The Red Fortress

The blood-red stone walls of Hamun rose above the waters of the river, and in their shadow iron legions marched. Dust rose up into the evening sky as rank after rank of Varonan soldiers followed the road up to the rocky promontory where the fortress stood stark against the emerging stars. The first night wind from the desert places whispered cold, and it was welcome, for the way had been long, and the blazing sun of this land was harsh upon the sons of the sea.

Neges, the commander of the fortress, watched from the walls, not certain what he should do. He had received his orders, messages marked with the seal of the king and queen, and yet he distrusted them. Here was an army of a foreign nation moving upon his own soil, and that was not welcome to his heart. Yet he did not have any grounds to refuse their occupation of Hamun, the greatest fortress in the northland, and if what he heard was the truth, then he would need every sword and spear to defend it.

He came down from the tower beside the gate and climbed to his chariot, more for the gravity it would give him than for any need. The land around Hamun was rocky and ill-suited for horse or chariot. Yet he would not meet some foreign general on foot like a farmer. He stood with his guards around him, bronze spearpoints gleaming in the dying sun, and he waited.

A knot of riders came to the gate, a dozen men with one who was obviously a leader. Unlike them, he wore a high, plumed helm, and his armor and harness were worked with gleaming bronze, or perhaps gold. The man rode to the gate, heedless of whether his men were beside him, and drew off his helm. Neges saw a hale man of middle years with piercing dark eyes and a nose like the prow of a war-galley. He held up his hand in a strange, impersonal greeting.

“Hail you who guard the fortress. I am Dekenius, Preator of Varon, commander of this army come in defense of your territory in the name of your king and your queen. My men have marched long in the heat, and they will need water and food.” He gestured, then one of his men held out sealed parchments.

Neges took them, broke the wax, and read the words written there, giving him commands to cede his authority to this stranger. He gritted his teeth and bowed. “I am at your service, Praetor,” he said. “I am commanded to give you control of the defense, yet I would ask you to allow me to be of help to you. This is my fortress and my garrison, I would not abandon them.”

“Of course, I would not dream of passing up such experience,” Dekenius said. “Come, let us review the situation together.” He nodded to his guards and then spurred onward into the fortress, leaving Neges behind to watch as the first ranks of foreign troops entered the gates.

o0o

Dekenius was glad to have wine, even more than water. There was little enough civilization to be found in this land, no matter how ancient or learned they might be. The heat, the endless, muddy river, the bitter liquors made from barley – it was enough to put any man off. Yet this was his kingdom, if he was to have one at all.

He drank deeply, wishing the wine were cold, and he looked out over the stone balustrade and over the riverland to the south, suffused in darkness. The moon was rising higher, casting its silver reflection on the sluggish waters. This high, he could not smell it as strongly as was usual. How such an ancient people with such history could live in this land of mud and river stink he would never understand.

The man Neges entered and bowed curtly. Well, there would be time for formalities later; just now he would need all the troops in the fortress fighting as well as they could be made to. He would need this man for the battle – why else had he bothered with his forged commands from a dead king and queen? He remembered Arsinue’s feral stare and suppressed a shudder. “Good of you to come. Join me, if you will.”

“I thank you,” Neges said. He was a dark-skinned man with bright eyes and a stoic, inscrutable face. Good face for a fighting man, it made him seem fierce.

Dekenius sat and gestured. “Please, sit. I have questions, as do you, I am certain.” He leaned back and ate from the plate of spiced meats. “How many men do you have in the fortress?”

“Full complement is eight hundred men, when I call in all those available,” Neges said. “Now I have perhaps half that many. In ten days I can have over a thousand, but it is not easy to provision so many for very long.”

“Indeed,” Dekenius said. “And I have already come with a thousand men, though we have brought our own supply.”

“How many days do you have?” Neges said, and Dekenius approved. It was a good question.

“Five days,” he said. “Perhaps seven, if the food is made to stretch. Water is the hard commodity in this place. The river is ready to hand, but my men become sick if they drink it.” He sipped his wine. “We are unused to it, I suppose.”

“It can be mixed with spirits,” Neges said. “Or it can be boiled. There are ways to clean it.”

“So between us we can field perhaps two thousand men, all foot,” Dekenius said. “The real treasure I have brought – in place of more men – is my siege train. I have brought many stone-throwers and ballistae, and they will range far from the walls of the fortress. I must say I am impressed with the fortifications. They are greater than I expected.”

