Defend Karuk Page 7

  Chapter Seven: Day Two

  The girl’s entire body spasmed as her deep-set eyes rolled back in her head. Her naked limbs, perilously thin, flailed about as the white dust clung to her sweaty flesh. Eventually the poor girl stopped dead still and lay there in the sand, a thick stream of blood running from her nose and down her face.

  “Hmm…” mused Khalim, sat upon his throne, glittering beneath the light of the midday sun. He got up and inspected her more closely before unceremoniously booting her in the back. Still no movement. “The oracle appears to be dead.”

  “I might have overdone it a little with the ‘seeing powder’, my liege.” said Byzar, who held a bowl of the fine white powder.

  “Is this a good portent or ill, Zamon?” queried Khalim, hands on hips.

  “It is a, err…Good portent, sire. Much blood will be spilt this day.” said Zamon unconvincingly.

  Nephys rubbed her brow, exasperated by the whole thing. They were all surrounded by Khalim’s Azurian Guard. Arrayed before them, in countless ranks and files, were the Arcite levies, armed with short spears, wicker shields and bronze helmets. This poorly equipped rabble was the ‘Golden Host’ as Khalim called them.

  “Splendid!” said Khalim, rubbing his hands together. “Heathen blood, no doubt. My men shall smite these infidels, Zamon, and you shall lead them from the front.”

  “As you wish, sire.” grinned Zamon, with a low bow.

  Khalim turned to his massed men. Nephys scanned their faces. Many were fanatics, their minds poisoned by Venhotek and the Old Gods. They were eager for blood and torment. But most we press-ganged levies, bums, merchants and criminals from the cities whipped into service by the Azurian Guard, or shepherds and farmers from the villages given the choice of servitude or death. They wiped the sweat from their brows and mouthed silent prayers to their many gods. Many of them, in this hour of peril, would no doubt be praying to Hatra for forgiveness and protection.

  “My children! Folk of Arcon, fruits of my heavenly loins!” declared Khalim, addressing the Golden Host. “Manning the foul altars of Karuk are the Reclaimers, the most fearsome and bloodthirsty of all heathen warriors. They butchered the phrygists just yesterday, and are known to devour and dismember their foes. You are to march upon them, with love for your King in your hearts, and smite them for the glory of the serpent death god Venhotek!”

  “Cast off your shields, men, for my love will protect your from harm! Discard your spears, for the Reclaimers shall shatter before your manly resolve! Throw yourselves upon their swords gladly, confident that Venhotek shall welcome you into the afterlife with his scaly embrace! Gird your loins, and make ready to sow the seeds of the Old Gods in Karuk, which lies yonder, a womb awaiting insemination! Go, then, go forth into that satanic womb, and impregnate it with your faith!”

  Byzar was struggling to stifle his laughter throughout. Nephys rubbed her weary brow once more. After that demented ramble the levies looked more shit-scared than ever.

  Zamon mounted a tall black steed and addressed the men. “Come, let us drain their blood and offer their decaying bodies to Venhotek! To death!” he howled, and the fanatics howled back “To death!”. The rest of the bedraggled levies were less enthused, and they mouthed silent prayers.

  Zamon led the march, and the vast legions lurched toward Karuk in disorderly fashion. On the rearmost ranks, overseers with cat-o-nine-tails hurled abuse at the men in front and thrashed the stragglers to get them back into line.

  The Reclaimers surrounded the Mausoleum and watched as Jamila lit a brazier in the middle of the chapel. The winged banner stood tall in front of the Mausoleum’s entrance. Jamila closed her eyes and bowed her head as she spoke hushed prayers.

  “While this fire burns, men, while this banner stands tall, Karuk will never fall, and the spirits of the martyrs may rest easy.” declared Optimus, powerfully. But above his voice rose the thundering of countless marching feet, and all eyes turned to the Arcite camp. The legions were coming, and a vast cloud of dust was kicked up by their feet. Optimus turned to Meridon and nodded.

  “To the walls!” cried Meridon.

  The Reclaimers left the Mausoleum and went to man the northern wall. The civilians were left there to take refuge inside the chapel. Aysha took Jamila’s hand, trying to comfort her. Batu put a hand on Meset’s shoulder as he watched, aghast, as the innumerable enemy approached. Osuna paced in the doorway, pent-up and impatient.

  From the wall, Drumnos watched as the mighty horde approached. Imperios readied his spears, ramming them into the ground just behind the wall. Mamatu grinned at the sight of that vast legion, and he gripped the handles of his sheathed swords, savouring the battle to come. Optimus stood atop the wall, Meridon beside him. The Reclaimers were silent as the legion approached, heralded by the thunder of their feet and the demented war-chants of the fanatics.

