Defend Karuk Page 5

  Chapter Five: The Coming of Doom

  The days passed. Rocks were hauled. Training manoeuvres were executed. Prayers were offered.

  Drumnos sought prayer with Jamila each day, and she politely complied, but otherwise she tried to keep her distance from the boy. She could be naïve at times, but even she could see he was besotted. She saw the way he looked at her with awe that went beyond religious reverence. He wasn’t like that with the other priestesses – indeed she couldn’t recall ever seeing him speak to any of them. For Drumnos, Jamila’s company, occasional though it was, was a revelation. It gave him spirit and purpose. He would awake eager to see her, and after their prayer together he would spend the rest of the day walking on air, daydreaming, thinking of her.

  Imperios and Aysha went through an entirely different ritual day by day. They played an unspoken game where they would find excuses to be near one another – training, cooking, hauling rocks or what have you. Then, when nobody was looking, they’d steal a few minutes at a time to chat with one other. In these brief moments they’d laugh and joke, and learn about each other little by little.

  On one occasion Imperios guided an oxen-hauled cart into the hills to gather rocks, and Aysha found some excuse or other to join him. Once they had reached the hills Imperios guided the ox towards a cluster of rocks and boulders which they were to gather. They stopped there for a while and let themselves and the ox rest, sat upon the rocks, looking out towards distant Karuk. The cool wind rushed against their skin as they lost themselves, for a brief time, in each other’s company.

  “You seem to spend a lot of time with that young priestess. Is she a friend of yours?” Imperios asked as they sat, idly tossing stones down the hill.

  “Jamila? Yeah, we’re friends. When she first came to Karuk she was so shy, so private. She mainly just studied scriptures on her own. Nobody really tried to get to know her. Except for me. I kept going back to her, chatting away, drawing blood from the stone. Now we’re best friends. When we’re alone together she seems to come out of her shell. She seems so much freer than when she’s under the gaze of Sabin and the others.”

  “What drew you to her?” Imperios asked.

  Aysha smiled. “At first I felt a bit sorry for her. She was so young, sent away from her family to read scriptures to pilgrims. But then when I got to know her she seemed unlike the other priestesses. When she spoke with me, she did so without judgement.”

  “Judgement?” prompted Imperios, eyebrow raised.

  Aysha smirked. “The other priestesses think I’m ‘impure’. Or ‘lacking in moral character’ as I had it put to me recently. I think, in a way, they think I’m polluting the holiness of Karuk.”

  “Why should they think you impure?” asked Imperios, clearly confused.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t know about this kind of thing, being a Reclaimer, but…I’ve been with men.”

  “Oh, right.” said Imperios, blushing a little.

  “I don’t think I’m impure, Imperios. Just bored.” she sighed, taking in the view. “There’s so little life in Karuk. It is a glorified tomb, after all. Most of the townsfolk are so dull, and the pilgrims no less so…But sometimes a man comes along who seems more interesting. A soldier. A trader. An adventurer. I bet half the stuff they tell me is made up just to get me into bed with them, but still...It feels like a break from the norm, a reprieve from the monotony of my life. Each time I expect to fall in love with this mysterious traveller, and I dream that he will take me away with him on his adventures. But it never quite works out that way. I don’t fall in love, and they leave. Sometimes without even saying goodbye.”

  “Well, I’m no priest, but…For what it’s worth, you don’t come across to me as an impure harlot.” said Imperios, earnestly.

  Aysha laughed. “Gee, thanks Imperios. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.” She threw a pebble at him, playfully. “Come on, let’s get these rocks in the cart.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that, I can…” began Imperios, but Aysha was up on her feet hauling rocks before he could step in.

  “I’m happy to help.” she smiled as they toiled. “My pa’s a shepherd. I’m not stranger to a bit of manual labour.”

  As the days passed they grew closer, and they were always on the lookout for moments they could spend together. But even so they remained cautious, keen not to be seen together. Imperios knew it would be frowned upon by his superiors and his battle-brothers. Aysha, though she was drawn to Imperios by curiosity and excitement for the adventurous lives of the Reclaimers, knew that they could not get too close. She knew what was at stake for Imperios, and whatever Sabin thought of her character she would never seek to lead a boy to ruin for her own gratification. Even so, as their secret friendship blossomed they found it harder and harder to stay apart.

  Eventually the day arrived when a second lone rider arrived at Karuk. With the wall nearing completion, the men engaged in full battle manoeuvres. They rucked against each other in formation, pushing on their shields, each trying to haul their opposite number off their feet, none willing to yield an inch. Meridon paced around the ruck howling orders. Optimus stood atop the wall and watched on.

  Drumnos was in the heart of the melee, on the very front lines, heaving his shield against that of his opponent. The Reclaimers relied on being able to punch through tightly locked formations. This was the only way to make their superior battle skill count against more numerous foes. Though none of them carried weapons for this training exercise, they nonetheless heaved with all their might.

