Defend Karuk Page 4

  Chapter Four: The Fortification of Karuk

  Preparations began at once. There would be no time for the Reclaimers to recuperate after their long and punishing march through sun-baked Calclaska and parched Arcon. Even so, the Reclaimers did not object. They were hardy men and immeasurably loyal to their superior officers. So Optimus outlined his plan to his Lieutenant, Meridon, who then set about bawling orders and getting the lads to work.

  First, the wall. They were to build a defensive perimeter around the village, as tall and sturdy as they could manage. For building material, the villagers’ huts would have to be sacrificed. The outermost huts would be torn down entirely, smashed apart with sledgehammers and rams, and their remains scavenged to build a wall around the remaining huts. Many huts were to be half-felled, with one of their walls left standing to form part of the perimeter wall, and the roof and remaining walls used for rubble to build the rest of it. Most of the buildings inside the wall were also to be demolished for building materials, leaving only the Mausoleum and some small chapels standing.

  The village of Karuk was to be sacrificed, then, to protect the Mausoleum. But these demolished buildings alone would not provide enough stone to build the wall, so Optimus commandeered the peasants’ carts, mules and oxen, and teams of Reclaimers and villagers were sent into the hills to collect rocks. It would be a long and gruelling journey, hauling rocks over great distances, day after day.

  With his orders in motion to build the wall, Optimus turned his thoughts to gathering provisions. The Reclaimers’ baggage train arrived soon after the soldiers, a convoy of carts and wagons laden with provisions and spare arms and armour. The provisions were to be stored in the crypts. The coffins of the martyrs would have to be moved – piled up on top of each other and crammed into as few rooms as possible, leaving the rest of the catacombs to house the food and water. The villagers’ supplies, hoarded in cellars, would also be commandeered, and rationed out amongst the Reclaimers as slowly as they dare given the exertions of their labour. They had to be prepared for a siege. Khalim himself was surely too rash for such a strategy, but if they were unlucky he might entrust the razing of Karuk to a more canny subordinate.

  Meridon kept the Reclaimers in line. They were disciplined and devoted men, and none protested his orders. They set to their hard labour, discarding their heavy armour for now and taking up their hammers and wheelbarrows.

  The villagers were less compliant as they watched their homes being torn down and their store rooms plundered, or were put to hard labour by their militant conquerors. Sabin took it upon herself to marshal the villagers – assuaging their complaints, giving them a clip round the ear when they needed it, sending her priestesses around the village with water for the parched labourers. The elderly priests, Meset and Batu, were too philosophical and even-keeled to put themselves about in an argument and so mainly kept themselves to themselves, chipping in with prayers and counsel where they could. Lugon, meanwhile, was beset on all sides by the complaints of his flock, and he went this way and that in despair as he saw Karuk being torn down before his very eyes.

  Optimus paced around the perimeter of Karuk. He watched as the earliest precursor of the wall began to take shape. First an outline of rubble, then, gradually, larger rocks were added, and he could picture what the wall might like look with a week’s hard labour.

  Lugon shook his head in disbelief as he saw the Reclaimers tearing down one of the huts that would be part of the wall. Even as they did so its wizened resident, a prune-faced old woman, sat in her rocking chair with a face like thunder. A gaggle of peasants followed him around as he stormed about the place, besieging him with their complaints.

  “They’ve taken my ox to gather stones! They’ll break ‘er back, sure as like, and I’ll starve to death without ‘er!”

  “They’ve torn down me house! Turfed me out of house and home, me an’ me old ma!”

  “I was saving that mutton for me wedding! What are we to eat now? I can’t serve turnips to the in-laws, they’ll have me nads off!”

  The complainants slunk off fast enough when the furious Lugon made his way to confront Optimus.

  “King Khalim can stay in his comfortable palace in Azur.” the young priest snapped “You and your men are doing a fine job of wreaking Karuk as it is. You’re turfing people out of their homes, ruining their livelihoods. They’re humble folk here, Reclaimer. They don’t have much. And in a single day you’ve taken it all away from them. And the tombs…The tombs! The ninety two martyrs have rested peacefully for two hundred years, and in a single day you’ve turfed them all out of their resting places, stacked them up like bales of hay!”

  Optimus smiled and put a warm hand on Lugon’s shoulder. The young priest could have sworn in frustration – Optimus’ congeniality was infuriating. “Dear Lugon, I am not here to protect the houses of those who live in Karuk. I am here to protect the resting places of those who are dead. And I will do what is necessary. Do you see?”

  “See? Do I see? You bronze-plated oaf!” snapped Lugon.

  Batu rushed over when he saw the shade of red Lugon had turned, and he put a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Come, Lugon, let us leave Optimus to it, shall we?” he said.

  “And let him destroy Karuk? No! When I was made priest of Karuk I took on certain responsibilities…” he said, trailing off as Batu led him away being barraged by his grievances. As Lugon started berating Batu, Meset approached Optimus with a scroll under his arm. He opened it up and showed it to him.

  “I found the scroll you asked for, Optimus…It is a map of the catacombs.” The scroll showed the layout of the sprawling catacombs in relation to the village. “They span twice as much ground as the village itself. There is more of Karuk below ground than above it!” he chuckled.

