The Best Weapon

by David Pilling

  Then the visions of his dream flashed into his mind. It was so vivid he wondered if it had been a dream at all. It seemed to have the same surreal structure as a dream: the unexplained disappearance of an entire army from under his nose, the immediacy and single-mindedness of his decision to follow the footprints in the sand, knowing they were Kayla's. And the meeting with his father.

  But the dream had other qualities that seemed real. He recalled the heat and the acrid stench of the Lord of Lies. His words. His attempt to persuade Naiyar to betray his friends. His hatred of Kayla.

  Suddenly he remembered Husan al Din's bewildered and enraged face. Then, with a jolt, he remembered the Caliph's words. His jaw dropped and a cold sweat broke out all over his body.

  He glanced around his tent, as though he might find some evidence that would help him piece things together. His eyes rested on his spear and he gasped.

  The spear was charred black and split in two at the tip, where the iron had melted into a misshapen lump.

  Shaking his head, Naiyar left the spear where it was and went outside.

  It was midday. To his surprise, he found that he had slept all morning. His body felt stiff and ached.

  As he emerged into the scorching desert, the camp seemed deserted. But as Naiyar passed by the Sharib tents, the presence of the sleeping men was given away by their snores. He found Husan al Din asleep on his couch in the shade of the porch of his tent.

  Bereft of any clue as to why everyone slumbered, he made his way toward the river to quench his thirst and catch breakfast.

  As he approached the river he could see Colken crouched on the bank, staring into the water. Relieved to find conscious company at last, he crouched beside him.

  "Colken," he said, patting the new chief on the shoulder, "you're awake! Why does everyone sleep?"

  "You do not know? We spent all night repairing the damage, calming the animals, checking our supplies."

  "Damage?" Naiyar was confused. "What damage?"

  "A powerful explosion. Blinding light. A wave of power surged from your tent. The army was levelled. You cried out as if in agony. You do not remember?" Colken cocked his head to one side, a puzzled look on his face. "We worked until after sunrise to make reparations. That is why everyone sleeps."

  Naiyar gazed into the running water. "I thought it was a dream," he muttered.

  They both sat in silence. Finally, Naiyar's thoughts came full circle. He turned to Colken.

  "Why are you not sleeping? Were you not working during the night too?"

  "I was, and I was glad to because I could not sleep."

  "What troubles you?"

  Again Colken was silent, but this time his silence was strained, as though it held back the words he wished to say.

  "Tell me, Colken, you can speak freely. You watched over me for ten days, you have given up your beliefs, risked your life to protect me. I have no idea why, but I won't forget it."

  "Why did you make me chief?"

  "I think you know why. Isn't it obvious? If I had not proclaimed you Chief of the Djanki, what would have happened?"

  Naiyar waited for Colken's reply but none came. Eventually he continued. "There would have had to be a contest. The chief of the Djanki is the best fighter. So you would have had to fight every other Djanki who decided to challenge you. I have watched you fight, Colken, you have an unnatural ability. You can see things before they happen, whether you know it or not. You would have beaten them all and become Chief anyway. I saved you the trouble."

  "And what if I had not desired to be chief?"

  Naiyar sighed. "I am sorry. The Djanki need you. You are going to take them somewhere they have never been, to a battle greater than they have ever imagined. The Djanki were made for this fight, and you were made to lead them."

  "I do not know why I protected you. I do not know why I didn't kill you and take you back to the jungle. Something happened to me, something changed. I felt as though I had woken up."

  Colken stood and began pacing up and down the river bank.

  "When I saw you on that rock, my world seemed to grow. I was suddenly filled with questions, as though the real Colken was released. If I had killed you, I would have killed myself. I tasted freedom, I saw endless possibilities. Now I am bound once again." Colken looked longingly at the horizon. "Tied to my people."

  Naiyar suddenly felt guilty for burdening his friend with such responsibility. He realised he had inadvertently given Colken all that he had discovered and wanted himself; freedom. And in return for the warrior's sacrifice, he had taken it away from him in the blink of an eye.