  Mamatu hung towards the back of his side’s formation. As a swordsman he specialised in flanking manoeuvres. He scanned the ‘enemy’ ranks with his dark eyes, regarding them with just as much disdain as if he were fighting the heathens. He saw his opening and made a run for it – he dashed around the outside of the opposing block of troops and slammed the edge of his shield against the helmet of one of his ‘foes’. There was a great clang and the man fell backwards. In the chaos Mamatu’s ‘comrades’ hauled over a few more of them as they fell over each other.

  “No flanking, Mamatu IV! The Lieutenant told us there would be no flanking!” howled an apoplectic Reclaimer, breaking rank from his formation.

  “We’re training for battle aren’t we? In battle there is flanking. Pipe down Staxos IX.” dismissed Mamatu as he and Staxos broke off from the scum and squared up to one another.

  “I am Staxos VII and you know it!” Staxos snapped, pushing Mamatu’s shield.

  Mamatu grinned a wicked grin and prepared to fight back, but Meridon’s howls put paid to that.

  “Discipline!” he roared. “Discipline! Have you none, Mamatu IV? I said no flanking!”

  “In battle, there is flanking.” Mamatu insisted.

  “Do not answer back to me, worm, or I will have you holding you dick guarding the baggage train once Khalim’s legions arrive!”

  Mamatu bit his tongue and stood to attention, seething.

  “Before you can flank the enemy, you need to pin them down, sap their strength, break through their front lines. We work as a unit, Mamatu IV, not for your own personal glory.” Without warning Meridon slapped Mamatu across the jaw. Mamatu scowled and glared at him with bloody eyes. Meridon was unimpressed. “One more bad look like that and I’ll have you flogged for insubordination.” he growled.

  “There is no need for that. Not this time.” said Optimus, calmly, watching on. Something had caught his eye, turning his attention away from the training drills. A rider approached. “Reclaimers, you will rest and eat lunch, and then return to fortifying Karuk.”

  “Arooo!” came the call from the Reclaimers, and they clambered over the wall and back into Karuk. Mamatu shot Meridon a foul look as he left, but thankfully for him the Lieutenant’s attention was now also fixed on the approaching rider.

  Optimus and Meridon waited outside the perimeter wall in silence, watching the rider grow ever taller as he drew nearer. He come from the sou
theast, so was unlikely to be a survivor of the battle or one of Khalim’s scouts.

  As he drew nearer it became clear he was a Calclaskan soldier. He wore a clean white tunic, bronze breastplate and helmet, and had a shield on his back and a sabre at his side. When he reached them he dismounted and kneeled.

  “Rise. And speak.” said Optimus, plainly, eager to hear his news.

  The rider gave his report. “Junto-General Praxos is rebuilding his army at Harkana. Will you join us and bolster our ranks? We could use your fighting skill.” he said, more in hope than expectation.

  Meridon snorted. Optimus chuckled. “As you well know, soldier, we answer only to the High Priest himself. If you wish for us to join your army you should send your riders to him. Surely you did not come all this way for that? You must have known we would refuse.

  “No.” said the rider, though he approached his next words with more trepidation. “I have intelligence from Praxos’ scouts. Khalim is coming. He has declared his intention to destroy Karuk. He comes with his entire army. It is beyond our counting, sire. Tens of thousands of men. Thousands of horses. He brings his best troops with him. Commander Hashur’s phrygists. Commander Nephys’ cataphracts. He leads this army personally, joined by his Azurian Guard. You have no chance, sire…Not against an army of this size. I beg you to abandon Karuk. Come and join Praxos’ army, and together we may at least keep Khalim’s horde out of Calclaska.”

  Optimus smiled again and shook his head. “Once again, soldier, my answer is no, and for exactly the same reasons. If that is all, I invite you to have some lunch and refill your waterskin. Sleep here the night if you wish, but at first light you must return to the Junto-General at once. Send him my regards, and let him know that we will hold Karuk for as long as we can. If we cannot save the graves of the martyrs, we can at least buy him some time to rebuild his army.”

  The rider bowed his head and made his leave. Optimus and Meridon stayed outside the walls a while longer to deliberate.

  “That’s not good news.” muttered Meridon.

  “Oh? I beg to differ.”

  “We are faced by Khalim’s entire army, sire. I like a challenge as much as the next man, but even I can see the odds are stacked against us.”

  “Then we will hold his entire army here for as long as we can. Better that they are falling upon our shields than upon Arcite villages, or driving into Calclaska to smash Praxos’ wounded army and sack our homeland. What is more, Khalim leads this army personally. His madness and incompetence can only be an advantage to us.”

