air, unseating the riders.
The horses screamed in terror. The men shouted to retreat, but as they did so, Bagwa and Norg ran alongside them to unleash a second trap. As the General's horses were turned about, they found their route of escape blocked by the impassable rows of murderous batons. Many of the horses stumbled and fell which allowed Bagwa and Norg to drag the soldiers from their saddles and render them immobile from where they lay. Namir and Ronu ran in to aid the attack. The General stared at the unfolding bloodbath and sent down more troops. More men and boys ran in to them; the clashing of metal on metal and shields on shields was deafening.
The General cocked a half grin and spoke to his captains without taking his eyes off the field. 'You see that down there, that is what the Emperor wants to see: desperation, survival, working as a team.'
The captains all nodded in agreement.
'You would be wise to watch and learn, my comrades. This is why the Emperor seeks teenage boys for his entertainment. They have no fear, only the determination to survive. It makes spectacular viewing, don't you think?'
He sent another line of archers in, all the while watching from his elevated position. These troops were met with spears and arrows, as weapons were continually replaced by the youngest boys. None of them gave in or waned. But it was like a game to the General—he never once thought about his own tired men who had travelled for months and were now being slaughtered down there. But it was getting late and he wanted to be on the road before it got too dark.
'There has to be a weak spot in this force,' he said to himself. 'It's just a matter of finding it.' His eyes scanned in a panoramic gaze, searching for the one thing that had gone unnoticed, the one element in the battle strategies that the boys hadn't prepared for.
'It has to be here. They are savages and too inexperienced to have thought of everything.' He rose up higher in his saddle and his mare snorted and shifted the weight beneath her. The General extended his neck and jutted out his chin, squinted eyes followed the tip of his nose as he focused slowly and carefully. His gaze took him to the perimeters of the battle ground, and he saw what he wanted: a young girl crouched behind some bushes. 'Now who is she looking out for, I wonder?' He put a gloved hand up as an order for his captains to remain in position. He nudged his obliging mare into a slow trot and silently crossed the plain to ambush the unsuspecting victim.
Skyrah had been there all the time, watching unnoticed while her friends fought for their lives. Her dagger was fixed firmly in her belt, and she was poised ready to run in and he
lp if they floundered. She was hoping for a chance to shine with a heroic act in which she could rescue them all. Right now, she didn't really know how she could execute this plan, or when would be the right moment, so she just waited silently and rigidly for the opportunity.
She was so focused on her clan that she didn't hear the mounted General approach her. He reached down and grabbed her from behind. She screamed out loud as he threw her in front of him. Immediately the gloved hand wrapped itself around the piercing cry. 'If you want to live, young lady, then you had better keep that mouth of yours shut.' He then curled his sinister face closer to hers and whispered in her ear. 'Now let's go and see how brave your friends really are.'
Skyrah knew who this man was. The black mare, the gloved hands. She knew straight away this was the General who would cut out her heart if she struggled. In fear for her life, she dared not move.
The General didn't have to say a word. As soon as he entered the battleground, with Skyrah astride in front of him, the fighting stopped. The soldiers retreated at his raised hand. The clan were fearful for Skyrah's safety. The horse fidgeted restlessly at her master's address.
'Well, that's better,' he said cruelly. 'But I was rather looking forward to squeezing this smooth white neck in front of you. But then again…' He smelled her through deep nostrils. 'She seems far too good to waste.'
The clan men and boys instantly threw down their weapons. A soldier snapped Hali's precious bow in two over his trunk of a thigh, threw it on the mounting heap, and set fire to it. A tear ran down Hali's cheek. Lyall recognised the man on the charger at once, and he reached up to feel the scar on his neck. He trembled and felt the rage burn in his stomach. He looked straight at the ogre and felt his whole body stiffen. The memory flashed before his eyes so vividly that he could almost smell the torched buildings and hear his mother's screams. He saw the cruel eyes that had watched his home burn to the ground. This was his enemy. This was the one he had sworn to destroy. And now here he sat, smugly with Skyrah at his side. The beast didn't even know who he was. But one day, he would. Most definitely he would.
A deathly hush resumed in the hostile landscape as the General continued. 'All I wanted was a little chat and you respond like this. But thank you for the entertainment, it has shown me what a delightful time we are in for.' He looked around the village. 'I see you have moved the rest of your clan, but that is of little consequence to me, I am only interested in the young men, and I have just seen ten of the bravest souls it has been my pleasure to witness. And on top of all that, I have a little extra something for me.' He roughly turned Skyrah's face round and licked it. 'I am sure the Emperor will allow me this little treat.'
Skyrah nearly vomited over him. Namir looked up with the guise of a vexed man. Why didn't she go with the others as instructed? This one time she should have done as she was asked. She would have been safe in the cave.
'I will leave my dead men for your elders to clear up; after all, where you are going, we will be clearing up your corpses.' The sinister smile spread across his face. He turned his fidgeting horse and cantered back up the hill with Skyrah in front of him. His troops gathered up the captives and led them to their fate. The last empty cage was waiting for them. Ten bruised, battered and fearful boys were now slaves of the Emperor of Ataxata.
Chapter Thirteen
The immense caravan rolled across the land in a south westerly direction, through the subject kingdoms, and onto the border territories. Fragile faces hung low, too tired to speak, too drained to think, but all in dread of what lay ahead. The wheels of the cages creaked and groaned as they sank into the deep ruts on the road while the dispirited horses plodded sullenly to the whip of the driver.
For days they were engulfed by damp weather and relentless flying assassins eager to feed on their blood. Swatting and smacking these creatures only encouraged more squadrons to enter their domain to feast and gorge, while dusk brought even more menacing creatures. But even worse was the meagre rations of stale bread and rancid water which did little to relieve their hunger and thirst, and for many it made them violently ill.
