by Zach Hughes
With a roar, with both swords in hand, he leaped into the firelight and kicked the cooking pot over, spilling boiling liquid and flesh onto the ground, and, still roaring his anger, his disgust, he began to flail around him with his weapons. He used the flat sides of the swords, leaving in his wake bloody heads, aching backsides.
"Fools," he roared, punctuating the roar with a blow here, a kick there, as the pongs scrambled to escape. "There will be no abominations in my camp," he yelled, as he kicked the backside of a wailing female, crawling for the cover of the forest.
He stood, alone, in the flickering light of the fire, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face. He had now reached his adult height, and his body had filled out impressively. His strongly muscled arms hung at his sides, the tip of his longsword on the ground. His legs were parted, and his trunk-like thighs showed the muscles, the strength, that had carried him over so much of the good earth. And he wept. He lifted his face. Through the branches of the tall brothers he saw the twinkles of the sky's night lights.
"Du," he whispered, "help me. I cannot do it alone. It is too much for me, Du. Guide me, inspire me, tell me your will. Am I being arrogant in hoping that I, one Drinker, can make a difference, that I can change this evil that soils your land?" He sank to his knees. His tear-stained face was still lifted. Although Du was resting, and the sky was dark, he knew that he was heard. "I am tired, Du, and I despair. Is it your will that I lead those who are mine into the uninhabited areas to the west? I am sick of blood and death, Du, and I pray for your guidance."
At first he thought that it was the whispering of the tall brothers, the spirits of departed Drinkers, for the words were indistinct and came, seemingly, from a great distance. And then he began to hear, or feel, or sense, and a feeling of awe pushed his head low, until his forehead rested on the hilt of his shortsword, the sword's point on the earth.
"South. Go south. South. My people—" And in his mind were pictures of the sufferings of the enslaved, the stench of burning flesh was in his nostrils, and the roar of battle in his ears. A death scream pierced him, left him trembling, and his muscles quivered as if from great strain. And then, clearly, the voice of his grandmother, echoing in his head.
"You have come too far to turn away, Grandson."
"I hear," he said without speaking.
"Have patience with them, for they have suffered much." And that other voice, hollow, distant. "They are of me and for me and you are the chosen one."
"Who?" Duwan asked, aloud.
"Question not," his grandmother said. "Listen. A day's march to the south is another settlement. There are many Drinkers there. Free them. The settlement is but lightly guarded, and the Devourers are lax. From the southwest a stream will give you access to the settlement so that your approach will not be noted. Go swiftly. And tarry not there, but move immediately to the last, and southernmost settlement, where you will face your first severe test."
The other voice. "Let my people carry the load."
"Who, Grandmother?" Duwan asked.
"I know not. Farewell."
With the coming of the light, he gathered them, Drinkers and ex-slaves, and he stood on a rise and looked at them, seeing masses of rags, gauntness, only a few with weapons. They were whispering among themselves. He raised his right hand and there was silence, only the luffing breeze and the stir of the leaf organs of the nearby tall brothers breaking it.
"We are of a people," he said quietly, but his voice carried well. "Today we march to the south." A cheer went up and he waited for it to quiet.
"Today I give you a choice, for no longer can the Drinkers of the valley carry your load. Now you are free, as we are free. Do you value this freedom?"
A roar was his answer.
"Then here is what you must do," he said, his voice rising. "This is the law of Du. There is one Du and you will honor him, and obey his laws. You will live in brotherhood with all things, except the Enemy, who has dishonored Du and usurped his lands and his people. You will not take a brother's all, but will share only that of his substance that will not cause him harm. You will honor and obey those chosen by Du to lead you and instruct you, although you are free. You will eat of the green, growing brothers, and drink of Du and honor him by exposing your hides to his goodness."
He paused. There was a gentle murmur of sound from the assembled people. "Mark those laws well. You are a member of the Army of Du, and the breaking of Du's laws will bring punishment. If you choose not to abide by these laws, then now is the time to state so, and leave. You are free to go. Now. If you choose to leave us you will not be punished, nor condemned. Go, if that is your choice."
