by Gav Thorpe
At a shout from their commanders, they unleashed the burning fury of their machines. Jets of black-red flame leapt out like incinerating tongues, lapping at the behemodons and setting fire to the howdahs on their backs. The panicked grunts of the beasts sounded over the roar of flames. The monsters ran amok, throwing off their crews and crushing tribesmen in their angry stampede. Ullsaard spared a thought of thanks for the Brotherhood, keepers of the lava-fire's secret since the time of Askhos.
One of the behemodons loped into a charge towards the nearest lava-thrower. The men turned their machine clumsily towards it, a gout of burning fuel searing an arc through the air. Seeing that the enraged beast would not be stopped, they abandoned their engine and ran for the cover of the nearest spearmen. Behind them the behemodon, patches of fire still smoking on its hide, smashed into the lava-thrower and seized the machine in its jaws. As the gargantuan reptile lifted the lavathrower into the air the fuel tank exploded, splitting apart the creature's head and neck in a blossom of dark fire. Charred flesh rained down onto Askhans and Mekhani alike.
With their beasts slain, the desert warriors raised their crude spears and charged, churning up a huge plume of sand in their wake. Unintelligible battle cries hooting from their lips, the Mekhani hurled themselves towards the Askhan phalanxes.
Ullsaard exchanged a knowing look with Cosuas. The Mekhani had just made the fatal mistake the generals had been expecting.
Orders shouted along the line of companies, the drilled spearmen set themselves to receive the charge, forming a wall of shields and spears. Unheeding of the jagged barrier, the Mekhani leapt to the attack. Their stone spear tips crashed against shields while their bodies were spitted on the pikes of the Askhans.
Ullsaard watched the butchery without emotion. It was bloody and it was one-sided, which was the best way to fight a war. He turned in his saddle and gestured to one of his subordinates, a youth with sunburnt skin and a shock of red hair.
"Karuu, tell the cavalry to encircle the enemy," Ullsaard said to the herald. "I don't want any escaping to poison the wells or inflict other sabotage."
"What do you want to do with the survivors?" Karuu asked.
"Why don't we ask the young general-to-be?" said Cosuas.
"What do you think, prince?" Ullsaard looked at Erlaan. "Let's pretend this is your army."
Erlaan was deep in thought for some time; long enough for Ullsaard to think that he wasn't going to answer.
"There is no market for slaves these days," Erlaan said eventually. "With the expense of sending them back to civilised lands, it would cost us heavily. We cannot have them roaming around the camp, they will just cause trouble."
"So we just let them get away?" said Cosuas.
"No," replied Erlaan. "These savages will not learn. They will only come back again. We have to kill them all."
Ullsaard nodded in agreement, pleased that the young man had come to the right decision.
"There will be no survivors," Ullsaard told his messenger, keeping his eyes fixed on the slaughter.
As Karuu goaded his mount and slid away down the ridge, Ullsaard looked back to the battle. The phalanxes were driving into the heart of the Mekhani, their spears ruthlessly cutting down hundreds of tribesmen, their flanks protected from encirclement by lava-throwers and kolubrid riders. The Askhans advanced over a carpet of the dead, leaving piles of mangled bodies in their wake.
Ullsaard felt Erlaan's stare upon him as the battle unfolded with bloody predictability. He looked at the prince and saw a hint of distaste in his eyes.
"Horrible, isn't it?" said Ullsaard.
"It's a massacre, not a battle," said Erlaan.
"Good," grunted Cosuas.
"You're enjoying this?" Erlaan said, and shook his head. "What can be good about this?"
Cosuas did not reply immediately. He walked behind Blackfang to stand next to the young man's ailur. Erlaan stared down at the ancient general with faint disgust.
"Don't look at me, look at them," Cosuas snapped, raising an arm to point at the ongoing fighting. Erlaan once more directed his attention to the bloody work before them. "Would you rather it was Askhans that were dying? Perhaps you would prefer it if those poor Askhos-cursed Mekhani bastards were left maimed and wounded, to die bleeding in the desert sun, or to perish from thirst or diseased wounds?"