  Meridon nodded his head with a ‘fair enough’ expression. “They will be rabbles mostly. Pressganged Azurians no doubt. But their elite troops give me cause for concern. Hashur is a good man as you and I both know – we have fought side by side on more than one occasion. He is a brave man, loyal to Arcon, and his men are doughty veterans with tall bronze shields. Nephys – why, she is less amenable, but entirely more ferocious. She is loyal only to Arcon, so for her the word of the King is law. She beheaded her own father at the King’s order, so they say, and she will be a formidable opponent indeed. And as for the Azurian Guard…”

  “Thugs.” opined Optimus. “More used to flogging peasants and extorting coin from beggars than fighting. Most have never been in a real battle, the corrupt whelps, and they are loyal only to their paymasters. As for the others – even elite troops can be shackled by an incompetent general.”

  “I suppose we’ll be dying here then.” said Meridon, matter-of-factly.

  “Aye. Unless there is an unforeseen change in circumstances.”

  “Should I let the men know?”

  “Not yet. Why give them one more sleepless night? They shall know the stakes soon enough. I am also keen to avoid panic spreading amongst the civilians.”

  And so for now it would be business as usual for the Reclaimers and their stoic commanders.

  Osuna was abruptly woken the next morning as Meridon burst into the crypt.

  “Wakey wakey, pretty boy!” he hollered as Osuna shook himself out of a shallow, fevered sleep. “Your wound seems to be well on the mend. Our hospitality, our food and water, has fed you up, given you strength. You will leave this morning. We received one of Praxos’ outriders. You’ll be pleased to hear the General lives, and he is rebuilding his army in Calclaska. You may join the outrider on his ride back to the General’s camp, or you may flee back to your home and weep at your mother’s bosom. It matters not to me.”

  Osuna sat up and scowled. “You think I’m a coward do you, Reclaimer?”

  “A coward, aye. And you may call me ‘Lieutenant’, boy, if you must address me at all.”

  Osuna shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Optimus’ orders were clear, boy.”

  “Karuk is in danger. If I can help, I will.”

  “You will not. Optimus has given his order. Disobey, and I will have my men…”

  “You don’t understand!” shouted Osuna, suddenly raising his voice.

  “Optimus has decreed…”

  “Optimus, Optimus, Optimus! Is that all you can speak of, man? Very well, if you are powerless, I will speak to Optimus myself.” he snapped through gritted teeth, and he got up and staggered out of the crypt, still weak and weary. Meridon scoffed, shrugged his shoulders and followed after him with limited enthusiasm.

  When he emerged from the catacombs Osuna had to shield his eyes from the sun – he had been underground for several days. Then, still weary from his ordeal, he staggered around the camp shouting “Optimus!”. Meridon followed him, sighing and rolling his eyes as he went. The Reclaimers and villagers watched in confusion and mild amusement as he went by, staggering about like a madman.

  “He’s in the chapel.” sighed Meridon at last, pointing out which one. So Osuna stormed over there, as much as he could storm in his current state, and he burst in on Optimus’ prayers.

  Optimus was kneeling before the altar praying, whispering pious words beneath his breath. Osuna had no compunctions about interrupting him.

  “Optimus, I demand to remain in Karuk. I will not leave.” he insisted. Optimus rose once he had finished his prayer and not a moment sooner. Osuna was left to fume in silence for a few moments before Optimus rose to look him in the eye. Meridon, meanwhile, loitered by the doorway with his arms folded.

  Optimus said nothing, and so Osuna went on. “You think I’m a coward. If being afraid makes me a coward, then yes, I suppose a coward is what I am. I almost died three times in the battle. It was mayhem. Bedlam. The entire army shattered – was I to stand and fight alone? Do you even remember what fear feels like, Optimus? Have you ever felt it in your life? If not then you have no right to judge me for it.”

  “You damn Reclaimers…If you had only joined Praxos’ army instead of coming here on some fools’ errant, you might have led us to victory! You could have fought off the phrygists and the cataphracts, and we would have marched on together to take King Khalim’s head! This would all be over by now! But no…You Reclaimers are a law unto yourselves. They say you never retreat, never yield. But is retreat not the wisest course sometimes when faced with overwhelming odds? Is it not best to withdraw and regroup as Praxos has done? Is it not better to die defending the walls of your home town than to be drowned in some foreign land half a world away?”

  “You think your lack of fear makes you strong, but I say no. It makes you weak. You march into battle with nothing to lose, and everything to gain – a glorious death in Hatra’s name. But I have everything to lose. My home. My family. They will all die now, or be forced from their homes as Khalim’s army ravages our homeland. For this, I blame you Reclaimers and your stubbornness.”

  “Damn it all, Optimus! I will stay and fight here. Better to fight and die on enemy soil than to fight in the ruins of my homeland.”

  Osuna stopped, seething heavy breaths, and kept his intense glare on Optimus who stroked his chin in rumination.

  “You have some spirit, Osuna.�
� he said at last. “You are eager to prove yourself, I sense. Eager for redemption. But can you put your duty to Hatra ahead of your personal pride? You may stay here and support us in our struggle. But you will not fight. You will be a water-carrier in battle, bringing water to the thirsty, burying the dead, patching up the wounded. What say you to that?”