  He looked at Colken and saw himself, back on the temple, the first time he had set eyes on the horizon.

  "I know I have been selfish. You have sacrificed much already. But please do one final thing for me. I know that I ask a lot, but please trust me, it is for the good of all of us. Lead the Djanki into one battle for me. That is all I ask, then you are free. Free to explore the world we will have saved."

  "What is this battle you speak of? Where is the army we must fight? I have followed your cause, Naiyar. I have fought for you, I have nursed you. Before I make a decision, tell me why."

  "The story is a long one, and I am hungry, let me tell you over breakfast."

  So Naiyar and Colken sat by the river and ate. Naiyar told him the story of the Lords of Hell. He told him about their plan to use him and his brother Fulk as conduits to enter the physical plane. He told him about the voices of the dead, about the shamans' reaction to him at the temple and his escape through the jungle. He told him about the Donkey's Back, about Kayla and everything he had learned in his trance-like state on the Tear Drop.

  When Naiyar finally came to the end of his story, it was dusk.

  "Very well," said Colken, "I will lead the Djanki to this fight. After that, I want my freedom."

  Naiyar nodded. "Thank you, Colken, I will not forget this."

  "I know you won't," Colken said, standing up, "else I would have killed you at the Tear Drop." A rare smile flashed across his face and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "We had better get ready to march."

  Colken gripped Naiyar's shoulder and they made their way back to camp.

  They arrived back at Husan al Din's tent to find the Caliph seated cross-legged in front of a fire and noisily demolishing a pot of stew.

  Kayla sat opposite him, staring into the flames. She did not look up as Naiyar and Colken appeared.

  "Ah, the Prophet returns!" the Caliph called out. "Have some wine!"

  Basim stepped forward from the shadows with a jug, but Naiyar and Colken both shook their heads. Husan al Din rolled his eyes and accepted a refill of his own mug.

  "I have work to do," said Colken.

  "Indeed, indeed. I have issued my orders already. Or rather Kayla very kindly issued them for me. We will be ready to move at dawn," Husan al Din replied through a mouthful of mutton.

  "What is our plan?" asked Colken.

  Kayla picked up a stick and knelt in front of the fire. She drew a rough map of the Girdle Sea on the sand, flanked by the desert and the southern coast of the Old Kingdom.

  "This is the shore of the Old Kingdom, and here is Temple Rock." She drew a crude dagger in the sand on the highest line. Then she pointed back to the first line she had drawn.

  "We will march east along the river, and then turn north. Temple Rock is an old fortress which sits on a sheer cliff jutting out from the coastline. Just opposite, here on the north coast of the Southern Sands, is a small peninsular. That is the narrowest point of the Girdle Sea, and the swiftest crossing. By the time we arrive there Naiyar's brother, Fulk, will have arrived at the fortress."

  "How are we to cross the Girdle Sea?" asked Husan al Din.

  "It is a day's sailing." said Kayla.

  "There are a few small fishing villages dotted around that coastline, but nothing of any use to an army twenty thousand strong." Husan al Din scratched his beard and stared at the map Kayla had dr
awn.

  "The only way across is by building our own boats," Kayla continued. "The forest stretches as far as the peninsular. It isn't as dense, but hopefully there are enough trees to build the vessels we need."

  "Hopefully?" Colken looked sceptical.

  "It is our only option."

  "How long a march is it to this peninsular?" asked Colken.

  "For a single man, five days, for an army this size, twice that. We have no time to waste."

  That night, Naiyar's sleep was disturbed by dreams of Kayla, either lying with him in perfect harmony or arguing with him. The most frustrating was a dream in which he searched for her constantly but could not find her. Each time he woke up with a hollow feeling in his chest.

  He had not spoken to her at all the previous day, having only a brief opportunity following their discussion, and he had had no idea what to say. So, following an awkward silence, they had both retired to their beds.

  The following morning, the army was ready to march.

