Chapter Eight: Day Three
Commander Nephys stormed through the Arcite camp, poleaxe in hand, her fierce eyes fixed on Khalim’s tent as a gang of Azurian Guard loitered outside. One of them held the reins of a chestnut horse adorned with white warpaint.
As she neared a man emerged from Khalim’s tent. He was largely naked, except for a loincloth and similar white warpaint to the horse. His hair was tied in a top-knot and his skin, what of it was not painted white, was fairer than an Arcite’s and had a reddish tint. He mounted his steed and rode off westward. He paid her no mind as he bolted past, but Nephys followed the galloping wildman with a suspicious glare.
Zamon stormed out of the tent shortly afterwards with a face like thunder and stomped off in the opposite direction spitting curses.
“Get out of my way.” Nephys snapped at the Azurians in the doorway, and the Guardsmen sneered as they let her through. She stormed into the tent, through the strange-smelling mist permeating from burning braziers. Inside, Guardsmen canoodled with Khalim’s slave concubines, and the King himself was sat on his throne, deep in contemplation. Byzar, his loyal pup, was by his side as usual.
Nephys would waste little time with formalities. She knelt down before the throne and addressed him. “My King, may I speak with you in private?”
Khalim remained still. Byzar scoffed. “Don’t mind me, ma’am. Pretend I’m not even here.”
Khalim cocked his head slightly as he looked down upon Nephys, who bowed her head in submission. “Very well. Everyone get out. Even you, loyal Byzar.”
Byzar raised his eyebrows. “Come on, lads. Bring the girls with you.” he harrumphed as everyone else vacated the tent, leaving Nephys alone with the monster.
Once they were gone, Khalim spoke. “Speak, beautiful, powerful Nephys, my loyal Lioness. Let me hear your warlike words.”
Nephys looked up at him and met his black, soulless eyes with her own. She had seen enough Arcite blood spilt. Enough battles lost. She would put up with it no more.
“Let me lead the attack, my brave King. I am your Lioness. And just as the regal lion reclines and tends to his proud made while the lionesses hunt for him, let me hunt down your enemies and drag their carcasses before your divine feet. I am your loyal servant, my King. Let me serve you.”
Khalim breathed heavy, rasping breaths as he supped up her adulation. “You have always been loyal to me, brave Commander Nephys. My staunchest advocate. My fiercest protector. Unquestioning in your devotion. You beheaded your own father for me, spilt his blood for my satisfaction.”
“He was a traitor, my liege. He was jealous of your status and genius.” she said, trying her best to sound fawning.
“Indeed, my lovely Commander. Ordinarily, I would turn to you in this, my hour of need. The heathens are indeed hardy, and I would trust no one but you to defeat them, but…The circumstances have changed.” Khalim opened his palm. In it was a small bone totem of some kind. “This is an offering from our new allies.” he said.
“Allies?” said Nephys, after a pause.
“Yes, fair, sweet Commander. The Cimrans have pledged fealty to me, as have a dozen lesser tribes which cower beneath their yoke.” Nephys’ eyes darted down to the floor as she listened. “They have agreed to convert to the true faith, and worship the Old Gods, and to bolster my army with their noble, well-sculpted menfolk. All that they ask in return is permission to sack those parts of Arcon which still worship the false god Hatra. Of course, I agreed to their request gladly.”
“My liege…Is this wise? Native Arcites are loyal to you. They love you as a father of the people.” spoke Nephys, unable to entirely keep the frustration from her voice. “These savages…Can you be sure they will stay loyal to you? Will they not ransack all of Arcon, indiscriminately, given the chance? Will they not be flighty, inconstant?”
Khalim chuckled. “You ought to put more stock in the character of your own people, Commander. Your blood father was a Cimran, was he not?”
“Caralundi.” she said, though it pained her to do so.