  Optimus scanned the nearby building to get his bearings, and then studied the map closely. “Thank you, kind Meset.” he said as he pored over the map, and he began to point out key locations. “I will leave these buildings standing…I will have my men dig tunnels beneath each building leading into the catacombs. That way, if the Arcites bombard us with arrows and siege weapons, we can take cover underground.”

  Meset smiled and nodded, politely. He wasn’t much of a tactician, but he was happy to be doing something helpful.

  “Optimus.” said Meridon, arriving. “I think you should see this.”

  Optimus and Meset duly followed as Meridon led them to one of the outermost huts which was in the process of being torn down. Several Reclaimers and the sheepish homeowner, a scraggly peasant, were milling about there. When Optimus arrived he soon saw what all the fuss was about. An open hatch led down to a pitch black cellar.

  “Bring me a torch.” Optimus instructed.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sire.” said Meridon. He nodded to one of the Reclaimers who was standing near a small wooden barrel. He opened the lid to reveal viscous black liquid.

  “There’s heaps of the stuff down there, sire.” said Meridon.

  Optimus turned to Meset, who dipped his finger into the liquid and tasted it. “Oil!” he gasped. “It burns faster and more fiercely than any kindling.”

  “What is it used for?” Optimus asked him.

  Meridon knew something of the matter. “The heathens use it to burn their pyres. It fills the brazier of Venhotek on his foul altars.” he said, turning his grim eyes upon the peasant.

  “I don’t ask what they use if for, sir, honest! I just gather the stuff from vats in the hills and sell it for fair coin. Fair coin for honest work!” he protested.

  Optimus thought this over and then gave his instruction. “Gather it all in the catacombs. It could prove useful to us.”

  Meanwhile the Reclaimers continued their labour building the wall. Drumnos was keen to impress, and he worked tirelessly, heaving piles of rocks and boulders from the demolished buildings to his section of the wall.

  “You’re new, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around bef
ore.” said one of his fellow Reclaimers with a smile.

  “Yes sir.” said Drumnos, stopping what he was doing and standing to attention. He was a tall young lad, more slender-built than most of the others, with a slim face. Though he was taller than most he hadn’t fully grown into his body yet. His stance, when he wasn’t standing to attention for no good reason, was a bit hunched and apologetic.

  Imperios smiled and chuckled. “There’s no need to salute me, friend. I don’t outrank you. I am Imperios VI.” he said, extending a hand. He had a warm smile and seemed to have an ease about him. He didn’t look all that much older than Drumnos – mid-twenties perhaps.

  “Drumnos XVIII.” said Drumnos, shaking his hand and then looking down at his feet, awkwardly.

  “We do get a lot of Drumnoses!” Imperios chuckled.

  “There are famines at the time of year when Drumnos is the given name. People abandon their children when they cannot feed them.” said Drumnos, though immediately he sensed he had taken their conversation to a needlessly dark place.

  Imperios laughed it off. “Come, let me help you.” he said, and as they spoke he helped Drumnos hauling rocks from the demolished hut to a slowly rising patch of wall. “Is this your first time out on campaign?”

  “Yes, it is. It will be an honour to stand beside my shield-brothers against Hatra’s foes at last!”

  “Not before we’ve built this wall, I hope! I remember my first campaign. It was glorious indeed, and exciting, but it can also be a testing time for any young Reclaimer.”

  “I am determined not to let Optimus and my shield-brothers down.”

  “Is this the first time you’ve been away from Arkataka?” asked Imperios, trying his best to make the lad feel at ease.

  “Yes, this is my first time away from Arkataka ever since I was left there as a baby.”

  “Thanks to one of those pesky famines no doubt!” chuckled Imperios.

  “Yes. No doubt.” said Drumnos, not getting the joke. “You have fought many battles?”

  “Seven.”

  “You’re a shield-bearer?”

  “A lancer.” said Imperios, with just a hint of self-satisfied pride.

  “I too hope to become a lancer one day. I have a long throw, but I must first prove myself to Optimus.”

  “Right, right.” said Imperios as he caught sight of someone. “You’ve got to meet my friend Parthax. Parthax!” he called.

  Drumnos turned to see the newcomer. Parthax and Imperios smiled broadly as they clasped hands and slapped each other on the back. Parthax was a giant of a man, a head taller than Imperios and even taller than Drumnos. His biceps were huge, and his shoulders were thick and triangular.

  “Parthax, you’ve got to meet my new friend, Drumnos XVIII.”

  Drumnos stood to attention again for no good reason. “It is an honour, sir.”

  At first Parthax was a bit dumbfounded by his needless reverence. Eventually he smiled and slapped Drumnos playfully on the shoulder, almost knocking him off balance. “Nice to meet you, Drumnos. XVIII huh? We do get a lot of Drumnoses.”

  “It is because of the famines, people…”

  “It’s Drumnos’ first campaign.” said Imperios, moving on swiftly.

  “Good to have you with us, Drumnos.” said Parthax. “I’m Parthax VII.”

