Smoke lay over the hills and forests of Tarakan, and the roads were emptied when the night came, for death had come to live in the night, and no man dared venture forth under the sign of the moon. The smoke was from the burning of the fields and the lodges of those the Mordani judged to be rebels, and the roads were marked by the bodies of the executed, hung by their wrists until they ceased to cry out, and the birds came to devour their eyes and tongues.
By day the Mordani lords roamed the paths in armed companies, horses breathing hard as they rode with drawn swords and smoking matches in their guns. The country they had once held as their own was now dangerous for them, and any man who went alone would not return. Those lost vanished in the dark and the jungle and their heads were found when morning came, hanging from tree limbs, or at the crossroads where they executed those who rebelled against them. By night the slain Utani were taken down and replaced by Mordani taken from their beds in the night, by women who vanished in the dark. All knew the fear of the rebellion, and all feared the mark of the serpent and the tiger.
The Utani in the fields bent their necks and endured, working their crops by day, seeking to give no offense to their masters, but by night many of them covered their faces and crept out into the forest. They slipped up on manor houses and set them afire, or they stole and slaughtered cattle and horses. They poisoned wells, stole children, and took the heads of any man who fell into their grasp.
So by day the land simmered under the late-summer heat, the skies to the west dark with gathering storms, though the first real monsoon of the season had not yet some striding ashore. Thunder often rumbled distantly while the sun yet shone and the rains fell through the afternoon light in scintillant color. The Mordani warlords traveled the roads with swords bared and struck down any who so much as looked them in the face, striving to use terror to subdue.
By night the land belonged to the Tigress, and though none knew her name, some claimed to have seen her. They said she was a witch out of the high country, tattooed as in the old ways and with the magic of the Old Gods. They said she could vanish at will, that she transformed under the crescent moon into a tigress the size of a horse, and that no blade could touch her. The young men and women, driven to rage by the cruelty of their overlords, had become her disciples, and it was she who nurtured the flame of revolt in Tarakan, and who had sworn to drive the Mordani out with fire and steel.
o0o
Jaya waited for the night, sitting on the hillside with the spreading branches of the banyan tree giving her shade. Before her the hills fell away toward the spreading plain of the southern island, and even this far away she could see the pattern of fields and roads. In the time since she had gone north into the mountains the roads had grown like an infection, marking off the land one part from another, scarring the sacred earth of this place.
And the Mordani giants had done what they could to drive the people to the brink of rebellion. Two years of bloody oppression, theft, and rapine had done more to bring fighters to her cause than anything else she could have done with her own hands. Now she was returned, and she would undo what the invaders had done. All of it.
Two years in the highlands had changed her. Her skin was darkened by the upland sun, so much closer in the sky. Her hands and arms were tattooed with the marks of Hamau, and she wore silks painted with the stripes of the Claw-Keeper. Her skin was painted as well, with stripes up her back and across her face. Her hair was bound into braids held back with bone rings, and she wore the hard leather vambraces on her wrists. Her father’s sword was at her side, and the spear she had taken was in her hand.
Around her were gathered those who had been the acolytes of the apostate tiger god, who had become her own. The old man Vadir had taught them – and her – all the secret ways of his people, the arts of stealth and assassination, the methods for ceasing to breathe and to feign death, to walk without leaving tracks, and cause wounds to heal by the demonstration of will. He had withheld the teachings from those who had imprisoned him, making them and their servants easy prey for Jaya, but he gave them to her, and helped her mold the remaining disciples into an invisible army.
A dozen of them had come south with her – most of the eldest and strongest – and now they waited with her, faces and hands stained black, hoods covering their hair. Seven boys and five girls, the youngest of them fifteen. They feared nothing, and in the dark they were unstoppable. Yet Jaya knew it was not enough to sow terror and reap Mordani lives, she must rouse the countryside against them, she must build a greater army, because it was war she sought.
The day was breaking in the west, the sun setting behind the building stormclouds in a blaze of fire. Followers were coming in from the country all around, making their way along back roads and through the thickest parts of the jungle. By nightfall she would have over two hundred of them – enough for her purpose. At the limits of her sight was the shape of the greatest manor house in the inland regions. It had stone walls and was guarded by soldiers and guns. In the dark it was lit by blazing fires and a hundred lanterns. Tonight she would destroy it.
