Rivers of Blood and Fire

 

Prows sheathed in bronze gleamed like gold in the haze of dawn as they cleaved through the wine-dark waves.  Out of the shadows a great fleet emerged, dark sails furled, oars scything through the water as they cut across the calm seas toward the glittering lights of Qahir where it dreamed on the shores of Ashem.  The great lighthouse shone its blaze forth into the dying night, but no one saw the oncoming ships until the sun turned the eastern sky to fire.

Cries went up along the shore, and fishermen headed to their daily toil paused and stared at the rank upon rank of warships coming in toward land.  Alarms sounded on the walls of the palace, and people just roused from sleep gathered their children and ran, hiding themselves in their houses and beneath false floors.  Bells rang and horns blared, and soldiers on the fortifications watched as a greater armada than they had ever seen came swarming to the docks.

One after another, the beating drums of the oarmasters ceased, and the oars lifted from the water and vanished into the black hulls.  Ropes were cast, planks dropped, and formations of legionaries began to pour forth from the ships like swarms of ants.  To the east, ships forced their way up the river mouth and drew ashore within the city, disgorging more troops.  Hundreds, thousands.  The ships unloaded their men and then withdrew to make room for the next, and the next.  The waterfront swelled with armed men beneath spears like grain and battle standards hung with gold leaves and wolf skins.

A grand ship came ashore and from it came a cohort of men in gilded armor, and in their midst slaves carried a purple canopy and the warriors who walked beside it carried naked swords and watched from behind silver war-masks that made them seem like statues rather than men.  The Varonan legions pushed into the city, clearing the roads with careless force, and they made their way toward the tall towers of the royal palace, clearing a path for the canopy and the standard of the imperial power.

They marched through the city with a single tread, the sound like the crushing of iron feet, as though it marked the stride of something vast.  Two legions were ashore, and then four, and then six.  Thirty thousand men in arms, with their supplies in train along with smiths, leatherworkers, healers, slaves, and washer-women.  A single legion was a city on the move, and this was like the coming of a nation that walked with a single footfall.

Aeus Sarutus was in command of the gates of the palace, and he watched the oncoming force with a feeling of inevitability.  There had been no word of Dekenius for many days, and now here was a force that could not be overcome, and it could be here for only one purpose.  It was the new emperor, Retarius, come to reclaim Ashem for the empire, to crush the rebellion of the wayward general, and to put an end to any resistance.  Aeus new that the emperor would not be here with so much force had he not settled the lesser revolts in the barbarian north, overcome his rivals in the senate once and for all.  The emperor was unchallenged now, save for in this place, and he had come to strike a final blow against that resistance.

He gave the command to open the gates, and he drew in a deep breath and readied himself.  He must go forth and meet with the emperor himself, and he must hope to somehow explain that he and his men had taken orders from an outlaw – from a man they knew to be an outlaw.  They had gambled that Dekenius’s luck would hold one more time, and they had lost.

Down the dusty stone steps to the courtyard, and then the gates swung open and the legionaries drew themselves up in line to meet their fellows.  The imperial guard came forward in their red cloaks and gilded breastplates, their faces hidden behind metal masks, and Aeus was afraid when he looked on them.  He saw the shadow of the purple canopy, and then the tall, slim figure that emerged, crowned in golden leaves, and he knelt in the dust beside his men as the emperor came forward.

Retarius was not an old man, not quite to middle years.  He was tall but lightly built, with a long, hollow-cheeked face and hard eyes that seemed to watch everything at every moment.  His mouth was lined and turned down in a perpetual scowl, and there was nothing of warmth or ease in him.  He was unlike Dekenius in almost every way, save that they were both men known to be completely ruthless when pressed.  Retarius had killed and schemed and betrayed to become emperor, and no man doubted he would do anything he must to consolidate that power.

He came forward, purple cloak flung back over his shoulder, hand on the hilt of his sword, and he looked at the assembled men.  “Who commands here?”

Aeus pressed his hand to his chest.  “I do, my lord.”

“And where is the traitor and rebel, General Dekenius?”  The emperor came closer, his guards walking at the edges of his shadow.  “I have come far to see him.”

“He. . . he has gone inland, to fight against the rebel uprisings in this land,” Aeus said.  “There has been. . . disorder.”

“And you are in his service, are you not?”  The emperor spoke with dangerous mildness.