  “I know you name, sir. I see you in training. You are the best shield-breaker of all the Reclaimers!” Drumnos gushed, and then looked a little embarrassed.

  “You can hardly miss him, can you?” chuckled Imperios, punching Parthax on the arm.

  Their conversation fell silent as a fourth person arrived. It was a woman no less – one of the young priestesses. She arrived in silence, with her head bowed and her gaze fixed on the ground ahead of her. She presented them with a bowl of water. The three men had their eyes fixed on her, not in a lascivious way, but rather with curiosity and a bit of suspicion, as they passed the bowl between them and took sips of the cool water. When they handed the bowl back to the priestess she bowed her head, turned away and walked back to the small group of priestesses and peasant girls who were loitering nearby. They seemed to be watching them from afar, talking amongst themselves, giggling occasionally.

  “Strange looking creatures.” opined Parthax, with a suspicious squint. “They have some unusual parts on them. What do you suppose they’re for?”

  “It’s a mystery to me, Parthax. Strange indeed.” said Imperios. “I see them sometimes on campaign, but only from a distance. I’ve never had cause to deal with them.”

  “Why do you suppose they are looking at us? What do you suppose they are saying?” said Parthax.

  Imperios shrugged. “Perhaps they intend to have sex with us?”

  Drumnos look aghast. “It is forbidden!” he gasped.

  “For the priestesses, aye, but not for the weavesses and shepherd’s daughters.” said Imperios, with a sly grin.

  “They must surely be aware that it is forbidden for Reclaimers to engage in earthly pleasures?” said Drumnos, who was looking a bit queasy.

  Parthax and Imperios looked at each other and smirked. They decided to have a little fun with him.

  “I don’t know, Drumnos.” said Imperios. “Even if they know it’s forbidden, what’s to stop them from having sex with us anyway?”

  “Can…Can they do that?” gasped Drumnos. “Can they sex a man without his say-so?”

  “So I hear.” said Parthax, trying to keep a straight face. “They say a woman can send her sex to hunt down a man of her choosing. Steer clear of them, Drumnos. A handsome young lad like you…”

  “Thank you for the warning, Parthax…I shall indeed take caution.” said Drumnos, quickly turning away as he made eye contact with one of the watching women.

  Imperios and Parthax tried to stifle their laughter, but then as the ladies returned to their duties, taking water to the weary and so on, another newcomer caught Imperios’ eye.

  “Drumnos, have you had the unique pleasure of meeting Mamatu IV yet?” he said with a smirk.

  Drumnos gasped. “Mamatu IV? I have heard tell of his deeds. He is the most daring swordsman of all the Reclaimers!”

  Imperios nodded in his direction, and the three lads watched Mamatu as he trained. He paced about in a small clearing whirling his blades in his hands – two straight, bronze stabbing swords. He moved like a panther, each blow dextrous and smooth, yet razor-quick like a viper’s bite. He was a bit older than the lads. A veteran, but not fully ‘grizzled’ yet. Even so he sported a deep, jagged battle scar that ran all the way from cheek to chin, cutting both lips in two. His face was otherwise fierce and stern.

  “What’s all this then?” bawled a hoarse voice, and at once they all recognised it as Meridon’s. “Taking a little break, are we? Are you planning to fight King Khalim’s legions lying down, so that this meagre pile of rocks might serve as a wall?”

  “No sir.” said the lads in unison as they quickly got back to hauling rocks. Drumnos was mortified, and he tried to hide himself behind Parthax’s substantial frame so that Meridon wouldn’t clock his face.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?” Meridon barked at Mamatu, who stopped his training drills and stood to attention, though he kept his swords in his hands. “Think you’re above hauling rocks, do you, Mamatu IV?” Meridon harangued.

  “I am a soldier, not a labourer.” Mamatu growled beneath his breath.

  “You are neither!” howled Meridon, getting so close to Mamatu’s face that the swordsman could feel his breath and spittle. “You are a Reclaimer, and so you follow orders given to you by the High Priest, by Optimus and by your Lieutenant! If we tell you to fight, you fight! If we tell you to build a wall, you build a wall! If we tell you to crawl into a cave and live out your days as a feckless hermit, then that is what you will do! Do you understand?”

  Mamatu looked him directly in the eye. Mamatu’s eyes were black and empty, like one of those deep-sea fish that occasionally get washed up on the shores o
f Arcon. He paused for as long as he dare before answering the Lieutenant. “Yes sire.”

  “I suppose you want to fight King Khalim’s legions head on, face to face, do you? You want to prove what those swords can do?” Meridon seethed.

  “That would be my preference, for what it’s worth. I’d like to fight them out in the open. Cut them down like the rabid dogs they are. Make them pay for their crimes.”

  “Hmm. Noble. But if Karuk is sacrificed for your indulgence, what then?”

  “If Karuk is to fall, better we take as many of the enemy to hell with us as we can.”

  “You love bloodshed too much, Mamatu IV.” scolded Meridon. “I wonder if it exceeds your love of Hatra?”

  Again, Mamatu waited as long as he dare before saying “No sire.”