  Osuna said nothing for a while, simply staring into Optimus’ steely eyes. Eventually he nodded his head and swallowed his pride. “Fine with me.”

  With that he stormed off, and Meridon and Optimus were left to share a chuckle at the hot-headed youngster’s expense.

  “He’s got something about him, Meridon. He’s brave.” said Optimus as they laughed.

  “Anyone can be brave when the enemy is many miles away, Optimus. We will see what he’s made of when the battle comes.” said Meridon.

  Osuna had a sit down on the perimeter wall to gather his thoughts. He wondered if he’d done the right thing. Had he let his pride get the better of him? Had he put himself in grave danger just to prove a point to the Reclaimer jackboots? And the size of the task had only just begun to dawn on him. He’d be stuck in Karuk with those Reclaimer zealots until Khalim’s men come. And although he knew that, logically, this was likely to become a last stand, somehow he wasn’t ready to truly comprehend it.

  To take his mind off things he went in search of someone. He looked around the camp, scanned the faces of the priestesses who brought water to the labouring Reclaimers, popped his head into each of the chapels. At last he found her, reading scripture to some kneeling Reclaimers.

  Jamila saw him standing in the doorway. He smiled as their eyes met, and she smiled back, pausing her sermon briefly but soon returning to the sacred texts. When she was done, and the Reclaimers filed out of the chapel, Osuna strolled in to reacquaint himself.

  “Nice place you’ve got here.” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, I’ve been servicing this chapel for three years. I was worried they’d tear it down for the stone.”

  “Reclaimers, tearing down a chapel? Not likely.” Osuna chuckled, and Jamila smiled. “I’ll be staying here a while.”

  “Oh? You will not be returning to Calclaska?”

  “No. I’ve thrown in my lot with the Reclaimers.”

  “You will stay and fight?”

  “I think I’ll be digging latrines mostly…” Osuna mumbled. “Is there a prayer for that?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jamila laughed. Then she looked deadly serious as she realised the implication of what he had told her. “I think you’re very brave.”

  It was then that Drumnos entered, hoping for his daily prayer. His smile faded as he saw the two of them chatting.

  “Drumnos!” said Jamila, with a polite smile. “Drumnos, I’d like you to meet Osuna. Osuna, this is Drumnos XVIII.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Drumnos.” said Osuna, but no reply was forthcoming.

  “I can get to your prayer shortly, Drumnos, I’m just…” said Jamila.

  “No need.” Drumnos piped up at last. “Enjoy your conversation with Osuna.” he said, and he left without quarrel.

  Later that day Optimus mustered the troops and the townsfolk, and all were gathered around the Mausoleum chapel once more. There he gave them the grave news.

  “King Khalim comes with all the legions of Arcon. He intends to destroy Karuk and snuff out our Hatran faith. We will fight to the last man.”

  It was a simple enough address, over in moments, but the implications were severe. There was worry and consternation amongst the townsfolk. The priests tried to console them as well as each other. The Reclaimers remained impassive. They knew their duty.

  The resolve of even the doughty Reclaimers would be tested the next day, however. Imperios and Parthax were standing guard on the northernmost section of the wall when dark shapes began to appear on the horizon. At first they were only shades, long shadows cast by the blazing sun, made to look taller by the heat-mirage.

  “Is it them? Has King Khalim come at last?” wondered Parthax.

  “No time to speculate. We must inform Optimus.” said Imperios, and he went off to find him.

  Soon enough the entire might of the Reclaimers had gathered in their full regalia, along with the townsfolk, priests and priestesses who watched anxiously as the shades approached. Optimus and Meridon regarded the descending masses with cold eyes. There were many of them. But the whole legion of Arcon? No. They were too few.

  As they came nearer it became clear that they were refugees. They were sun-parched and weary, trying as best they could to shade themselves from the sun’s glare with their robes and turbans. Old men, women and children mostly. They carried what little possessions they could in carts, or hauled by mules and oxen. Some fortunate few rode horses and camels.

  When they were close enough to Karuk they began to appeal to the Reclaimers, begging for mercy, food, water, shelter from the coming fury of Khalim.

  “They have destroyed our homes, looted our stores! Please, give us food, give us water!”

  “The wolves of Azur come! They will show no mercy!”

  “They hang the faithful of Hatra, burn them at the stake! Women and children, too – none are safe!”

  “We will die in this desert if you do not help us!”

  The Reclaimers remained sentinel-still. Optimus had given no orders.

  As they reached the wall, a hunch-backed woman set her weeping eyes upon Parthax. In her arms was a child, a little girl, heartbreakingly thin.

  “Please, brave warrior, give food to my daughter. Death will take her soon…She must eat, she must drink.”

  Parthax glanced to Imperios, beside him. He shook his head. “We’ve been given no orders.” he said beneath his breath, but even so he didn’t try and stop Parthax as he clambered onto the wall and went to reach out for the girl. Her parched, wheezing breaths stabbed at his heart. As the other refugees saw Parthax coming over for her, they clamoured ever louder, pleading for water, pleading for their lives.