“I do get these tribes mixed up sometimes. There are so many! Caralundi blood runs in your veins, then.” He didn’t mean to mock, but for Nephys these words were barbs. “That is what gives you your fair skin. Your beautiful eyes. Your mighty stature and strength. Arcite women are small, frail…Good only for prayer to the gods, bearing strong Arcite boys, and tending to their husbands’ needs. But you…You are a mighty warrior, the equal of any man.”
“For the savages make strong and impressive men, do they not, Commander? Though the Arcites are far superior in terms of genius and faith, the savages do have a certain sexually vigorous quality about them, don’t they? No wonder your mother fucked your blood-father, Lord Haldun’s Caralundi slave, cuckolding the bloated, flatulent, oafish prick in the process.”
“But nonetheless, Lord Haldun adopted you and raised you as his own. That is more mercy than he showed the slave, so I hear, who was first feminised, and then pulled apart by chariots. And you mother, trampled to death by elephants in front of a braying crowd. I wonder why he didn’t simply dash out your brains with a rock? Perhaps he hated you, wanted to see you suffer as punishment for your mother’s crimes? And did you hate him back, the shite-brained usurper you came to call a father? Did you enjoy it when you cut off his head and tossed before at my heavenly feet?”
“I did it for you, my King.” scowled Nephys beneath her breath. “Only for you.”
“Why do they not attack?” wondered Meridon, stood atop the wall beside Optimus. They overlooked the piled Arcite dead, already beginning to rot and fester, and the more distant Arcite camp. None had mobilised there since yesterday’s attack.
“Who knows? Perhaps they rebuild their strength, await reinforcements.” said Optimus. “Perhaps the portents of their foul gods were ill this morning. Either way it is good news for us. The longer we can hold them here the better. We should remain vigilant, Meridon. I want lookouts posted on every wall. Having said that, let’s allow the men to rest a while longer this morning. I’ve a feeling they’re going to need all their strength in the days ahead.”
Further along the wall, wounded, bedraggled, and somewhat dazed, Imperios sat idly whirling a spear in his hands, half looking out towards the enemy camp, half lost in his own thoughts.
“They’re serving breakfast, Imperios.” said Drumnos, coming to join him.
“I ate already.” he said, distantly.
Drumnos sat himself down beside him and glanced at his bandaged leg. “How’s the leg?”
“Hurts. It’ll do no good for my throw, that’s for sure.”
“Wow, your eyes are baggy! That wound must have kept you up all night.”
Imperios turned away and shrugged. “Something like that.” He tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep the grin off of it.
“What is it? Why are you smiling like a dog who’s run off with his master’s sandal?”
“Alright, look. Drumnos…Can I trust you?”
“I am your battle-brother, Imperios…”
“No, I mean, are you also my friend?”
Drumnos was a bit confused. He shrugged. “Yes, of course I am your friend.”
So Imperios told him. “I had the sex.”
Drumnos gasped. “The sex! But it is forbidden! You will be struck out of the order – or worse, put to death!”
“We’ll all be dead in a couple of days. I don’t think it’s going to matter somehow. Nobody else knows but you.”
“But Hatra knows…She sees all, she knows all. Who did you sex with? Was it Parthax? Is that why you were so sad when he died?”
“No, it wasn’t Parthax!” snapped Imperios. “It was…Aysha. But you mustn’t tell anyone, or I’ll be exiled as a traitor and she will be flogged as a temptress!”
“No no no, I would never tell anyone! Oh my, Imperios…Having the sex. The sex indeed! What has the world come to?”
Imperios shrugged. “I know
.”
“But what even…What was…I mean, what was it like?”
Imperios tried to stifle his smile, but he didn’t quite manage it. “It was amazing. It felt like killing a hundred heathens with the throw of a single spear.”
Drumnos nervously made his hands into a winged symbol to protect himself from the sex’s influence, and he sanctified himself with a brief prayer to Hatra. Even so, forbidden though it was, he was intrigued. “How does it work? I mean…What does it involve?”
“I’m not entirely sure myself. She did most of the work. But it primarily involved…”
Drumnos was gripped. “Involved what?”
