by Jay Requard
Lut curled into a ball, bowed away from her in a position that looked like one of supplication. He breathed hard, allowing the gore to drip from his maw until he drew a full breath of moist air. "Never give your back unless you know the way out," he said.
"What?" the Azure Queen asked, to his left. "What did you say, fool?"
Grinning past the pain, Lut set himself on all fours, the handle of his ax grasped tight in his right hand. The weight of the small shield on his left arm would lead his blow, he decided, and if that failed, so would he.
"Nothing, my only love," he said, the words mushed by his wounded face. "Just waiting for you to gather your courage."
He heard her grunt. Dodging her small right kick, Lut swung out with his shield, batting the foot so her momentum turned her entire body. Unable to find traction in the mud, she twisted as he climbed to his feet. Ravager’s edge bit into her collarbone.
The crowd, which had been silent throughout his torture, screamed unanimous shock.
Paused by the blow, she glanced at the wound as dark green slime began to pulse from it. Her gaze went to Lut.
"I'm sorry," he said, forlorn.
Their positions reversed, Lut towered over the fallen spirit. Staring upon her green-splattered body, he raised Ravager high, feeling alone among the multitudes surrounding them. Her golden eyes radiated fire, and straining through the pain that scrunched her face, she thrust a hand toward the dark heavens as she shouted a single word.
Lut looked up to witness a flash of light.
2
The Essence of Ashes
Lut awoke at the far end of the pit, his body crusted in mud and blood, a concrete colored black against his olive skin. Mei leaned over him, fishing through her bag in search of more needles. A dozen pinned shut the swollen flesh of a battered eyebrow, numbing the wound enough that he attempted to open the closed eye. Achieving a small slit, he worked his dry tongue in his mouth, swallowing the bitter taste of dried gore. Death’s odor filled his flat nostrils.
"Mei," he croaked.
"No move," she said in fast, sloppy Wagani. She wiped the sweat on her brow with the back of a bloodied hand. "Burnt bad."
Lut shifted his good eye down, trying to move his head as much as possible before a spike of pain flared at the back of his skull. Slathered across his chest, a poultice lay in the shallow burn, its shape an easily distinguishable hand. The leather harness he had worn during his fight had been trimmed away, leaving his bruised shoulder exposed to the noon’s warmth. His shield was nowhere to be found.
Dras appeared. "He's awake," he shouted to someone out of Lut's view. Taking a knee beside their nurse, he laid a calloused hand on Lut's left arm. "Speak, you damned fool," he pleaded, his happiness unhidden. "How do you feel?"
"Where is she? Is she dead?" Lut asked.
"Fled the field." Dras sighed disappointment. "She called down lightning before you could strike that last blow."
Searching his fogged memory, Lut remembered the flash, but little else. "What happened?"
Dras readjusted his posture on the ground beside him, taking a seated position that allowed rest. "It was chaos afterward. Her Black Hoods rushed the field before we could reach you, and a battle ensued. We wouldn't have won if the Inners hadn't defected."
"The Inners?" Lut offered Dras his left hand in a silent request to be sat up, but Mei slapped it down before either made contact. Glaring at her, he grinned slightly as she met him with an equal intensity. "Then get me up, girl. Go on, Dras."
"Not much more to tell. Our numbers added with the Inners of The Five Brothers, The Branched, and even a few from Strotos allowed us to hold her off as she made her escape. She still claimed a fair number, even with that wound you gave her. We're tending to the bodies now."
"By Shur," whispered Lut, wishing he could will his right arm to move so he could shade his eyes from the sun. One of Mei's needles stuck into a nerve where the collarbone met the joint, immobilizing it. Frustrated by its feebleness, he growled. "Faster, Mei!"
Dras chided him before she responded. "Let her work. You did more than enough today."
Exhausted, Lut allowed Mei to continue her treatment of his chest wound until the sting subsided. Rising, he tottered off the ruined battlefield, passing by scores of dead who still rested in the mud, never to awaken as he had. Flies buzzed the heath as they feasted, and on high circled black clouds of crows and trios of vultures, an airborne army ready to clean the bodies.