"They lost the moment they decided to fight," said Ullsaard. "The offer of peace was made and the Mekhani leaders refused it. We bear no responsibility for what follows. It is a mercy that we despatch them with the minimum of grief. We allow their families to collect the dead and perform whatever rites they wish to practice."
"I understand the principles." Erlaan puffed out his chest and tried to appear unconcerned but his eyes kept straying back to the fighting.
"You understand the principles, but here you will witness the practise," said Ullsaard.
"Those families will tell stories of what happened here," Cosuas said, grinding home the Askhan logic of war. The screams of dying men and crash of weapons illustrated that logic. "News will spread that Askhor has no mercy for those that oppose us and benevolence for those that do not raise arms against us. Some will not listen and they will also die. A generation from now, nobody will remember why so many were killed in this pointless place, if they even remember at all. They will remember only that Askhor is merciless and from that fear, peace prevails.
"News will spread that Askhor has no mercy for those that oppose us and benevolence for those that do not raise arms against us," the grim officer continued. "Some will not listen and they in turn will be killed. Over time, others will heed the warning and lives will be saved. A generation from now, nobody will remember why so many were killed in this desolate, pointless place, if they even remember this battle at all. They will remember only that Askhor is merciless to our enemies, and from that fear peace and harmony will prevail."
"As Askhos decreed," said Erlaan. "I am one of the Blood; there is no need to teach me about Askhos' legacy."
Erlaan's eyes were fixed on the fighting, unable to drag his eyes away from the gory scene, his expression perturbed.
"What of glory?" he asked.
"Overrated," grunted Cosuas.
Ullsaard laughed and Blackfang padded left and right for a moment, sensing her master's mood.
"This is glory," Ullsaard said, his humour gone as quickly as it had come. "Do you think that poets will write of Askhor legions butchering defenceless tribesmen? The noble houses of Askh will resound to verses about the brave soldiers of Askhor winning against hordes of red-skinned savages. Maniacal and bloodthirsty, in numbers without counting, the Mekhani terrors poured across the deserts intent upon rape and pillage until the bronze spears of our warriors held them at bay."
"That is why I pay little attention to poets," Erlaan said.
"Which would you prefer your husband, or brother, or father, or son to be? Called a hero or a murderer?" Cosuas said. "People don't care about the truth, they only care if their lands and children are safe, and they have a few Askharins to spend at the market. It isn't our place to give them other concerns."
The clash of weapons and hoarse cries of soldiers were diminishing as the Askhans crushed the tribal warriors. Those Mekhani that tried to flee from the relentless press of spears were cut down by the fangs of the kolubrids or the bellows-bows of their riders.
It was barely mid-morning and the battle was almost over. Ullsaard wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his tunic. He needed a drink.
III
The walking wounded marched back to the Askhan camp while the honoured dead were set upon biers carried by their comrades. Those who had lost limbs or suffered other grievous wounds but still lived were gathered in three lines along the floor of the shallow valley, one hundred and thirty-eight in all. Some sat in groaning agony; others had slipped into fitful sleep. A few were lucid and sat muttering quiet thanks to Askhos while the rest endured the blazing sun in stony silence.
Behind each injured man stood a soldier with his dagger drawn.
Ullsaard stood with his hands on hips looking at the wounded, Cosuas beside him. Behind the pair, Erlaan sat upon Render holding Blackfang's reins. The ailurs bobbed their heads, flicked their thick tails and pawed the ground at the scent of so much blood. Ullsaard gave Cosuas a nod and the aging general took a step.
"Soldiers of Askhor, we salute you," he said. "As a son will lay down his life to protect his mother, so you have given all for the defence of the realm that raised you. You are heroes, one and all, and the memories of your deeds will be respected and cherished alongside the other favoured fallen in the Hall of Askhos. The king mourns for your sacrifice, as do we all."
