Imperial Black

by David Bishop

  "Give him to me for an hour," the major snarled. "I will teach him respect."

  "A capital suggestion," Ivanov agreed. "What is your name, headman?"

  "Sonam."

  "And do you have a dwelling of your own here?"

  Sonam pointed at his nearby hut.

  "Very good. Enforcer, take Sonam into his hut and teach him respect. Sonam, while you are suffering at the hands of the Enforcer, I want you to listen carefully to what is happening outside your hut. My men can be a savage mob when unleashed, prone to take what they want without indulging in social pleasantries. These one thousand men are a gathering of the Empire's worst murderers, rapists and torturers. While you are being given individual attention from the Enforcer, your neighbours will be used and abused by my soldiers. They will start with the men, then move on to the women and, finally, the children. If at any time you wish to stop the screaming you hear from outside your hut, you need only volunteer the location of the Forbidden Citadel. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

  Sonam nodded, his eyes sliding toward the bewildered faces of his three children. Goddess, protect them from the coming storm, he prayed. Take them from this life if you must, but let them come to no other harm.

  The general rubbed his hands together, a broad smile spreading over his features. "Good, then that's settled. To make sure nobody else spoils our fun, I will have each man, woman and children partially gagged. They may cry out or scream, but none will be able to speak. That privilege is reserved solely for Sonam. He will take responsibility for the suffering of everyone else in the village and only he can stop that suffering." Ivanov nodded to the Enforcer. "Begin."

  The Mukari's body was slumped to one side on her throne. She had known what was coming for the village and its people. She had carried that knowledge since the moment she was crowned as living goddess of the mountains. Again and again, the girl had wished she could warn those who worshipped her and tell them to flee before the black swarm, to surrender the location of the Forbidden Citadel when asked. But that would not change what was to happen, what had to happen. It was inevitable, as inescapable as the darkness that would engulf the citadel; that would lay waste to the heavy gates, and, which would bring doom inside this very chamber.

  Carrying such knowledge, hidden deep inside her, had been burden enough. Now that destiny was becoming reality, it was all she could bear. The redeemer was coming, but they needed time to reach the citadel. The death of the village would create that time, however horrific the price to be paid. The Mukari felt herself weeping, but the tears seeping from her eyes were made of blood, the blood of those dying in her honour.

  I must help them, she decided, however little good it will do in the end.

  The girl's body went into convulsions for a few seconds, then lay still. Her spirit escaped from its earthly domain and floated through the thick walls, out into the early morning air. She did not feel its cold, and her mind was filled instead with the pain and terror of her subjects. A blink of light and she was standing inside Sonam's hut. The headman's body was broken and bleeding, but his eyes lit up at seeing her again. "Goddess, be with me," he whispered.

  The Enforcer stood over Sonam, stripped to the waist, his body wet with crimson stains. "Where is the Forbidden Citadel?" he demanded, the same question he had asked dozens of times in the past hour while administering slow, meticulous and brutal torture.

  Sonam's head lolled to one side, his tongue hanging uselessly between purple lips, light slowly draining from blackened eyes. "Mukari, have mercy on us."

  My mercy shall keep you all of your days, she replied, speaking her thoughts inside Sonam's mind. Be at peace now.

  "Thank you, goddess."

  The Enforcer grabbed Sonam by the hair and shook his head vigorously. "Nobody dies without my permission, do you hear me? Not until I say you can."

  Sonam, there is one more thing you must do for me.

  "Yes..."

  Listen carefully, and then repeat after me...

  "Where is the Forbidden Citadel?" the Enforcer hissed, his facemask almost pressing against Sonam's face. A cloud of doubt passed over the headman's features, before being replaced by understanding.

  "I... I will tell you," Sonam gasped. "I will tell you how to find the citadel."

  "At last," the Enforcer said triumphantly. "Wait until I get the general-"

  "No. She says I must tell you..."

  "Who says?"