The General's supplies were thinning now. He knew he had to get back before the weather turned, or he would lose some boys before the games had begun, so he pressed on arduously, not resting until darkness fell and resuming the journey at first light.
Namir had been thinking for days that there had to be a way out. There is always a solution, always an answer, and for the first time he saw a light at the end of the tunnel.
'Don't worry, comrades,' he whispered. 'Wherever we're being taken will have walls with doors and the locks will have keys. Skyrah will help us. We will escape.'
'If the General doesn't kill her first,' sighed Silva with a heavy breath.
Namir raised his eyebrows, aghast at the supposition. 'He would have done that back there if he had wanted to punish her… or us. No, she will be safe. I know she will.'
'I admire your tenacity, Namir, but we are dealing with evil here, and who knows what that monster will do?' Ronu's voice was grim.
'If we give up hope now, then we might as well be dead. We have to rely on our totems… and Skyrah.'
The boys looked up at Namir's defiant expression. Hali and Silva had already found a strength from Namir's words. The boys he grew up with, got drunk with on his birthdays, the ones who pulled together to win the tug of war two years in succession, who had tried so desperately to win this battle… they had to remain strong.
'And then we will gather an army to get rid of the devil,' seethed Lyall between clenched teeth.
'Of course, we will, Lyall. We will get our revenge.'
After several days, the barren landscape morphed into a road with tatty ravaged meadows on either side. Farmers could be seen in the fields tending to livestock. Then they would pass a few travellers on foot, followed by a couple of horse drawn traps. Civilisation was getting closer now. Sparse living accommodations and small neat gardens patch-worked between the pastures, gradually turned into rows of large handsome houses made of timber and clay with sweeping frontage enclosing well stocked outbuildings, and steep roofs that hung almost to the ground. Heads began to pop out of windows as they heard the rumble of the goods train, and recoiled just as quickly when they saw the cartloads of savages.
The first sign that they were approaching a city was the noise, followed by an array of disproportionate buildings, and finally a mass of people vying for a glimpse of the new prisoners. Jostling and pushing, yelling and screaming, a tidal wave of abuse was hurled at them as wretched dirty fingers poked and throaty venomous spit splattered. The bars were a useless commodity in this instance.
They were on the road to hell, and wide, flared eyes searched round this alien kingdom, for none of them had seen such constructions, heard so much noise, or been faced with such enormity. The younger boys withdrew to the corners of their cages: petrified, sobbing, yearning for the safe arms of their mothers again. Most were smeared with the blood of soldiers trying to defend themselves. They certainly didn't look human anymore. The berating crowd was eventually beaten back by the captors with copious amounts of venom. The boys didn't look at them; they didn't want to give them the satisfaction of witnessing their tortured souls.
They passed street advertisements and panel-painted frescos of boys fighting. Whole porticos were covered in life size murals of young adult males in full protective dress, armed for combat. These were the boys that Laith spoke of. These were the crowd pullers that the Emperor dreamed of. This would be them one day.
An avenue of overly laden stalls swallowed them up with its artefacts begging for attention. Sculptures, figurines, lamps, glasses, and engravings bearing mono prints of fight scenes. They passed a stall selling babies utensils, and each one was stamped with a boy's head, imbibing certain fortitude and courage. There were pictures of fights with demonic creatures, disfigured wolves, and creatures that were half man and half beast. Were these the creations from an artist's imagination,
or did they really exist? Many boys shook with fear, and the stench of urine slowly covered the base of the cages.
They continued to make their way out of the city, and as the roads got wider, they entered a staggeringly rich and opulent area. Building after building was bigger and more impressive than the previous one, tinged in various shades of pink, and clad in grand ornate gold pillars. Domes of coloured mosaics towered high into the air, scattering a prism of every colour imaginable onto the streets below. Bathed in the rainbow of hues were the threads of summer's creeping jasmine, and the remains of honeysuckle vines entwined round magnificent heralding fountains. Noticeably, every few yards, there was a shaved errand boy clearing away the dead leaves and discarded petals that landed near the gentry's path.
The women wore fine dresses that skimmed the gleaming pavements, and portly men brushed past with an over-indulged swagger. There wasn't a tunic or woollen cape between them, just silk gossamer, rich damask and everything exquisitely embroidered and luxurious.
The boy's torturous journey continued, eventually turning in to the wide entrance of a walled palace. Those who still had their eyes open noticed a colossal marble statue to which everyone bowed as they filed past. This had to be the Emperor, the epitome of ruthlessness and avarice, the instigator of fear.
Their transporter carried on along the wide driveway, flanked by rows of laburnum trees and aconitum bushes. It veered right and then trundled around to the back of the palace. The Emperor's pavilion was huge, bigger than any castle Lyall had ever seen. Painted white with oval windows clad in pillars of gold, surrounded by a well-kept terrace and immaculate lawns, while bright lamps burned in windows in preparation for dusk. And as they took the final curve round the building, they saw the maids sweeping the autumn debris from the outdoor terrace.
Tired, beleaguered faces went from orange to green to purple under the glow of the lamps, and as the noise from the city began to fade away, they saw it. There, in the distance, on its own, stark and forbidding; the huge arena, cruelly cleaved into the hillside. An open wound disfigured and maimed by a thousand slaves, which cried its own tears of blood and reached out to them with misshapen crooked arms. And to the left of them, with its door facing away from the arena, protruding from the earth like an unwelcome parasite, was another place that reeked of unbearable suffering: a cold slab of shale, blotting the violated landscape.