  Optimus saw this and gave his order. “Parthax VII, maintain your position. Do not let them in. Give them nothing.”

  Parthax sheepishly followed his order, climbing back over the wall, though it broke his heart to do so, as did the mother’s pleas and the tears of the starving little girl.

  “What?” protested Lugon as Meset and Batu looked on is despair. “These people need our help! Many will die if we cast them away now! They are doomed if they stay here in Karuk, true, but give them food and water at least, enough to last them the journey to Calclaska!”

  “We do not have enough to spare.” said Optimus, firmly yet calmly.

  “There is enough water here to survive a month-long siege!” despaired Lugon.

  “And if we have to hold Karuk for a month, then that is what we shall do. For that was the order of the High Priest: defend Karuk, at all costs, for as long as it takes.” said Optimus, more firmly this time, locking his eyes on Lugon.

  Sabin had seen enough. “You follow your orders, Reclaimers. Me and my priestesses don’t answer to you, we answer to Hatra, and we’ll do what we ought to in her name. Come on girls, fetch some urns of water. These people need it more than we do.” she commanded, and sent her priestesses to fetch the water, which they would take to the crowds of needy masses who amassed, despairingly, around the perimeter wall.

  “Reclaimers, restrain those women!” ordered Meridon, and twenty Reclaimers went to intercept them, seizing the water from them, grabbing them by their wrists and dragging them away from the wall.

  “You call yourselves men of Hatra, Reclaimers? This is no way to treat a priestess!” condemned Sabin. “No way to treat her needy flock! Look at you, you pompous, trumped-up, testosterone-fuelled block-heads! Look at your spangly armour and your crisp white tunics! Do you fools not know need when you see it? Do you not know suffering? Do you truly love Hatra, or only war?”

  Optimus was unmoved by her words. He just stared out over the shambling masses of ref
ugees with impassive eyes. Eventually, when they realised their pleas were in vain, they began to move on, one slow, weary footfall after another, lamenting their condition and cursing the heartless Reclaimers.

  As they left, Optimus saw amongst them a band of riders, black-robed, less desperate than the innocent refugees around them. They scanned the ranks of the Reclaimers with cold eyes.

  “Khalim’s scouts?” ventured Meridon.

  “No doubt.” said Optimus.

  “They will have noted our presence, counter our number.”

  “Good. Let us hope it convinces Khalim to bring his entire army to Karuk. We will hold him here for as long as we can.”

  As the refugees left towards the sun-ravaged horizon, growing smaller and smaller as they continued their weary trudge toward famine and death, beaten down by the unforgiving sun, Lugon would take no more.

  “I will stay here no longer.” he declared. “You are men of war, Reclaimers, and I can respect that. But I am a man of god – a man of compassion. I care more for the living, whom you have cast out, than for the dead who rest here. I will play no more part in your war-mongering.”

  Optimus nodded his head, solemnly. He could appreciate his position. He scanned the state of the wall, well-built.

  Very well. He would let the people go.

  The whole of Karuk had come out in all the commotion, and so Optimus addressed them there and then.

  “Those who do not wish to fight, who are not prepared to die, must leave. Head for Calclaska. Take enough food, water and carts to sustain you in your exodus. This was our deal.”

  There were murmurs of approval from the gathered villagers, who would be glad to be free of the Reclaimers, and glad to get out of Karuk, marked for destruction by King Khalim himself. And yet it was no time for jubilation. The journey ahead would be a gruelling one.

  “I will stay with you.” said Meset, stepping forward.

  “Meset, you cannot stay…You will die here.” said Lugon, despairingly, trying to talk the old man out of it.

  “I am on old man, Lugon. You go with the others – they will need your wisdom and guidance. But I have run away from Khalim’s brutes once. I’m damned if I’m going to do it again. Running is hard for an old man, and I fear I would slow you all down.”

  “We old men have to stick together.” said Batu, stepping forward too. “We will do what we can to help you, Optimus. We will bring water to the weary and dress the wounds of your brave soldiers. But I hope you won’t expect us to throw any spears!”

  He and Meset chuckled. “Thank you, old friend.” said Meset, shaking his friend’s hand.

  “I admire your stoicism and bravery.” said Lugon, bowing his head. “Hatra protect you both.”

  Optimus bowed his head, solemnly. “Your wisdom and counsel will be invaluable, my friends.”

  Then a priestess stepped forward, head bowed, blushing under the scrutiny of all the eyes which suddenly turned to her. She bowed before Optimus, and there were gasps from those in attendance.

  “Jamila…” whispered Osuna, beneath his breath.

  “No…” gasped Drumnos.

  “I will stay and do what I can.” she said, softly.

  “Jamila, you damn fool! Get back here with your sisters!” snapped Sabin. “The villagers of Karuk need you more than these bronze-armoured roustabouts. Do not throw away your life for these war-mongers!”