She watched them gather, coming through the forest by secret trails as the light faded. The Mordani would be hiding themselves away now, closing gates and windows, lighting bonfires and lanterns, gathering indoors with swords and guns ready to hand. They feared her now, and that pleased her.
A knot of Utani came up the hill, only to be stopped by her disciples. She waved for them to be let through. Jaya had no fear of assassins, not now. Vadir had taught her all the ways of death. Of the garrote and the dart and the poisoned blade, and she knew them all.
A young man with one eye and a lame leg bowed low before her. “Forgive me, o tigress of the forest, but I bring words you will wish to hear.”
“Speak them then.” She gestured for him to be easy, and yet he still trembled and could barely look on her.
He pointed back down the hill, toward the fields. “Three men rode through the gates into the great house, just before dark. I speak the Mordani tongue, and so I listened and heard what they said and who they are. They are paladins, my lady. Those who serve the Mordani sky-god with devotion that demands their life. They eat only the plainest food, and keep no wealth nor property. They take no woman, nor sire children. They are men who live by the sword and by the steel armor that is like their skin. They are warrior-fanatics, and they are said to wield strange powers and to command the magic of the foreign god.”
“A false god,” Jaya said. “A fool’s god.”
“I have heard the tales of these men before, tigress, and they are tales of terror. One of them is such a warrior, but one is enough to strike down armies. He commands two servants who are nearly as deadly. If you go against the house tonight, you must face them, and the cost in blood will be high.” The man pressed his face to the dirt. “I came to warn you. I came at great danger to my life, for if they find I am gone, they will not spare me if they find me again.”
Jaya smiled. “Then you have joined my army, and I welcome you.”
“I am a poor fighter,” the man said. “The overlords gouged out my eye as a child, and then they crippled my leg when I tried to escape them.”
“Can you cast a torch, or a spear?” Jaya said.
“I can,” the man said, looking uncertain.
“Then you have all that is needed.” She gestured for her men to lead him away. She stood and looked down the long sweep of the misty hills to where the sprawling manor house awaited them. Fire and blood under the full moon, and now a worthy foe to face, and heads worth the taking of them. She squinted at the falling sun, awaiting the hour of darkness.
o0o
They crept through the night fields while the moon shone on scattered silver clouds. Two hundred and more slipping in among the sugar stalks and the palms waving in the night breeze. Thunder haunted the horizon out over the sea, and Jaya sniffed, wondering when the rains would come ashore. Not yet, she hoped, looking up at the stars. She wanted nothing to quench the fires she would kindle here.
Jaya led the way with her disciples, and they made no more sound than the wind through the leaves. Two of her best were tasked with slipping over the wall and opening the gate, while she herself would go to the house and leave a trail of death through the heart of it. She beckoned three of her killers to follow and she approached the wall, a stone base as tall as she could reach, with wooden palisade above, reaching to twice the height of a tall man.
There was a squat tower at the corner, a wooden platform with a thatched roof. The men guarding it were sleepy and more interested in wine than watching the dark. Jaya was up and over in a heartbeat, among them with her sword cutting quick through their necks, one and then the other, blood rushing out across the rough-hewn beams that made the floor.
Lit by bonfires and torches and lanterns, the inner yard was still thick with shadows, and Jaya dropped down and found her way through them. She kept her sword in hand, held close to her thigh so it would not flash too brightly in the moonlight. Closer to the house there were fruit trees and carefully-tended shrubs with white gravel paths among them, and there were uncounted places to conceal herself. Mordani guards walked back and forth, clanking in their armored shells, seeing nothing.
The house was a hulk of stone and plastered wood, not built with defense in mind. Guards stood at the open archways and in the lamplit colonnades. They were obvious in the light, armor glinting and clattering when they moved.
Jaya heard the sounds of raised voices, and then the rippling, furious cries of her army outside rushing for the opened gates. Gunfire cracked as the men on the towers fired, but she knew they would not be enough to stem the tide. The sounds of fighting grew, and the guards began to leave their posts and race through the gardens toward the battle. Jaya let them pass, and as they did she slipped out with her followers and slit the throats of the hindmost, left a half-dozen men dead in the shadows while the rest went rushing off, oblivious.