Sorrow racked Lut's heart as he headed for the first trees of the hilly woods, where the Roofed had reset their tents so they would be nearer to the carnage, ready to help. Every single soul that had died by the Azure Queen's power was now his to bear, and the killing seasons had not yet fully begun.
After the dead were burnt and their ashes spread upon the winds, Lut led his troops back to his fort, and to his astonishment, more were there to meet him. Thousands upon thousands of refugee Wags, armed with nothing more than their iron and the clothes on their backs, huddled around the wooden palisades in hopes of seeing the warrior that drove a goddess back to her hills.
Cheers echoed in the valley as Lut's cavalcade marched up the grassy incline to the fort's flung-open gates, which forced them into a single-file line as the refugees closed in. Many of Lut's lieutenants, hardened veterans of long campaigns in hostile territories, raised their weapons in anticipation.
Lut sat up on his litter when he saw their action, shouting them down. "Wag shall never raise arms against Wag! Stay your arms."
Sapped to the mounting fervor of the freed peoples of Mystland, the Roofed could only pass through the gates, subjected to the grasping hands and flowing tears of those that had been left behind in the world’s change—people that Lut had created. When the main cavalcade had made it past the gates the entrance was left open, with guards posted to let the refugees in to the Roofed stronghold in a steady stream.
Allowed off his litter, Lut limped up the stairs, through the halls, and past the many guards stationed at the doorways to his quarters at the fort's rear. Dras and Mei followed behind him, their gaits plodding.
"You know what you said, right?" Dras asked when the three shut the door to Lut's quarters.
Lut fell back on his bed with a plop, Ravager tight in his hand. "What?"
Taking the bench by the door, Dras leaned his two-handed sword against the frame and began to rub the backs of his hands. Without word, Mei came over and sat down beside him, slapping at them until he allowed her to massage them. "Your words mean more now, Lut."
"How so?" he asked, staring into the shadows of his gabled ceiling.
"You just ended the reign of the gods." Dras pulled one hand from Mei's grasp and offered her the other. "And those Wags out there are just the beginning. More will come."
"This fortress isn't big enough," said Lut. "Nor do we have the supplies to feed them all."
"That's not the biggest issue," said Dras, wincing as his healer worked at a knot between his knuckles. "It was one thing to fight the gods, but now everyone knows they're not real. At least not like they thought. We had laws from them—the war festival, claiming spoils, making sure we do not tear ourselves apart. What do we do now that we only have Shur and Ata? The sun and the moon will not speak to us."
"Then we will have to speak for ourselves," said Lut. "And let the world go on as it will."
"Dammit, Lut, that's not enough," replied Dras. "It is easy with the Roofed. We were outcasts, Without-Tents, left to suffer by our betters until we found that we were better. The people who will come will be those who were once Inners, and high ones at that. What if commanders of armies defect? These folk, no matter if they were with The Branched, or The Five Brothers, or whoever, will need order. Look at what happened when we took the Tents, or the mess we entered when you slew The Burnt Maiden. We had to win them through fear."
“I don't want that future," Lut said, thoughtful to his friend's words. "But who am I to determine the fate of the Wagani?
"
"You started the moment you left the Azure Queen." His hands rubbed free of pain, Dras leaned back against the wall as he watched Mei go about checking her bag of potions, needles, bandages, and herbs. She caught his gaze and, much to Lut's surprise, offered a smile that was a bit more than friendly.
"We need to resolve this," he said, ignoring their shared expressions.
"What about making a set of laws?" Mei said.
Lut laughed at the suggestion. "Laws are for miscreant humans who have neither the honor to control their own actions nor the ability to make just decisions. What would Wags do with law?"
"Besides create castes and agreeing to meet every summer for a war festival where we batter each other?" Dras asked. “More than we like to think.”
Lut shut his mouth at the point.
"Writing it down will keep Wags honest," said Mei.