“I’ll tell you some other time.” smirked Drumnos, as he heaved himself up and started hobbling back towards the Mausoleum.
“No, you can’t leave me hanging like this!” Drumnos called from the wall. “I want to know! What if I die this day, and never learn how the sex spreads from one person to the next?”
“You’re better off not knowing, young Drumnos.” Imperios quipped. “Ignorance is bliss, my boy, ignorance is bliss.”
Later than day Osuna strolled into Jamila’s chapel, now half-collapsed having been smashed by a catapult. Shafts of light pierced through the holes in the roof, illuminating the praying Reclaimers inside. Jamila went from one to another, leading their prayers. She smiled as she saw Osuna enter and came to speak with him.
“Very fetching. The farm girls love a man in uniform.” she said. Osuna was wearing Reclaimer armour now, and he had a shield slung onto his back and a falchion at his side.
“I’ll never be a Reclaimer, but at least my enemies will shit themselves when they see me coming.” he chortled.
Jamila winced. “You’ve certainly go the military humour.”
“Yes, sorry…I’m in the presence of a servant of Hatra, I should mind my language.”
“I meant to find you yesterday after the battle. I saw you out there. You were very brave.”
“You too, Jamila. So was Aysha. You Arcite girls are tougher than you look.”
Jamila smiled and looked down at her feet. “Can I interest you in a prayer?”
Osuna smiled. “I have to admit, I came here for another reason. Can we talk alone?”
Jamila’s smile disappeared. She had an inkling of what was coming. “My place is here.”
“The enemy is still in their camp, Jamila.” said Osuna, more urgently this time. “Even if they are to attack today it would take them some time to muster. Now is the perfect time to escape! Aysha can take you into the hills, and…”
“No!” she snapped. “I already have enough people telling me I should leave, I don’t need this from you too, Osuna! I am no less devoted to Hatra than any of these Reclaimers. Why should I live, and they die? No. I have made up my mind, and I will not be dissuaded. I will stay in Karuk for as long as it is in danger. If it is to fall, then I will fall too.”
Osuna was a bit taken aback by Jamila’s anger, but in a way he could understand it. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.” he said, with a polite smile and a bow, and he left her in peace. Jamila watched him leave, feeling a little bit guilty for shouting at him, but she returned to her duty soon enough.
As the sun began to descend from its peak a cry came from the western wall. “Enemy reinforcements come from the west!”
Optimus and Meridon went to join the lookouts on the western wall as the Reclaimers armed themselves ready for battle. They peered towards the shapes in the distance. It was at first impossible to tell who these newcomers were, or how numerous, but as they drew nearer a strange picture emerged.
“Barbarians.” muttered Meridon. It was a horde of wildmen. Bare-chested and red-skinned, painted white. Their war-horns blared. They came on foot and aboard chariots, their wheels kicking up a huge cloud of dust above them.
“Cimrans.” spat Optimus. He recognised their warpaint. Even after all these years there was venom in his voice as he spat out the name of their foul tribe.
“They’re not coming for Karuk, it seems. Not straight away at least.” Meridon observed. “They’re heading for the enemy camp.”
The Arcite soldiers loitered in their camps and watched the barbarians arrive with suspicious glares. They looked upon the tall, bare-chested men with trepidation and disdain. They had paler skin than their own, with a reddish tint, and they wore chalky white warpaint. They wore the skulls of elk and bison, or adorned their top-knots with bones, or wore horned helmets. Their horses, too, were painted, and their chariots came in all shapes and sizes, some small, flimsy and wooden, others bulkier, adorned with cruel spikes and scythes. The entire horde at last came to a halt outside the Arcite camp, and they loitered there, roaring and howling, joking and boasting amongst themselves in their savage tongue.
From their ranks came a delegation of sorts. Five chariots, all bearing spears adorned with the shrunken heads of slain foes, three armed men aboard each. The head chariot was the largest of all, pulled by four horses instead of two, and aboard this one was a giant. He wore the broad-horned skull of a water buffalo. On his back was a wooden shield, from which dangled a dozen charms and totems. Resting on his shoulder was his massive curved falx.
