“Look at it another way, Anet. Several times in history men have tried to take this citadel down and they failed.”
“But those men were Hatchet Men. This is a true army.”
“Indeed it is, but if God sees fit to help us He will and if He does not there is a reason for it and it does not pay to dwell upon it. What is, is what is. But I do not think we shall fail.” She winked at Anet. Anet looked over the balcony wall at the army below down the hill. It seemed vast.
“Are you afraid Lita?”
“A little. It is not wrong to have fear. What does one do when fear overtakes, Anet?”
“Pray.”
“Then pray.” As the dusk deepened she watched as they brought out the battering rams. There were two of them with great carved lions' heads mounted on the battering ends. The trunks were so big, Anet had not seen anything like them in her life. The army camps bloomed at night with camp fires and as the night wore on there were mists that descended and the fires looked like fluttering moths of light in the blackness. The moons were completely obscured and there was only the fire light in the citadel and the dim pinpoints of fire light within the camps below. Out of the gloom was the ram's horn call.
“Sisters, come! People, come to the courtyard! Let us all pray!” And they did so with Mother Berenice leading the prayers. Anet, even in the cold mists no longer felt cold but a heat, a fire within. They prayed, man, woman and child, into the early hours of the morning. Then the men took up their own weapons if they had them or any weapons they could find and stationed themselves either in the citadel parapets or behind the town gate. The women busied themselves by further reinforcing the gate with barricades. In the morning they heard a voice outside the gate.
“This is what my lord the king of Hybron has said: '“Why do you sit here under siege in Gamina? Is it to die with the witches that you sit here?” '. Here the town of Gamina and the land all around will certainly be given into my lord the king's hand and he is also your lord and king but the king is merciful. Do not be deceived, you people of Gamina. The king is ready to show mercy to all those showing loyalty to him so that he will not have to put you to death, you, your women and your little ones. It is the god Hec that has given the king all that he has, that has given Hybron into his hand and it is these witches of the citadel who must answer for their treason against the king. Do not share in their folly. Come out to us and we will not burn the town down. Do you not see the cavalry? Do you not see his host? Come out to us and bring out the witches, the old ones, the ones cackling over entrails and deceiving you with evil signs and portents, who rule this citadel. Bring them out to us and we shall not destroy you. If you do not, this is what King Khalit, the king of Hybron, your king has said: “For it is treason that you are gathered here against me and I shall come up against it like a wind against a pile of feathers and I shall raze it to the ground. I will set it to fire and burn it and all of you within its walls and the town shall have to be burned down and sown with salt.” Listen to my voice, oh people of Gamina and open your gates and you shall be spared the king's wrath!” It was the tartan Zarammelech. He had a hollowed out horn so great that three attendants had to hold it up to his lips as he spoke through it but it made his voice carry throughout the town and it frightened the people. Mother Berenice stood as still as a statue and she the raised her hand as the murmuring grew into a great outcry of fear from the people inside.
“Will you be afraid in this hour? Please, do not be afraid for God is with us. If you bring us out to them or let them cause us to fight amongst ourselves they will certainly kill all of us anyway. Why should they spare us? How do you know he is being truthful? Do not do this thing to us! We have served you all these years faithfully!” The town-keeper came to the front and faced the crowds.
“She speaks right! Do not fear them! This is not the first time men have come to destroy the town. It still stands.”
“But they will burn us all alive in here!” Shouted someone.
“They will not. Look. He sends a sign to us.” Said Mother Berenice pointing to the sky. The morning was covered in low clouds, dark gray and thick. From far off rain began to fall. Over the wall they could hear the jeers and derision from the warriors of the king's army.
“They will set nothing to fire today!” She said triumphantly.
“Men, get to your stations!” The town-keeper commanded. A sign was given and their fear passed and they readied themselves.
“Madam, this feels like treason though I know it be right. I have never in my life gone up against the king. May God protect us.” He said. Then the town-keeper steeled himself and went to the wall to answer the chief official. And he said:
“We will not open the gate to you and we will not deliver the women of the citadel to you for what you are seeking is not right. If what we do is right we shall succeed. If what we do is wrong we will fail but we will not open the gates to you or deliver the women into your hand.” And Mother Berenice approached the wall, filled with boldness and she said to them: “Tell the king this: because you have left the path of wisdom and because you have killed many innocent men and women and you come to kill those who are doing good in the eyes of God, this is what Airend-Ur is saying to you – you will die and you will not march on to Zapulia nor will you get the glory for yourself for God has left you because you left Him. Encamp against it and fight against the citadel but you will not prevail and you must die and your men will scatter like dust!” She prophesied. Zarammelech cursed her and called down evil on her and the town-keeper. Then he went back to the king. When the tartan informed the king of all the things they had said he became so enraged that he broke the tables in his tent, smashing them to pieces.
And the battle of Gamina began.