Staring at the ceiling, Lut pursed his lips as much as his tusks allowed. His ax still in his hand, he posted it up on his pallet of layered furs and blankets, watching its edge gleam in the fresh sunlight beaming through the small windows. In that moment, he caught a particular color on the bill, a crust of a greenish hue that clung to the black skin.
The Azure Queen’s blood. The loss of her perceived divinity.
An ache in his chest blossomed. In a world with only Shur and Ata, everything would have to change. "What we would call this law?" he asked, diminished.
"What else?" replied Dras. "Lut's Law."
Fires burned bright under the glittering stars, smoke riding high upon the wind as Wags danced, fought, drank, and fornicated in celebration of a new age. No blood was spilled, no lives were lost, and as Lut sat on the dais his new followers had built outside of his fort for the party, he allowed himself a small grin, an appreciation of what lay before him. Wags, male and female, once bound by allegiances to the charlatans, reveled in the first throes of freedom.
"A new age, indeed," Lut said as he drank stolen liquor his raiders had taken from their raids in Shen. Deep into his cups, his words slurred as he blinked against the many lights around them. Drums and bone-whistles wove discordant songs, a racket that played annoyingly in his swollen ears.
"What was that?" asked Dras, who sat beside Lut on the tiger-skin that had been laid out for them. He swigged from the bottle they shared.
"Look at them," he said, motioning at the thousands around them. "All because of me."
Dras formed a crooked smile, the broken point of his left tusk gleaming dull in the light of the small oil lamp set between him. Mei slept within the confines of a blanket next to his, her body curled against his as she slumbered.
"Not boasting," Lut said, turning his gaze back to the celebration. "I'll boast when my work is done. Not before."
"Have you given any more thought to law?"
"What use will there be, Dras? What will law mean if there are still creatures that hold sway outside of it?"
Dras' reddened eyes shut as he rubbed his green-brown face. "Will this ever end?"
"We'll see soon," Lut said, bringing his cup up for another sip of fire.
Summer passed with its torrential rains, followed by a cold autumn fraught with forge fires, fortress building, and further raids into the occupied territories of the false gods. Yet for all the success the raiders experienced, little was gained in the way of wealth and treasure. Many times reports came to Lut of empty valleys, abandoned lairs, places devoid of the powerful forces that should have inhabited them.
Focused on preparing his growing forces for the final conflict, Lut sent his scouts farther out, to the borders of Mystland, hoping to find any clue to where Strotos, The Five Brothers, and The Branched had gone, all while he prepared his armies to besiege the Azure Queen's stronghold.
Winter came with bitter winds and ice, frosting the hills in blankets of crystal snow. The fires burned hotter in these months as Lut conscripted thousands to train for the worst the fallen divines would offer when the final battle commenced. Hundreds of the Roofed died as a force a size never gathered before drilled in the gnawing hoarfrost, driven by his most trusted soldiers in hopes that only the strongest would survive.
His method produced warriors used to starvation, exposure, thirst, and wounds became fares reveled in by the most savage Wags that would ever see a battlefield. Through it all, Lut trained himself, honing his body and mind for what would come when the ice broke, the rivers flowed, and Shur returned.
Days were spent in the blood splattered ice, every moment passing with the swing of a wooden ax as loyal shamans watched simulated melees, concocting what spells they gleaned from the raids in Shen and Sutia, the fragrant lands far to the south, in hopes of employing them against their magical betters. Tales and reports of the beings they would one day face were integrated into the plans, and dummies of hay, wood, and rope were made, effigies that were hacked to bits by the time the first buds of the greening season swelled on the branches.
The only effigy Lut did not have built was one for the Azure Queen. While days were spent on training fields warring with mortal weakness, nights were often spent in his chambers, where he and Dras argued for long hours on points of culture, a needed distraction as he considered what their last encounter would be like.