  At last the legion came to a halt, a spear’s-throw from the northern wall, and Zamon rode up and down the front lines howling his horrible sermon, followed by half a dozen black-robed riders.

  “Doom and despair! Death and destruction! All will die here, and Venhotek will take their souls gladly!”

  “Men of Arcon, turn against this madness!” called Optimus, addressing the so-called Golden Host “The foul serpent, Venhotek, has poisoned your minds. See reason, and turn against these false gods!”

  “Cut off their heads, and offer them to the death-god Venhotek!” howled Zamon, wild-eyed. “Tear out their hearts, eat them in the name of the war-god Harukan! Sever their loins, feed them to the fertility-goddess Kalaratra!”

  “Throw down your weapons, brave men of Arcon. Or better still, come join our ranks behind this hallowed wall.” Optimus persevered. “We are men of Hatra, are we not? Let us choose peace, then! Let us spurn the lust for war and carnage! Let us work together for the glory of Hatra!” he said, but he was being put off by Zamon’s frenzied howls. He gestured to Meridon, who went to fetch him a spear.

  “Exsanguinate their bodies, drink their blood in the name of Aborhan, seer of fates! Feed their hands and feet to the swine in the name of the beast-god Lamuktu! Pick out their eyes, leave them for the carrion in the name of…”

  Zamon’s sermon was cut short as Optimus hurled his spear, which flew in a majestic arc and slammed into the chest of one of the following riders. He was hurled from his steed, which whinnied and panicked, bolting up and down the Arcite lines dragging its impaled rider behind it. Zamon backed away at once as he struggled to control his skittish steed, furious eyes fixed on Optimus.

  “As I was saying…” sighed Optimus. “Turn against the tyrant you call King, and fight beside us, not against. For if you fight against us, there will be no mercy for any of you. What say you, wise men of Arcon?”

  A few moments of silence followed, until at last Zamon howled his order. “Attack them! Venhotek!”

  One man cried “Venhotek!”. Then another repeated the call, and another, and another, until the front ranks were howling “Venhotek!” with phlegmy fervour, and they surged towards the wall.

  “It seems they have rejected my overtures.” Optimus sighed to Meridon. “Send them to hell, then.”

  “Spears!” howled Meridon, and every man on the wall marked their target amongst that savage horde, and they hurled their spears in a mighty volley. Scores of men were thrown from their feet, maimed, impaled. Their comrades tripped over their bodies, stumbled in the sand.

  “Again!” howled Meridon, and another volley flew, this time at point blank range, and vast numbers fell mere feet from the wall, forming a blanket of impaled bodies. But their comrades were fanatics, and they charged over the dead bodies and scrambled up the wall howling prayers to Venhotek, and they hurled themselves onto the ranks of Reclaimers behind it.

  The first ranks of the enemy were true believers, servants of the Old Gods. They did not fear death. It’s just as well, because death is what they found.

  Mayhem broke loose. Reclaimers cut them down with their f
alchions. So powerful were their strikes that they could carve through their flimsy wicker shields and the man behind with a single swipe. The iron blades rammed into their guts, cut heads from necks. The kopeshes of the shield-breakers wrought havoc, cutting through two men at once with a good swing, and sledgehammers sent scores of men sprawling, tumbling back down the wall. The bronze shields of the shield-bearers could not be pierced by the Arcite spears, and they slammed into the faces and chests of the oncoming Arcites, throwing them back from the wall.

  Optimus slammed his shield into a man’s chest, sending him flying from the wall and onto the men clambering up behind. He rammed his falchion into a man’s throat, who quivered in his death throes before the blade was wrenched out and he fell.

  Meridon rammed his falchion through a wicker shield and into the lung of the man who carried it. As he ripped it out again the man tumbled back down the wall with blood spewing from his mouth.

  Imperios marked a man as he clambered onto the wall, and he hurled his spear with such force that as it struck him in the chest he was hurled straight back off against, and he and several comrades tumbled down the wall.

  A man leapt down from the wall on top of Drumnos, who raised his shield to meet him, and he hauled him overhead. As the man slammed down onto the ground in a cloud of dust, Drumnos finished him off, ramming his sword into his gut.

  Mamatu got his first kills, swiping his swords furiously at the packed masses who tumbled over the wall, packed so tightly that he scarcely had to aim his strikes at all. Blood spilled out from the quivering wall of flesh as bodies climbed up the wall and fell down it as corpses.

  “Lancers!” cried Optimus, and he ducked. Taking his lead the other Reclaimers on the wall ducked down as the lancers behind hurled a volley of spears, which threw scores of impaled Arcites from the wall.