  Husan al Din had provided camels for Naiyar, Kayla and Colken, and the four of them rode together in the centre of the army. The other Caliphs were spread out, each at the head of their own warriors. Husan al Din had told them each that they were holding the most important position, but in reality he wanted them as far away from each other as possible to avoid squabbles, or worse, alliances.

  Naiyar rode next to Kayla, between Colken and Husan al Din. Conversation was amicable, but she avoided eye contact, which made him feel hurt at first, and then angry. He was thankful, however, for Husan al Din's easy chatter, which filled any potentially awkward gaps.

  * * * *

  Ten days later, and Naiyar was gazing out across the blue ocean. The army had reached the edge of the peninsula, and now faced the task of crossing a body of water. Some token effort had been made at building ships, but the task was a weary and impractical one, not helped by the largely unskilled hands that tried to build them.

  He continued to study the sea, as though the answer might be revealed in the waves.

  Gradually he felt the wind pick up, a chill breeze which tugged at him and gave him goose bumps. The air seemed to cool, in what seemed like a few breaths, the sun had vanished behind darkening clouds and he could feel occasional drops of rain on his skin.

  "Looks like a storm is coming," he remarked, turning to Kayla.

  To his surprise, she was gone. Confused, he looked back to the beach where the Djanki had been wallowing in the surf. They were nowhere to be seen.

  He was completely alone.

  The sky darkened further until it was a dark, brooding grey and the wind whipped about him, carrying with it a driving rain.

  As he watched, transfixed, he saw dark clouds gather, and a howling gale roared in his ears. Sand and debris began to wheel about him, stinging his eyes.

  As the storm's rage intensified he looked down at the sea. There, just off shore, was a great fleet of ships. He noticed the fleet was not uniform; rather it looked like a mismatched collection of vessels designed for various purposes. There were a few majestic warships, carrying the symbol of a great, black sword on their white sails. These were mixed with a seemingly random assortment of smaller cogs, fishing boats and merchant ships. The only common theme was the green and gold flag which flew from every mast.

  The fleet battled for its life as the wind roared and the sea heaved and churned, threatening to capsize every vessel and suck it down into the depths.

  Naiyar watched in bewildered fascination as the drama played out on the waves. The storm worsened, like an elemental tantrum, insatiable in its fury. Gradually the ships began to lose their battle, being smashed against one another, overcome by giant waves and tossed about like toys.

  One by one, they went under. The sails were torn from their rigging, masts were splintered, hulls were cracked like eggs, and the helpless remnants disappeared beneath the hungry waves.

  Eventually, the entire fleet was swallowed, taking their crews with them.

  As the last ship disappeared, the wind dropped, the roar in his ears gradually died away, and he was no longer battered by the rain. The clouds slowly dissipated. The sea, seemingly satisfied with its meal, fell into an easy slumber.

  "Naiyar?"

  He flinched, and looked round to see Kayla frowning at him.

  "Have you heard anything I said? You have been sitting there, staring wide-eyed out to sea for several minutes. I could not get your attention. What is wrong?"

  Naiyar closed his mouth and tried to compose himself. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."

  He turned back to the beach, distracted. Djanki warriors were still swimming in the calm, pleasantly warm waters.

  He urged his camel down the sand towards the tide. Kayla followed.

  As Naiyar reached the water, he dismounted and focused intently on the sea.

  "Get out of the water!" he shouted, "Get out! Get out now!"

  One by one, the men in the surf frowned at Naiyar and made their way up the beach before turning and watching him.

  There was a brief pause as Naiyar stood in silence. Then he raised his arms and concentrated on the surface of the ocean.

  The spectators stood in silence. For a moment, nothing happened. He just stood there and stared out to sea.

  Finally, the surface began to bubble, gently at first, but increasingly violently until the sea was a boiling, foaming mass.

  Then something rose from the depths. A mast, glimmering wetly in the sun, the tattered shreds of its sail hanging raggedly as seawater streamed from the muddied fabric.

  Another appeared, this time bearing the remnants of the flag which once fluttered proudly from its top, the bright green and gold stained brown by its temporary resting place on the seabed. A few minutes later the sea was bristling with bobbing and swaying masts, half of them naked, bent and splintered.

