In Nadir's Shadow

by E. J. Heijnis

  Teun glared for another moment before stalking away, followers in tow. One of his compatriots called over his shoulder, "You're killing us, Bartel. Sleep well tonight."

  Bartel gave a rough sigh and turned back to Kobus. "I used to do that, you know. Give credit. I'd make some fine crossbows, real good ones, not like the junk we trade to the indigenes, and heavy spears for the beasties. And I'd sit, and wait. And they wouldn't come back." He fell silent, staring at nothing for a long moment. "Except one. One did. He'd had a good run with his mates. Brought back a rare haul." Bartel shook his head and gave a soft laugh. "Just enough to get them and all their families home. Not a stone left for old man Bartel. By the time I got somebody to listen to me, they'd already sailed."

  "Why'd you come out here, old timer? Why did anybody?"

  "People signed the contract for all kinds of reasons. The same reasons they didn't read it too closely. Fortune seekers, poor folk looking for a place to start over. Fugitives. I had my reasons, but I'm done. Tired. If I don't leave this place, it'll be the end of me." He shivered. "I feel it in my bones."

  "I don't have any stones," Kobus said. "But if it's all you take, I'll see about getting some." He took a quarrel from his belt and held it out. "Take a look. Can you make more?"

  Bartel took the projectile and turned it over. "Heavy," he muttered. "Looks like..." The point split with a snap, turning into a star. The old smith smiled. "Oh, that's a thing of beauty. Spring-loaded. I can make this."

  "Keep that one. I'll be back in a day or two with funds. We can talk price."

  Bartel looked him over and gave a slow nod. "I'll be waiting, then."

  He left, heading for the alley Ewoud had indicated, even more eager than usual to leave town for the wilderness.

  *****

  Scaling the wall would be trivial for the Vile. With surprise, they could cross the killing field before the loud men had any chance to react. Seruya wasn't sure what the gleaming black tubes on the towers were for, but she suspected they were like the guns the loud men carried, only bigger. She would send the Vile after them first, and then send the rest to swarm over the wall.

  She blinked sweat from her eyes and climbed higher as a languid gust set the tree to sway. Near the top, the thin branches barely held her weight, and she had to grip the trunk to keep from falling.

  She'd never seen the loud men's village this closely before, and its size and strangeness frightened her more than she wanted to admit. From up here, she could see everything. The tall, square huts, cramped together in a pile, as if making them all fit was more important than being able to use them. The workshops, sending smoke and strange noises into the air. The trails leading onto the water, and the enormous sailing boat resting next to one. Nothing she saw made sense to her. The only things she recognized were the loud men.

  There were more than she'd ever feared, more than she'd have thought could live in a place of that size. The presence of the boat made it clear more continued to arrive, and it would be only a matter of time until they took more space for themselves, built more walls, and grew stronger.

  But she had the tools to deal with them now. After two weeks of frustrating practice, she'd improved her control over the Vile enough to use them against the enemy. No discussions, no hesitation. No chiefs to convince, and no Azial to pester her with his self-righteous condescension and mewling pleas for temperance. Once she was done, there would be—

  A single sound pierced her thoughts, just loud enough to rise above the noise from the town.

  An infant's pitiful cry.

  They had children there.

  She closed her eyes as the world in her mind shifted. Why hadn't she considered the possibility before? And now, with different eyes, she realized that some she'd taken for short adults were clearly juveniles. There was no other way to tell them apart from the adults, since they wore the same clothes and worked in the same places.

  She struck the tree trunk with her palm. The loud men had no defense against the Vile, and yet they'd brought children to a strange jungle without the means to protect them. Did they not care?

  Despite all her planning and endless anticipation, she couldn't send the Vile against the village now. She couldn't order the murder of children, no matter the crimes of their parents. She would have to kill them a few at a time, whenever they left the safety of their walls. A slow process, with no guarantee of ultimate success.