  “I am sorry to disobey you, Sabin.” she said, bowing her head to her. “But my mind is made up. I will not abandon Karuk in her time of need.”

  Optimus bowed his head, accepting her offer of help. Sabin fumed, but she would waste no more words on the girl, as her mind was clearly made up.

  There was to be one final volunteer.

  “If you’re staying, I’m staying too!” said Aysha, coming to join her friend. There were more gasps. “You’re my best friend, Jamila. I won’t leave you here alone.”

  Imperios said nothing as he saw her come forward, but he felt a mixture of sudden excitement, knowing that they would have more days together, and also worry for the peril she now faced.

  “No, Aysha, you cannot risk your life for me!” Jamila insisted. “I am sworn to serve Hatra and maintain the tombs of Karuk. You are under no such oath.”

  “I risk nothing, Jamila.” Aysha insisted. “I don’t intend to die here at all. We can leave this place, you and I, when peril comes and under the cover of darkness. We can hide out in the hills. I fancy I know them better than some pressganged Azur gangbanger.”

  Jamila didn’t know what else to say. She bowed her head, and Aysha hugged her, before whispering in her ear: “Besides, when else will we get a chance to be part of something like this? We can make history, instead of being slaves to it. We will struggle alongside the martyrs of today, instead of tending to the tombs of long-dead martyrs.”

  “Thank you, Aysha.” said Jamila, hugging her back.

  “Very well.” spoke Optimus, with stern finality. “If that is all, then I bid you good fortune in your journey to Calclaska. May Hatra’s wisdom guide you, and may her strength protect you.”

  “Aysha no!” cried a haggard, middle-aged man as he pushed his way through the gathered crowds. His wife followed close behind, tears in her eyes.

  “Father, I have made up my mind.” Aysha insisted.

  “You silly girl, have you lost your mind? Optimus, please!” appealed the man, “Cast her out like you did those refugees. Do not let this silly girl pledge her life to you on some flight of fancy!”

  “Father, enough!” she snapped.

  “The girl has made up her mind. That is the end of the matter.” spoke Optimus, turning away from the man, leaving him and his wife distraught.

  There would be many tearful goodbyes. Aysha’s parents, caught between being furious with their impetuous daughter and being afraid for her life, left grieving. The priestesses bade tearful farewells to Jamila, though Sabin was still furious at her insubordination. Lugon gave his solemn farewells to the elderly priests. And then, once the townsfolk had gathered their meagre belongings, they filed out of Karuk with their carts laden with whatever provisions they could carry. Lugon cast one final look back at Karuk, where Optimus, Meset and Batu manned the walls, and wondered if he would ever return to whatever was left of it.

  The civilians grew gradually smaller as they began their long exodus to Calclaska. When eventually they were gone, lost over the distant, blistering horizon, all that was left were the Reclaimers, three faithful servants of Hatra, a deserter and a shepherd’s daughter. They were on their own now, set against the endless legions of Arcon.

  That night the Reclaimers cooked mutton and broth around their campfires, and there was a quieter, more introspective feeling amongst them. They knew the enemy was coming. It was just a matter of when.

  Jamila had naturally found company with the priests, and she ate with them around their own little fire. She had known them ever since they arrived in Karuk, fleeing Khalim’s purges, some six months ago. She was glad they were here, providing a tiny bit of familiarity even after her life had been turned upside down by these grave events.

  “I hope you will agree to flee this place with Aysha when the time comes.” spoke Batu, between spoonfuls of broth. “You are brave and dutiful to want to stay and help, but if you can leave here alive then you should. The Reclaimers are duty-bound to die for Hatra, my girl – her priestesses are under no such oath.”

  “Thank you for your wise words, Batu. I will consider them carefully.” she said, unsure whether or not she was lying. Her eye was drawn to Optimus, who arrived from the perimeter wall and came to eat with his men, who seemed visibly pepped up by his presence even though he was doing nothing more than drinking some broth with the rest of them.

  “What do you make of Optimus? Is he a stern man?” she asked the priests.

  “Stern? No. Not unless he needs to be.” chuckled Meset.

  “He is a man guided by his convictions.” spoke Batu, in a m
ore hushed voice. “It’s why he didn’t hesitate in casting out those refuges. Why he didn’t flinch even as he condemned a hundred people to starve in the desert.”

  “I wonder what he will ask of me.” said Jamila.

  “I’m sure all he will ask is that you do your best.” said Meset with a smile, trying to reassure her.

  “He reminds me of my father a little.” said Jamila, blushing slightly. She didn’t talk about herself all that often.

  “Oh?” said Meset, keen to hear more.

  “He seems a kind man, but circumstances and duty sometimes demand that he is not kind.”

  “Like your father?” said Meset.

  “Yes. Like my father.” Jamila blushed, and she got back to eating her dinner. Meset knew she was a shy girl and so he probed no further.