  Eventually the deck of a ship broke the surface, sending a spray of seawater into the air. Water poured over the side and out of the many holes of the ruined hull as the battered hulk revealed itself in all its decrepitude. Slimy with green seaweed, it looked as though it would crumble away, but some unseen force held it together as it defied logic and floated on the surface.

  Another bobbed into view, and soon hundreds of them appeared above the waves.

  The Djanki warriors' talking had ceased, and every Sharib in sight had stopped what they were doing. Hundreds of men and women stared at the fleet in awed silence, as though they had just witnessed the dead climb out of the ground.

  "We have no time to build ships, we would be too late," cried Naiyar, his voice booming along the beach. "This fleet will take us to Temple Rock. If we set sail tonight, we will arrive tomorrow afternoon."

  "It doesn't look seaworthy," replied Colken, scanning the ruined ships which inexplicably rose and fell steadily with the swell, showing no signs of sinking despite their obvious dereliction.

  At that moment, Husan al Din's camel came charging down the beach, the Caliph lurching back and forth atop its hump.

  "What have you done?" he shouted, panting and wiping his brow with one chubby hand, a look of disbelief on his sweating face.

  "Building ships would take too long, so I have raised a fleet," Naiyar replied.

  "You have raised a fleet? You call this heap of ancient driftwood a fleet?"

  "We sail tonight."

  "Impossible. You're as bad as her!" He jabbed a finger at Kayla. "My men need rest."

  "They can sleep on the boats. Tell them to eat well this evening. They will need all their strength when we storm Temple Rock."

  "And who will pilot them? We can't all sleep."

  Naiyar remained unmoved by Husan al Din's protests.

  "They are fully manned," he said. "I have not just raised the ships from their graves. I have raised the crews too."

  Husan al Din stared at the ghost fleet, his hands shaking as he clutched his reins.

  "The gods deliver us."

  10.


  Though long-deserted and much decayed, Temple Rock was still an inspiring sight. It was a castle within a castle, with the four mighty square towers of the inner ward sprouting from a massive stone base supported by huge sloping buttresses at each corner. The outer wall was three meters thick with eight guard towers, creating a concentric ring of defences that were unknown in the Winter Realm or anywhere else.

  Temple Rock was built on top of the sacred mount where the High Gods were reputed to have created the first humans. The Templars of old who designed the place were well aware of this legend and intended their fortress to be a mighty act of sacrilege, an eternal symbol of their authority over the land. To this end they brought slaves from all over their conquered territories, men and women from tribes of Godless Ones the Templars had defeated in battle, and forced them at sword point to labour on the construction of their fortress.

  Fifteen years it took, during which time hundreds of the slave-labourers died, but the result, in the eyes of the Masters of the Temple, was well worth it.

  * * * *

  Comrade Malet would have agreed. Never in all his days had he seen or imagined such a place, even in his dreams, and he thanked Occido for sparing him long enough to see it.

  Malet was not a whole man. The wounds he had suffered at the Battle of the Red Sands—for so the Grand Master had named the landing fight on the northern coast of the Old Kingdom—had robbed him of his ability to fight. His right arm, his sword arm, had been severed below the elbow, leaving a useless stump dangling in his mailed sleeve. An axe blow had knocked his hip out of joint, making riding an agony, and a spear thrust to his belly had done something strange to his stomach, rendering him incapable of digesting solids.

  He bore all this with quiet dignity, having informed the Grand Master that he would live on until the army reached Temple Rock, and then request to be put out of his misery. A Templar who could no longer fight or ride properly was no longer of much use, and had the right to ask one of his comrades to slay him, quick and clean, and send his soul to Occido.

  But Malet was not allowed to die, not yet, for his duty was not quite done. The army that had eventually straggled through the crumbling gates of Temple Rock was sick and decimated, having lost two-thirds of its number on the long march south to battle, disease and desertion. Most of the two thousand or so survivors were Templars, but plenty of their comrades had failed to make it.