Bane of a Nation

by A J Burns

  “Don’t ya ever get tired of fighting?”

  “Yeah. That happened before the first battle even began.” Enk checked his pocket-watch. “But there’s always another battle to be fought.”

  “We’ve a chance to end that today.”

  “I wouldn’t bet my money on it.”

  Theos snickered. “What exactly would ya bet on?”

  “Devos being late.”

  Devos’ horse came to canter beside them. “I heard that, you know.” He had an aura of arrogance about him.

  “You were supposed to,” Enk said. “Now you respond in a timely manner,” he said jokingly. “How far do you gauge we are?”

  “A mile. Give or take an inch.”

  “Well within reach of their cannons.”

  “Aye.” Devos nodded. “Those Raurian cannons are a lot closer, though. I’m just happy you gentlemen are here to buffer me from them.”

  For Theos, the rest of the march was a blur. Catapults began to pelt the army with boulders, and cannonballs squashed those around him. He continued forward, for what seemed like an hour, and finally the fortress was before him. The alliance was raising ladders as bullets hit around them.

  “Come on, ladies,” Devos yelled at his men as he jumped onto the ladder. “Let us show the congregation the true meaning of Mesallian rage.”

  Theos stepped to an adjacent ladder, swallowed from a dry mouth, and began his ascent. Musketeers were firing at him and his soldiers, but he did his best to ignore the odds.

  His palms were sweaty against the timber, and he upheld a promise to himself to not look downward. He was almost at the top of the wall, having passed Devos.

  Theos yanked a confused Noconyx soldier by his ankle and flung him to his death and then took his position atop the rampart. He was the first Mesal to breach the fortifications, but others soon trickled in from more than thirty ladders.

  Fodder jabbed their bayonets at him, but he danced around them, slinging back his mace and driving it into their skulls.

  The main gates of the fortress were yanked open, and Surkin’s cavalry rushed out to flank the Orynaurians.

  Theos watched in horror as the horsemen rode down their enemies and reduced them to bloody pulps. The Noconyx were steadfast in trying to close the doors, but before they could shut them completely, a long pole, attached to the end of a chain, had been propelled from the forest, and it sailed through the opening. Theos lost sight of it by that point.

  Mauro raised his arm, a green flag in his hand, and as simply as that, the ground behind the horsemen was aflame. The horses neighed, blocked by fire on three sides, and their only clearance was soon guarded by a company of musketeers. They shot a volley into the horsemen, but only a few riders were hit, and they continued to charge at their enemy.

  What did they think would happen?

  Suddenly there was a second volley, then a third, then a fourth, and finally a fifth volley ripped through the cavalry, reducing their numbers to nine men.

  “Ya see this?” Theos said to Zersi.

  “Five shots.” Zersi looked at him in amazement. “What in hell is that?”

  “Just be thankful they’re on our side.” Theos coughed. “Sorry—‘our side.’”

  “We better hope it stays that way.”

  The Orynaurian musketeers walked to the survivors and put another round of bullets into their brains. “Six shots,” Theos muttered.

  The Orynaurian nectors rode for the main gate and vanished from sight, making it obvious that the congregation had not bothered to prepare a defense for that gate.

  Theos ran to the inner edge of the ramparts and continued to look on as the nectors swept across the courtyard.

  Theos was running down the wall’s steps, having been ordered by an officer that he could not recall. From what he could see, the walls were overflowing with blue, green, and orange. The Noconyx had fled from the courtyard and barred themselves within the central tower: a stone temple with slits that served as windows. The armies of Orynen and Soten were closing in on it as the Tekotaurians rode down stragglers and clashed with a small section of survivors on the southern wall.

  Len was jogging beside Theos, and together they made their way to the tower, joining a crowd of men outside the entrance. A man, Theos’ age or younger, was at the forefront of the assault and was helping to drive the ram into the door.

  Theos watched the besiegers in awe, wondering how they could all be so uncaring of the dangers around them; but when the man at the forefront took a bullet to the head, Theos knew what he must do.