  “Then get rid of those swords and get back to hauling rocks!” howled Meridon. Mamatu did as he was told, though he seemed to be in no rush to get back to his manual labour.

  When he did, he did so in silence and apart from everyone else. Drumnos was slightly star struck as he and Mamatu hauled rocks from the same pile, and he thought of introducing himself, or telling him about the stories he’d heard of his exploits. But as he was about to speak, and as he and Mamatu made eye contact, the swordsman scowled, snorted back some snot and spat it out on the floor in a big ball of phlegm. Drumnos, not the most emotionally intelligent lad in the world, nonetheless took it to mean he was in no mood to talk.

  Drumnos continued his labours throughout the day. It was exhausting work, and the sun was high and burned bright. He set to helping unload the baggage train – taking the urns, chests and crates into the catacombs for storage.

  He had just hauled a crate into one of the rooms down there when his curiosity got the better of him. He had a quick look around some of the many tunnels and the rooms that sprouted off of them. He saw the coffins of the martyrs, stacked unceremoniously on top of one another, and he bowed his head and thanked them with a prayer. As he was about to set off back to the baggage train to continue his laborious task he heard something.

  It was a prayer, but spoken unlike any he had heard before. It lacked the martial gruffness of the Reclaimer war-chants, and yet sounded nothing like the rambling sermons of the priests back in Arkataka. Instead it was spoken softly, whispered almost, in a dreamlike voice. Drumnos edged closer to the room the prayer was coming from, and he could see the orange glow of candlelight coming from within.

  As he peered in he saw a figure in orange robes bowed before an altar. “Show me what I should do, mother Hatra…Let me know how best I can serve you. I am yours, and will do all I can.” came the soft, soothing words.

  Drumnos was transfixed – he stood there and watched as she prayed. He tried not to make a sound, but his sandal must have scraped on the floor, because Jamila gasped and turned around in a flash.

  She had been taken by surprise, but she soon regained herself and smiled. She stood before Drumnos, head bowed.

  “You startled me a little. I’ve finished my prayer if you’d like to use the altar.”

  Drumnos was stunned, paralysed almost as he saw her beauty for the first time. She seemed other-worldly to him, alien, and yet also divine. He felt numb and said nothing.

  Jamila laughed nervously. “My name is Jamila. I’m a priestess. What’s your name?”

  Drumnos eventually managed to speak, though his words were hurried and stuttering. “My name is Drumnos XVIII. It is nice to meet you but I do not want to have sex.”

  Jamila was taken aback at first, but then she laughed nervously again and bowed her head. “I should be going.”

  Drumnos said nothing as he watched her leave, his eyes transfixed by the strange, delicate creature. Before she turned down the tunnel and out of sight he called out to her.

  “You are a priestess. That means you cannot have sex. So I have nothing to fear from you!” he said, trying to sound jovial.

  Jamila turned back and smiled awkwardly. Then she was gone.

  Drumnos stood there dumbfounded for a little while longer. He shook his head, and then knelt down at the altar to pray, but found himself unable to think of anything other than the girl. He had never felt such odd sensations as the ones she had given him. It must have been the divinity of Hatra shining through her, he reasoned.

  When he was done he went back to work – hauling provisions and rocks. But as he did so he was distracted. Light-headed. He was smiling to himself but didn’t quite know why. And Jamila, of course, was on his mind throughout. Those eyes. That smile.

  Jamila, for her part, paid the encounter little mind as she quickly returned to her duties. She went from place to place, bringing water to the weary, offering prayers, trying to assuage and calm the villagers when they came to her with their grievances. She was going to refill her basin of water when someone grabbed her abruptly by the shoulders. She gasped and shot upright, but when she saw that it was just Aysha sneaking up on her she put on a mock-stern expression, and they both broke out in laughter.

  “You’ve got to stop doing that, Aysha! You’re the second person who’s crept up on me today, and I’ve had enough of it!” said Jamila, trying to sound serious but not entirely succeeding.

  “Come on Jamila, I’m just trying to have some fun. We’ll find little enough of it from our new guests from what I’ve seen so far.”

  “They are warriors, Aysha, not court jesters. Now I really should be getting back to my duties…”

  “Come on Jamila, take a break with me.” sighed Aysha, rolling her eyes. “Bringing water to these sourpuss soldiers is so boring. Most of them act like they’ve never seen a woman before. They look at me like I’m a bent merchant trying to sell them a lame mule or something. And I’ve been told I’ll have to help cook for them, too.”

  Jamila laughed aloud, then looked a little sheepish.

  “Come on Jamila, I’m not that bad at cooking!” laughed Aysha.

  Jamila smirked. “No, it’s just that…Maybe King Khalim doesn’t need to bring his army with him to Karuk. Your chickpea soup will see off the Reclaimers soon enough!”

  Aysha couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I knew you had a cruel sense of humour in there somewhere, beneath all that butter-wouldn’t-melt piety! Come on Jamila, let’s just take a five minute break. One of the girls told me the Reclaimers rub oil on each other before their afternoon exercises. That’s something I’d like to see!”