“The Third Cataract is north of us,” Neges said. “You saw it when you marched along the Irde Pass to reach this place. The only way to get goods downriver from here is to portage them around the fortress, and that cannot be done unless we allow it. There is a chain we can draw up across the river to prevent barges from getting past us to land men on the north side. So there is no way north save by taking Hamun.”

“Very good,” Dekenius said, nodding. “Now, tell me of this mysterious enemy.”

“I can say what I have heard, and what I know, and they are not the same things,” Neges said. “I know that he has conquered both Meru and High Ashem, that he has dethroned and possibly slain both King Khumu and Queen Malika. He is gathering a great force of barges to carry his soldiers northward, and I know he will come here.” He gestured to the land beyond the light, where the stars glowed in the blue-black endless. “He was a lord among the nomads of the wastes, and they are still the backbone of his forces. Now he commands troops from two kingdoms, and I do not know how many he will bring. It could be ten thousand men.”

Dekenius frowned. “You think that many? I have been unable to verify those kinds of numbers.”

“You sent spies, I know, for they passed through here,” Neges said. “Did they return?”

“They did not.” Dekenius stood and paced to the balustrade, looked out over the dark land, smelling the reek of the river in flood. Looking on it, it was hard to believe what a rich prize this kingdom was. “So that is what you know, tell me what is rumored.”

“It is said he is a sorcerer. A kindred to the giants of the ancient world. They say he has broken walls and armies with his power, that his nomad warriors are fanatics and will die gladly in his name.” Neges drank from his cup and wiped his beard. “They say his name is Utuzan, and you cannot know it, but that is a name out of blackest legends in this land. He was the devil wizard who brought down a lost kingdom in the south – a great empire that stood beside a vanished sea.” He shuddered. “A bold charlatan, to choose such a potent name.”

“You do not believe in these superstitions, I trust?” Dekenius said.

“I do not,” Neges said. “Yet there are those who do. Fear shall do his work long before his army comes within reach.”

“Let him come,” Dekenius said. “I have men of an iron legion and siege weapons that could tear down this fortress if need be. Let him come and learn my ways of war.” He leaned on the stone and looked to the south. “Let him come.”

o0o

The barges drew in to the muddy shore one after another, row upon row, and the horsemen led their steeds onto land by their thousands. Horns blew and drums sounded, and Utuzan’s army disembarked onto the soil of the northern border. The sky far to the east was just beginning to glow with the blood of dawn, and the air was cold.

Utuzan stood on a promontory of stone and looked northward, unable to see the red fastness of Hamun, but he knew it was there. He was putting his men on solid ground long before it came in sight. He had been told of the defenses, and he knew an assault from the river would do no good, and his nomads would be at a great enough disadvantage doing battle with high walls. He would not have them attack on boats to add to their troubles. If it came to that, he would send the troops he had gathered from his conquered kingdoms to die in the muddy water.

Shedjia stepped from shadows beside him and bowed her head. “The way north is clear. I hunted through rock and crack to seek for any ambush, but I have found none. There are signs of scouts, but I did not see them.”

“Nor will you,” he said. “Once they have seen us, what else is there to linger for? They have told their masters I am coming, and now there is nothing to do but wait.” He looked down at the river. “I would have had Kardan here beside me. His wounds will heal, but his spirit may not.” He shook his head. “I do not understand him, and it galls me.”

Shedjia shrugged. “He loves Malika, and now his heart is wounded deeper than his body.”

Utuzan turned away. “What has love ever brought but pain? Men seek it and batter themselves against it until they break. Love and hate and regret and sorrow, they all pass, they burn away like leaves.” He glanced back at her. “I will build a new empire that will stand for a thousand years and more. What is love to that?” He waved the thought away as though it were smoke. “Now we shall have battle, and that too is ephemeral, and yet it shall leave its mark on the land.” He beckoned her. “Come, let us see where the land shall be stained with blood.”

o0o

Sun lit fire on the hillsides and on the tips of ten thousand spears as the army moved north in a great river of steel. Dust rose in a plume up to the pale sky as the day dawned on war, and the stone beneath their feet shook as Utuzan’s army approached the looming red walls of Hamun, the fortress unvanquished. Drums beat toll of battle and the horns blew as horses and men spread out on the rocky plain. The army bore no siege weapons, nothing with which to breach the high walls; for this they looked to their leader, the towering shape on the black steed, wrapped in funeral robes. He looked down on them from a high place on the hillside, and he felt the weight of their faith. His power was what they depended on to break this place, and he knew he must not fail.

