The Season of Blood

The rains came with the ninth moon, and every man who lived by the will of the Nahar looked to the southlands where darkened clouds gathered over the distant mountains. There, at the very edge of the world, dark forests dreamed on the foothills of the most ancient lands and the rains fell upon the mountain slopes like silver veils.

The river swelled with the floodwaters, and the people gave thanks to their gods as the river filled its muddy channel and then swelled outward. Dark waters flowed beneath huts built upon stakes, and cattle moaned as they waded through the water that rose to their bellies. The river deposited dark soil across the fallow fields, and men knew that when the waters faded, the earth would be remade, and renewed.

Utuzan stood on the terrace of the white palace, watching as the waters flowed and inundated the land beneath the moon. Even the lower districts of Shendim itself were subsumed; the narrow streets became rivers, and boats plied them as they did the sunken river channel in the high summer. He smelled the dark, fecund odor of the water and turned his face aside. A river of mud and dung transformed to a miracle by people who scratched out their living on the shore, crushed between basalt mountains and waterless wastes.

He closed his eyes and saw again, in his mind, the land he remembered. He saw the dark blue waters of the Sea of Xis, smelled the sweet breezes that blew across it. He saw Akang not as it was now, but as it had been. A city taller and cleaner and grander than any he had yet seen in this fallen age. Even his brothers he saw, and not when they had been his enemies, but when they had all been young and full of fire, and it had seemed they might stand together against the world, if need be.

The scrape of scales upon stone brought him from his reverie, and he turned to watch as Malika dragged herself into the silver light of the waxing moon. Her heavy, serpentine body pushed her forward while she walked upon her hands. It was an inelegant way to move, and he suspected she did it only to try and make him feel regret for what he had done to her.

When she reached him, she rose up on the pale coils that were what she had now in place of legs. He found her rather more beautiful now than he had before, and the sullen anger that smoldered in her gaze when she thought he did not see it only made her seem moreso. Perhaps, one day, he might release her from this shape, but he was loath to, as it made her far more than she had been before.

“You do not enjoy the flood, my lord?” she said, as always her tone tightly controlled in his presence.

“It seems a poor replacement for a land blessed with rain,” he said. “I remember a world with enough water for all, with rain that fell all through the year, and a kingdom that did not smell of cow dung.”

“If our world is not to your liking, then you might leave it to us,” she said, and he smiled a little at that.

“I am not one who will leave something. All I see is mine, and I will take it. Just know that I will use my power to remake the world, and it shall be again as it was before. As it should have been.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Your scouts have returned.” He did not ask, he knew.

“Yes,” she said. “You were right. There is an army moving southward toward our borders. The banner it follows bears the sign of the King of High Ashem.”

“I knew he would not disappoint me,” Utuzan said. “He has heard the garbled stories of your dethronement and then the tale of the fall of the city and the death of Zaban. He will not know what has really transpired here, but he will believe that chaos engulfs Meru. He is too ambitious to pass up such a chance. So he sends a force to the border to invest the fortress at the cataract, and he will see how we answer such a provocation.”

“And all in place of a proper embassy,” Mailika said. “I well remember the wise men his father sent to my father. They sent word to one another, wrote letters and made treaties. Now his son behaves as a brigand.”

“If he sent an embassy, then there would be negotiation and diplomacy, and that would prevent him from taking what he wants.” Utuzan remembered wars in an earlier age. “This way, he will take the land, and then if you object he will temporize. So long as he possesses the territory, he knows you would have to fight him to take it back. He believes you will hesitate to do so, if you yet hold the throne. He trusts that internal warfare will have made Meru weak.”

Utuzan smiled, took the Heart of Anatu in his hand to stroke it like a beloved pet. “He will find he was wrong. I will take Kardan with me, and this shall make a good way to unveil my newest weapon and make my enemies fear me.” He glanced at her sidelong. “You shall have to do without your lover for a time. I trust you can endure.”