They could not burn it with fire because it began to rain with fury so they began ramming the doors of the gate. The people inside put up carts, millstones, heavy stones anything they could find that would be used. The archers of the citadel let loose hundreds of arrows, a shock to the army outside the gate as they had assumed there were no warriors amongst them. But there were the guardian scions and some of the men among the townsfolk who were skilled with the bow and arrow and they rained poisoned arrows down upon them. Mother Berenice herself prayed for their release and deliverance. Anet ran to the utmost tower with Nitara and Nirka, lugging bags of heavy rock. They quickly passed behind the guardian scions loosing their arrows. Several had fallen, injured by the arrows of soldiers below. One of them was Lita, who was riddled with arrows. Anet tried to stop to see about her but Nitara warned her.
“Anet! Please hurry! We do not have time! Worry not for her and keep going! Someone will see about her!” Anet choked down her sobs as she took up the sack and kept going until they made it up the long stairs to the top tower. There was a giant slingshot stationed there. Anet could see the guardian scions and the townsmen below letting loose volleys of arrows. Lightening flashed and flickered silently within the thick blanket of clouds. The archers in the king's army began flying flaming arrows but they had no effect because of the rain. A terrible streak of lightening, like a great, hideous arm of light tore through the camp and with it blew a tempestuous wind from the north. It was so bright it lit up the entire sky and the land and for only a moment, it seemed like daylight. A great white fire exploded within the middle of the army camp throwing it into mass confusion. In the confusion the king could be seen close by the gate. And at last, when most of the stones to hurl down into the army ranks had been thrown one of the guardian scions picked up a large gaming ring and hurled it with all her might and skill down below. It smashed open the king's skull as he was sitting upon his horse.
One of the attendants caught him as he fell. The lightening kept striking the camp and a few more fell by the arrows slung from the citadel. The king's breathing became heavy and labored.
“Aquillam, please, I am dying and I know not where I will go after this.”
“May your soul find itself in the
halls of the sun god, my lord king!”
“I. . .do not know. . . if only I would be judged righteous by Hetar. By Ai. . .”
“My lord king?”
“I am dying. The regency. . .with her uncle. . .must be called up from Egium.”
“I shall do this with all speed Your Greatness!” Said Aquillam. Zarammelech came by his side.
“Here. Take my signet ring. You men, see this here. . .that. . .is one that has authority as messenger to take over and send all my letters I have prepared. Among them I have made arrangements for regency. You two. . .my chief generals and my chief princes of the court, Bedai and Ekka and the queen's uncle must take over until my son. . .my Rafka is of age.” He began to breathe raggedly.
“Zarammelech, take your sword and run me through or I shall be shamed. Never let it be said that I was killed by a woman.” At this Zarammelech took his sword and before Aquillam and the king's closest attendants he ran him through and the king died at Gamina at the gate.
And the gate was never broken through for the camp broke and scattered in confusion, most of them heading west, back to Jhis in fear of the storm for they knew it was a sign from above.
Yet, is it not written in the book of the Holy Aishanna that Khalit, who took power upon himself in the year 1663 of the month of Zali, putting the Kushigyar, the head ruler of the city of Jhis to death was himself killed in the Battle of Gamina by a woman of the Citadel? His body was then taken and laid in the Tomb of the Kings near the city of Jhis. He was not laid down with his tribal forefathers. Test these words out and find them true.
- The Third Book of the Kings, 15:57, Translations of The Holy Aishanna.
Chapter Thirty-One
The month of Kiphaz, 1685 A.T.V.
Zigal had never seen such signs in the sky before. First, the blood pour of stars during the child's birth and now, this strange storm. She felt numb and lost without the Lady Diti, the true queen, in her heart. Lady Diti had instructed her to pretend to act as a spy for the queen and it had worked. Or so she thought, at first. She finished her cup of mother's tea, to make more milk in her breasts. The babe, now just eight weeks old, nursed quietly as she wept softly. It was only a week ago that she had found out even worse news. Lady Diti had fallen from her balcony window and now this message. Where could she flee to that would be safe for a young baby? And now there was this dreadful storm! She had no time to grieve properly and dared not do it openly with the queen's spies around. The message had been slipped under the door late one night, a few weeks ago, after the maidservant had left.
She waited until he was finished nursing, wrapped him in swaddling cloths, put him in his cradle and took out her knife from underneath the cradle covers and slipped it under her robes. She quickly wiped her face. She was being watched like prey under the eyes of jackals. She would have to take quick action and it meant the death of one of the queen's servants. Tryga, who trailed her like a shadow had forced Zigal to curtail her movements. And she wondered about the black cat. She was sure that it was a messenger cat but this night she felt an alarming sensation within, like a soul-scream impelling her to move upon the Lady Diti's words or else all would fail. There was no time for planning. If this child is the one foretold, may I escape, unseen. . .
“Tryga, the baby's swaddlings are all dirty. We will need more for tomorrow.” The room was flooded with light from the flickering lightening, making everything turn to a shadow-self for fleet moments. The maidservant seemed wholly unaffected by this. Most people feared such storms. Most people who were reverent and had the fear of the gods in them, but she wondered about this sinister woman who served the queen. She wondered about the queen as well but there was no time for wondering this night.
“Yes, Zigal. I will have some ready by the morning. Will there be anything else?” She said in that cold, sharp voice. Tryga's eyes, which looked like black holes in her face, bored into hers.