  Imperios, meanwhile, emerged from the catacombs with a pile of bread rolls in his arms. But he had been spotted going in, and Aysha was patiently lying in wait at the top of the stairway.

  “Having to cook your own meals now, are we?” she teased, taking Imperios by surprise. “I certainly won’t be doing it for you. I’m a terrible cook.”

  Imperios laughed. “You gave me a fright!”

  “A big, strong Reclaimer like you, afraid of little old me?”

  “Afraid? No. Just surprised.” She couldn’t tell if he was blushing in the dim light of distance campfires. “As for the food…I enjoy the smoky, charred smell of food prepared by men. Ash adds to the flavour, I find.”

  Aysha laughed and smiled broadly. Imperios turned to more weighty matters.

  “I admire your bravery and your loyalty to your friend, but you will be in grave danger if you stay here much longer.”

  “It’s not just for Jamila that I stayed here. I don’t want to while away my days in obscurity. I want to do something with my life, to make an impact just like Jynset did. She was a nobody like me once upon a time.”

  “This is not an adventure, Aysha.” Imperios cautioned, becoming more serious. “Jynset made a difference, aye, but she paid the price. She was burned alive by King Ahmentep along with her followers.”

  “You’re prepared to risk your life for what’s right. Why shouldn’t I be?” said Aysha, brow furrowed.

  Imperious was troubled by this question. He gave his response in a hushed tone. “It is my destiny to die in battle. And also, Aysha, I am in less peril than you are. If the enemy get hold of me, they will kill me and that will be the end of it. I am a man, and so am worthless to them. But you, a pretty young woman…I dare not imagine.”

  “There is someone else too.” she interrupted. “I am here for myself, and for Jamila. But there is someone else.”

  “Oh? Who?” asked Imperios, perplexed.

  Jamila kissed him on the cheek, and then disappear in an instant, down into the darkness of the catacombs. Imperios was dumbstruck, and it took him a little while to regain himself and rejoin his comrades at the campfire.

  He handed out the bread rolls to his battle-brothers and sat down beside Parthax. Then he started stirring his mutton stew absent-mindedly.

  “What are you smiling about?” Parthax asked.

  “Me? Nothing.” said Imperios. He hadn’t realised he was smiling.

  Parthax shrugged it off, and turned back to the issue of eating his dinner. But eventually he noted that Imperios’ distant gaze was following something in the darkness. He was watching Aysha as she sat herself down on a wall, not far away, and started eating a bread roll of her own. When she lifted her gaze, and her eyes met Imperios’, he looked away in a flash.

  Parthax scoffed. “The auburn haired one. I knew it.” he said beneath his breath.

  “Parthax…Have you ever seen a woman kiss a man? I have seen mothers kiss their babies before, but…A fully grown man?”

  “I have no interest in the ways of women.”

  “Because Aysha kissed me, and I would like to know what it means. Just so I don’t cause her any embarrassment or offence.”

  “You need to be careful, Imperios.” cautioned Parthax, with a firm hand on his shoulder. “A woman cannot kill a man with her hands. We are stronger than they are. But if she enraptures him, she can have him banished for breaking his sacred vows, his name ruined and his reputation in tatters.”

  “It’s nothing like that…”

  “See that it does not become like that, then. When I look into her eyes, I see a predator. A lioness marking its prey. See that she does not send her sex to hunt you down, like we told young Drumnos!”

  “No, no. It was just a silly thing. Curiosity.” said Imperios, trying to shrug it off, and trying to put Aysha out of his mind.

  Osuna did not eat with the Reclaimers. They shunned his company, became silent when he sat beside them. They grunted when he spoke to them, answering only in monosyllables. He was that worst of things – a coward, a deserter. So he made a little fire of his own, and cooked his own portion of stew, and went to sit on the wall and look out over the vastness of the plains of Arcon, the sky a vast black mirror of it, glittering with tiny lights.

  “May I sit with you?” asked Jamila, coming to join him.

  “Of course! I’d be glad for the company. The Reclaimers spare few enough words with me.”

  Jamila sat down beside him and wrapped her robes tightly around herself, trying to stave off the cold night air. “I must admit I find them a little overwhelming, especially now that I am the only priestess. They spare little chatter with me, but the prayers! So many prayers! There is one boy who asks for a prayer of his own every single day!”

  “Perhaps I have it easier, then!” chuckled Osuna, before turning to graver matters. “Are you really going to die here?”

  “If I have to. Will you?”

  “Yes. If it comes to that. I cannot run away again. Not after last time. And after what I have seen…” he said, distantly. “Jamila, I don’t wish to burden you with my own troubles, too. Hatra knows you have enough to keep you awake at night as it is. But when I sleep…The nightmares I have, the things I see…I can’t ever imagine returning home to my village, to my family, having seen the things I’ve seen, having done the things I’ve done, and going back to a normal life. Perhaps it is better that I am put out of this misery.”