  The girls giggled, but they were soon silenced as stern-faced Sabin came seemingly out of nowhere to put an end to their chat. “Don’t you ladies have work to do?” she snapped. “Or would you rather spend all day loitering about, talking about boys, while everyone else does the hard work?”

  “Yes, your grace. I’ll return to my duties at once.” bowed Jamila, blushing as she turned back to refilling her bowl.

  Aysha didn’t have to answer to the old priestess, so she just folder her arms and looked away.

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, girl!” warned Sabin. “If your father hears of this he’ll give you a licking! You ought to steer clear of this one, Jamila. She’s a bad influence. A temptress, from what I’ve heard. Lacking in moral character.”

  Aysha turned to her with a furious glare, but again she said nothing. She didn’t have to explain herself to the stern old priestess. Jamila looked at Aysha, briefly, unsure of what to do. Aysha smiled at her and nodded, and so Jamila quickly returned to her duties. Aysha and Sabin kept their stern scowls trained on one another a while longer before the old priestess got back to business. When she was out of sight at last, Aysha too returned to her duties, though with somewhat less haste and enthusiasm, still smarting from Sabin’s insult.

  Drumnos would think about Jamila a lot over the coming days. The days were long and sweltering, and the work was tiring, so he was glad to have something to distract him from the pain in his limbs. He tried to catch a glance of her whenever she was near. He thought about approaching her, talking to her again. But he couldn’t bring
himself to do it. What would he say? She caught him looking at her a few times. When she did so she smiled and looked away. What did this mean? Was she thinking of him too?

  As the days wore on tension grew between the Reclaimers and the villagers. The Reclaimers had demolished their homes, commandeered their beasts of burden and their provisions, and they were eating them out of house and home. When night fell, and the cold air bit the skin, the villagers huddled around their own fires and cast spiteful glances at the feasting Reclaimers. They pitched their tents separately from the foreign soldiers and kept their distance from them.

  Except, that is, for a few of the younger women. They made a game of finding excuses to loiter near the Reclaimers as they worked, ate and trained. They were tall, mighty men, and they were soldiers, soldiers of Hatra no less. There was an élan to them that was sorely lacking from the local stock of shepherds and small-time traders. No matter that they were sworn to celibacy – the more confident young women fancied their chances of working their way around that.

  The Reclaimers for their part largely ignored the villagers. They bossed them about, talked down to them, and were sometimes rude and brusque, thinking that their devotion to Hatra made them somehow superior to these civilians. And when women made advances on them, they usually sent them packing with Hatran sermons ringing in their ears. But not all Reclaimers were so terse.

  As they ate one cold evening, sat around their campfires, Imperios caught Aysha looking at him. She was with a group of her friends around their own fire. She smiled at him. Imperios, not quite knowing what else to do, smiled back. She immediately seemed to be laughing, and then she shared a joke with her friends and they all laughed too, making Imperios blush.

  Parthax saw him looking the way of the women. He scoffed and punched him on the arm.

  “You’re getting distracted by all these women. You’ve barely touched your mutton. That’s not like you at all.”

  Imperios shrugged it off. “There’s no reason we can’t be congenial.”

  “And let me guess which of those ladies you’d like to be congenial with, hmm? The auburn haired one, is it?”

  Imperios shrugged as comically as he could. “My take is, there’s no harm in getting to know them a little. Learning a bit of their kind. It could prove of tactical importance.”

  “Tactical importance?” said Parthax, with a raised eyebrow.

  “Indeed. I have heard tell of tribes of warrior women, barbarians who fight bare-breasted and naked. Perhaps if we learn a bit of these women – their weak points, their fears – we can deploy this knowledge to our advantage in combat.”

  Parthax briefly cast his eye over the girls, then back to his friend, and he spoke in a hushed tone. “Speaking of bare breasts…I asked one of the lads about them earlier. He says they’re for making milk, like the udders of a cow.”

  Imperios’ brow furrowed. “Human milk? Why should a human be milked, when Hatra made us cows?”

  Parthax shrugged.

  “I mean…You wouldn’t ride a man into battle, would you? We have horses for that. You wouldn’t yoke a man to a plough. That’s what oxen are for. So why milk a woman?”

  Parthax snickered. “You seem to have taken this pretty badly.”

  “It just makes no sense, that’s all. I’m not sure I believe it. This fella you asked…Maybe he’s having us on.”

  “You could ask the auburn haired girl to confirm or deny it!” snickered Parthax, as they turned their attention back to their dinner.

  The Reclaimers had occupied Karuk for four days when the lone rider arrived. The wall was looking less like a series of mounds of rubble and more like a defensible perimeter. Still, there was much work still to do if it was to keep the legions of Arcon at bay.

  “Optimus…” said a soldier, out of breath, running up to him as he was overseeing some sparring exercises. “A lone rider comes from the north.”

  Optimus nodded, and followed the soldier to the northernmost point of the perimeter wall. Meridon was already there with a gaggle of troops. Optimus looked to the distant horizon, and he saw a single rider approaching. He was very distant, and so he couldn’t make him out in any great detail, but the shimmering of the sun and his long shadow made him look far larger than he truly was.

  “We can’t tell if he’s one of ours or one of theirs yet, sire.” said Meridon.