  He took the fallen man’s place and wrapped his fingers around a rope handle of the ram.

  The sixth pallbearer on their way to bury the Noconyx.

  It took him a couple of swings to get into the motion, and some of the stronger men almost separated him from his balance. He heard ghastly screams to his left. Black pitch poured from a slit and engulfed Raurian soldiers. It was now falling from a dozen of different openings, like water leaking from a pierced bucket.

  The door splintered and burst open. The rebels trampled it down and poured into the shrine. Again, he heard the ghastly screams as he charged in heedlessly.

  Oil was being poured from the balconies above.

  Theos ran up the staircase, praying to Nerrigal for his protection and whatever good that would do.

  A musketeer shot at him and peppered the wall behind him.

  Theos lurched forward and tackled the musketeer, rolling on the ground before gripping the man’s ornate helm and bashing his face onto the bannister.

  A man in orange-tinted armor leapt over them and drove his sword into an enemy; Theos looked up to see that the man was Bivek, and he watched him for a moment, inspired by the gallantry.

  Theos roared as he grabbed his mace and moulded a man’s skull with the bannister.

  “Get over here,” Bivek yelled at him, pointing to a cauldron of oil.

  Together they lifted it and, with Theos mustering all of his strength, launched it at a group of Noconyx. That scream, whether from a friend or an enemy, was no less horrific.

  Bivek and Theos pushed their way up to the second floor, reinforcements at their backside.

  “Theos!” The voice echoed in his ears.

  Suddenly, he was yanked backwards, tumbling down the stairs and smashing into his own men. This is it, he thought, and suddenly the fear of death gripped him.

  Devos helped him up. The world swirled around him, that ghastly scream echoing in his ears. He looked at where he had once stood; in his place, Enk was leaning against the bannister squealing like a pig as the oil burned at his flesh.

  Theos couldn’t move. Tears came to his eyes, and he thought to reach out, but his arms were like boulders, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t move them. “Enk…,” he went to say, but all he could manage was a squeak.

  Kraos pushed him aside and hauled their leader down the steps, the mouldering flesh parting beneath his grip. Enk cried a noise so unnerving, so harsh, so deafening that Theos thought to weep at its sound.

  “Not yet!” Devos shoved him forward. “Do not stop until we reach the top!”

  Theos opened his mouth wide and screamed as loud as his voice would allow him. He felt the burning of his tears. It hurt him to open his eyes. But I must push forward, I mustn’t stop now. He mustered all of his strength and pushed up the stairs, his eyes still burning from the tears, and he vomited into the palms of his hands, but he hadn’t the dignity to care. Nerrigal has abandoned me. His courage was gone, but he continued with leaden feet and paced into the reception chamber.

  A balcony encircled the room, and again the Noconyx were throwing oil and pitch at them. Metal scraped against metal and muskets blasted from above, but above all, the screams bounced off the walls and frightened him. No other sound was relevant.

  Men tore bookshelves from the walls and used them to climb up the balcony. Bivek led the assault, fearless, never cowering as he sent the enemies to their deaths
.

  Devos and a group of Raurs were kicking and slamming against a studded door that barely budged.

  Everyone was busy around him. They all knew their duties, and they did them, as far as Theos could discern, without hesitation.

  Somebody brushed past him. “I need you over here,” Mauro said, motioning for him to follow.

  Theos exhaled and followed him to a slit in the wall. “With what? What’re we to do?”

  “Lift me up.” Mauro held onto a torch. “I think I can fit through.”

  Theos bent over and lifted the chief by his feet. Mauro held onto the edges of the slit and pulled himself forward, his armor scraping against the stone, just making it through.

  Theos turned to witness the battle. Bivek, Enos, and dozens of other rebels, were atop the balcony, slicing or throwing down the Noconyx soldiers.

  Devos continued to throw himself at the studded door.

  Theos looked around for his mace, having dropped it someplace, somehow. He spotted it at the main entrance, snatched it up, and ran for the door, slamming the mace against it with all his might.