  The gate opened, drawing her attention back to the view. Three figures emerged, the gate slamming shut after the last barely made it out, but these were not loud men. They were of the Kith, and one wore a chief's jaguar headdress. Something cold slithered in her gut when she recognized him by his size. Why would the chief of the Yahua visit the loud men in their home?

  She climbed down with haste, dropping short distances where she could as she headed for a tree by the trail, and waited for Balbasu and his escorts to enter the jungle.

  The two Sharyukin dashed forward when she dropped down to the trail. They stopped when they recognized her, exchanging nervous glances. No one spoke for a long moment. "Balbasu," Seruya finally said. "Why are you here?"

  Deep circles ringed the chief's eyes, and his braids were a mess. He stood hunched, like an old man. "Do you know what your brother has done?" he said.

  "I know what Musuri did," she said. "I know your daughter is dead. My heart aches for your loss. But none of the Kith have reason to visit this place, unless they intend war."

  "Your brother wouldn't yield his son's life to justice. He is responsible for all that has passed. The son's life has been stolen from me, so the penalty passes to the father. Until he surrenders himself, his tribe will suffer for his cowardice."

  Seruya swallowed, feeling ill. "What of the laws?"

  Balbasu barked a venomous laugh. "Laws you broke years ago."

  "And I paid the price," she said, fighting disbelief. This vicious, spiteful man before her couldn't be the proud, brave Balbasu she knew. "I was banished, but I'm still one of the Kith. I still fight for them. What are you doing, Balbasu? Why did you come here?"

  "Vengeance," he rumbled. "Nothing else remains. My life is ashes. Every time I close my eyes—" He shook his head. "Azial will pay. It's all I know."

  Seruya's dismay ignited into fury. She took a step closer, causing the hapless bodyguards to raise their weapons. "Azial won't surrender to your insanity, and he's not easily killed," she said. "But if anyone were to take his life, I swear here and now that I will take no rest until I find them. I will make them die a thousand deaths. With their last breath, I will bind their soul to me, and they will continue to die, every day, until everything between the Great Mother and Father is gone. My blades will bleed any who try to stop me." She locked eyes with each of the escorts, holding their gaze until fear made them look away, so Balbasu could see there was no one who could protect him from her.

  Balbasu spread his arms. "I am here, Banished. I know your power. If you want to save your brother, kill me now. Else be gone."

  Her hands balled into fists. A voice inside urged her to act. It would take seconds, and no one would ever know. But she'd made this mistake once before, and it had cost her everything. "I know the cost of breaking the laws," she rasped. "I will not be the first to do it again. Leave this path, Balbasu. It can only lead to your ruin. You believe you can suffer no more. Don't make me show you how wrong you are."

  She leaped up into the foliage. Balbasu barked a command to his bodyguards, and they resumed their way. Seruya toyed with a claw in her hair as she watched them go, an ache in her heart. The chief had fallen so far, he'd resorted to involving the loud men in his quarrel. She tried to imagine what it would take for her to do such a thing, and couldn't.

  One undeniable truth remained. Balbasu couldn't use the loud men if there were none left. Destroying them would force him to keep the conflict between the tribes.

  She closed her eyes, and remembered the infant's wail. Imagined a Vile's claw crushing its skull.r />
  She didn't know what to do. But she had to do something.

  *****

  The jungle stretched beyond the horizon in every direction, smothering hills and valleys under a plush green carpet. From the furthest visible hill shimmering in the distance rose a tendril of smoke—the village of the Sadudu tribe, if Miron remembered right.

  He scratched beneath the crude hat the villagers had given him as the voice of a lone gibbon rose in a languid howl. The heat on his face felt like a mask, a constant discomfort to add to the sweat dripping from his face and his hair, the clothes sticking to his skin, and the stench of his own body.