He saw her turn away from him, anger and embarrassment on her pale features, and he shook his head. A queen she was, and now more than mortal, and yet she was so very young in her fashion. She had power, and he had given her mystery and made her into a myth, and yet she had not wisdom. And yet there was time. She would live long, and become legend. He would make of her a grand queen as of old, though she cursed him for it all her days.

o0o

Dust rose up into the hard azurite blue of the sky as the army moved across the land beside the seething waters of the flooded river. Ten thousand chariots rode in the van, each man resplendent in gleaming scaled armor and a tall helm, spear in hand and sword at his side. The horses walked slowly in the heat, heads down, eager to stop for the night as the sun lowered in the west. Behind them marched twenty thousand foot soldiers, shields slung on their backs. Some carried spear and axe, some bow and long knife. They choked on the dust of the riders, trod on the manure of the horses, and licked their lips as their thirst grew.

It was late afternoon, and at the heart of the army, surrounded by riders, was the standard of general Nokh. He was a tall man, with dark skin and his eyes painted with kohl to shield him from the glare of the sun. His armor was iron scales gilded with copper so it gleamed in the falling light. His helm was crafted into a mask with the face of a devil and the horns of a beast. He was a man all who followed him feared as though he were the shape of death. It was said that no army he led could be defeated, and that no one he had struck with sword or spear had lived to speak of it. He spoke the language of beasts, and the jackals howled his name by night.

He did not concern himself with the thirst or weariness of his troops, nor the floodwaters that had blocked many of the easiest roads. His men would do what he commanded of them, and the wider river path only meant his supply ships could more easily keep pace with his army. He looked only to the south, where the hills rose up in jagged ridges where the river bent to the west, and there, at the rim of the escarpment, a fortress stood watchful over the roads. Many times that fortress had changed hands between the Kings of Meru and the Lords of High Ashem. For a generation now the weakness of the Ashemu had left it in the hands of the southern kingdom, but now that would come to an end.

He saw glints of light flicker from the ancient walls and knew that scouts in the nearby lands were being signaled. It did not matter – he had never planned to strike with complete surprise. The Meru were weak, torn now by some inner war that had sent refugees and tales of terror streaming northward. Now his master, the Lord Rukha of Ashem, saw the moment was ripe, and so he sent an army to seize it. It was not done with the command or consent of the king, but little was asked of the king in these days. A great victory won here might mean a new king upon the throne of gold and chalcedony.

Smoke rose from the walls of the fortress, and signal fires winked to life in the afternoon sun. General Nokh looked to the river where the sails of his supply fleet drifted like leaves upon the shimmering surface of the water, and he gave the command for signals to be given. The commander of the fortress surely expected him to encamp for the night and attack at dawn, but he would not give them such a respite. He would sleep in the walls of stone this night, while his enemies made a pyre for the gods with their broken bones.

o0o

The attack broke upon the high fortress when the sun was transforming the far vistas of the desert into a realm of fire. The sky was deepening to blue pierced by the blaze of stars, and then burning arrows slashed across like the marks of claws rending the dark. Ballistae and catapults hurled stones and flaming bolts against the stone, and the night filled with the clamor of war drums and the sounds of a thousand bowstrings giving voice as one.

The defenders shot back, sending arrows sheeting into the dark, but they could not see many targets, and the fortress was not manned by enough soldiers to guard it as well as they might wish. The attacks rained arrows and stones upon the defenses, and men ducked down behind the parapets to shield themselves.

Under cover of the terrible assault, the foot soldiers worked their way in and rushed up the ramp that led to the main gate. The defenders rained stones and hot sand and arrows on them, but not with enough force to drive them back. They reached the gate and held their shields up, forming a barrier, and then they handed the ram up through the mass of them and brought its iron-shod point hard against the gate itself.

Every man in the fortress heard the deadly sound as the ram hammered against the dry, ancient wood of the gate, and they all heard the awful sound as it split apart. Made of wood a century old, battered by wind and desert heat and autumn rains, the barrier gave way almost too easily, and the soldiers rushed through the disintegrating pieces and fell upon their enemies with sword and axe and stone-headed mace.