“I came here with General Talus, my lord,” Aeus said, feeling his heart tight within him.  “There was an uprising in the city and he was. . . he was killed.  In the face of native unrest, we all joined together to protect the city.  There seemed little else we could do.”  This was truth, but not all of the truth.  Dekenius had swayed them with his talk of a separate kingdom, or living like lords in this ancient land.  All of them had caught the scent of his ambition.  Now, in the presence of the emperor’s vengeance, it smelled like burnt flesh.

Retarius was silent for a moment.  “It seems there has been a great deal of unrest here.”

“Yes, my lord,” Aeus said, wisely deciding not to elaborate unless asked.

“Rise, Captain.  I have need of your knowledge of the situation here.  That, and unswerving obedience, may yet spare you a traitor’s death.  Do you understand me clearly?”  The emperor’s voice was utterly calm, and yet it was filled with danger.

Aeus stood, and yet he did not look Retarius in the eye.  “Very clearly, my lord.  I and my men are yours to command.”

“Of course you are,” the emperor said.  “Now come, there is much I need to know.”

o0o

Utuzan encamped his army beside the river, boats drawn up onshore to bring supplies from his holdings in the south.  His men had fought well, and they deserved to rest and recover.  He caused his black tent to be raised before the ancient tomb of a king who’s name no one remembered, and he reflected on the irony that his own time had been a distant legend when this crypt had been built, and yet his name yet endured, as did he.  Sometimes he felt like a ghost that walked among ruins.

He seated himself in the darkness of his tent, incense burning in braziers to layer smoke in the air, and he called for serpents to come and slither in the shadows, in among the cushions and carpets.  He laid his sheathed sword across his knees and then he sent Shedjia forth to bring him the man called Zudur.  The one who walked with a lion.

The king of the Hatta was a giant of a man, though still head and shoulders less than Utuzan’s height.  His body was bulky and unlovely, but he had a terrible strength in him.  He walked with a lurch from his undeveloped leg, and the massive lion that walked in his shadow also limped slightly on a twisted paw.  Utuzan saw a power in them both, something wild and uncontrolled that had bonded them together.  Sometimes power struck from the outer dark like lightning drawn down from the endless sky.

“You have come to this land to conquer it, as your forefathers did,” Utuzan said.  “Your men are great warriors, and you have broken all before you, yet you cannot break me.  I have come to claim this land as I have claimed others.  It would be easy to be enemies, and to kill until one of us falls, and yet I would not do that.”

“You should fear me,” Zudur said, taking a step closer.  “Your wizardry has cost the lives of men who followed me.  Tell me why I would forgive that.”

“Men fall in war,” Utuzan said.  “There can be no conquest without blood.  Had you remained in Kadesh, the men you speak of would be alive and unharmed.  You did not come to war for ease, you came to grind your army until the edge was fine and sharp once again.  Soft lands make soft men.”

The lion came prowling forward, closer, and then a row of serpents rose up, spreading their hoods and whispering, and the beast flinched back.  Utuzan smiled.  “You came for war.  Do not complain now because you found it.”

“You seek to keep me from my prize,” Zudur said, growling with his teeth set.  “I must test my strength against you.”

“If you did, you would fail.  I am not some petty king who will fall before you.  I am the Black Flame, son of Anatu, gifted with the powers and secrets of the Dazan and the Membe.  You cannot contend with me.”  He stroked his sword to hear it moan in its sleep, and Zudur looked uneasy.

“You have come to take Ashem, but you have seen enough of it now to know you do not want it.  It is not a land for riders and nomads.”  Utuzan stroked his chin.  “It is a land of rivers and ancient gods.  You will not find satisfaction here.  Follow me, and I can offer that which you truly seek.”

“What do I seek?” Zudur said, showing his teeth.

“Glory, King of Hatta,” Utuzan said.  “You seek war and glory and plunder.  You are a warrior king, and even set loose, you would not find enough in Ashem to challenge you.  And once you conquered it, then you would simply have to rule it.  I think that would ill-suit you.”

The lion growled, and Zudur looked away, scowling.  Utuzan smiled.  “Know that my desire does not end at the sea.  There is a world beyond where my hand shall stretch forth and encompass all.  I will need warriors such as you.”  He gestured.  “To the west, I am told, lie gleaming kingdoms stretched beside the sea.  To travel across the arid lands and take them, I will need hard riders.  Men who do not fear the desert nor the cold of night.  A place to write a history in blood and gold.”

Zudur smiled then, and he looked at Utuzan with his good eye.  “You speak silvery words, sorcerer.”

“Words are what my power comes from,” Utuzan said.  “I was a prince before your race was born.  I know the hearts of men.”