Khalim clapped his hands with glee as he watched them approach, sat upon his golden throne ready to receive them. He was surrounded by Azurian Guard, who watched the barbarians approach with foul looks upon their face. To his right was Byzar, wary, and Zamon, furious. To his left was Nephys, impassive.
The chariots rumbled to a halt. One man on each held the reins. The others dismounted and surrounded their chieftain, the giant, who strode before King Khalim with long strides, removed his buffalo skull, and bowed before him.
His face, beneath the skull, was strangely beautiful. Savage, yes, but strong-jawed, full-lipped and dark-eyed, and with long black hair, plaited, flowing down one side of his head, the other half shaved. Half of his face was covered with that pasty white warpaint.
“King Khalim, King of Kings, I pledge myself to you.” he spoke, in broken Arcite, his voice deep and rumbling, his accent harsh.
“Warlord Cromund, you truly are a sigh for sore eyes.” spoke Khalim, almost amorously. “You may rise.”
Cromund rose to full height, holding his bison skull mask beneath his arm. “Praise be to Khalim, and to dead rotting snake god.”
Nephys winced at his unconvincing prayer, and Byzar snorted, but Khalim seemed satisfied. “Ah! I love the zeal of the newly converted. You and your men will make fine servants of Venhotek, I am sure. Do you not agree, Zamon?”
Zamon chose his words very carefully, but evidently he did not relish having a new rival for Khalim’s ear. The barbarians worshiped a thousand spirits. They were no more devoted to Venhotek than Nephys was. But if you invite a barbarian to plunder your homeland, they won’t let something as petty as faith get in the way.
“I’m sure they will be useful servants of Venhotek, my King.” said Zamon at last. “Tell me, ‘Cromund’, which of the seventeen scriptured offerings did you make to the death-king this solstice?”
“I offer my falx, my strength and my blood to the death skull reptile. I hope he accepts my modest offerings, for strength and fury are all my people have to offer.” spoke Cromund.
“I love your rustic logic, Cromund!” beamed Khalim, clapping his hands. “Never mind your dusty scriptures, Zamon. Surely it is faith and strength which matter most?” Zamon scowled and muttered something indistinct. Khalim continued. “Warlord Cromund, this is Zamon, the Grand Serpent, the most faithful of all Venhotek’s slaves. Allow me also to introduce my guards. Captain Byzar is my shield. He protects me from harm, for I have many enemies lurking in the shadows.”
Cromund bowed his head to Byzar. “Pleasure.” Byzar grunted, brusquely.
“And Command Nephys is my hammer, striking down my foes wherever they lurk.” Cromund bowed to her too. She didn’t move a muscle.
“Fun fact, Cromund, you and Nephys might well be cousins!” chu
ckled Khalim. “Her father by blood was a Cimran. You can tell from her stature, can’t you?”
“Caralundi.” she muttered.
“Ah yes yes yes. I do get your quaint little tribes mixed up sometimes!” dismissed Khalim.
Cromund nodded his head as sagely as he could. “The Caralundi are strong warriors. They make fine women, tall and muscular.”
“As is Nephys, here.” said Khalim. “She truly is a sight to behold in the full fury of battle. Imagine if you two had children – just picture the beast which would be belched forth from her bronze-clad womb!”
Cromund smiled and raised an eyebrow. Nephys scowled. “The assault?” she muttered.
“Ah yes, to the business of crushing those pesky heathens.” said Khalim, clapping his hands together. “Warlord Cromund, you will attack them at first light and wipe them off the face of the earth. You will demolish the tombs and catacombs of Karuk. And then you and your men will spread the faith of Venhotek throughout the hills and deserts which surround this palace – alas, it is a lawless land here, in thrall to the false god Hatra.”
“Curse the winged woman torso Hatra!” roared Cromund, raising a clenched fist.