  Optimus nodded, rubbing his chin in through. “Do you suppose he’s one of Khalim’s scouts?”

  “Unlikely. They wouldn’t travel alone. They’d be easy prey for bandits.”

  True enough, as the rider came gradually closer, they saw that he was a Calclaskan. He wore a white tunic, stained with blood and mud. He had no armour or weapons on him. There was a wound running from his left shoulder half way down his breast, dressed in gore-red rags. He seemed to be slumped in the saddle. Perhaps he was dead?

  No. Osuna was alive. Somehow he’d survived the battle, and the terrible flight through the desert which followed. As his weary eyes caught sight of the Reclaimers watching on from the hastily-built wall of Karuk he allowed himself to collapse entirely. As he fell from his horse into the dusty scrub, the starving, parched beast whinnied and cantered off back the way it had come.

  It would be several hours before he came to. At first, all he could see were blurs. As his vision slowly recovered he saw that he was in some kind of crypt, lit by torches, lying on a pile of blankets on top of a stone slab. A priestess was beside him slowly feeding a bowl of water into his mouth. As he remembered his thirst he took hold of the bowl himself and took in deep glugs.

  Optimus took the bowl away from him and put it on the floor. He nodded at the priestess and she bowed and left. Meridon was with him, and the three priests filled out the room. Nobody else would be privy to what followed.

  “Who are you, boy?” asked Optimus, more sternly than usual.

  “My name is Osuna.” he said, his voice hoarse and weary. “I am a soldier. I fought in the army of Junto-General Praxos at the River Axi.” Osuna looked around the room again but he couldn’t fathom where he was. Why were there Reclaimers garrisoning a tiny village in the middle of the desert? “Where am I?” he spoke through parched lips.

  “Karuk.” said Meridon, tersely. His arms were folded and his stern glare did not avert from him.

  “There was a battle at the River Axi?” said Optimus.

  “You have not heard?” said Osuna.

  “Speak, boy.” commanded Optimus. “Tell us what happened.”

  Osuna told his story, but his voice was weary, and he did not relish revisiting these memories. “Khalim’s scouts spotted us heading for the river. He came, personally, with his whole army. They had mustered more of their strength than we had expected – we’d hoped he would still be consolidating his hold over central Arcon, defeating the hill-peoples still loyal to Hatra. No such luck.”

  “Praxos ordered us to hold them at the river. We did so. He brought the cavalry round to surround them. A rout broke out amongst the enemy, and we pressed on. We had Khalim in our sights…But we were intercepted, caught between Commander Hashur’s phrygists and Commander Nephys’ cataphracts. The line broke…”

  Immediately the priests’ faces dropped. Where before they had been hanging on his every word, now they were crestfallen, and they looked down at their feet in sorrow.

  “So you ran. You gave up the fight.” scoffed Meridon.

  “We were being slaughtered!” insisted Osuna, getting defensive.

  “What of Praxos? Did he survive the battle?” pressed Optimus.

  “I…I don’t know.” admitted Osuna. “I managed to seize a horse which had bolted loose of its rider. I fled with a band of battle-brothers. We fought off our pursuers, but by the time we had done so we were lost in the desert. After days of wandering, starved and parched, we were at each other’s throats. We decided to go our separate ways. I don’t know what happened to the others. I almost died three times in the battle…And I should have died in the d
esert. It’s a miracle that I found you.”

  Optimus shook his head and spoke in a stern tone. “Miracles are for the brave. You, boy, have benefited from nothing more than dumb luck. You may stay here until you have recovered. You will have food and water, and your wounds will be dressed. But as soon as you are strong enough to ride on, you will leave this place. Karuk is a place for heroes and martyrs. I will not tolerate a coward in my ranks. Is that understood, boy?”

  Osuna swelled with quilt, but also anger. Optimus hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen the carnage. The Reclaimers hadn’t been there at all – they had abandoned Calclaska’s army in her time of need, instead heading off into the desert on some fool’s errand that Osuna couldn’t comprehend. But he swallowed his pride and nodded.

  “I will address the men, and the good people of Karuk. They need to know that doom is coming for us.” said Optimus. For once Lugon did not object, simply nodding his head solemnly.

  And so the Reclaimers and the people of Karuk gathered once more around the central chapel of the Mausoleum. They listened with bated breath to Optimus’ fateful words.

  “Junto-General Praxos was defeated in battle by the hordes of King Khalim.” he said, and at once there were murmurings of consternation from the villagers. The Reclaimers remained silent, eager to hear Optimus’ words. “He has gathered a great army about him, and mustered Arcon’s best troops. I do not know what became of Praxos, and whether his army remains intact in some form.”

  “But what this means is that it is no longer a matter of ‘if’ King Khalim sends men to defile Karuk, but rather the question is ‘when’? And how many men, and of what quality, will he send?”

  “Your orders are unchanged, brave Reclaimers and humble townsfolk of Karuk. We had prepared for the worst, and now that the worst has come we shall be ready for it. Build the wall tall. Fill the crypts with provisions. That is all we can do.”