Now she turned her attentions to the house. Open, undefended, and within would be the old man who was the Mordani power in this place. By dawn his head would hang from the roof of her lodge, high in the broken hills. She beckoned the killers in her wake, and she slipped through the darkness and in through the open archway, into the place of the invader.
o0o
The house was just beginning to come awake with alarm, and Jaya found herself in a place filled with easy slaughter. The Utani servants and slaves who came stumbling out into the hallways she passed by, and when they saw her black-painted face they fled silently, seeking hiding places. It was the Mordani she sought, and it was their blood she spilled.
Soldiers came reeling forth, pulling on their armor, buckling on their swords, and she cut them down and left them bleeding on the tiled floors. Her disciples came in her wake like hunting beasts, taking the heads to carry away with them. A knot of giant men and women emerged into the entry hall, wearing the strange, flowing clothes they favored for sleeping, and Jaya was among them in a heartbeat, cutting legs to bring them down, hacking off a head here, an arm there. Screams rent the darkness.
Some tried to escape, and those had their tendons cut to bring them down so they could be decapitated cleanly. Jaya gestured for her followers to leave the growing pile of heads at the foot of the wide stair. “Go forth,” she said. Reap your own harvest.” They bowed to her and scattered into the ground floor of the manor, unseen and deadly.
Outside, the sounds of battle were rising. She knew her disciples had gone among the watchtowers and cut down the marksmen, stealing the guns they could find. Once the gates were open, the Utani rebels had flooded in, and by the rising din they were doing bloody work. With spears and knives and sharpened sickles they were cutting down every Mordani they could find.
She slipped up the stairs, keeping to one side so the boards would not creak and betray her. The rooms at the top spread out to either side, and she knew the rooms of the lord of this place were on the right. She almost turned that way, but then something caught her eye, and she turned to the left hand, and stopped as she saw a form awaited her there.
A tall man, even for a Mordani. He stood at the end of the hall, with the wide window behind him. She saw he wore a breastplate and a garment that swept to the ground like a robe. He had a sword of the straight-bladed kind they favored, and it was point down, his hand resting easily on the pommel. He stood as if awaiting her, and perhaps he was.
She took a step closer and she heard him speak, a calm voice that surprised her. She did not understand his jagged, ugly language, and she was glad she did not. He lifted his sword, and spoke words with a smoother cadence, and then there was a ghostly light that crawled over him, traveled down his arms, and then lanced along the blade of his sword so it suddenly blazed with light. The glow threw hard shadows across the walls, and Jaya squinted against the sudden illumination.
He said something else, and she saw his two servants gather from the rooms to either side, swords ready in their hands, and slowly the tall man advanced on her, his tread unhurried and his sword held before him, flaming like a star.
o0o
Jaya felt her hackles rise as he came closer. His head was uncovered and his hair was close-cropped in a strange way. His pale eyes shone in the light from his sword, and his skin looked so white it was nearly blue, like something from the deep sea. She thought of the vast shape of Arang in the deeps, looking at her and setting her on this path, and she was no longer afraid. Her gods were not lies in ancient books, her gods lived, and they had given her strength.
He came close and feinted, flicked his long sword at her, and she gave ground, watching how he moved. He faced her full-front, both hands on the long hilt of his sword. Under his robe she saw his legs were armored as well, and so she could not simply cut his hamstrings. His sword gave him reach on her, so she must close the distance and bring him to the ground where his greater strength would be weakened, and even then she would have to watch for intervention of his allies.
So she backed away, leading him out into the open space at the top of the stairs. Screaming and the clash of steel came from outside, and the smell of blood was heavy. Jaya remembered all she had learned as a child, all she had learned from Vadir. This man was not beyond her powers.
He lunged at her again and she sideslipped and closed with him, a sword-stroke ringing on his armor as she struck at his arm. He cut down swiftly and she dashed his stroke aside, feeling how strong he was. He flourished his blade in a way she saw was intended to distract her, and she angled her own sword so the bright steel reflected the light back into his eyes.
He flinched and she struck hard and fast, opening a cut on his chin, even as he lashed out at her in answer she dropped and locked both her legs around one of his. His attack drew his balance forward and she twisted, using her weight to throw him off his feet.
He dropped hard to one knee, his armor protecting him, and she struck at his head again. His arm came up and deflected the stroke with his vambrace, and then he brought his sword down in a short, murderous blow meant to drive the pommel into her skull.
Jaya caught his wrist with her hand, and she saw the shock on his face as her strength resisted him. Twisting, she brought her legs up, trying to trap his sword-arm, but he tore himself free and staggered away, fetching against the wall as she rolled smoothly to her feet. There was blood on his chin from where she had scratched him, and she saw his expression shift – he knew she was an opponent to fear.