  The Arcites, ill-disciplined and poorly equipped, died in their droves, but even so their sheer numbers, not just of the fighting men but of the weight of dead bodied that were piling up, slowly began to push the Reclaimers back from the wall. And as gangs of men began to break off from the main scrum to attack the walls on the east and west, Optimus and Meridon sent in detachments of men to fend them off, and so the central bulk of Reclaimers gradually diminished even though they suffered few casualties.

  Drumnos stumbled back as the great throng of howling zealots pushed against him, and even as he swung his sword, cutting open the face of one of his assailants, he tripped and fell over one of the many dead bodies that now littered the ground. Several enemies stumbled, too, and fell on top of him. Drumnos struggled against them as his comrades rallied round and rammed their swords into the fallen Arcites. He felt hands grabbing the straps of his breastplate, and he was dragged out of the pile-up.

  He got to his feet and dusted himself off. “Thank you.” he said, before turning and seeing that it was Osuna who’d helped him. He didn’t wait around for gratitude, though, and he was off, a bundle of spears in his arms, handing them out to the men nearby, who then hurled them into the masses who lurched over the wall.

  Imperios could hardly miss, such were the multitude of his targets. He hurled one spear after another, into the great mass of enemies who bundled over the wall, and they fell in their droves. The wall grew taller as masses of corpses added to the stone beneath.

  Khalim, who had sat impassive until now, shot up from his throne in consternation at the vast casualties. “Why have they not broken through yet? Why have they not won? Commander, send in the reserves! All of them! Send them in! Bring me their heads!” he railed.

  “Send in the rams!” cried Nephys, and the reserves were sent in, more men, more levies. Some of these men carried rams between them – either heavy blunt-headed battering rams to knock over the walls, or long poles with spikes on the end to prise them apart.

  “Rams coming from the west!” cried a Reclaimer from atop the wall as the reserve legions neared.

  “Lancers to the west! Hold off the rams!” cried Optimus, pointing his gore-red falchion westward. Imperios and the other lancers grabbed two spears each and headed for the western wall. A small contingent of men was already wrestling with a mob of Arcites there, and more flooded over the walls and charged to meet the lancers.

  Imperios launched a spear, sending a man flying, impaled in the gut. He rammed his second spear into the midriff of the next man, who tumbled to the ground under the force of the blow. He then hurled this blood-reddened spear at the next man, and he fell, tripping up the man behind. As Imperios and the lancers waded into the fray with their falchions they gradually pushed the enemy back to the wall.

  “More spears! We need more spears!” called Imperios over the tumult.

  Osuna heard his call, and he went to retrieve spears from the bundles that were dotted around Karuk. In the Mausoleum, where the girls and the priests watched on helplessly, Aysha heard him too.

  “I’m going out there.” she resolved, collecting a bundle of spears.

  “Aysha, we should stay here, it is too dangerous…” implored Jamila.

  “I have to go, Jamila. I have to do something. You defend the flame – seeing you here will give the men heart. But I’m not a holy woman. I’m just a girl. I’ll do what I can.”

  Jamila looked deep into her eyes, and she saw the resolve there. She kissed her friend on the forehead. “Hatra protect you. Go. Go!”

  Aysha rushed out towards the western wall. She could see Imperios fighting there with his comrades, holding the massed foes at bay who hurled themselves at the wall. Then her eyes turned to the bodies which lay about the place. They lay in piles, or splayed out, mutilated. Their eyes were glazed over and empty. She saw limbs severed from bodies, heads cut from necks. Pools, rivers of blood…

  At last she reached the wall, but she was pale, her mouth agape, her eyes wide with horror.

  “Aysha, what are you doing here?” implored Imperios, taking the spears from her as she staggered back, hands over her mouth, as she took in the horror of the melee.

  “I…I have to help…”

  “Go back to the Mausoleum!” implored Imperios as he doled out the spears.

  Osuna arrived too and dropped off the bundle of spears he was carrying. “Come, let’s gather some water for the men.” he said to Aysha, taking her by the hand and leading her back towards the temple. As she left, she turned back to Imperios, who watched her leave. Then when he could see that she was safely out of harm’s way he turned his attention back to the howling legions that were set against him.

  The battering rams slammed against the wall, threatening to knock it down in places. The giant spears pushed against the larger rocks, dislodging them, punching holes in the wall. Imperios and his comrades hurled their spears at these teams, but even as men fell others came to take up the rams from the endless masses assaulting them.

  “More rams to the east!” came a cry. Optimus turned to Meridon as he felled another man with a swipe of his falchion.

  Optimus nodded. “Go.”

  Meridon cried out “Swordsmen to me! We bolster the eastern wall!”. Meridon led the charge to support the beleaguered defenders there.