  He straightened from leaning on the battlements and reached into his jacket, bringing out the obsidian blade in its leather sheath. He pulled it out and turned it over. The wounds on his chest had stopped itching a few days after the crash, and he hadn't gotten back to his cutting habit since. He blamed the lack of privacy, but in truth, the act now felt like a lie. Every morning he awoke on a straw mat in the hut the chief had given them, and fought back the crushing despair rising from the facts of his situation. He had no resources. He was on the right continent, but he had no way to locate what he sought, nor a way to get there quickly enough to matter. Rurik's words, the night before he died, echoed in his mind whenever he wasn't busy.

  Miron was rarely busy anymore.

  Every rational thought supported the conclusion that he and Zakhar had been sidelined, that their part in the great war was over. And yet there were faces he couldn't forget. Names he wouldn't let go. He'd spent lives in battle, always with the promise of victory in his mind, the one promise that made up for every loss, every broken life.

  He could not let go.

  Could not.

  "Zakhar, location?" he said.

  The fleet guard chief's voice spoke in his ear: "Central plaza."

  After putting the knife away, he climbed down with care and headed for the center of the village.

  It didn't take long to find Zakhar. The metal-clad guard sat on a stump in the shade of a tree, his rifle partially disassembled next to him. He held part of the mechanism in his hands, staring somberly at the pack of urchins squatting a few feet away, watching him. With every move he made, they giggled.

  He winced at the look of relief on Zakhar's face when the chief saw help was coming. Hissing through his teeth, Miron waved his arms in a shooing motion. The children scattered with peals of laughter, racing for cover only to turn around and peek around the corners.

  "So that's what it takes?" Zakhar said.

  "I've seen the adults do it a few times. It seemed worth a try."

  "Thank you."

  Miron sat down next to the guard chief. "We need to talk. We've been here almost two weeks now, and we have nothing to show for it."

  Zakhar took a thin round brush and started scrubbing the mechanism in his hands. "My apologies, Commander, but every time I sit down to do this, the brats try to steal parts. I'm listening."

  Miron gave a rueful smile. A month ago, Zakhar wouldn't have dreamed of giving a superior officer anything but his full attention. But times had changed, and he knew the chief meant no disrespect. "I don't think they know what to do with us, but that doesn't change our situation. I've asked for help, and all I've gotten so far are vague affirmations, and no commitments. They insisted their village needs protection, but other than Azial leaving with a group, I still haven't seen any sign of a threat. It's like these people live in paradise."

  "They generally don't fight with other people," Zakhar said. "Their warriors are meant to kill those animals we fought. The Vile. I've heard them mention those "loud men," but nobody wants to talk about it when I ask. Whatever enemies they have, they're not exactly battering down the gates."

  Miron shook his head. "Regardless, we're not doing anything to deter aggression just sitting here. If there is an enemy to fight, they should simply provide us the specifics and get out of the way." The chief didn't answer, and Miron reminded himself Zakhar probably still retained the habit of not offering his unsolicited opinion to a superior. "Do you concur?"

  Zakhar hesitated. "There's unlikely to be anything on this planet that can counter our firepower. That said, we have limited resources. The suit will last for maybe two more weeks of constant use, a lot more if I limit energy expenditure. I've been doing that, but the fact that I can't store it anywhere means I have to keep it on, so I use power all day. I have about two thousand rounds altogether, and forty-two grenades. The destroyer doesn't use ammo, so I'll try to rely on it more, but it has severe range limitations. We cannot afford to embark on a lengthy campaign without some significant support."

  Miron nodded. He carried another forty rounds from the lifeboat's emergency kit and a second sonic destroyer, but the chief's point was well made. "Still, I think a show of force might be sufficient cause to expend some ordnance. It might help them rethink their situation." Miron stood. "They have nothing to fear from their enemies while we're here, but that's a service I expect to see reciprocated. When Azial returns, I'll talk to him. If I still get nowhere, I might remind him of the disparity between our respective destructive powers, as well as our extraordinary patience up to this point."

  Zakhar looked up at him, concern filtering through the mask of stoicism. "You believe that's necessary? They've been hospitable."

  Miron sympathized with the chief's dismay. "It might be. Who knows, they might make up their minds to help us in six months, but that will be too late for the Commonwealth. We need to start making progress. Whatever it takes." He gave the chief a nod. "Don't worry. We're still in the fight."