At a signal from Cosuas the line of soldiers raised their blades and slit the throats of the wounded. None struggled, for they had been resigned to this fate since joining the legions. They knew that their families would be fed and sheltered by the king for three generations and each was thankful that he would not suffer a future as a crippled parasite suckling at Askhor's bosom. As blood dried in the sun, more biers carried away the newly slain.
Though he kept his expression stern, Ullsaard felt a little pity for those who had to die in this manner. In the press of melee it was not bravery or skill that decided who lived and who died, but luck. Those who had just given their lives for Askhor had been no less devoted, no less worthy of life than those who had survived.
Ullsaard was reminded that he might one day share the fate of those being taken back to the camp in honour, for the oaths of service he had taken were the same as those of every soldier. Some men might be swayed to cowardice by that vow, to avoid the danger of injury, but such men did not become Askhan officers. They became clerks or engineers, or priests of the Brotherhood, and suffered no dishonour because of it. From the teachings of Askhos, the king and people of Askhan recognised that some served with courage and some with other qualities. Like many military men, Ullsaard had his reservations about those that risked less than their lives for their empire, but it was impolite to mention such thoughts openly.
No Askhan legionnaire marched to war expecting to return, and such fatalism bred a stubborn courage that won battles other warriors would lose. If a legionnaire was fortunate enough to fight for ten years he earned himself a generous pension from the king and had a chance to live out his life in peace with his family. That more than half refused retirement at so young an age was testament to the appeal of life in the legions. Ullsaard knew well that the common man cared only for three things: his family to be safe, food in his belly and a little money to spend freely on whatever pleasures he saw fit when he could get them. For many, a life in the legions was preferable to labouring in the fields, or digging canals or building bridges.
"How many dead and injured?" Ullsaard asked as Cosuas joined him.
"Including those?" the general replied. "Seven hundred and forty-three dead, one thousand and six wounded but still capable of fighting."
Ullsaard nodded solemnly. It was not a bad toll, in truth. He had expected the price of victory to be higher but the Mekhani's spirit had broken early and they had been cut down in their rout. He grunted and waved for Erlaan to bring Blackfang. Ullsaard looked at the youth.
"Nothing to say?" Ullsaard said.
The young man shook his head.
"Good," said Ullsaard. "We'll return to camp and tomorrow morning escort the engineers and masons back to the bridge."
Ullsaard decided to walk with Cosuas, and sent Erlaan ahead with Blackfang. The tramp of thousands of feet had packed the sand into a rough road, cutting across the desert towards the Askhan camp.
"Why are we both here?" Ullsaard said after a while.
"To push forward the borders of Greater Askhor," Cosuas replied with a frown. "What else would we be doing?"
"No, I mean why send two generals to command a single army?"
"Scared of having the old man looking over your shoulder?" laughed Cosuas and Ullsaard chuckled at the thought of the much smaller man looking over anything, much less his shoulder. "I can still teach you a thing or two."
"I'm sure you can," said Ullsaard. "That's not my point. Either one of us can command this army, the other is a waste. Surely there are other campaigns that you or I could lead. Legions stand idle on the borders of Salphoria while you and I — and Prince Kalmud! — grub around in the sands. There is nothing here to fight over. The real prizes are to duskwards."
"You'd war with Salphoria?" said Cosuas, his mood suddenly serious. "Salphoria is divided, no threat to Askhor. Why start a costly fight when we can simply help the tribes fall out with each other?"
"Is that really what has become of us?" said Ullsaard with a sorrowful shake of the head. "Agitators? When did Askhor need any reason to go to war other than to expand the empire? Salphoria is rich with grain, ore and wood. Think of the great works we could undertake if we controlled those resources rather than paying the exorbitant prices of the Salphors? Askhos himself declared it our destiny to rule all of the lands between the seas. Yet what gains have we made in these last twenty years? Truly?"
"The king is consolidating our power," Cosuas argued. "You can't simply lurch from one war into the next. You take ground, control it, build towns and roads and only then move on. You know this, Ullsaard."
Ullsaard pointed ahead to the many pillars of smoke rising from the horizon.