  Mamatu ran with them, and his eyes were bloody and grim as he sprinted ahead of his comrades, and he was the first into the fray. Mamatu leapt at his first foe, ramming his sword through his spine, and he threw the man’s body down into the dust. Three zealots charged at him at once. He turned aside the first spear, and with the flick of his wrist he tore out the wielder’s windpipe. He ducked below the spear of the next man, and hewed his leg with one of his blades. The third tried to flee, but Mamatu jabbed his blade into the back of his neck, and he fell screaming through blood and bronze.

  The swordsmen fought the Arcites back to the eastern wall. Meridon led them, smashing one enemy down with his shield, ramming his falchion under the jaw of another with a battle-prayer on his lips.

  Mamatu charged headlong into the fray. He ran up the wall and hurled himself off the top of it, flying
into a team of men who hauled a battering ram there. They had punched a great hole in the wall, but Mamatu now wrought havoc amongst them, beheading one and sending another sprawling with a ruptured throat. Then, as they dropped the ram and reached for the swords at their sides, he plunged his sword into another’s heart.

  Meridon fought his way to the top of the wall, a gaggle of zealots tumbling down before his shining bronze shield. “Mamatu IV!” he cried. “Fall back to the wall, you will get surrounded down there!”

  But Mamatu would not listen. He was gore-drunk, eager for glory, eager to offer more skulls before Hatra’s divine feet. He fought on, right there in the thronging masses of the enemy, until he was covered in their blood and they backed off from him in fear.

  Indeed, Arcite resolve was beginning to waver. The front ranks had been fanatics, loyal to Venhotek, brainwashed by his poisonous creed. But they were all dead now, slaughtered by Reclaimer steel. The rest were levies, terrified of Khalim’s wroth but no less frightened of these gleaming Reclaimers. They wavered as they reached the wall, now piled high with Arcite dead. They fell to their knees in places and begged for mercy. They found none, and were spitted on swords or split in two with giant kopeshes even as they knelt there. A man threw down his arms and fell to his knees, sobbing, before Optimus himself. Optimus grabbed him by the hair, pulled back his head and swept his sword across his neck. Blood spurted out and Optimus let the dead man fall face-first into the sand.

  “Bring the light!” cried Optimus as he climbed up to the top of the wall once more.

  “Hatra’s light!” howled the Reclaimers fighting there, and the Arcites wavered before them.

  Elsewhere the Reclaimer were beginning to reclaim the wall. Drumnos fought there, stood atop that pile of rock and corpses, and he saw men cowering at the foot of the wall and refusing to climb it, praying to all manner of gods, in tears, their weapons discarded. Some began to flee back towards the Arcite camp.

  Khalim was apoplectic. “What is this? The curs! The cowards! The weaklings! They have betrayed me, betrayed my love for them! Cut them down, Byzar! Let none live!”

  “Very well, sire.” said Byzar, and he whistled to a contingent of his Guardsmen, who strode forth carrying recurve bows. As the fleeing troops saw the Azurian Guard train their bows on them they turned back towards the walls of Karuk in panic.

  “Fire!” yelled Byzar, and the fleeing mob was cut down by a volley of arrows.

  “Send in the horsemen! Send them in! Send them all in!” howled Khalim, waving his fists in anger, phlegm spitting out of his golden face-mask.

  “Cavalry!” howled Nephys.

  Optimus watched from atop the wall as vast detachments of horsemen descended from the Arcite camp. Some were nomads from the deserts, black-robed and carrying bows. Others had the braided hair and beards of the infantry, but they were somewhat better armed, with spears, helmets, breastplates and shields, all bronze. The charged in a trident, the largest bulk coming for the northern wall, and the two ‘prongs’ arcing east and west.

  Optimus cast his eye over each of the walls. The northern wall was holding well. His men had fought their way to the top of the wall, and the Arcites struggled feebly to trudge back up the mound of rock and corpses to attack them. The east and west walls were struggling, with holes punched in them in some places by battering rams, and in others the Arcites had forced their way over the wall and were fighting inside Karuk.

  “Raise shields! Back behind the wall!” cried Optimus, and the bronze shields of the Reclaimers locked as the mighty cavalcade of horsemen galloped to and fro in front of the wall launching volleys of arrows. Their shields were soon bristling with the things as they paced back behind the cusp of the wall so that the mound of rock and corpses would afford them some cover.

  “You, go! Bolster the eastern wall! You there, you boys man the western wall! You, lad, go to the western wall!” ordered Optimus.

  “Yes sir!” shouted Drumnos, over the thunder of hooves, even as arrows rained down onto his shield. He ran to support the western wall with a gaggle of his comrades. “He spoke to me!” he gushed to them as they ran. “Optimus spoke to me!”

  Around the breach in the eastern wall, the Arcite infantry gave way as the cavalry charged towards it. Mamatu stood there blocking the breach alone, bloodied swords held in each hand.