  "Yes, sir."

  Miron walked away, looking for someone to ask when Azial might return. He still had a good man with him, and so far, Zakhar had acquitted himself well for being marooned on an unknown world. As long as he could rely on the guard chief, there was a chance.

  *****

  He should have seen it coming. That thought repeated in Khariton's head as he watched his opponent's orbital strike wipe out every unit in a ten-hex radius, friend or foe. Saveli, Mitrofan's diminutive ship master, had sacrificed her three battalions of advance guards to destroy all Khariton's tanks, two of his battalions of regulars, and most of his confidence.

  "Your move, Chief," his opponent said with a piercing, thin-eyed stare from beneath her short-cropped white hair. Saveli had caught wind of his reputation as a Tactics player and casually issued an invitation via Raisa. With the Mitrofan in transit, safely nestled inside the carrier Victory's docking bay, the time had seemed right. Khariton had expected a challenging game, but up until a moment ago, he'd felt certain he could win. The loss of his armored units stung, but not nearly as much as the realization that Saveli's willingness to sacrifice her own units had caught him completely by surprise. He'd used such gambits many times himself, when he used to play the other analysts, so why had he failed to anticipate the move?

  Worst of all, he had an audience, and the guards of First Squad muttered and shook their heads as they studied the board. Specialist Faddei entered the mess hall and approached the small crowd around their table. "Who's winning?" she said in a low voice.

  "Don't know," Naum said. "The Animal's in trouble."

  "He'll get it," Gerasim said at Khariton's side, where he'd been since the start of the game.

  They counted on him, and disappointing them wasn't an option. The loss of three squadrons of tanks left him severely outgunned, so he'd rely on other strengths. He still had his advance guards coming up along his left flank, and four of his original six guard regulars, although they were depleted and tied up contesting Saveli's line of regulars in the center of the field.

  The good news was after Saveli's use of the orbital strike, that option now passed to Khariton, and he had three turns to use it before it would expire and pass to his opponent again. The loss of Saveli's advance guards left her right flank open, but her two remaining tank squadrons had been held back under cover, no doubt to cover the gap
. They could emerge to smother advancing troops with long-range fire and retreat before risking exposure to orbital fire. Khariton's advance guards would take a beating approaching her base, leaving them too weak to defeat the tanks.

  Instead, he moved his advance guards at double time to engage Saveli's guard regulars in the flank while saturating the enemy line with artillery fire. His artillery ammo pool ran close to dry from the sustained barrage, but it was enough. His audience muttered approval as Saveli's defensive line collapsed under the combined assault of Khariton's flanking advance guards and his regulars.

  In response, Saveli unleashed her own artillery strikes, heavily attriting both Khariton's regulars and his advance guards, and allowing the remnants of her regulars to retreat towards her base. If they made it there, they'd gain a defensive bonus, and be that much harder to deal with.

  Khariton didn't have enough time to reach Saveli's base before she would obtain the orbital strike, nor did he have enough time to withdraw to his own base and settle on a draw. If he kept his advance guards and regulars combined as a single force, he would lose the game. His only chance now was to use his tired guards to take Saveli's base.

  The mess hall door slid open and Radomil hurried over. "Floaters took Arkhip," the squad's surviving sniper said. "They just announced it."

  The guards and fleet crew at the table muttered curses and shook their heads. "Arkhip?" Naum said. "They couldn't hold Arkhip? Have you seen the forts in that place?"

  "Sorry, man," Gerasim said quietly, and Khariton recalled Naum had been born on Arkhip, and had lost his family to a floater raid on the planet.

  Arkhip had been one of the Commonwealth's oldest and most fortified worlds. Its loss to the floaters meant the loss of the last fleet yards, and well as one of the last two staging area within range of floater space. He considered it an unsustainable loss, but he'd been expecting the news ever since he heard the floaters had launched an attack on the planet.