Ever since his sleep of death in Mutun he had felt a weakness in him, and his strength had not returned, not all of it. He could feed it with blood, but if he traveled far down that path he would become a demon, feeding on more and more lives and never having his fill. He had all the ancient knowledge at his command, knew all the secrets and words of power and dark beings to call upon, but now he feared that if he loosed them, he might not be able to control them. He looked upon the walls of the fortress and wondered if he was equal to this task. He wanted to take Hamun, not destroy it, not uproot it.

The southern gate of the fortress was narrow and high, the towers to either side heavy and angular, looming so high over it that no sun touched the bronze-bound timbers of the portal itself. He lifted his arm and pointed, and the drums of war sounded the attack.

The soldiers of Meru and High Ashem marched ahead into the shadow of the walls, shields uplifted and spears gleaming. Shouts sounded from the towers, and arrows began to sheet from the walls again and again. They quilled the earth like grain and they bit into the brazen-faced shields. Men cried out when a shaft found its way to flesh, and soldiers began to go down as they advanced.

The nomads rode close, and they sent answering clouds of arrows upward to rattle against the stone. They found few marks, but the hail of death from above slackened as archers sought cover from the attack. The soldiers pounded their spears against their shield-rims as they rushed for the gate.

Simple wood, with no spell upon it, and yet Utuzan hesitated before he called forth his power. He spoke a word that curled before his mouth like black smoke, and then it flared with a bright spark. He watched as it grew, and grew – a flame dancing unbodied in the air, and then it spiraled toward the keep, growing as it went. He heard it laughing, felt it straining against the commands he laid upon it. Ghosts of fire were quick and deadly, but impatient, and always hungry.

It swept over the heads of the soldiers, and they ducked as they felt the heat. The laughter had become a roar, like the voices of a multitude lifted up in rage. It came against the gates like a sun brought to earth, and it smote upon them, wreathing the bound timbers with many-colored fire. The bronze smoked and blackened, and then the wood beneath began to crack apart, hissing as the fire ate into it. It was soaked in some resin to prevent easy burning, but the elemental slashed through to the dried core and the gate blazed up.

In a sudden fury the spirit tore the gate apart, devouring all there was to devour, and Utuzan felt it grow stronger, felt it shiver and wrench at his control. He snarled and spoke a word to dismiss it, but it refused him. It billowed into a wall of flame, and the advancing troops drew back as it felt its way toward them, seeking something else to burn, seeking anything it could find to feast upon.

Utuzan closed his power around it and spoke another dismissal, and this time it could not stand against him, as it had already begun to fade. It screamed as it came apart and the flames scourged the stones where it had been, leaving the ground blackened and seared. Where the gate had been was a scorched ruin that smoked like a furnace, and Utuzan gave the command, already feeling a pain inside him. He clenched the Heart of Anatu in his left hand and reached for the power it had always given him, but now it was weaker than it had ever been.

Horns called, and then the troops attacked again, treading on smoking ground as they rushed toward the shattered gate. There came a rattle of signal drums from within the fortress, and then a hail of stones and heavy bolts came slashing down upon the formations. Cut rocks the size of skulls came down and broke shields, crushed men down. Bolts as long as a man impaled soldiers front to back, pinned them twitching upon the earth.

Again the nomads rushed in, horses screaming, and clouds of arrows filled the air, rising and falling, striking the earth like steel rain, shattering against the high walls. The troops pressed on into the gateway, and they forced their way through the smoldering remains of the outer gate, only to crash against the inner gate. They hacked at it with swords and axes, but the iron-hard timbers did not yield. Holes opened above them and hot oil was poured down, and men screamed as their flesh stripped away.

There was a spark remaining in the wreckage of the gate, and the oil caught, the entire passage between the two portals suddenly filled with fire. Those soldiers who had not yet entered the gates drew back, forced away by the terrible heat as their fellows were cooked alive inside their armor. The smell of roasting flesh filled the air, cloying and heavy, like the scent of good meat.

Another hail of missiles fell, and more men were slain. Now their formation was coming apart as they retreated, and without their shields to guard them, they were cut down by arrows in scores. The commanders shouted for order, and the men fell back into line, sheltering behind their shields as the attack from above came down relentlessly.