  “Back to the wall, Mamatu IV! We must seal the breach!” ordered Meridon, as he and his men tried desperately to haul the rocks back into place to keep the cavalry out.

  “No. I will hold them off.” he said, coldly. “A shield!”

  “Very well, Mamatu IV. You are a bloody difficult bastard, but if you wish to die, you have my blessing.” cried Meridon, and he threw a shield down to him.

  As the Arcite lancers galloped nearer the horse archers opened fire. Mamatu slung the shield onto his back and knelt down with his back facing the oncoming cavalcade so that he was entirely shielded by it, and the shield collected the incoming arrows.

  Reclaimers at the wall heaved rocks to try and block the breach made by the ram. Osuna rushed over to help them. Some of them shielded their comrades with their shields as the others laboured. A man howled as an arrow struck him in the thigh.

  “Aysha, help this man back to the chapel!” cried Osuna as arrows whistled past him.

  As a Reclaimer gave them cover with his shield, Aysha helped the man to his feet and guided him back towards the Mausoleum, trying to ignore the whistling death of the arrows which flew past.

  Meridon couldn’t help but grin as he watched Mamatu kneeling there, alone, before the mighty mass of lancers. Mamatu waited until he felt the rumble of the horsemen reverberating through the ground, and a spear slammed into the shield on his back. He swept his swords outwards, carving through horse-legs to his left and right, sending horsemen tumbling as their comrades galloped into them and fell over also.

  Mamatu turned to face the oncoming cavalcade, and as he ducked beneath a thrusting spear he cut the legs of the horse from under him. A horse reared up in front of him, spooked by the corpses piled up around it, and the rider screamed as he fell from its back. As the horse bolted Mamatu finished the rider off by ramming his blade into his throat.

  “Spears!” cried Meridon, for his men had plugged the gap at last, and they emerged from the crest of the wall to hurl a volley of spears, which sent yet more men and horses falling. The lancers saw that the way was blocked and they galloped off in search of another opening, though the horse archers kept up a constant stream of fire. His job done, Mamatu jogged back up and over the wall, the shield on his back collecting a few more arrows on his way.

  “You savage cunt.” laughed Meridon, who couldn’t help but admire the man’s bloody panache.

  On the western wall they were faring worse. Fighting was fierce around a breach made by the rams.

  “They’re coming through!” yelled Imperios from atop the wall as he hurled a spear at the riders charging towards it. A rider fell, but it was one man amongst hundreds, and before Drumnos and his men could reach the wall to block it a score of riders bolted through the breach.

  The riders galloped around inside Karuk causing havoc. The lancers speared men as they went. The archers loosed arrows at the exposed backs of Reclaimer manning the walls, and half a dozen fell to their wicked arrows. Drumnos braced himself as he and the men around him threw themselves into the breach, and he fell as a horse slammed into his shield, sending him sprawling. But the men behind him presented their spears, and they used them to fend off the horsemen, their steeds rearing up and braying at the sight of those bronze spearheads. Drumnos staggered to his feet and dragged a rider from his rearing steed. Imperios hurled another spear into the massed horsemen. A shield-breaker swung his sledgehammer, shattering the ribcage of a braying steed, which collapsed under the impact. The gap in the wall would be plugged, not with stone but with horseflesh.

  The riders who had got in barrelled around the place. Optimus watched as they loosed their
arrows, cutting down more men. Aysha led the wounded soldier into one of the chapels to take cover from the fire. Jamila watched in despair as they galloped towards the Mausoleum.

  “Jamila, we must take cover in the crypts! They have broken in!” implored Meset.

  “No. We will not fall back. We will not abandon the fire.” she said, resolutely.

  “No! What are you doing?” cried Meset, reaching out for her as she ran out of the chapel, but Batu held him back.

  “Let her go, Meset…Only Hatra can protect her now.”

  Jamila ran in front of the galloping horsemen and threw out her arms, barring their path.

  “Jamila!” cried Osuna, seeing her there. Hearing her name, Drumnos turned, and he too looked on in despair as the horseflesh juggernaut bore down upon her.

  “Hatra curses you! The light of Hatra stuns you!” she cried, more fierce and powerful than anyone would have thought possible for the timid young girl.

  The lead rider pulled at the reins, and his steed reared up whinnying, and the other horsemen backed up behind him, their steeds braying restlessly. Many of the Arcites had not been entirely brainwashed by the Old Gods, and they revered Hatra still, or at least feared her as one of a pantheon of gods. Save for Venhotek’s fanatics, any soldier of Arcon would have thought twice about spilling the blood of a priestess of Hatra. But if they feared Hatra’s wroth, a more pertinent threat was the wroth of the Reclaimers who bore down on them.