He paused as the shadows coiled and took form, and then Shedjia was there beside him, bowing low.  “Forgive me, my lord.  I come with news I knew you would wish to hear.  Riders come from the north, bearing word that a great fleet has come ashore at Qahir.  They say the Varonan emperor himself has come with many legions.  A great host come to conquer Ashem.”

Utuzan leaned back in his seat, and he felt a stirring within him.  He saw the answering look on Zudur’s face and they both smiled.  “Well, king of the Hatta, is that a challenge which matches your ambitions?  An enemy has come worthy of my strength, and of yours.  Do we fight him together?”

The lion made a low sound of eagerness that shivered through the ground below, and Zudur nodded.  “We will.”

Utuzan smiled.  “Go forth, Shedjia, spread the news among the men that they may be prepared for the war we will face.  And let them have no fear, for my power is not diminished, and the powers of the night walk with them.”  He put his hand on the hilt of his blade, and he felt there slumbering the spirits it had reaped over long ages, waiting and hungry.

o0o

Retarius surveyed the map stretched out on the table, flickering in the light of the lanterns.  The evening provided some relief from the heat of the day, brought a cooling breeze from the sea that smelled like clean salt.  He studied the many tracks of the river sketched on the papyrus scroll, seeing it was truly impossible terrain for any sizable land force.  It would make lines of supply easier, with the free movement of ships, but now the floods were receding, some of the channels would be impassable.

Captain Aeus looked nervous, which pleased Retarius.  The man should be nervous, it would make him all the more eager to prove his worth.  The imperial guards stood at the corners of the room, hands resting easily on their swords.  They were warriors from the barbarian north who did not even speak a civilized tongue.  They were chosen for that, among other things, as it made them all the harder to subvert or bribe.  They were huge men who feared nothing but the phantoms of their homeland, and they were far from those forest spirits in this desert kingdom.

Aeus coughed.  “Survivors are coming in from a battle they say was fought here,” he gestured to the map, indicating a place at the edge of the desert.  “They claimed to have fought arisen dead, and then they were attacked by the Hatta riders and their ranks broke.  Only a few of them escaped.”

“And Dekenius?” Retarius said, not deigning to look at the other man.

“One man says he saw Dekenius slain by Arsinue, the dethroned queen.”  Aeus looked away.  “She has been a thorn in our sides since she escaped and began an uprising.”

“Yes, Dekenius handled the entire situation terribly,” Retarius said.  “Had he been more a diplomat, and less a general, there would have been no need to turn her against Varon.”  He shook his head.  “A soldier always looks for battle, as if battle was important in itself.  A foolish waste, and he roused an entire country against us.  The legitimate queen will not be easily brushed aside.”  He sighed.  “So the Hatta were here, allied with Queen Arsinue, not more than six days ago.  How would they come toward the city?”

Aeus swallowed.  “Arsinue will show them the best crossings.  They will most likely cross here, and here, and then they will have an easy ride north to the city.  They could be here in a day or two, if they marched at once.”

“And this other incursion?  This desert charlatan?”  Retarius watched to see if Aeus’s face changed, but he saw only fear.

“I do not know where he is.  I know he defeated Dekenius at Hamun, here, but that was weeks ago.  He is said to have taken High Ashem and Meru both, and to march with their armies at his command.  He may have as many as thirty thousand men, at least half of them nomad riders.”  He took a breath.  “Hamun is here, and the last news we had of him was here, below Ezuz.  He may have been waiting for the floods to draw back before advancing.”

“Defeating Dekenius is no small feat,” Retarius said.  “But, he has riders, so he will think the same way the Hatta do – seeking open battle in clear ground where they can maneuver.”  He touched the map.  “How deep is this channel here?  Will the warships pass?”

“That is the main passage of the river, so yes, it will be deep enough for them for several more moons, until the fallow season.”  Aeus looked at the map.  “If the Hatta cross here, they will march north along the river until they can cross here, below this town.”

Retarius nodded.  “So we will crush them in between two forces.  “I will send two legions up the river aboard their ships, and they will put ashore here, south of the crossing, and I will march overland to here, and block the way.  The Hatta will move to attack and then be flanked and hit from behind.  I will grind them to dust before they can escape to open ground.”

“But the sorcerer, Utuzan – ”  Aeus said, but fell silent at a glance.

“He will be too far south to bridge the distance.  He has shown no indication of moving swiftly, so he will have put himself too far out of reach.”  Retarius nodded to himself, seeing it in his mind.  “I will shatter the Hatta, and then combine my armies once again and face this nomad conjurer with my full force, and he will break against the shields of six full legions.  Dekenius had to maneuver because he was almost evenly matched with his enemies, he did not have enough force to settle this matter.  I do.”  He stepped away from the table.  “You will be left to guard the city, once again.  There will be no glory in battle for you.  Discharge your duty well, and I may decide to overlook your past instances of poor judgment.”