The gateway was a mass of flames, and Utuzan felt a dangerous anger inside him at being thwarted by these short-lived, short-sighted worms. He spoke and hurled his power outward, and the fire intensified. If they would have flame, he would give them more than they could endure. Inside, the fire burst through the murder-holes and the defenders howled as they were consumed. The fire roared through the passageways above the gate, came pouring from the arrow-notches. Men screamed and ran from the wall above the gates as the rock became so hot it smoked in the light of the sun.

Utuzan watched and was pleased. He gave the command to draw away from the walls. It would take time for the fire to do its work, and then cool enough for another assault. He felt unsteady and was glad to be seated on his steed. Even these small workings made him weak, and he felt sick in his heart as he wondered if he would ever be again what he had once been.

o0o

Neges was black with soot, his face almost obscured. He wiped at his eyes and then took a long drink, poured the dregs over his face. “I have never seen such fire. It burned so hot it was white, too bright to look at. We could not extinguish it. Only when it had burned all down to bare rock did it die.”

Dekenius paced slowly, hands knotted behind his back. “And the gate?”

“Hollowed like a dead tree,” Neges said. “Both outer and inner gates are gone, as well as the chambers above them. The wall between the towers is weakened, and may collapse at any time. We can barricade the way in, but it is doubtful we can keep them out.

Dekenius snorted, feeling uneasy. Despite the protection of the walls, they were still outnumbered more than five to one, and with the gate gone it could come to a pitched battle they could not win. “Well, it would seem the reports of this renegade being a sorcerer were less fanciful than we had thought.” He laughed as if to mock the idea, but he felt uneasy.

“When dawn comes they will force their way through the gate,” Neges said. “We have to be ready.”

Dekenius shook his head. “They will not wait for dawn, not these men. Once the passage has cooled, they will attack.” He turned to his attendants and messengers. “Go and have the ballistae moved to cover the south courtyard. I want the catapults loaded with firepots, and archers in rank with spearmen to guard them.” He went to the table and looked at the map of the keep he’d sketched out himself. “Once in the courtyard they will have to come up the ramp, here, or force their way through the stables and into the lower barracks, here. We move all the horses out and soak the stables with oil, and if they reach it we fire it.”

Neges stopped cold. “That will create an uncontrollable blaze. It will burn the entirety of the lower fortress.”

“Then so be it. If we cannot keep them out, we must make them pay to get in.” Dekenius looked at the other man and held his gaze until it dropped. “This is your keep,” he said. “Do what you must to hold it.”

o0o

Battle came with the rising moon, and the night came alive with fire and the hammering of drums. The silver light fell on the ranks of soldiers as they pressed forward in a wave, shields held high to protect themselves from the arrows that rained down all around them. The gatehouse was a burned-out ruin, and no one tried to stop their entry. They rushed through, treading on the burnt shards of wood and stone and the crushed bones of those who fell before them, and then they reached the inner courtyard.

Here all manner of things from overturned wagons to cloth bales had been heaped to make a barricade, and a line of soldiers met them as they pressed forward. Arrows began to sing more deeply, and then they began to hack down the barricade with swords and axes. They crashed against the defenders, and spears splintered and blood gouted in the moonlight. Men went down under the hail of arrows, and the defenders were quickly forced back.

They retreated from the disintegrating barricade up the long, curved stair that led up to the main body of the keep between high walls, and the attackers formed their ranks under the command of battle drums to make their assault in pursuit. Even as they pressed forward there came the rattling of war engines, and a focused rain of iron-headed bolts and heavy stones crashed down among them. Balls of fire arced high in the dark and then came down, shattering and splashing burning pitch.

The rain of missiles drove them back in disarray, and then the arrows from the walls above picked them apart. They drew back into the hollow tunnel of the destroyed gate in confusion, commanders shouting, trying to get the men back into order.

o0o

Neges formed his best men into ranks on the stair, shields low, spears pointed downward. He knew the Varonan legionaries were in the high court behind him, ready for battle if he failed. He knew he and his men were being sacrificed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. If he meant to hold Hamun, then lives must be spent, even his own.

He looked down, seeing the pools of burning oil in among the dead, some of them still crying out in agony. When the flames died they would come back and try to force the stair. Dekenius’s war machines would slow them, but there were too many to stop, and they would come to grips. Men would stain these stairs with blood, and then he, himself would be forced back. If not on the first charge, then the next, or the next.