  Spears flew, sending men and steeds falling. Reclaimers cut at the legs of the horses with their falchions. Drumnos roared as he charged at the lead rider, and he rammed his blade into the rider’s gut. Osuna rushed up to Jamila and grabbed hold of her, guiding her back to the temple as the horsemen, held fast by Hatra’s light, were now butchered by her warriors.

  Seeing that the rogue horsemen had been apprehended, Optimus turned once more to the thronging masses before him. An Arcite soldier was tentatively clambering his way up the wall, so Optimus booted him off, and he fell back into the piled corpses below. The Arcites were losing faith. Many more were turning back, routing. The horsemen galloped around, but they could find no more openings in the wall, and spears flew out from behind the wall, felling them in droves.

  Seeing the futility of the attack, and with a couple more of his bodyguards hurled from their steeds by Reclaimer spears, Zamon turned tail and made a break for it. He tried to stifle his sheepishness as he rode back toward the unimpressed Khalim.

  “What? What is this? Why do we not break though?” howled Khalim, his arms flailing about wildly.

  “The gods are fickle, my liege.” said Zamon, blushing a little as his horse kicked and whinnied. “The oracle foretold blood…It must have been Arcite blood which was foretold!”

  Nephys rolled her eyes. Byzar suppressed a chuckle at the grim cleric’s expense. Khalim was utterly still for a few moments, before exploding in rage once more.

  “Enough! Enough!” he railed. “Rain hell upon them! Launch every arrow, unleash every war machine! Let them die, all of them! Let them die!”

  Optimus noted the movement of the troops, the advance of countless archers, the cranking of war machine. They planned to obliterate them all…Arcite and Reclaimer both.

  “Back to the crypts! Take cover!” he called, and the Reclaimers made a fighting retreat back towards the chapels that were dotted around Karuk. They fought off the Arcites as they trudged over the corpse-strewn wall, blood-spattered and exhausted. With the wall abandoned by the Reclaimers the Arcites took up their rams again, and they knocked holes into the wall, and the cavalry began to storm through.

  The Reclaimers filed into the chapels, each of which housed a tunnel which led down into the labyrinthine crypts. There they defended the entrances from the oncoming Arcites.

  Then came the volley: A vast storm of arrows was launched high into the air. The arrows fell, shrieking. The Arcites saw them coming and they despaired. They were cut down in droves by the deadly rain – horsemen and footmen both.

  The arrows rained down relentlessly. Optimus watched from within one of the chapels as the Reclaimers helped their wounded comrades take cover. He saw the flaming payload of catapults arc through the air, and they come down in blasts of fire, engulfing men in flames. Ballistas launched spears that punched holes in the walls of the chapels or speared men and horses.

  Imperios was one of the last to abandon the wall as he and others fought back the Arcites who surged over it, buying time for their comrades to take cover. As the rain of arrows fell he retreated back towards the central Mausoleum, his shield catching arrows overhead. He heard the screams of men and the braying of horses behind him as the missiles cut them down.

  He turned as he heard galloping from behind him. The horseman loosed an arrow, and it pierced his calf. Imperios fell as the arrow bit, screaming. The horseman fell too, punctured by half a dozen arrows in his back. Aysha watched on, helplessly, from the chapel where she sheltered as he lay there under the cover of his shield. She held her hand over her mouth as her heart pounding relentlessly.

  A lancer galloped towards him. He wasn’t looking for enemies – he was looking for cover. He would find none. The arrows arced down and felled him and his steed, but the horse fell and landed on top of Imperios’ legs. He cried in agony as the horse crushed him. He discarded his shield to try and haul the horse off of him, but to no avail.

  From the Mausoleum, Jamila and Osuna watched on.

  “Oh no…That man!” gasped Jamila, pointing.

  Osuna didn’t think twice. He ran out into the hail of arrows, picking up a fallen Reclaimer’s shield to protect himself. He ran to Imperios’ side.

  “Save yourself, soldier!” Imperios implored him as he struggled against the weight of the horse.

  Osuna was having none of it. He threw aside the shield even as arrows whistled down around him, even as fire flew overhead. He gritted his teeth and heaved as he and Imperios tried to shift the horse.

  Half a dozen Reclaimer arrived moments later, their shields raised to cover them, and they helped to haul off the horse. Osuna helped Imperios to his feed, and, limping, they made their retreat back to the Mausoleum covered by the Reclaimers’ shields.

  Optimus, watching on from a chapel, couldn’t help but smile as he saw Osuna make it back to the Mausoleum. Then he looked back to the sky and noticed that the arrows were becoming less and less frequent.

  “The storm ends. Hatra’s light shines once more.” he said to himself, smiling.

  Khalim raised a clenched fist.

  “Hold fire!” cried Nephys, and the archers and war machines fell silent.