  "The citadel is near the top of this mountain, on a west-facing tor. But you cannot reach it from below," Sonam said slowly, long pauses between his words, his breath was little more a rasp as it escaped his lips.

  "What do you mean?"

  "To find the Forbidden Citadel, you must cross an ice bridge over a mighty chasm. That is your only way..."

  "What else?" the Enforcer demanded.

  "When the time comes, you shall see what you seek..." Sonam's voice faded to nothing, the muscles in his face slackening.

  The Enforcer shook him again, but the headman did not respond. The torturer tore off his helmet and facemask, then pressed his ear against Sonam's chest, listening for a heartbeat. He could hear nothing beyond the terrified screams and sobbing of those villagers still alive outside the hut. A curse passed the Enforcer's lips, his ugly face contorted further by rage. He retrieved his helmet from the packed earth floor, brushing dirt from the facemask before replacing it on his head. As he did the figure of a girl was momentarily visible in sunlight that seeped into the hut.

  "Who are you? What are you doing here?" the Enforcer demanded.

  The Mukari stepped back, startled at her spirit form being seen by an outsider. She concentrated and was gone, her essence taking flight back to the citadel.

  I lingered too long in his presence, but it was necessary. Sonam's suffering is over and the general will leave the others in peace - those that are still alive. I hope they survive beyond the darkness.

  TEN

  "War does not cure, but butchers."

  - Russian proverb

  "The weapon known as the 'White Death' was first used in the early Twentieth Century during a conflict hopefully dubbed, 'war to end all wars'. The fact that this conflict subsequently became known as the First World War is ample proof that hopes and reality are infrequent comrades in the arena of human conflict. The White Death was among the most feared weapons used in the battle for the Italian Alps. The name referred to thundering avalanches deliberately caused by enemy cannon fire. These massive falls of snow and ice consumed everything in their path, much like the war itself. Subsequent generations have rediscovered this terrible weapon, which turns nature upon the unsuspecting victim."

  - Extract from The Files of the Raven Corps

  Dante and his comrades made speedy progress from the foot of the mountain to its steeper slopes, aided by Mai's expert guidance. They were within sight of Sonam's village only hours after Ivanov and his men had departed. Mai gasped as she crested the same rise where the general had stood that morning, surveying the settlement ahead. "I recognise this place," she said in wonder.

  "Why? Is that where you come from?" Dante asked.

  "I'm not sure," Mai replied. "But I have been here before, I'm certain of that."

  Spatchcock caught up with them, struggling to find his breath. A lifetime of vice and dubious pursuits had not prepared him for such a punishing ascent, nor for the thinness of the air at such a high altitude. "Doesn't look too lively," he said between gasps. "No smoke from the chimneys, no movement round the huts."

  "Crest, can you detect whether the Tsar's men are still in the village? Whoever's in charge of the Imperials probably doesn't know we're behind them, but they might have left a rear guard to cover their flank."

  There is no obvious Imperial presence. I detect a handful of life signs, several quite weak.

  "But I can see dozens of huts," Mai cut in. "A village of that size is normally home to a hundred people."

  "The Tsar's men don't leave many witne
sses," Spatchcock said bleakly. A wheezing, groaning sound preceded the arrival of Flintlock. The Brit was even less suited to this challenging terrain than the others, thanks to an aristocratic upbringing and a lifetime of indolence. Flintlock's face was crimson and white; his armpits were soaked with sweat and his hands quivered with fatigue. He collapsed at the crest of the rise, flopping listlessly to the ground.

  "I don't... think I... can go... much... farther..." he puffed and panted.

  "Tough," Dante replied, pointing to the village ahead of them. "We think that's where the gunshots we heard this morning came from. Get your breath back and then join us over there. If the Tsar's men have been through this area, the villagers are going to need our help." He strode purposefully towards the settlement, Mai and Spatchcock close behind.

  "I say, Dante," Flintlock protested feebly. "What if any of the Imperials are still lurking round here?"

  "Then the sooner you get your bony arse moving, the better."