Aeus bowed his head as low as he could, hand to his breast.  “Yes, my lord.  It shall be as you say.”

o0o

In the cold before dawn Utuzan’s warships pushed off from the shore and rowed out into the wide channel of the river, moving with the current.  The drums of the oarmasters beat out the rhythm of the stroke and the rowers bent their backs.  One by one the ships turned from the land and pointed northward, following the slow current toward the heart of the kingdom.  Two days downriver would find them in the delta, where their path would narrow, and then they would land troops to seize the strategic ford where the land forces would cross.

Shedjia rode in the lead ship, watching the dark waters part around the prow.  Utuzan trusted her to lead the forces to the landing, and there they would hold the crossing until he arrived with the Hatta and the other nomad horsemen.  Thus he would move his infantry and cavalry at the same swift pace, and cut off the Varonan efforts to stop him from entering the heartland of the kingdom.

She was not in true command, because she was not a soldier, but all knew she was Utuzan’s eyes and ears, and they knew a command from her was as good as a word from his own lips.  He was warming his bed with Queen Arsinue, but Shedjia didn’t care about that.  She had never wanted him that way, any more than she wanted any man.  Let the night queen be his plaything, she aspired to more, and she knew he would give it.

The day came up in the east, silvering the horizon and then paling the glittering stars.  Shedjia stood in the bow, leaning out over the water, a rope in her hands to keep her steady, and she saw something glint in the half-light.  She narrowed her eyes, calling up the power to see through the darkness, and she saw there at the bend in the river not the gleaming eyes of a crocodile or the shapes of sleeping hippos, but instead the prows of ships as they cut through the water.  She counted six, then a dozen, then more.  High-decked ships with brazen rams and oars that lashed the water in a steady cadence, and she felt shock run through her like lightning.

“Ware!” she cried, sending her voice like the peal of a bell over the waters to the other ships.  “Ships!  Ships ahead!”  The sky grew paler and she saw the Varonan banners on the new craft, and she knew they had all miscalculated.

The men on her ship burst into motion, and she heard shouts run up and down the river, echoing from the low banks.  There were some sixty craft, all of them loaded heavily with soldiers, but they were not warships by any means.  They were low-draft barges, wide and flat and low to the water, with bales of supplies stacked on the gunwales to help keep them balanced.  The current pushed them along, and all the crews had to do was steer them with rudders and poles.  They were not meant for battle, but now they had little choice.  The banks were too high to put ashore and disembark the men, and the Varonan ships were already turning to face them, sharp rams ready to rip them apart.

“Archers to the rails!” Shedjia screamed, and she watched the enemy ships maneuver easily, oars pushing them along with speed and agility.  They would never be able to match them.  “Fire and ropes!  Board them and fight for your lives!”  She looked for the flag of the enemy commander and she closed her eyes.  She was no battlefield commander, she was a killer, and she would strike at the heart.

o0o

The barges fanned out across the river, maneuvering as best they could, and the Varonan ships bore down on them with quick sweeps of the oars.  The muddy water foamed up on the sides of their prows, sluicing over the bronze-plated rams.  The daylight was rising, and the sounds of the oarmasters’ drums beat upon the quiet.

There was a moment that seemed to stretch forever, and then there was the sound of hundreds of bowstrings loosing at once, a ripping sound, and then the air filled with arrows, each one flaming and smoking from the lit pitch they had been dipped in.  Trails of smoke crossed in the air, and then the flights fell like burning rain.  They quilled decks and men, scattered sparks and ignited the tight-packed bales men hid behind on the low barges.  Arrows slashed hissing into the water, and a pall of smoke began to fill the air over the river.

More and more arrows cut through the air, men screamed and fell, some pitched into the water and struggled, trying to get out of the way of the clash that was coming.  The Varonan ships quickened their pace, cutting through the water, and the bowstrings fell silent for a last breath, and then the lines of ships crashed together with a hideous, splintering sound.

The barges twisted and turned, the men on their decks rushing to use their poles to hold off the oncoming war-galleys, but there was only so much they could do.  Poles snapped and the ships rushed in, gilded prows splitting the low river craft apart, spilling men and supplies into the dark waters.  Other barges managed to sideslip the rams and pull alongside.  Iron grapnels flew upward, and with iron muscles men pulled the ships in close and swarmed up the sides as arrows sliced through the air.