  “Those are grave words indeed, Osuna. Is there nothing I can do to comfort you?”

  “You already have.” he said, with a smile. “As soon as I awoke and I found you tending to my wounds. When you spoke with me without judgement or condemnation, only with kindness. You’ll never understand what that did for me.”

  “Thank you, Osuna.”

  “And what about you? Are you scared? Is there anything I can do to return the favour, to make you feel more at peace?”

  “Yes, Osuna. I am scared. I think the best you can do to help me, if it’s not too much trouble, is to share a little casual conversation. Anything to distract myself from all those endless prayers!” she laughed, shyly.

  “It would be my pleasure.” Osuna grinned, and they turned to other, more frivolous matters to take their mind off their impending doom. Family, back home. Osuna waxed lyrical about his stern father and his overbearing mother. Jamila’s parents, of noble blood, had escaped Azur to flee Khalim’s purges, and now lived in exile. They talked about their childhoods, about their childhood friends. They discussed the mundane things in life – food they had eaten, epic tales they had heard.

  Drumnos, sat at one of the Reclaimer campfires, watched them both from a distance. He felt jealously clawing at his innards, like a frenzied rat trying to dig its way out. He desired Jamila’s holiness and revelation all for himself, unsullied by Osuna’s unchivalrous advances. Osuna was a deserter, an outsider, unbound by sacred vows and so free to act as he pleased, and Drumnos decided he hated him.

  Feeling the fire of hatred and avarice within him, Drumnos excused himself without eating his dinner. He made his way to the underground altar where he had first set eyes on Jamila. He knelt there and prayed to Hatra: to ta
ke away the pain, to rid him of his desires. He begged her to forgive him for his desire for Jamila, who belonged to Hatra and Hatra alone, though he was not yet ready to admit to himself that his desire was physical as well as spiritual. He begged his goddess to bring the enemy swiftly to Karuk – anything to end his torment.

  Meanwhile Optimus and Meridon stood atop the northern wall and looked out over the vast plain. They reminisced about old times and past glories, battles won and comrades lost. The next day, with the sun bearing down relentlessly, they would stand in that self-same spot and watch as the enemy descended from the horizon.

  The Reclaimers donned their arms and armour and manned the wall where Optimus and the Lieutenant stood, though in truth their haste to be battle-ready was wasted. It would take the enemy all day to reach them. The Reclaimers stood in grim silence, counting the ranks of the enemy and marking their banners. The priests watched on in horror. Aysha and Jamila were astonished by the sheer numbers and panoply amassing before them. Osuna bowed his head in grim resignation. He had witness the might of the Arcite horde once before. It had only grown larger since the battle at the River Axi.

  Vast legions came from the north. Huge bodies of troops kicked up clouds of dust that made the vast blue sky dusky and hazy. They came in vast mobs, which at first seemed so large that they must be mirages, but as they came nearer they seemed vaster still. Throughout the day they drew nearer and nearer, until at last the thunder of their footfalls could be heard, and the howling of their champions, and the blasting of their horns.

  There were not just footsoldiers, but huge divisions of horsemen also, their helmets and armour glittering from a distance. Siege engines, catapults and giant ballistas, were limbered to oxen and dragged along with the baggage train, a vast convoy of carts, mules, camels and wagons.

  The enemy stopped some distance away to set up camp. As they did so small detachments of black-robed riders galloped nearer, counting the spears of the Reclaimers. They circled around Karuk and saw that the defences were watertight. Then they galloped back to the fast-growing camp to deliver their report. By the time twilight fell, with no end in sight for the approaching legions, the lights of the enemy campfires lit up the red-purple sky with an orange glow, like a vast sea of embers.

  Then, as darkness fell entirely, the enemy camp was lit up with burning pyres. The screams of captives, those loyal to Hatra, filled the ears of the Reclaimers as they were burned alive on them. It was a horrifying sight indeed, designed to intimidate the Reclaimer garrison. But they were stern men, accustomed to death. They were unmoved.

  Meset was overcome with the horror of the sight. The fires and the screams brought back memories of the sack of the Sepulchre in Azur, and he found he could watch no more. He went to take refuge in the catacombs. Batu remained as stoic as he could and watched the scene unfolding in silent, personal horror. Jamila and Aysha could not believe what they were seeing, and they tried to console each other as the horror of what was to follow dawned on them. Osuna, unlike the Reclaimers, would admit to himself that he felt fear as he looked upon that terrible scene. The screams brought him back to that damned river, beset on all sides by foes, drowned, surrounded by corpses…

  Optimus and Meridon stayed there, stood atop the wall, casting their grim eyes over the amassed enemy. There would be no rousing speeches for the Reclaimers. They knew what they had to do. They had to fight, to defend Karuk, to keep the enemy out at all costs.

  And as Optimus watched over all of this, he caught sight of a man who stood alone in the distance, just in front of the pyres, lit a golden orange by their glow. It was King Khalim, despicable in his golden armour. It was the enemy.