  Spatchcock thought that the village looked like a charnel house. He had witnessed all the horrors of war while fighting with the Rudinshtein Irregulars, but still found himself unprepared for the butchery that had been visited upon the tiny mountain-side settlement. The ground was stained red from the blood shed by those who had lived here until a few hours earlier. A wet carpet of crimson tainted all snow, grass and gravel.

  A pyre of corpses had been made in the centre of the village - whether by the invaders or the survivors, Spatchcock could not be sure. The local men had been the first to die, judging from the position of their bodies at the bottom of the pile. Some had been blinded, whilst others were missing fingers or limbs. The woman were the next to suffer: hair crudely hacked from their heads, fingernails torn out and their glassy eyes a mute testimony to the other indignities that they had witnessed. Spatchcock felt his stomach turn at the sight of dead children atop the pyre. But at least they were put out of their misery now, he thought.

  The survivors were not so fortunate. A dozen people remained: eight children, three women and a man. Not long after Dante and the others arrived, the last man died, coughing blood and sobbing noises of pain. His tongue had been torn out and apparently fed to him by the soldiers, who laughed when their victim nearly choked to death. Two of the women were too traumatised to speak, cowering against a hut and clutching shredded clothes. The children had survived by fleeing when it became clear what was happening. Eight of them escaped the soldiers' wrath, unlike their friends and families. After the soldiers departed, the children had come back to search for loved ones among the dead and dying. The one woman capable of describing what had happened said her name was Namu. "My husband was the first to die. He was shot while trying to warn us the soldiers were coming."

  "I'm sorry," Mai said.

  "Don't be," Namu replied emotionlessly. "He wasn't much of a husband and he hit me whenever something went wrong. I'm glad he's dead. But as for the others... They didn't deserve what happened to them."

  Mai and Spatchcock listened while the woman talked about the villagers' ordeal. Dante and Flintlock gathered the remaining corpses and added them to the pyre, beginning with the remains of Sonam from the headman's hut. Spatchcock called Dante over after hearing Namu's description of the officer leading the soldiers.

  "Tell him what you told us," Spatchcock urged.

  Namu pushed a strand of hair from her heart-shaped face. Both her eyes were blackened and she had several teeth missing, but Namu had not given in to the soldiers without a fight. Several of them would be walking bow-legged for days, she proudly told the newcomers. "I can't remember the officer's name. He said he was a general. He was fifty, maybe older - he had no hair, so it was hard to tell. He enjoyed watching us suffer, I could see it in his eyes. Dukar looked the same when he used to beat me, but the general didn't join in. He watched; that seemed to give him the most pleasure. He liked it if you screamed. Maybe that's why I'm still alive. I refused to make a sound, even when they took off my gag. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had broken me. The general got bored when I wouldn't cry, so he left me to the soldiers. The general's second-in-command interrogated our headman, Sonam, while we were tortured outside his hut. The Enforcer, that's what the general called his interrogator. He wore a mask on his face."

  "What do you think?" Spatchcock said.

  "Sounds like the Butcher of Rudinshtein and his flunkey," Dante said. "You can't remember his name?"

  "No, but I know the name of his regiment," Namu said. "I'll never forget that, because of the colour of their uniforms. The general called his men the Imperial Black."

  Dante's face darkened. "Ivanov. Vassily Ivanov."

  "Ivanov the Terrible," Spatchcock murmured.

  "He told us to call him Ivanov the Terrible," Namu said. She stood, using Mai's shoulder as support to rise. "I'll fetch butter for the fire," Namu said, hobbling away into one of the huts.

  Mai watched the beaten and bruised woman go before rounding on Dante. "You know this Ivanov? Friend of yours, is he?"

  "Anything but," Dante replied, glaring back at her. He opened his mouth to say more, but walked away instead. When she moved to follow Dante, Spatchcock grabbed her by the arm.

  "Let go," she demanded.

  "Shut up and listen," Spatchcock snarled.