The defenders ran to meet them, and the courtyard of the fortress dissolved in a bloody tapestry of war. Swords plunged in and drew back in red rivers, armor was rent and helms crushed. Spears pressed forward in glittering ranks and reaped men down until the dead were heaped shoulder-high, and the attackers pushed them down and marched over them. The defenders were driven back, up to the very walls, and then hurled from the fortifications to scream and smash below, broken upon the stones.

Night fell, and the fortress was lit by great fires. General Nokh entered it as the moon crept over the hills, and he trod upon stones washed with blood. His banner was raised over the towers, and horns blew the victory song, so that all might know that Ashem had come again to claim what it owned.

o0o

The night was alive with stars when shadows unfolded on the hillside and Utuzan took form from what had been formless. He stood on an outcrop of stone with his black cloak close around him, and Shedjia was beside him, her hands painted with arcane sigils and the shapes of daggers. She crouched upon the cold rock like a leashed hunting animal, hungry and ready to strike for blood.

Utuzan looked down on the fortress and was unimpressed. In his day such a base construction would have barely been dignified with the name, as it was a simple thing made from the hard, black stone quarried from the hills. It did not look as important as it was, but he knew it commanded the passage between kingdoms, and as such it must be his.

“Have you heard of this man, this General Nokh?” he said, the heart glowing red in his hand.

“He is said to be a son of devils. That his ancestors were cannibals who feasted on the flesh of children, and that no blade can cut his flesh.” Shedjia laughed a little. “Perhaps he would better serve you than the king of Ashem.”

“I think not,” he said. He held forth his hand so the shadow of his fingers seemed to touch the high towers where lights gleamed. “Go into the fortress and slay him. The army will attack, and their commander will be dead in his chambers. It will break them like brittle glass. Go.”

Shedjia stretched like a lioness. “I go where I am commanded, and I kill for my master.” She drew the shadows around herself and vanished into the dark, leaving a coldness behind like the breath from between stars. Utuzan watched the place where she had been and considered her. So eager and so obedient, he wondered if there would come a day when the power he had given her was not enough to satisfy her hunger. No one knew better than he how a thirst for power is never slaked.

The wind in the hills was cold, and he looked down to where the army of the Ashemites was encamped beside the ancient walls. Thousands of fires glittered in the night, and the scent of the smoke came to him, reminding him of other nights in another age. He turned his gaze to the south, and there he watched for the glimmer of the moon on iron.

o0o

General Nokh was not asleep. Tortured by uneasy dreams, he woke in the dark and rose from the bed without lighting a lantern. He shrugged a cloak around himself and walked barefooted to the small balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard of the fortress. The commander’s rooms were cramped, as was everything in this place. The fortress had been built and re-built many times in the last five hundred years, and yet this newest construction was over a century old. It had not been made with great skill or an eye for comfort.

The only reason this place was fortified was just below him – the small well at the center of the small courtyard. This place always had water, and so it was hard to take by siege. To his mind, it was not a good enough reason. Part of him was tempted to simply bury the well and pull down the walls, strip the place so that no stone stood upon another. Little glory was to be found in fighting for dusty old stone.

The hangings moved slowly in the night breeze, belling outward and then inward again, like the dark itself were breathing. It was even and regular, and so when they flapped slightly, he noticed. He felt a cold breeze across his feet and he turned slowly, pressed close against the wall, looking into the darkened room. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and the silver light of the stars filtered down and into the chamber.

He saw the bed, the coverlet rumpled and the cushions bunched up almost in the shape of a man. For a long breath all he saw was darkness, and then the darkness moved. He saw a form there that almost no light touched, saw the glimmer of light on eyes, and then, limned by the faint light, he saw a blade.

o0o

The army came up from the dark lands behind a billow of mist that covered them and hid them from sight. Ten thousand desert riders in their horn-scale coats, bearing spears and axes, and behind them mercenary soldiers on foot in heavy armor and long shields. They marched in the dust raised by their passage, and sound of their footfalls muffled. Banners hung slack in the stillness of the midnight hour, and at their head was a tall banner with no lord beside it. The army marched by command, in silence, led by no one. There were no battle horns, no signal drums, only the rattle of armor and the sound of hooves.