Again he paused. A growing sound of voices came to him. He watched, half expecting the crowd to melt away in front of him. Instead, they pressed closer, until he could smell them.
"So be it," he said. "Now, there are also rules of common sense. A clean body is a healthy body. Water washes away the sweat and soil of the day, and a scouring with sand cleanses all. Water also takes the stench from your garments, and does not harm them. When we march to the south I do not want to smell you."
Laughter.
"Nor do I want an enemy, downwind, to scent out our presence," he said, smiling, hearing more laughter.
"I want all bowmen to join my father there," he said, pointing. "You will be our shock force. You will have first crack at the enemy. Work hard, my friends. Hone your skills so that not a single arrow is wasted. Swordsmen, there," he pointed to another area. "This will be a day of practice, for you will finish what the bowmen start. The coming battles are yours. Will you be prepared?"
A roar told him of their eagerness, but he was still doubtful. He kept that doubt until, wearing freshly washed rags and smelling only of fresh sweat, pong bowmen cut down all exposed enemy, after approaching the settlement in the cover of the stream's swath, and pong swordsmen, with few losses, cleared the settlement of surviving enemies.
Night. Flickering firelight. Duwan sat, a robe over his shoulders, gazing into the fire. Jai and his mother were preparing food. His father and Dagner, who seemed to grow younger, rather than older, sat on either side of him.
"They fought well, my warriors," Dagner said. "And we recovered all but five arrows."
"They are in high spirits," Duwan the Elder said.
"Yes," Duwan agreed. "We move with the light."
"I will fight with them next time," Dagner said.
"No," Duwan told him.
"There is a garrison of soldiers at the next place," Dagner said.
"Conscripts," Duwan said.
"But well armed." Dagner pointed out.
"The conscripts have not much more training than our most experienced troops," Duwan said. "No, this is their fight."
"It seems to me," Dagner said, "that you test them, Duwan." He remembered the voice, the distant, hollow voice. "Yes, it will be the first test," he said.
"But—" Dagner began, and was silenced by the glare of Duwan's orange eyes on his.
"I know you want to fight with them, Dagner. You are still our finest warrior. But what if, by accident, you are taken from behind? Who, then, will train our new recruits? We Drinkers have the knowledge, the skills. We must survive, at all costs, to pass this knowledge and our skill along to an army. We have no more than two hundred, male and female, and to reclaim this land for Drinkers, all Drinkers, we must have multiples of that, thousands, hundreds of thousands. The enemy will always be better armed, for we have not metals, nor metal workers, nor mines. We must overwhelm him by numbers, and to have numbers we, Drinkers of the valley, must lead." He put his hand on Dagner's arm. "There will come the time, my friend, when you can wet your blades with Enemy blood again. Meantime, patience."
"At times I forget that that young, still green head of yours contains so much wisdom," Dagner said.
On the way south a northbound caravan fell to an advance party of Duwan's army, and there were more dead enemies, more weapons, and more pongs to be add
ed to the army. Many of the pongs in that caravan were woodsmen, and their cutting tools were turned into weapons and distributed to pongs who had received some training. The sharp blades and long handles of the cutting tools made them effective in hand-to-hand fighting, even though they would be no match for the blade of a trained swordsman.
Duwan, with Jai at his side, scouted the last and largest settlement north of Kooh. They climbed the limbs of a tall brother and looked down over a makeshift stockade intended more to keep pongs in than any enemy out. Soon, Duwan knew, the news would trickle back to the Enemy cities that for the first time in generations there was sudden death for Devourers roaming the forests of the north, but, judging from the activity within the settlement's stockade, the Devourers suspected nothing as yet. The stockade was roughly circular, and covered a large, grassy area bounded on two sides by forest, and to the west and south by sparsely treed plains. The garrison, conscripts dressed in dull, plain uniforms, had huts surrounding a central compound. Pongpens lined the walls of the stockade. Two gates stood open. He estimated that there were no more than fifty soldiers, armed with longswords, but there were probably two hundred Devourers, male and female and young, living in the settlement.