  They all returned to their duties soon enough. The townspeople were shaken – though they hoped to evacuate Karuk before Khalim’s army came to raze it, they would nonetheless become refugees. They would lose their homes. For the Reclaimers, it was business as usual. War, and glory, was just a little step closer.

  As Osuna lay in that cold, dingy crypt with only the light of a single candle for company, he drifted in and out of consciousness. He tossed and turned in his shallow sleep, never quite sure what was real and what was a dream. The events of the last few days haunted him – the horror of the battle. Of nearly drowning. Being crushed and suffocated. Being hunted down by Arcite horsemen. And then the endless slog through the desert beneath a fiery red sun, sucking the life out of him and his companions and driving them to madness. All the while his wound throbbed, and tore, and burst open…

  Osuna gasped as his eyes shot open. He reached out for whatever was touching him, and he grabbed Jamila’s arm. She gasped. Osuna regained himself, and looked into her big, innocent eyes.

  “Sorry.” he said, taking his hand off her arm. She was dressing his wound.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “No need to be.” he said, and she returned to dressing the wound. He winced as she tied the bandages, but he was milking it a little bit.

  “Sorry!”

  “No need.” he chuckled, then he coughed and spluttered, for there was no phlegm in his dry mouth. It felt like there was fire in his veins and he was sweating heavily. “Can I…Get some water?”

  “Yes! Yes of course.” she said, and she smiled as she handed him the bowl of water that was beside the stone slab he was using as a bed. He gulped it down, gladly, and lay back down for her to finish her work.

  Osuna enjoyed it. After weeks of marching, fighting and struggling for survival, he enjoyed feeling her soft hands against his skin. He looked into her eyes, and when she saw him looking she looked away and blushed.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” he said. She said nothing, she just smiled politely. “What’s your name?”

  “Jamila. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Osuna. Pleased to meet you, Jamila. Are you a priestess here in Karuk?”

  “Yes. I lead the prayers of the pilgrims. Sanctify the tombs. Make offerings to Hatra.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  She smiled. “It’s not usually quite as interesting as it is right now.”

  Osuna chuckled, and winced as his wound throbbed again. “I know what you mean. I have fought beside the Reclaimers before. They can be a little bit…Intense. Lost in their own world, you know?”

  “They fight for our freedom. For our god.” said Jamila, softly, as she finished off the bandaging.

  “Oh, I’m not criticising them. They’re good at what they do. The best. But they can be a little bit dogmatic.”

  Jamila chuckled as she gathered up the bloodied bandages. “That is an understatement.”

  “And my guess is, they are here to defend Karuk from King Khalim…And will fight to the last man?”

  “Yes, that is my understanding too. I’m sorry, Osuna, I have to leave you now. I have other duties I need to attend to. But I wish you a speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you, Jamila. Farewell.” said Osuna. He smiled at her, and she smiled too, blushing and looking down at the floor. She gave him one last glance as she left the room.

  Osuna was left feeling a lot perkier than he had done in a long while. He lay back and closed his eyes, and let a gentler sleep take him.

  The building of the wall continued apace, with Praxos’ defeat only adding to the urgency of the operation. However, as the wall grew over the coming days Optimus also allowed the men more time to engage in training manoeuvres – sparring, marches, formation drills and so on. Anything to keep spirits up and make sure boredom didn’t settle in.

  Imperios, as a lancer, took whatever spare time he could find to practice his spear-throwing. He set up a trio of hay-stuffed dummies on wooden posts in a clearing outside the walls and launched spears at them from increasing distances. He’d even made wicker shields for the dummies to hold. He rammed a few spears into the sand and set to throwing them. At first he didn’t realise he had an admirer.

  The spear flew, and it slammed into the shield of the nearest dummy, piercing the shield and impaling the dummy behind it.

  He yanked the second spear out of the sand and sized up the next dummy, which was further away. He launched the spear, and it flew in a swooping arc, and landed smack in the dummy’s sternum.

  Aysha applauded. Imperios turned round to see her sat on the wall, watching him train.

  “You don’t seem very pleased with that one. Why not? He’s not getting up from that!” she smiled.

  Imperios smiled back as he reached for the third spear. “I was aiming for the head.”

  Aysha held her breath as she watched him launch the third spear, which flew straight and true, and planted itself in the head of the third and farthest dummy, which promptly fell over.

  Aysha cheered and clapped her hands.

  “That’s more like it.” said Imperios, with a laugh.

  As he went to retrieve his spears Aysha jogged up beside him. “With a throw like that, you must be a lancer.”

  Imperios was impressed. “You know about Reclaimer battle formations?”

  “Mmmhmm. Your Order is famous. Legendary, really. I’m Aysha.”

  “Imperios.” he said, shaking her hand, before yanking his spear free of the first dummy’s shield.

  “Have you fought in many battles, Imperios?”

  “Seven.” he said, trying to sound casual about it and attempting a nonchalant shrug.

  “Wow! Who were you fighting? Barbarians? Heathen city-states?”

  “Savages mostly.” he said as he pulled his second spear free. “Wildmen of all colours, creeds and banners. Infidels all. And very dangerous.”