They crept closer, spreading out over the desert ground, forming into a host that stretched from the verge of the river to the edge of the hills, and then the wind lifted up and began to sing. The mist and the dust tattered away, and then the encampment around the fortress was dashed from their rest by the blast of horns and the hammering of war drums. Thousands of horses screamed in alarm, and tens of thousands of voices rose in terror and on wrath. Riders set their heels to their steeds, and the army of Meru lunged forward into a charge.

Arrows sang in the dark, and then flaming darts fell from the sky and began to set the rousing camp afire. Tents caught in the night wind and blazed up, panicking horses and men alike. Men ran for their chariots and were cut down by arrows that fell like black rain on thirsty earth. Blood ran over the ground, and the smell of it rose up against the sky.

o0o

Nokh moved carefully, keeping his gaze fixed upon the shadowy form that must be his assassin. He tried to move to where his armor and sword hung in the corner of the room, but bright eyes flashed in the dark and he heard a quick indrawn breath. The hunter flashed the ebony outline of a dagger and then moved, coming for him with unnatural swiftness. Nokh felt his heart grow hard like iron, and then he leaped forward and caught the dusky arm that wielded the plunging blade.

He felt a wiry, deadly strength, and then another blade slashed along his side, parting the robe and scoring his flesh. He hissed and threw his weight against the would-be killer, dragging them both down to the floor. They crashed against the hard frame of the bed, and he smashed the hand against the floor until the grasp loosened and the blade fell free. He did not hear it clatter on the stones, and it seemed to vanish as though it were smoke.

His assailant twisted beneath him and pulled free. He grappled with the shadow and smelled a scent like burnt roses, felt the unmistakable outlines of a woman. It made him hesitate long enough that she got her foot against his shoulder and broke them apart.

She rolled into the splash of moonlight, and he saw her revealed. Her head was swathed in a cowl, and all he saw of her face was lambent orange eyes. Her muscular arms were bare save for the black-stained tattoos of daggers marked on her flesh. As he looked, she touched one of the marks and drew it forth as if it were a real blade of glinting black glass. She held it in her hand, and he felt a cold taste of fear at the sight. Here was no ordinary killer.

Nor was he an ordinary man. He groped behind him and found the hilt of his iron sword sheathed behind him where it hung beside his armor. He drew it out and held it ready, crouched there in the dark. He did not call for help, he would slay this one with his own hands so all might know fear. He readied himself, and then he heard war-drums clamor outside in the night and he knew there was no more time. He shouted for his guards.

The assassin leaped, a shape of terrible grace and unhallowed speed. Blades of night shimmered in her hands, and she hissed like a serpent as she sprang in for the kill, eyes alive with an ember fire. Nokh rose to meet her, and their weapons clashed in a spray of sparks.

o0o

The charioteers mounted their war engines in a hail of arrows, leaving men dead and dying on the hard soil, and then the charioteers slashed with their whips and the horses screamed as they surged into motion. The rush of horsemen fell upon the scattered foot soldiers, and a line of spears was not enough to stop the crush of armored riders. Spears and axes struck home, and the battle line was rent apart.

The chariots shambled into action, gaining speed as best they could, and the clangor of iron-rimmed wheels grew deafening. The chariot drivers plied their whips like madmen, and the spearmen stood tall and hurled their javelins in a great wave that brought down men and beasts. War horns split the night as the two charges crashed together, and the mass of chariots was shattered apart.

In the dark, in the confusion, the chariots turned and smashed into one another, horses stumbling and falling into heaps, sending the charioteers flying as their seats overturned. The horsemen rode nimbly around the wrecks, striking down with their spears again and again, leaving dead men scattered in their wake, crushed under sharp hooves or merciless wheels.