"The king wishes a new settlement to be built here," the general rasped. "What for? There's no real farmland for a dozen days' marching. The river isn't even that plentiful. It's a trinket dangled in front to keep us busy, nothing more. Give me a hundred thousand men and I could take Salphoria in a year. Raise more legions and give me two hundred and fifty thousand and I'd do it for the king in a summer."
"The legions are the king's soldiers," said Cosuas. "You would have every soldier of the empire at your call? What of the princes and governors? Are they allowed any legions? We command only in the king's name. We do not choose where and when we fight, that choice lies only with the Blood. As Askhos promised, the empire has grown and prospered under the rule of his heirs. I would not doubt his teaching just because you're sore of the sun and have sand in your boots."
Ullsaard said nothing, knowing the truth of what Cosuas said, but finding it hard to reconcile with his own desire to push on for the glory of Askhor. He liked to think of the empire as an ailur, a beast with hunger and passion that needed to be constantly fed and directed, its energies focussed on strength and growth.
Talk of consolidation irritated him. It sounded like the language of politicians, not generals. His respect for Cosuas and his achievements prevented Ullsaard from voicing these thoughts. That, and for all Cosuas and Ullsaard shared a history, the older general would no doubt report back to Askh with any comment by Ullsaard that might be considered improper. Cosuas had lived to his ripe age by following orders well, not by showing too much initiative.
"You are right," Ullsaard said eventually.
"When aren't I?" replied Cosuas with no hint of humour.
They followed the column of soldiers heading duskwards across the dunes. It would be two more hours before they reached the camp.
IV
"Camp" described the Askhan settlement as well as 'cat' described an ailur. It was a whole town of canvas, wood and leather dedicated to war. In firmer ground coldwards of the desert, it stretched across several miles, atop a hill that had been flattened by legions. The land here was just about fertile and patches of tall grass broke through the dry earth and stands of short trees clustered around invisible underground pools, fed by the Nakuus River that ran lazily through the scrub at the base of the hill.
The camp was surrounded by a wooden palisade twice the height of a man with twenty roofed towers, built on an embankment of packed earth. Each log had been carried hotwards from the forests of the empire, the stunted trees of Mekha unsuitable for timber. A ditch as deep as the wall was high girded the palisade, an obstacle
impassable save at the eight wooden bridges at the gates. The bridges were down at the moment, but at the call of Duskwatch, they would be drawn back behind the walls.
Smoke from hundreds of fires drifted over the tents of the legionnaires and the colourful pavilions of the officers. Each legion, six to eight thousand strong, was garrisoned in its own area, complete with kitchens, armourers and a forge. From a mile away the workers of the camp could be heard; hammers on metal, axes on wood and chisels on stone drifted across the dunes.
This was not just a place for soldiers to rest; it was a statement of intent. The gilded faces of Askhor stared down from the gates at the surrounding land. The blare of a horn marked the passing of the watch. This was the empire incarnate, a construct of ambition and conquest.
Here was to be the next town of Greater Askhor. Before any construction work could begin on the settlement, engineers and masons had to get a bridge across the river to allow more supplies to come from the Askhor territories far to coldwards. At the moment the hundreds-strong supply caravans had to travel down the Greenwater River before forging upstream along the Nakuus for many days to reach the camp.
A bridge would be the first part of a road stretching directly to coldwards, cutting at least ten days from the journey. When the bridge and road were finished, settlers would come — and some of the legionnaires would stay with their families — planting farms to feed a fresh move further into Mekha.
The harassment by the Mekhani tribes had put the force five days behind schedule and Cosuas was not happy at being forced to spend more time than was necessary in the blistering heat. His skin, much tanned from many campaigns, was peeling nonetheless and his stomach was knotted from eating starchy march rations.
The company of guards at the gate of the wooden palisade surrounding the Askhan fort raised their spears in salute as Cosuas approached, just ahead of Ullsaard and Erlaan. Cosuas returned the respect with a nod and walked between the two squat wooden towers flanking the entrance. Young boys scurried past him to take the reins of the two ailurs and Ullsaard and Erlaan swung down to the parched ground.