  “It must be so exciting, being in the heat of battle.” she said with a smile. Imperios found it hard to avert his gaze from her eyes.

  “Lesser sol
diers can be sent mad by the chaos and bloodshed…But we Reclaimers, we are taught to keep out cool even in the heat of battle.” he said, becoming aware that he was pushing out his biceps as he folded his arms. Realising that he was being daft, he excused himself and went to collect the third spear. “You must live an exciting life too, Aysha? To live in the very place where the martyrs are buried…”

  Aysha scoffed. “All we get here are pilgrims and shepherds. Nothing of importance has happened here since Jynset and the martyrs were buried.”

  “Still…To live on holy land! What do you do here?”

  “My father’s a shepherd. I help him sometimes. My mother’s trying to teach me to weave. But it all seems so…Unimportant.”

  Imperios shrugged. “People need meat and milk. They need clothes to keep them warm.”

  “But I wish I could do more. For Hatra, for Arcon you know. You fight in her name, to reclaim her lands from the heathens!” she gushed. “I wish I could do something like that.”

  “Err…Perhaps one day you will give birth to sons who will do the same?” said Imperious, trying to think of things that women are supposed to like doing, and giving birth was the first thing to spring to mind.

  Aysha scoffed and pouted as they strolled back from the dummies ready to repeat the drill, and Imperios deduced that he’d put a foot wrong somehow. These ‘women’ were proving harder to discern than he’d expected.

  “So is that to be my lot in life, Imperios?” sighed Aysha as he rammed his three spears into the ground ready to launch them at the dummies again. “To live out my days in some obscure village in the hills with a baby on each breast?”

  Imperios looked a bit dumbstruck for a moment. “Why would…Why would there be babies on your breasts? I am aware that breasts are the udders of women, but a man does not sup milk straight from the udder, so why ought a baby?”

  At first Aysha thought he was joking, but when she realised he was being genuine she burst out laughing. “And here I thought Reclaimers didn’t have a sense of humour! I’ll leave you to your target-practice, Imperios. So long.”

  She put her hand on his arm, briefly, before leaving. Imperios watch her leave. Only once she had climbed back over the wall did he shake his head and get back to his training.

  Back within the walls of Karuk, Jamila led an evening prayer for a dozen or so Reclaimers who huddled into one of the small chapels. She didn’t notice Drumnos amongst them, hanging on her every word.

  “In her light, with her love in your heart, go forth and do her work.” she finished, her voice soft and melodious as always, almost a whisper. She bowed her head, and the Reclaimers prostrated themselves before her and the altar of Hatra, and then set off to return to their duties. Jamila turned to gathering up the scrolls and icons on the altar when she released that one of the Reclaimers had remained behind. He was standing there in the chapel, not saying anything, but smiling at her.

  She turned to him with her usual, awkward smile. She found it uncomfortable when there were eyes on her, but as a public figure she knew she’d have to grow accustomed to it eventually. She recognised him as the guy from the crypt a few days ago…But for the life of her she couldn’t remember his name.

  “Hello there. I’m sorry, what was…”

  “It was a beautiful prayer.” he said, still smiling gormlessly.

  “Thank you.”

  “Your voice is very beautiful. It is like the sound the wind makes as it rustles through grass, but more beautiful. When I hear Hatra speaking to me, I now hear her speaking in your voice!” he said, beaming from ear to ear.

  “That’s very nice of you to say so…I’m very sorry, I’ve forgotten your name!” she chuckled.

  “Drumnos XVIII. Your name is Jamila.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Good memory!”

  “I would never forget your name, Jamila.”

  “Erm…Can I help you with something, Drumnos?”

  “Well, I just wanted to say that when I said four days ago that I did not want to have sex with you, I didn’t want you to think that I thought that you’d do that, because you are a priestess after all.”

  “Think nothing off it, Drumnos.” she said, looking away, embarrassed.

  “I also wondered if you would say a prayer for me. You have such a beautiful way with words! I enjoyed your prayer just now, but I’d love to hear another one.”

  “Very well, but I have other things I need to do, Drumnos, so I’ll have to keep it brief.”

  Drumnos was grinning from ear to ear. He didn’t say another word, so Jamila closed her eyes began her prayer. “Mother Hatra, let wisdom and strength guide Drumnos XVIII in serving you. See that no harm comes to him, unless this is part of your divine plan.”

  She opened her eyes to see Drumnos still smiling. “That was beautiful, Jamila.” he gushed.

  “Thank you.” she said as she bundled the last of the scrolls into her arms. There was a long, awkward silence as he stood there, half-expectantly, and waited for him to excuse himself. “Was there anything else?” she prompted.

  “Jamila…You inspire me. I can see Hatra in you. When I think of you, I feel her revelation within me. I feel like you have brought me closer to her.”

  “That’s very nice of you to say so, Drumnos. I really have to go now. Farewell.”

  “Farewell.” he said, and he watched as she left. “I will come back for another prayer tomorrow!” he called after her, and she turned and smiled politely before leaving. When she was gone, Drumnos was left to kneel before the altar and pray to Hatra, thanking her for bringing him and Jamila together to share in their love of her.