She didn’t wait for him, but sprang to the attack, feinted high and tried to get under his guard. He shifted back and almost took her head off with a sweep of his blade, but she came in behind his stroke and cut at his thigh. He gave back again, his blazing sword whirling to fend her off. Steel met steel in a ringing storm, and he gave back again, almost to the top of the wide stair. Taking her moment, she matched him blow for blow and then dropped, sweeping out with her left leg to catch him behind the knee. His sword slashed over her head and then his leg folded and he went down.
For a moment he hung there, teetering, his hand reaching behind him for purchase and finding nothing. Jaya gave a cry and slashed at him, opening a cut across his forehead, and then he went backward and crashed down the stairs, his armor making a sound like a breaking wall.
Jaya heard a yell and she turned to see his followers rushing for her, swords bared and their faces wild with fury. She fell back and drew her long knife from behind her back. The first attacker came for her with a clumsy rush and she deflected his stroke and then stabbed him in the hip under his armor, feeling the point bit deep. He cried out and reeled away, clutching the wound. The blade was coated in the venom of a giant wasp, and she knew the pain was crippling.
The second man feinted and then tried to draw her out, but she flicked the dagger so blood flew into his face and when he blinked she hacked off one of his arms. He stumbled back, mouthing a silent scream, blood gouting from the stump, and Jaya kicked his legs from under him. When he hit the floor she slashed through his neck, and stood back as blood poured across the tiles.
The glow of the paladin’s sword came up from below as he climbed back up the stairs. Blood covered his face and pointed his sword at her, spoke something in his ugly tongue, and then he came toward her with death in his eyes.
Even as they closed, she heard the doors of the manor crash open, and Utani poured in, brandishing bloody weapons and burning torches. Smoke billowed into the entry hall, and Jaya realized at least part of the house was already burning.
Enough of this. She hooked a lantern off its place on the wall and hurled it so it smashed at the paladin’s feet, splattering burning oil over the tiles and up his boots. He never slowed, closing on her through a lake of fire, and his sword blazed up with white light as he attacked.
He was stronger than she, but Jaya was faster, and she parried three of his attacks so quickly he had no time to counter. He tried to run her through and she shoved his blade aside and then stabbed him under his right arm with her poisoned dagger. It bit and he said something foul as he jerked away, slashing her across the thigh with the tip of his white sword.
Jaya gritted her teeth as she felt the cut dig with a pain brighter than the wound itself should command. She smelled her flesh searing and she knew the flame on the steel was not only an illusion. Furious, she followed him and their swords clashed in a rage of steel, sparks leaping where the edges ground together. She walked on fire, the blue flames of the oil ghosting around her bare feet as she drove him back. She scored him on the shoulder, digging her dagger in under his armor, and then she cut him across the eye with her sword.
He cursed – or it sounded like a curse – and then a wave of her rebels came rushing up the stairs and surged around her, howling for blood. Jaya let them bear her forward until she crashed against him. He tried to cut her down and his long sword clove another to the breast. She dug in and lifted him, bearing him back with the weight of the rebels behind her adding their own momentum. She swept him back until they struck the tall window at the end of the hall and she hurled him against the glass, smashing him through. He fell out into the dark, his robe on fire, screaming his rage as he went down.
o0o
The manor burned through the night, the column of fire roaring up into the night sky as lightning flickered over the sea. Jaya’s people looted everything there was to take, and then they drew back into the hills with heavy loads of plunder. They gathered in the forest with piles of swords and spears, pieces of Mordani armor, guns, and casks of black powder. By the count, they had killed almost a hundred of the giants, and lost only half that many. There were wounded who would live, and those who had not. The dead were retrieved and heaped into great pyres that burned on the hilltops, sending the smoke of the dead into the sky.
Jaya watched the night fade into dawn. Her wound was already closing as she bent her will upon it. In her mind she saw the glowing sword of the paladin and wondered if he still lived. She would face him soon enough if he did. After this victory, more and more followers would gather to her call. In another moon she would possess a true army, and with it she would march down to the city of Jinan and wipe it from the face of the earth. She would capture the ships at anchor, and then she would possess a navy as well. From this her power would stretch forth, and as her people of old, she would conquer all that lay before her. She would paint the seas with blood, no matter what man with a flaming sword might seek to bar her way.
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