He moved among his men, patting their backs, passing a word with them here and there. He had commanded this fortress for three years, and he knew most of his soldiers by name. Often he had wondered if he would die here – now it seemed so.

He heard the battle drums, and he watched the gate, waiting for the glimmer of spears, the moonlight shining on their long shields. He heard something scream, and then there was the thunder of hooves in the dark. Shadows took form, and then horsemen erupted into view, their steeds bellowing as they raced at full charge, and at the head of them a towering form in a black robe, in its uplifted hand was a sword as black as the night between stars.

Neges gave a shout and his men came to action, shields braced and spears ready. He stared as a mass of desert riders charged across the courtyard and came up the steps without slowing. He waited for the siege weapons to fire, but they remained silent. The riders surged through a storm of arrows and poured up the steps, and then they struck the line like the blow of a hammer.

The line of spearmen disintegrated under the hideous force of the impact, spears reaping them down like men of straw. Shields split and flesh ripped, and the black rider loomed over them all, striking to either side with his black blade. Arrows glanced from him as though he were made of iron, and every stroke cut through armor and bone. He left a trail of the slain behind him, and then Neges was alone in his path. He held up his sword and howled a war-cry, and the last thing he saw was the black blade descending.

o0o

Utuzan did not slow. He called for the nomads to follow him, and they shouted in answer. The power fed to him by the sword trembled in his veins, and he felt the sweet temptation of it, the call of limitless strength if he would only feed it. Now, in this moment, he needed that power, and later he would have to count the cost. He spurred his black steed up the long stair, and at the head of his fanatic warriors he burst into the main courtyard of the fortress.

Ahead, drawn up to oppose him, were the men of the Varonan legions. He saw their wide, heavy shields set edge to edge, saw the moonlight gleam on their helms, and then he led the charge to meet them. He heard signals shouted, and then they met his rush with a hail of thrown spears. He heard deeper sounds and then man-length bolts slashed into his men, ripping nomads from the saddle and splattering their blood on the stones.

He never slowed, and his horse battered down the wall of shields and surged in among the enemy. They hacked the legs from his steed and it went down in blood, but Utuzan rose from the wreckage like a black tower, the Heart in his left hand and the black sword in his right, and he struck men down all around him, his furious strength driving his blade through armor and flesh, leaving men cut apart.

No battle line could hold against the weight of his mounted charge, and his nomads slammed into the shield wall, riding men down. Horses and men both cried out in pain and were drowned in their own blood. Arrows sang their death-song, and the courtyard became a mass of chaos and slaughter.

A roar filled the night, and Utuzan looked up to see the central tower of the keep engulfed in flame. The heat washed outward and drove his men back. Even the remaining legionaries shied away and cried out at the sudden blaze. Utuzan saw then that oil was poured onto the stones of the court, and as he looked, the flames rushed outward in a blue ghost-wave.

He shouted a word of power and held out his hand, and the force of it held the flames at bay. He called for his men to fall back, even as he struggled to contain the inferno. The entire keep had been set afire, and the few hundred legionaries here had been coldly sacrificed to hold him until the way was blocked. He cursed and called down more strength, using it to hold back the flames as his men withdrew. Utuzan ground his teeth in fury, knowing he could not hold back the ruin of Hamun, and he promised retribution for it.

o0o

Dekinius drove his army northward at the best speed he could get from exhausted men and beasts. His treasures were the siege engines, and he spared nothing to keep them. He had spent the lives of two hundred of his own men to keep the enemy from his back, and he would not sell lives that cheaply. There must be something wrung from such a price.

He had underestimated, badly, and it had cost him. This desert raider was no barbarian, and now he commanded the soldiers of two kingdoms as well as the desert fanatics. He had counted on the high walls of the keep to even the contest, but they had not been enough. Better to burn the fortress than to lose it. Now this Utuzan would not have Hamun as a base from which to mount his invasion. Now he would have to move into the riverlands where horse were less effective, and Dekenius would have time to gather as many troops as he could pay. It seemed he would have a war for his new kingdom whether he would or no.

He turned in the saddle and looked back to where the burning fortress lit the horizon like a fading sun. He smelled the smoke on the dark wind and knew the scent of burning bodies as of old, for he had been at war for most of his life. Now he was in his most desperate battle, and a small flame of his own sparked inside him as he thought that now he might face a worthy enemy at last.