Some ships were already burning, and men struggled to put out the flames or to escape.  Men clawed their way up the armored sides of the galleys to escape the burning barges, and then iron and iron clashed together as men fought with sword and axe and dagger on the decks, spilling blood across the sanded planks.  Smoke began to fill the air, coiling over the waters, choking breath and blinding eyes.  The mass of ships devolved into chaos, war-galleys and riverboats crushing against one another, oars and poled splintering, hulls shearing apart, fire clawing along rails and spars.  Men clashed on the decks in bloody combat, locked in a struggle for life in a sea of death.

o0o

Shedjia stepped through the shadows and dropped to the deck of the Varonan command ship.  She stood for a moment in a wash of smoke, men dashing back and forth around her, not seeing her.  Ear the stern of the ship was a canopy that sheltered the commander from sun and from arrows, and she moved swiftly that way, walking with easy assurance, hoping not to call too much attention to herself.

They saw her, and with a shout men were closing in on all sides.  She ran her hands down her arms and drew forth her shadowy daggers, and then she leaped into battle like a tongue of flame.  She cut left and right, vaulted over men and slashed their throats, slipped past them and left their entrails hanging.  She was too quick for them, stepping from shadow to shadow so she flickered in and out of sight.

There was a brazier filled with coals, and she spoke a single word and they exploded across the deck.  Men yelled and leaped back as the flames blackened the boards, and the she was through to where the commander emerged, a gray-haired man with eyes a little too close and dark.  He came out with a sword in his hand, but he was too slow.  She gave him another smile below his chin and he pitched backward, blood painting him down his chest.

The fire was spreading, and she vanished into it and went to the rail, looked out over the waters to see what was happening.  Wounded and dead men floated in the water, and the muddy river flow was turning red as it was stained with death.  She saw pieces of shattered barges and broken oars floating in the mess, ashes and cinders drifting down.  When a small wind parted the thick smoke she saw the river ships were being forced back.  The men fought like demons, but they could not contend with warships packed with armored soldiers.  They were losing, and there was nothing she could really do to stop it.  She could kill until she was soaked in blood, but she could not defeat an entire army.

A ripple disturbed the surface of the water, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to see, and then something huge and armored exploded from the river and bellowed, with a sound that staggered men and made their teeth rattle in their heads.  Shedjia stared as the scaled form of Kardan erupted into the smoke and the fire of battle, and men trembled at the sight of him.

o0o

Kardan rose from the waters, an idol of war from a more primitive age.  Scaled with armor, his artifact head deep with teeth, his tail threshed the waters and drove him forward.  He struck the hull of a galley and crushed the timbers like reeds, ripping the ship open so the river could rush in.  He turned in his length and charged another ship, and this time he rent it open with his hands.  Arrows fell on him and glanced from his scales and the jagged plates of bone that grew on his back.

He dragged three ships down, and then six, leaving them rolling in the muddy waters as their holds filled with water, screams rising from them as their chained rowers drowned.  Soldiers leaped from the decks into the water, where their armor dragged them down.  He caught men up and bit off their heads, spat them onto the decks of the enemy ships, and when they saw they could not harm him, their courage broke.

The galleys backed water, oars pushing them back, and they straggled from the cloud of smoke, pushing through the floating wreckage and the dead.  Shedjia stood on the shore and watched them pull away, saw the river barges head for the banks to make landfall, throwing out ropes to catch the wounded in the water and pull them in.  A cloud of smoke still lay over everything, and it smelled like burning flesh.

Kardan came to the shore, his wake towering up as his tail drove him through the water, and then he rose up and strode onto the shore, his clawed feet sinking deep into the soft mud.  He came closer, smelling of water and blood and fire, and he towered over her.  She remembered when she had seen him last, in their battle beside this same river, far away to the south.

“Kardan,” she said, glad to see him and yet afraid.  She had bloodied him when last they met, and she had not been certain he would live, or that they would ever meet again.  Now he stood before her, and she was not certain if he would try to strike her down.

He looked down at her with his golden eyes, and then he turned and stood beside her, looking out on the wreckage that floated slowly down the river.  She put her hand on his iron flank and smiled.  “It is good to see you.  I am glad you have returned to battle.  We would have been destroyed without you.”  She turned to watch the men coming ashore, well south of where Utuzan had meant them to go.  They would have to march now, and there would be fighting.  But now Kardan was with them, and the hammer of the emperor would strike true.  They would face the ruler of Varon, and they would teach him fear before he died.