  Khalim stood there, his black eyes fixed upon the unbroken walls of Karuk, now piled high with the countless Arcite dead. At first he thought everyone there was dead, that Venhotek’s foes had been purged. But then the Reclaimers filed out from the crypts and chapels once more, and took up their positions on the wall once again, bronze armour glittering in the sunlight, no less determined and not much diminished.

  Khalim shook his fists, feebly, at the heavens, and screamed in apoplectic rage.

  “Damn you, you demons! You heathens! You will die, you will all die! You will be flayed alive, damn you!” he protested, impotently, before literally thrashing the earth with his golden fists. “Byzar, bring me a girl to hit!”

  “Very well, sire.” said Byzar with eyebrows raised. A couple of his men collected one of the concubines and dragged her before him. She recoiled as he thrashed her about, slapping her in a vaguely pathetic manner, and she squealed and curled up into a ball as he hit her.

  Once done, he rose to his feet and took a deep breath, and paced his way over to Nephys, Byzar, and the sheepish Zamon as calmly as he could.

  “We continue the assault tomorrow. The heathens have proven stouter than I had expected, and they continue to resist me despite my military genius. I shall consult a dozen oracles in the morning. With luck, Venhotek shall reveal how best to defeat these doughty infidels.”


  With that he walked off back to his tent followed by the Azurian Guard and Zamon. Nephys stayed there a while, looking out towards the Reclaimer ranks, and Byzar walked up beside her.

  “Hmm. This is beginning to wear my patience thin.” he harrumphed. “I’m under no illusions, Commander. If you were in charge, those bronze dandies would be dead already.”

  Nephys spat at his feet, and locked her hateful eyes upon him. “Do not trouble me with your poisonous words, Byzar.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘fuck off’ then.” he snorted.

  “Do so.” grunted Nephys, before turning her gaze back to undaunted Karuk.

  The wall would have to be rebuilt in places. The dead would have to be accounted for and buried. Though wearied by the toils of battle the Reclaimers set to this task without complaint.

  The sun fell, but still the Reclaimers toiled, chilled by the cold desert night, squinting in the dim light of torches. They hauled rocks to fix the broken wall. They hauled the bodies of the dead. The dead Arcites were hurled in front of the wall to make a macabre mound standing before it. They would be left to rot there. The Reclaimers were taken into Karuk, to be counted and named, and then buried within its walls. As well as hauling rocks and bodies, the Reclaimers stood watch on the walls, their stern gaze fixed on the enemy camp, looking for movement, anything that might indicate a night attack.

  “Twenty nine dead. Brave soldiers all.” said Meridon, looking upon the Reclaimer dead laid out on the sand.

  “Twice as many lamed or wounded.” said Optimus, striking a more pessimistic tone.

  “We have taken a heavy toll on the enemy. Their dead number in the thousands.”

  “Khalim’s madness killed more men than our swords this day.” said Optimus, casting his gaze towards the enemy camp.

  “But at this rate, it would take an army of millions to wrest us from this place.” Meridon grinned, allowing a little optimism to seep through. “Perhaps they will abandon Karuk. Perhaps Praxos’ army will come, and together we can defeat King Khalim once and for all.”

  Optimus smiled and shook his head. “The hot sun must be getting to you, Meridon. Get some rest.”

  Meridon chuckled. “Aye, my liege. Listen to me, silly old fool. Hope, eh? It’s a mug’s game.”

  “Indeed it is, Meridon. Indeed it is.” chuckled Optimus, and Meridon left to get some rest. Optimus watched his men rebuilding the wall, and he noted one in particular who laboured as hard as any. It was Osuna.

  Optimus took a spear from a nearby stack and strode up to him. Osuna looked up at him, pensively, half expecting to be chastised for labouring alongside pious, fearless Reclaimers. Instead, Optimus handed the spear towards him.

  “Join the guards on the western wall. I want to bolster our defences there.” he said.

  Osuna stood and took the spear. He felt a swelling of pride, but didn’t allow himself to smile. “Yes sire.” he nodded.

  Optimus said nothing more. He knew there was no need. Osuna went off to join the men on the western wall. He was one of them now.

  Meset and Batu passed along the line of Reclaimer dead, shining the light of a burning brazier over them, heads bowed and saying prayers. Once done, they turned their gaze to the men throwing Arcite bodies off the wall and piling them up on the other side.

  “A grisly business.” noted Batu.

  “It is a horrid business indeed. I wonder what Hatra would make of it all? And her chapels!” said Meset, turning to the chapels nearby. A number of them had been struck by the catapults, or studded with ballista-bolts, and were half-collapsed.

  “I think Hatra knows we’re doing all we can.” consoled Batu, with a smile.

  “Yes. It’s better this way – we’re putting up a real fight. Far preferable to what happened at the Sepulchre. That was no fight, Batu. It was a massacre.” he said, drifting off into unwelcome memories at the sight of those crumbling chapels.