Out on the water, the barges had begun to move, the men on the riverboats lighting braziers for light and gathering to man the ballistae and fire-flingers they had to hand. Men rowed feverishly, trying to bring the craft in closer to the battle so they might lend aid to their beleaguered companions on shore. By the light of the bright stars they could see enough to aim, and so they began to fire a ragged stream of iron-headed bolts and burning pitch upon their enemies.

The waters beneath the were muddy and dark, and at first none of them noticed when the waters beneath them began to moved and surge, as if with a tide, and then a glow came from beneath the black waters, and men began to howl in new terror.

o0o

Nokh fought the shadow assassin in a flurry of blows in the darkness. It was almost impossible to see her, and he had to fight by instinct, knowing where she would strike or giving her false openings to draw her out. She came at him with her smoke knives, barely even seeming to be real, and yet twice they cut him, spilling blood down his skin.

He backed away, hearing his guards rushing up the staircase. In a moment they would burst into the chamber, and so he knew she might try something desperate, as once men began to flood the room she would have lost her chance. He saw her eyes, feral and bloody, glaring at him with an inner light.

A heavy blow fell upon the door and she leaped for him, blades slashing. He fell back, grabbed his scaled armor from its stand and flung it in her face, knocking her back and giving him a moment to counter. His iron sword slashed out and he felt it cut, heard her cry of rage and anger, and then the door smashed open and his men came charging into the room, lanterns held high and swords ready.

Even with light cast on her, the assassin was more like a coil of black smoke than a mortal form. She turned as the guards rushed her and her blades flickered so quickly they could not be seen. Two men went down, gushing red across the floor, and a third collapsed, holding his belly as his entrails spilled out. The she gave a venomous curse and leaped for the window. Nokh rushed after her, but when his sword came down it rang on the stone, and there was no sign of the shadowy killer.

He found himself looking down on the starlit battle plain, and it was a swirl of confusion, blood, and flickering fire. The encampment was ablaze, horses running and screaming in the smoke, and the army was beginning to come apart under the assault. He spat a curse of his own and swept his armor up from the floor. “Come quickly,” he said. “The battle calls my name.”

o0o

The waters heaved beneath the river barges, and from the deeps surged the scaled form of Kardan in all his monstrous glory. He lifted a barge from beneath and broke the hull into splinters, letting the river rush in to drag it down. His tail threshed as he swam to the next and pulled himself aboard, his great bulk dragging the side of the boat closer to the surface.

Men saw him through a haze of terror as he towered above them. Half man, half beast, he wore ornaments but no armor, for his scaled skin was proof against any iron point. In his hands he carried an immense, bronze-headed hammer, and with it he smashed men and wooden planks alike, cracking the boat apart, crushing flesh and bone. He shattered the ballistae and the men who crewed them, dashed aside barrels of pitch and spread flame across ships and the river itself.

Alone he battered his way through the barges, spreading blood and fire in his wake until they began to cut themselves free and drift apart to try and escape him. The murderous fire they had poured upon the shore slackened and stopped, and then they were simply fleeing into the night, pushing away to founder blindly in the waters, hoping not to be mired in shallows or on a sandbar.

Kardan left them and turned toward the shore. Like a river-god, he swam from the deeps and then came surging through the shallows, tail sweeping behind him. He came roaring into the starlight, and men fled from the sight of him. Horses screamed, and ally and enemy both drew away from his path. Chariots veered aside, but he met them before they could escape, and his hammer smashed their light frames into pieces, left dead men broken upon the earth.

Arrows glanced from his iron-hard scales, and the light of the burning tents washed over him like sacrificial fires blazing beneath an idol of war. He hurled himself into the Ashemi line and broke it in two, hammer and claws smashing armor and bone. He caught up horses in his jaws and shook them to pieces, and great lashes of his tail cut men down like chaff before the scythe. He gave forth a great bellow that shook the ground and sent men scattering, half-mad from the sound of it. He thundered toward the gates of the fortress, and nothing could stop him.

o0o

Nokh cinched his armor in place as he forced his way through the courtyard. Already the fortress was filling up with men who had fled from the battle and now were packed in shoulder to shoulder, wailing their fear. It disgusted him to smell it. He shoved men aside, and he cut down those who would not stop jabbering in their panic. Awareness of him spread through the crowd, and fear of him began to still them. They all knew he would not hesitate to judge and punish.