  The door creaked and cracked, opening enough for the men to crawl through. Devos went in first and Theos followed, other men coming in behind them.

  Another door awaited them at the top of the staircase, but Mauro had opened it before they reached it. They took a turn and were onto the balcony.

  Bivek and his followers were pushing the remaining Noconyx towards those who had battered down the door.

  Theos and the others rushed up behind the enemy and cut through them until they were inches away from their allies on the other side.

  The room was now devoid of the noises that mattered. The alliance had taken control of the reception chamber, but there were three floors still above them.

  Mauro was commanding his men to wait for further orders. “We’re safe here for the time being.”

  Theos ran down the staircase and out the reception chamber, pushing aside Raurian and Mesallian soldiers, leaping down the steps until he reached the bottom floor. Wounded soldiers were strewn about in every direction he looked.

  Marsi was pouring water into Enk’s mouth.

  Enk’s chest and arms were burned along with a portion of his neck; a few drops of oil had splashed onto his face. “How do we fair?” His voice was strained.

  “We’ve taken the second floor…,” Theos said. “I’m so sorry.” He gripped his forehead.

  “Don’t be sorry….” Enk closed his eyes. “Tell Enos to follow the chief’s command. I don’t care what retort he has; it’s an order.” He squirmed.

  Theos looked at Marsi. “Is he gonna make it?”

  “I believe so.” Marsi raised his right shoulder. “I called for what seems like a dozen medics.”

  “Leave me….” Enk tried to point at the reception chamber, but his face cringed, and his arm dropped. “Fight.”

  Theos nodded. He climbed back up the stairs, his legs heavy from fatigue.

  The Orynaurian nectors had organized themselves outside the balcony’s central door, flanked by Mesals on one side and Raurian spearmen on the other. The door was mostly black but had been painted with two white iguanas in its center.

  “Are you ready to do it all again?” Devos asked. “I expect it only gets worse from here.”

  “I don’t think it can get any worse….”

  They both glanced at the thunderous footsteps above them.

  The nectors were the first through the doorway, and Theos found himself in the middle of the fray.

  When they entered onto the third floor, they found, despite their fear and anxiety, an empty chamber, and surrounding it were dozens of doors. There were captives in some, and of those captives, half had been mutilated and rendered useless. Mercy was provided to those too weak to stand.

  Enos and Vessi rescued Magistrate Alena’s murderer from one of the rooms.

  “Leave—run outta here as fast as you can,” Vessi told Auron. “Everybody wants you dead, from the congregation to the rest of the Mesallian army. Run and don’t ever look back.”

  Without a moment of contemplation, Auron fled down the stairs.

  Bivek lead a colossal man from the darkness of an adjoining room. “Look what I’ve found,” he said, pushing the man onto his knees.

  “Desoru,” Mauro said to himself. “Nice to see you. I imagine I’m the last face you wanted to see right now.”

  “I never did care for it.” Desoru’s sight lingered for a moment on Bivek. “I was sworn by oath to fight for Ritek—but he is a fraud.” He turned his gaze to Mauro. “Let me fight for you. Allow me to seek my revenge, and I swear it beneath my personal god—I shall never betray you.”

  “A nector never betrays his oath,” Bivek said. “Let’s kill him and be done with it.”

  “Eryek was my chief.”

  “I’ve done very well by myself, doing the exact opposite of everything you say,” Mauro said, pointing his index finger at nothing in particular. “If you get the urge to betray me, just remember who you’re surrounded by.” He tossed a sword to Desoru.

  “I don’t give a fuck who I’m surrounded by. There are only two men I wish to kill, and you are neither of them.” Desoru wrapped his charred fingers around the hilt of the sword.

  “Where’s Ritek?”

  “I’ve not seen him since the Mesals betrayed the congregation.” Desoru pushed Bivek away and stood. “We both fled when it was obvious we had lost. The congregation captured me and confined me to this hellhole.”