  “Come, my friend. Let’s say a prayer for these hard-working soldiers.” said Batu, and they went off to bless the labourers on the wall even as they did unholy work.

  In the crypts, lit by the light of torches, Jamila dressed the wounds of an injured soldier. He lay there on the stone slab, the very one that Osuna had been lain upon when she had tended to his wound. She dressed the arrow wound in his calf. He tossed and turned, winced in pain. He was sweating profusely, and his brow was hot, so she drenched a cloth in cold water and put it on his forehead.

  “I know this man.” came a voice.

  “Drumnos.” Jamila smiled, genuinely this time, less awkwardly than she used to.

  “His name is Imperios. He’s one of our best lancers.” he said, walking up beside him and patting him on the hand.

  “I’ve been asked to tend to the wounded. You aren’t hurt, are you? That’s not why you’re here?”

  “No, no…” smiled Drumnos. “I just wanted to see you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” she smiled, blushing.

  “You were very brave today.” he said.

  Jamila bowed her head and looked away.

  “I saw how you stood before those horsemen, bade them come no further. I’ve never seen such courage, not even from my fellow Reclaimers.”

  “I couldn’t do nothing. Not with all those brave men fighting out there. I had to do something.”

  “I was afraid for you. I don’t know what I’d do if you were hurt. If you were…Killed.” he said, his voice welling up.

  Jamila looked him in the eye somewhat sternly. “We all do what we must.”

  “You will not leave?”

  “No. I am with you. With the Reclaimers. With Hatra. I will not leave.”

  Drumnos smiled as he turned away. “While I am glad to have you here with us, I would rather you leave. If you were to be hurt by the enemy, or dragged off by them…”

  “We all face risks, Drumnos. Mine are no different to yours. Not really.”

  “I’ve only ever known love for Hatra. For an almighty god, whom you cannot see, cannot touch.” said Drumnos, looking Jamila nervously in the eye. “Until I met you.”

  Jamila sighed and shook her head. “Drumnos…I am a servant of Hatra. All of the love I have is devoted to her. Let us…Let us be friends, Drumnos. Let us share a prayer each day we have left together. Let us enjoy each other’s company. But let us not torture ourselves with anything more.”

  Drumnos smiled as he turned to leave. “It is too late for that, I’m afraid. Goodnight, Jamila.”

  “Goodnight, Drumnos.”

  Imperios awoke from his fevered slumber, roused by the warmth of a kiss on his lips. His eyes opened, his vision blurry at first, but as his eyesight returned to him he could at last see her in the dim torch light. Aysha was knelt down next to him, and she smiled as she saw his eyes open.

  “Aysha…” he said, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.

  “Imperios.” she said softly, smiling.

  Imperios sat up and saw his leg, painful, but dressed. “You dressed the wounds?”

  Aysha smirked. “No. Jamila did that. She’s amazing isn’t she? A priestess, a healer…And now a warrior, too.”

  Imperios lay down and looked deep into her eyes. Before he really knew what he was doing he reached out and felt her hair between his fingertips. “You were brave too. I saw you out there, risking your life.”

  Aysha smiled at first, but then said nothing as her thoughts turned to the horrors she had witness. She tried to comfort herself, tried to take her mind away from that horrible place, and so she took Imperios’ hand and placed it against her cheek.

  “You have to go now.” he whispered.

  “No…” she whispered back.

  “The enemy will come again. They’ll keep coming until we’re all dead.”

  “You’re wounded…Won’t you be allowed to leave?”

  “No. We Reclaimers must defend this place to our last breath.”

  “Then how can I leave? When you Reclaimers ar
e fighting and dying…No. I can’t leave them. I can’t leave you!”

  “No!” snapped Imperios, more sternly. “When I think of what could happen to you, I am sick with worry. I implore you to leave this place while you still have the…”

  Aysha interrupted him by kissing him softly on the lips. “I want to be with you.”

  Imperios shook his head. “I cannot. I am devoted to Hatra. I am destined to die.”

  She shook her head. “You seem convinced you will die tomorrow. Then can we not be together just for one night? You are giving your whole life to Hatra. Can you not have one night for yourself? With me?”

  Imperios pulled his hand away and turned to face away from her. He spoke as sternly as he could manage. “Leave me.”

  Tears rolled down Aysha’s cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone. Not after all that’s happened…Not after what I’ve seen.” She climbed up onto the slab and put her arm around his chest. “The dead. So many dead. Won’t you comfort me, Imperios?”

  At last he relented, turning to face her, and she wrapped her leg around his waist. “I cannot resist you.” he said.

  “Then don’t.” she said, and she kissed him again. This time he kissed back.