  When she refused, he softened his grip on her wrist. "Please?" Eventually Mai sat down opposite him.

  "You think you know what happened to your brother, but you weren't there. You hate Dante, you blame him for Rai's death, but what are you basing that on? An Imperial report? Who do you think wrote that report? Ivanov, or one of his officers. It was propaganda, lies to hide the war crimes his regiment committed. You want the facts? Ask somebody who was there. Ask somebody who saw what happened!"

  "How can I? My brother's dead and that's Dante's fault!"

  Spatchcock laughed bitterly. "Dante killed your brother to save him."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You want the truth? Here it is: yes, your brother got caught in no-man's-land trying to save a group of civilians, but Rai volunteered for that mission. Ivanov and his men were torturing Rai when Dante intervened. The general was using serpent wire on Rai. Have you ever seen what serpent wire does to the human body?" Spatchcock demanded.

  Mai nodded numbly.

  "We could hear your brother screaming from our position in the Governor's mansion. Flintlock and I saw the whole thing from the barricades. Dante had led a diversionary attack against the Imperial forces, in the hope of giving Rai's group a chance to escape. When Dante saw what Ivanov was doing to Rai, the captain did the only decent thing. He shot your brother to save Rai from any more of that torment. I'd have done the same myself, if I wasn't such a coward." Spatchcock shook his head. "That wasn't murder - it was a mercy killing."

  "But after the war... why did Dante flee Rudinshtein?"

  "You think he had a choice?" Spatchcock gestured at the bodies, the blood strewn around them, the blank-faced children left behind by the Imperial Black. "Look what Ivanov and his men did to this village in a few hours. After the war, that bastard was given Rudinshtein as his private plaything. For three years the Imperial Black have been doing this to the province and its people - murder and rape, looting and pillaging. If someone in Rudinshtein dared say the name Nikolai Dante, they were tortured and publicly executed. Every crop was burned, every treasured possession stolen, every whisper of resistance crushed. The general doesn't soil his own hands, of course. He lets his men do the dirty work. They've got a major, called the Enforcer, who carries out the executions personally. He's almost as sick as his master." Spatchcock locked eyes with Mai's, trying to make sure she realised the importance what he was saying. "Rudinshtein was poor before the war, but its people were happy when Dante was in charge. Now the province is a bankrupt police state, thanks to the general and his underlings. Do you know how many times Flintlock and I have had to stop Dante from going back to Rudinshtein to attack
Ivanov?"

  "Why? Why did you stop him?"

  "Dante is one man - he's larger than life, but still only one man. How can one man hope to stand against an army and hope to win? You've seen how he attacks first and thinks last. Going back to Rudinshtein would be a suicide mission. Dante wouldn't last a day. So, he stays away while thousands suffer because he isn't there to defend them, but knowing that tens of thousands would be summarily executed if he tried to intervene. Have you any idea of the guilt he carries for what's been done to Rudinshtein in his name?"

  "I didn't know," Mai murmured, her face coloured by shame. "How could I?"

  Spatchcock glared at her sad but beautiful features. "Next time, try getting your facts straight before you start making accusations. Dante's no saint, but his heart's in the right place."

  "He said the same thing about you and Flintlock."

  "Well, I never said he was a good judge of character." Spatchcock looked across at Dante heaving the last corpse on to the pyre. "Now Ivanov and Dante are on the same mountain, both looking for the Forbidden Citadel. If one of them leaves here alive, it'll be a bloody miracle."

  Namu emerged from her hut carrying a large bowl, steam rising from it. She spoke quietly to the cluster of children and they ran to the other buildings. Within a few minutes each of them emerged with similar bowls. The smallest child carried a burning taper, with a flame dancing around its end. Once all of them were ready, the solemn procession approached the pyre, Namu leading the way. She emptied the contents of her bowl over the pile of corpses, then stepped aside and motioned for the children to follow her example. Spatchcock and Mai had joined Dante and Flintlock to one side of the pyre, watching as each child poured viscous liquid over the dead villagers.