They debated by lamp light while off in the corner of the room sat Mei, toiling above a small cauldron of boiling oil. In went the poisonous things of Mystland's dark wilds, stinging nettles and white-gilled mushrooms that would choke to death those who ingested them. Flowers known for their toxicity were mashed, bird livers full of poisonous berries lanced, all added together until her brew turned a rank, black ichor that spread through water like a knot of venomous snakes.
Every night, after Dras and Mei retired to the quarters his father once owned, Lut would stand over the pot of oil as the fumes reached his snout, contemplating the end it promised.
3
Siege
Spring ushered forth its gentle heat as the Roofed marched from Lut's low hills. Birds sang and squirrels scurried as lines of warriors wove through the dense forests, the trees still caught in the skeletal state of winter. Ahead of the main force, Lut went on with Dras and their scouts, searching out paths and avenues of approach.
Passing through the greening dens, Lut smiled at times, remembering the yesteryears when his purpose had been simple—mate, feed, kill, repeat—and yet, as he marched his unit through those groves where he had spent hours, an understanding came along with it. With a look at the Wags who followed him, that smile he tried to hide dimmed, replaced with another truth as keen as a sharpened sword.
Many of them would die because they couldn't grasp shades that were beyond black and white.
A grim frown held his wind-bitten face for the rest of the march.
They reached their destination two weeks later, when the buds had burst atop the crests of hilltop meadows. In the wash of the white sun and the spiced wind, Lut and Dras stood upon a far-off knoll, a few miles from the Azure Queen's domain.
Down below, in what had once been a verdant valley, great walls of wood and stone shielded the covered groves. Thousands upon thousands of warriors patrolled the fields before the fortifications, going to and from small camps based on strategic points that an invading force would have to fight through to reach the gates. Archers guarded parapets behind the main wall, dozens lined up in regimented rows.
Studying the unexpected army, Lut noticed the Black Hoods of his lover's guard, the painted hands and faces of The Five Brothers, and the thorn-pattern helms belonging to those who followed The Branched as others marched beneath the red banners of Strotos.
"This is where they went." Dras let Bloodtide fall from his shoulder, the long blade's point piercing the soil. His bright black eyes roved the battlements, the numbers. "We're not ready, Lut. We're not."
Paused beside his comrade, Lut felt the eyes of the warriors they led bore into his back. Silently he estimated the enemy force in the hills and valleys, making sure to move h
is head so that those that followed understood he was thinking upon the problem.
"Faith, Dras," he began, knowing full well he spoke to those beyond his friend. "Look upon the field for what it is."
"What do you mean?" Dras inquired, glancing to his friend in confusion.
"Remember the lessons of Shur's festival, where you have fought, where I have fought? When fighting, one must rely on their skills, tactics, perceptions. But soon all those things are torn away, and reality comes down to one thing and one thing alone—how badly do we want to win?"
"Winning isn't about freedom, Lut," Dras said.
"In the selfless sense, you're right. It's about glory and status, two things that bring about a false freedom." Lut grinned at his melancholy, knowing so well this foolishness. "But down there we can win something beyond glory or status. We can win a world."
A murmur arose from the mass of troops behind him, hopeful whispers and proud words. Lut seized upon it, needing its power to muster his words. "I do not see death down there," he said, pointing Ravager at the place where his people would fight and die. "I see the end of the old world and the beginning of a Wagani one."
Dras shook his head as he began down the hill, his pessimism defeated. "Damn you, Lut."
Hill by hill, the fire spread across the green grass, life transformed into smoldered fields. Streams that once sparkled clean ran red, bloodied by the Wags left to drain along the banks.
Lost in the smoke, the screams, Lut bellowed as he cleaved into the line of enemies clustered in an uneven shield wall. The Inners he attacked, their faces and arms painted white in worship of The Five Brothers, hid behind their splintered shields as he and Dras hacked their way past their first line. Gore crusted his tight face as he dodged the spear points and slipped past half-hearted sword chops that tried to crack his iron helm. Shur's song sang in the reaching darkness of the night, the sky obscured with smoke, a charred smell that spurred him deeper into bloodletting.