  “Very well,” said Mauro. “Onto the next floor we go.”

  Theos was again relieved when they made their way to the next floor, but there were no windows here, and he strained his eyes to peer through the darkness. His boots caused a scratching sound beneath his gait; it felt like he was walking on sand. He bent over and swiped the particles into his hand, trying to pinpoint the origin of the black powder, and suddenly the realization was upon him.

  “Gunpowder!”

  Before they could react, patches of gunpowder exploded and sent men flying into the walls. Theos jumped onto a crate and covered his face with his arms. Explosives were being dropped from holes in the ceiling.

  In an instant, the room was a hellish inferno, and men were charging for the wayward entrance, beating on a door that lead to the next floor.

  Theos had blacked out.

  Suddenly, he was banging on the door with his mace, Len and Kraos to his right.

  Theos took a step backward and swung again. He could see that Len’s left arm was burnt and that his shirt had been fused to his skin. “Len…. Your arm.”

  Len glanced down at his arm. “What? That? Just a flesh wound.”

  Theos’ arms and wrists ached from the recoil, but he refused to let his weakness overcome him. He could hear the screams behind him, and he willed to save every man he could.

  They knocked the door down and ushered in the survivors of the inferno. Nectors rushed past them, their breastplates red from heat; one of them had tried taking his off, his chest burning from the metal, but he couldn’t withstand the searing of his palms.

  By the time the soldiers had entered onto the fourth floor, they were grievous and angry. Civilians were huddled together, most of them children. Some Noconyx musketeers had been stationed around them, and when the Raurs made their way to the throng, they cut through silk and armor without discernment, putting hundreds of defenseless people to death.

  Theos watched on in horror at the evil of men.

  Even Devos seemed disgusted at their actions, but nobody said a word of protest, and Theos wondered if anybody else cared or if they were as him, afraid to speak against it.

  Blood flowed around their feet and dripped down the staircase. Theos watched a stream part around his boots, and he shifted his sight to follow its path. A boy, prepubescent, had found his way to the staircase and was standing there watching the onslaught, crying at who must’ve been his mother taking an ax to the skull.

/>   Theos willed to reach out for the boy, but he never moved at that impulse or the next, and he apathetically watched as Desoru beheaded the boy and threw his corpse atop the others. The head had smashed against the floor and thence tumbled down the steps. Theos went to retrieve it, for what reason he didn’t know; he reunited the head with the body, a gesture that to him seemed pointless yet humane.

  Theos prepared himself for the fifth and final floor, moving behind Enos as they ascended the spiral staircase. There was no type of barricade to block them, and when they had finished their climb, a thousand musketeers were there waiting for them.

  Theos threw himself onto the ground. He heard a thousand gunshots being fired at once.

  The nectors kept to the edge of the walls, spreading out and leaving the center empty. Orynaurian musketeers rushed into the room’s center and shot their six volleys in a matter of seconds. The swordsmen charged at the remaining Noconyx.

  Theos spotted the chancellor as he ran to the outer balcony. Bivek followed him out and shoved a blade into his abdomen.

  Again, Theos had entered and awoken from a daze.

  “Have you any final words?” Mauro asked, fidgeting with a blade before resting it on the chancellor’s shoulders.

  “We are only the vanguard, my son. The motherland shall not forget this day, nor shall the goddesses forget such treason.”

  “Nor do I wish them to,” Mauro said. “I shall never stop until every drop of Noconyx blood has been sipped by the earth.”

  “I do not doubt that.”

  Bivek placed his boot upon the back of Surkin’s skull and pushed him onto the stone. Mauro tried to behead him in one swoop but was too weak; he hacked at the neck five times before severing it. He snatched the head and walked to the edge of the tower. Raising the head above his own, he yelled; “Victory!”

  Thousands of men cheered at once, from the courtyard below, from behind him on the balcony, from every floor of the tower.

  A stream of green was rushing out from the forest, banners flown by men in glistening armor.

  Devos pointed at them. “Is that…?”