"After this they will know," Jai said.
He looked at her with a frown. There were times when it seemed that she could get inside his head. He had been thinking the same thing. There were so many of them that it would be a miracle if, in the confusion of the attack, at least one did not escape to carry the news of warfare in the north to Kooh, and thence to the capital at Arutan.
"We will lose many here," she said.
He nodded grimly. "The first test," he said.
He planned the attack after consulting his father and Dagner. It began at dawn. Female pongs—Jai had become a powerful role model for the females, and they begged, insisted, that they be made a part of the Drinker Army—had crawled to lie against the stockade walls while it was still dark. Just before dawn they kindled fires at points opposite each other on the circular stockade, fanning them and adding dry material until the flames reached high and began to eat at the logs of the stockade. Inside the stockade an alarm was shouted and Devourers began to pour toward the fires. While their attention was on the fires, agile young Drinkers scaled the stockade wall, dropped inside, and opened the gates, and from two sides Drinkers ran silently, gained the gates without alarm, and spread out inside the compound.
Duwan ached to be with them, but he knew that he and the less than two hundred oldsters were not going to be able to conquer the might of Arutan alone, that, in the final analysis, freedom for the Drinkers of the Land of Many Brothers depended upon the inhabitants of that land. He knew, as he watched from the same tall brother from whose limbs he had first scouted the stockaded settlement, that he was running a great risk. If his rabble—he could not yet call them an army—failed, if they were defeated, the word would spread and the pongs would hesitate to rebel at the risk of being peeled, would no longer seek to escape their masters and join him. But if they won—ah, then that word, too, would spread, and he would be in a position to send out a call to all pongs to rise, to escape, to join in the fight for freedom and the retaking of their lands. The first silent onslaught caught the Devourers inside the stockade totally by surprise. Many went down. Jai, clinging to a limb at his side, put her hand on his arm and felt him tense as he saw pong warriors slay females and young as willingly as they smote the Devourer males. An officer rallied the Devourer conscripts and about thirty of them formed a defensive square in the central compound. "Bowmen," Duwan muttered, although there was, of course, no chance of his being heard. But he had given his orders clearly, and the group leaders among the pongs began to shout their own orders so that a line of bowmen formed and the iron-tipped arrows began to take their toll of the Devourer soldiers. Then, with a screaming, wailing, nervous cry the swordsmen rushed forward and Duwan could hear the clash of iron on iron.
"They've done it," Jai said, blood-hunger making her voice hoarse.
"They've done it!"
Organized resistance was at an end. The pongs dispersed, each male seeking out hidden Devourers, and as females and young began to be dragged from huts, as fire was applied and the settlement began to burn, and the freed pongs from the pens were milling, shouting questions, some screaming in fear, Duwan turned his eyes away and began to climb down from the tall brother. He and Jai joined Dagner and Duwan the Elder, at the head of the reserve force, and marched into the burning settlement. Duwan was growing accustomed to speaking to newly freed slaves now, and he stood before the assembled pongs confidently, seeing that, as usual, they were emaciated and weak. He spoke the usual things to them, and, as always, he found that word of his coming had gone before him. Finished, he gazed at them, wondering if there would be among them a male of leadership quality, for that was his most desperate need now, pongs who could assume the role of sub-leaders.
"Well, you're a skinny bunch," he said, spreading his hands and smiling, "but Du's goodness and the sweet things of the earth will soon have you looking as fat and sleek as these." He waved his hand at a group of freed slaves from his forces who had been filling themselves for a long time on the things that were natural Drinker food.
"There is one here who is not skinny," a voice called out.
"Step forward," Duwan said.
A tall figure in dark, all-covering clothing stepped forward. It was a male, and he walked toward Duwan and fell to his knees.