He shouted for men to get on the walls and set their bows to work, arrayed men at the gates and set the spearmen in their ranks. The men outside would have to survive as they could for the moment, but he swore he would not let the fortress be taken so easily. And yet even as he gave orders he watched every shadow. There was dark power at work here, and he did not know what form it might take.

Then he heard the roaring from outside the fortress, and he heard the screams of horses and of men. He pushed forward, commanding the men at the gates to hold fast, but then something huge smashed through them, tossing men like dolls, and there in the flickering light he beheld something he had never imagined.

It stood on two legs like a man, but it was shaped like a river dragon. The head was long-muzzled and heavy with fangs, while the eyes were gleaming brass that seemed to cut through the dark. The arms were massive and the clawed hands gripped a great hammer that gouged the stone as it was dragged across the paving. Behind it a tail as long as two horses lashed side-to-side, slapping down men as though they were made from driftwood.

It bellowed again, its body vibrating and making the very air shake. Men shrank back from it, clutching their heads in pain, and the thing showed its teeth in what Nokh would swear was a smile. He saw an intelligence in those brazen eyes. This was no simple beast bred in the black jungles far to the south, this was something new.

His men shrank back from the beast, but he could not, and in a moment he stood alone against it, facing the giant with only his iron blade for an ally. It bellowed again and rushed him, clawing the stone with its splayed feet, battering stone from the walls as the saw-edged tail slashed behind it. The hammer rose up, and then came rushing down upon him.

o0o

Rather than leap aside, Nokh leaped forward, feeling the impact of the hammer as it smashed the stones behind him. He rushed in toward the pale underbelly and struck furiously, seeing sparks as his sword glanced off the plated scales. The monster made a grinding sound and reached for him, but he twisted out of the way. Claws snagged on his armor and tore it as though it were rotted linen, leaving scales hanging down from his back.

Nokh struck again and again, until his sword was notched and twisted out of form, and then the beast caught him with the sweep of a claw and crushed him down to the earth. He felt bones snap inside and he cried out, spitting blood like venom on the earth.

It bent down over him, jaws wide and teeth dripping with blood, and he thrust his broken sword into the soft mouth and gouged the flesh, bringing bright blood rushing down over him. The beast roared and hurled him aside, and he had a single moment of awareness, feeling himself between the earth and the sky, turning over in seeming slowness, until he struck and everything was wiped away in a blinding flash of pain.

o0o

Men fled from the fortress as the demon within it rampaged, tearing down stone after stone, bellowing bloodied fury into the dark. The Ashemi bore away their fallen general on a litter made from broken spears and torn banners. His body was broken and he lay senseless, yet he lived. Even the forces of Meru had to pull away, for their scaled warlord was blood-mad, using his iron strength to demolish all that lay within reach.

When dawn came the fortress was a ruin, the stone walls broken down, the gate crushed, the towers dashed down to the earth. Kardan plunged into the river and vanished from sight, leaving only a small trail of blood on the surface to mark his passage.

Utuzan looked on the wreckage as the horizon began to pale and the night wind brought the promise of day. He was not pleased. The fortress was destroyed, his army had suffered losses greater than he wanted, and his assassin had failed him. He gripped the Heart of Anatu in his hand and looked southward to where the Ashemi army shadowed the earth. The dust of their passage caught the first light of the sun and shimmered there like a ghost.

He had delivered them a bloody blow, and they would fear to come against him, but he had wished for a more complete victory. It had been messy, inelegant, and uncontrolled. The armies he commanded now were not the equal of what he had possessed in the elder days, and that was made plain. If he was to sweep all before him he would need something more than what he had gathered. He had to regain his old power, and he did not wish to wait. Now would come an hour of testing. Now he would pit himself against an ancient power, and this time he must win.