“Indeed! Curse her indeed!” gushed Khalim, gleefully. “I think we’re going to get along famously, you and I.”
Byzar and Nephys shared a wearied glance. It was going to be a long night.
Darkness fell, but you wouldn’t know it. The barbarian camp blazed with giant bonfires. They whooped and hollered as they thronged around the fires, making offerings to their gods, laughing, joking, drinking. The Arcite camp was quieter by comparison, but still it glowed with a thousand campfires, and so the whole of the desert was seemingly ablaze.
Optimus and Meridon had seen enough. They stepped down from the wall and went to get some rest.
“Upon the morrow.” said Optimus, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Here’s hoping it’s not the last ‘morrow’ we see.” grinned Meridon.
Jamila, in her chapel, was left in peace at last as the last of the Reclaimers went to sleep or stand guard. She’s been leading prayers all day, and hadn’t had a chance to tidy up. She swept some rubble off of her favourite tome, and tried to clear the crushed rock away from the altar. But she soon had another visitor.
“Jamila…” said Aysha.
Jamila turned to her and smiled. “Come in, Aysha.”
“I’m not disturbing you am I?”
“No, no. I was just doing some tidying up. Not very useful, as I’m sure the whole chapel will have collapsed by tomorrow!”
Aysha laughed, weakly, then sat herself down beside Jamila. The priestess could see the worry in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Jamila asked.
“I’ve fallen in love.” she admitted.
“What do you mean? How?”
“With one of the men.”
“Does he know?”
“Sort of…We…We were together last night.”
Jamila furrowed her brow. “Is it Osuna?”
“No …”
“Then a Reclaimer has broken his vows…” she gasped.
“Don’t say it like that!”
“Who was it?” snapped Jamila.
“I can’t tell you.” Aysha snapped back.
“It is a very serious crime in Hatra’s eyes. You should not have put the poor boy in that position.” she lectured.
“What about my position? He has pledged to die here, defending Karuk. He will die here, and I…”
“That is the way of things!” snapped Jamila, and Aysha was taken aback. “He must fight and die for Hatra. So must I. But you are under no such oaths. Go, run! Flee in darkness to the hills!”
“No! How can I leave him like this?”
“You stupid girl! This is not a place for lovers or fairytales, it is a place of death!” Jamila admonished her. “Death comes for all who come to Karuk, and it comes swiftly! Stay here and you will be butchered, or worse! Your lover will die, too, as a Reclaimer ought to, and he will die in Hatra’s name! You came looking for adventure. Well you’ve had your little adventure. Now go, be off with you, before you can cause any more harm!”
“How can you be so cruel?” screamed Aysha, in tears. “I know what awaits me here. I’ve seen the bodies. I’ve seen the death.”
“Do you want to die here? Die, a young girl, sacrificing yourself for Hatra?”
“I don’t know…”
“Then go! Leave this place!”
Aysha shot to her feet. “You think you’re so high and mighty, Jamila, but you’re not better than me! Being bereft of love or feeling doesn’t make you holier than I am, nor does blind zealotry make you braver! I see the way you look at Osuna. You are no different to me, no different at all!”
Jamila turned away from her in a flash. She said nothing - she just ignored her and got back to tidying up the place. Aysha stormed off on her own, out into the night. She was furious, scared and confused. But she would find some comfort with Imperios, for one more night at least.
They lay together in the darkness of the catacombs, and he broke his vows a second time, there amongst the tombs of the martyrs he had pledged to protect. They held each other tightly in the darkness, painfully aware that the dawn could bring their eternal separation. Imperios whispered to her painful words. He didn’t know if, deep down, in his heart of hearts, he wanted her to heed his words or not. But he spoke them nonetheless.
“You have to leave.” he whispered into her ear, even as he held her even tighter.
“Never.” Aysha whispered back.
Aysha had made up her mind. She would not die for Hatra. But she could not leave him either. She would die for him.
Defend Karuk Page 8