"Master," he said.
Duwan pushed back the Drinker's hood and the fat one looked up, smiling, tears in his eyes.
"I knew you would come, Master," said Tambol, as Duwan pulled him to his feet and clasped arms with him and Jai ran to his side to join in the greeting.
Duwan sent scout parties, under the command of the more agile valley Drinkers, to the south, to try to capture or kill any who had escaped, for he still feared that word of the uprising would be carried south to Kooh, and then to Arutan. He called a conference of his Drinker leaders and sat Tambol at his side.
"This is the Drinker," he said, his hand on Tambol's shoulder, "who has been preparing the way for us. Tell us, Tambol, of the things you have done and the things you have learned and seen."
"Master, since you traveled to the north I have walked this land, and I have told of you in almost every village, every city."
"With some very inventive embellishments," Duwan said, with a smile.
"I have told only the truth as I have seen it and heard it," Tambol protested. "I have told them that you came from the earth, as it was foretold, and that you are mighty and have the blessings of the one Du."
"So be it," Jai said.
"I have made others believe," Tambol said, "and now they, too, spread the joyful news. There is not a pongpen in this land that does not have one who believes in you, Master, who constantly reminds all that you are to return, that freedom will be theirs, and plenty, and peace in the end."
"I'm sure this news has reached the ears of the Devourers," Duwan said.
"Without doubt, master," Tambol said. "But they, in their arrogance, do not believe. They look on the stories as the vain hopes of the pongs and laugh." He raised his stern face to the sky. "By Du," he said, "soon they will not be laughing."
"No signs of preparation?" Duwan asked.
"None, Master," Tambol said. "There has been no increase in the strength of the royal guards. Males are conscripted only to guard far-flung settlements, such as these that you have destroyed, and that not against any possible enemy, but merely to assure that there is an adequate guard force to prevent escape from the pens."
"So," Jai said, "if we now attack Kooh, they will not be expecting us?"
"Unless some escaped to carry the word they will be feeling snug and safe behind the walls of the city," Tambol said. "The new High Mistress is more concerned with her own pleasures than with any possible dangers."
"High Mistress?" Duwan asked.
"Ye
s, Master, the old High Master, Farko, is dead. His daughter, Elnice of Arutan, rules in his place, with the guards captain you once dueled at her side."
"This should make our task easier," Dagner said, "if this country is ruled by a female."
"Don't underestimate this one," Duwan said, "or she will feast on your bud."
"Du's face," Duwan the Elder said. "You jest."
"No," Duwan said. He turned to Tambol. "You have traveled much, and you seem to have access to the pens."
"Indeed, Master. I go disguised as a priest of the minor du, Tseeb, he of the clear skies, the du of hope for the pongs."
"Can you enter Kooh without endangering yourself?"
"I come and go as I please. The Devourers are delighted to have me teach the pongs that their role is to obey and to await their reward in Tseeb's clear-skied paradise after death."
"Go, then," Duwan said. "Return to us when you have determined whether or not word of our warfare here in the north has reached the city. We will be there." He pointed to the west. "I think you can track us by the swath we leave in the green."
"West?" Dagner asked.
"West," Duwan said.
"Kooh is to the south," Jai said.
"My warriors fought well today," Dagner said.
"Against a few conscripts, traders, females, and children," Duwan said.
"There is a small garrison of guards in Kooh, and there are the walls. We will march west, training our forces as we march, and only when we can field a disciplined force of at least two thousand will we attack Kooh."
"And if the enemy learns of us and brings more forces into Kooh?" Jai asked.
"Then Du will guide us," Duwan said.
On the westward march, the freed pongs of several villages swelled the ranks. The corps of bowmen was growing, with new weapons being made constantly. The great shortage was of swords. Dagner worked out a system of using axmen and swordsmen in a flying wedge, and, in theory, it was devastating. The freed pongs fattened on the bounty of Du and the earth. At last, Duwan called a halt and a camp was set up.