“No, except that please take these bands of linen and wool to the wash rooms. They stink and I cannot take the smell.” She lifted up a neat bundle of dirty swaddling bands for the maidservant. As she approached she slipped the knife from her robes, it's long blade cold against her skin. She shoved the sack against the woman and then with a quick, powerful motion jabbed the blade into the side of her torso, deep into the kidneys. The maidservant began to cry out. Zigal shoved the woman to the ground, took the sack and smothered her face with it and turned the knife. And kept the sack over her head until the maidservant's body finally lay still. She listened for any sound. There was no sound that she could hear except the thunder. She detected a moving shadow under a chair. It was the queen's cat. She took the knife and threw it at the cat. The cat disappeared swiftly into the other bedroom, her room. The blade missed its mark and stood rooted in the rug. She picked it up, wiped it off and slid it beneath her robes next to her waist. Zigal took the baby and put him in a carrying sack and tied it along her shoulder and put this under her robes and she snatched the keys from Tryga's tunic. She was free from the room, at least. They had taken to locking her in with the baby at night. She opened the doors and looked around. Far down the hall she heard a guard approaching. She could see the slip of his shadow against the wall down the hall. She turned the other way and slipped down, covering her head with her veil. She looked like a fat, old woman, an extremely religious one who covered her face. Good enough disguise. There was a door that the servants used not far from here and now that it was night there would not be much movement for a few hours still. She thought she could hear eerie, creeping noises everywhere. She began to sweat and the baby began to stir. She found the narrow door, one of many in the palace that took one behind the walls and rooms of the king and queen and their councilors and officers and into the bowels of the palace; the workrooms and the servants' quarters, and finally leading to a secret tunnel out into the city. There were still a few secret places in the palace the queen did not know of. From there she would have to find the old, forgotten cistern that led into the abandoned catacombs underneath Jhis, to an underground river, which led to the city that was not named above the ground. She feared as to whether she would make it with the child. Zigal said a silent prayer, shed tears for her dear lady and her regret over slaying Tryga. She took a torch from its sconce and fled under the storm by this dark and secret way.
Chapter Thirty-Two
He drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like many days. Or weeks. He did not know which, nor did he know whether it was day or night. He could hear muffled noises of horses and wagon wheels and men talking and laughing every now and then before he fell back into drugged sleep. His body was racked with pain. He remembered being beaten several times for trying to run away. The last time they had wrapped him up in thick blankets and mercilessly beat him into submission. He was so afraid he wept like a child, which garnered mocking and derision. He'd guessed by now that they were traveling along a trade route, perhaps the slave trade route to Egi and it shocked him that it did not matter to them that he was of high birth.
“What is that to us? It means he can read, which will fetch us a good price. He is good-looking as well.” Said the one who was always leering at him.
“We will see once we get to Yilphaeus. He will fetch a good price as a scribe, I think. A little old for the brothels. Too bad we haven't found anyone else along the way.” Said the one in furs, the leader. They uncovered his wraps to allow him to go to toilet and to eat and drink, feeding him millet mush and milk and water and a little bird meat. Demos's head hurt but he was careful to remain as quite as a mouse. It was night when they had finally stopped. They left him in the wagon and set up camp. Demos wondered how he had come to this miserable end when he tried to only help. God had turned his back on him. Was he being punished? Did he not do enough? Tears streamed from his face as he wondered how he would die. He wanted to die. There was nothing worse than slavery. That was a fate for lesser people. He never imagined it would turn out like this. He wanted to die but h
e could not even do that without the permission of these men. He thought on it. Their accents and looks, now that they did not drug him again this night and he had retained a little sense of perception, said that they were of the Gilphaen tribe in Egi, who loathed city people. They worshiped gods he knew not. He felt the wagon wobble. Someone was climbing in.
“Water. Drink.” Someone pushed the water skin to his mouth. He drank as if he were a hungry infant at the breast. Then the water skin was taken away. His bands were eased. A hand went over his mouth.
“A pretty thing. I am not so sure you are a boy. Maybe we should find out.” It was the one he feared most, who roughed him up in ways that suggested ill intentions besides selling him off. Demos twisted to get away from him and he slammed him against the side of the wagon and began tearing at his clothes. With his mouth covered Demos tried with his might to yell. It came out a pitifully muffled sound. The man turned him over and mounted him. He took a knife and pinned his hand to the floor boards with it, enjoying Demos's useless struggle. Demos wailed in terror.
“Caius! Leave him!” Called one of the others. Caius ignored him.
“I said leave the boy! We need a clean uninjured slave not you damaging the goods!”
“Shut up, Gorass! I will do what I will!” Then there was a different voice. The leader of the group opened the hangings.
“Get off of him and get out of there. I am telling you. I will not tell you again.” The man's voice was cold and quiet. “We will be in Egium soon enough. You can have all the kuya you want. Go sit down somewhere and cool yourself before I cut off your lujus.” There was a flash of metal, a long, curved ugly knife the leader flashed under his cloak. Caius got up and pulled down his tunic. He took the knife from Demos's bloodied hand and climbed out of the wagon, scowling.
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