by Luke Norris
“Change!” Drake yelled.
The front row of his men shuffled back to become the third row, leaving fresh men on the front.
“Drink!”
The men took four swigs from their canteens.
“Close ranks!” The new front row of black soldiers snapped their shields closed to an impenetrable wall once again.
One of Drake's men, in the black Naharain garb, broke away from the front line in a solitary charge, screaming a battle cry and slashing the enemy with his short sword. He displayed tremendous bravery and somehow feinted the blows from his attackers, killing three enemy soldiers. Others in the ranks felt emboldened by his example and were about to follow his lead.
“Hold the line!” Drake screamed. “Do not break formation!”
He slipped out of the shield line to pursue the lone warrior. The Wasat front line was chaotic, and attacks made against Drake were not coordinated. He cut his way through the enemy with ease, his motions fluid and frightening. He moved like a black shadow, spinning between men and administering death as he went. Wasat soldiers began cowering away from him. He reached his soldier and pulled him back into the safety of the shield wall. He took the man’s sword and gave him to four light infantrymen.
“Place this man under arrest! If he escapes, I will hold you responsible.” Drake spun and walked back to the line.
Drake's elite Naharain soldiers repelled charge after charge. With Drake continuously bellowing orders, and freshly hydrated men on the frontline, it soon became a massacre. It was clear this heavily armored infantry with their revolutionary fighting tactics were having a devastating effect on the Wasat light infantry despite being outnumbered. After just an hour into the fighting, roughly two-thirds of the original Wasat fighting force remained, and their commanders called a retreat.
The army began fleeing away from the river, in the direction of Drake's army's left flank. The driver had been expecting this moment. He signaled the scouts on the ridge, and Harras's cavalry which had been lying in wait came riding over the hill to cut them off. This maneuver broke any last semblance of order in the Wasat ranks.
The Wasat army was being forced back towards the river, the only avenue open to them. It was like herding frightened sheep into a pen. The stink of the battlefield was rife from blood, sweat, and many of the corpses had released their bows as they perished.
As the heavy infantry herded the remaining enemy, they had to climb over the multitude of bodies that littered the ground. The light infantry walked behind, finishing off the seriously wounded in a mercy gesture.
Harras, captain of the Kingsguard, rode forward to address the Wasat commanders. His polished armor gleamed in the low-hanging morning sun, and the silky yellow tassels on his helm glinted. His flag bearer who rode beside him flew the Naharain flag, it flapped in the breeze, yellow with two vertical blue stripes on either side to depict the two rivers.
He reined his horse to a halt before the defeated enemy. His horse snorted in the misty morning air. “You Wasat soldiers have fought bravely today!” He yelled from his horse. They stood exhausted, watching him, waiting to hear their fate. “But, there will be no massacre here. The merciful king of the Naharain, king between the two rivers will accept your surrender. You will return to your families soon enough. Lay your weapons and armor at your feet!” He pointed with his sword. Weapons clanged to the ground. A few minutes went by while the soldiers removed armor. Once they had finished they stood waiting again.
Harras continued. “The same mercy shown to you today, by the one true king, will be shown to all the people of Wasat, your families,” he paused, looking at the soldiers, “your friends, your wives, and children.” He let this hang in the air. “Provided you cooperate.”
It wasn't long before the Wasat men were being led in a long line back along the river toward the first bridge Riff had constructed, wearing only their tunics.
“Take them to the Naharain war camp for processing!” Harras ordered. Two cavalry commanders rode on to the head of the procession. “The prophets want to speak to these soldiers. They will send them to fight on the Garab border for us. It will reduce the risk of rebellion when they are displaced for a time.”
Drake stood before his black uniformed ranks. He held his helmet under one arm, and perspiration beads formed drops on his dark ebony colored forehead. The soldier who had shown extraordinary bravery during the battle, by breaking away and slaughtering three enemy in a single charge, stood proudly beside him.
“Men,” he boomed, “today's victory was satisfactory. My commanders tell me we had ninety-two casualties today. The enemy suffered two thousand!”
“Ho!”
“This soldier displayed bravery today,” he pointed to the soldier next to him, a big man, who had removed the black scarf from his face so his comrades could recognize him.
“Who saw this man’s bravery today?” Drake called. Many men on the front line nodded. Drake turned back to the man next to him. “Kneel before me, soldier!” The man went down on one knee bowing his head before the driver. Drake drew his sword, stepped around behind the man and plunged the blade down into his back, below the neck. It snapped the man’s spinal cord and then slid into his lungs. The soldier collapsed onto the dirt with the blade embedded in his back. The ranks before Drake looked on silently, only their eyes visible.
“This man broke the line today, risking the men next to him, and risking our victory!” He walked up the line looking on the men's eyes. “You will be my shadow warriors! You will strike fear into the enemy's heart, no matter their number. It doesn't matter if you are brave or a coward, I expect only one thing! Obedience!”
“Ho!”
29. Meeting of the chiefs
The two riders stood on the ridge. Below them, the scarp dropped away and stretched out into a vast plain. The foreboding thunderclouds darkened the rusty colored highland grass to the south. The rugged terrain of the plateau was scarred by scores of tiny canyon like tributary streams, meandering mercilessly to one of the great rivers. The southerly wind rippled across the grass and gusted up the lip of the scarp, bringing with it the scent of rain and something else.
“That is smoke on the air!” Oliver squinted through his telescope and frowned. The figures moving across the plain weren't much more than black specks, they were on foot and moving at a snail's pace. They appeared to be driving a ragtag group of animals before them, some cows, two donkeys, several dogs, but there were no horses.
“What do you make of it friend?” He leaned over on his horse passing the telescope to the second rider. Ponsy held the device, examining it for a moment, and gave a chuckle. It still impressed him although it had been a year and a half since Oliver had it made. He put it to his eye and scanned the horizon slowly then panned back suddenly, finding the travelers. He studied them for several minutes. Oliver pulled his riding furs a little closer and waited for his friend’s assessment.
“Mmm. Hard to say, Cougar,” Ponsy’s chestnut face had been burnt even darker by two summers on this planet. “Looks like women and children!” he squinted. “No, wait! A couple of men by the looks, but they are older. I'd say twenty to twenty-five people,” he turned back to Oliver, his brow furrowed making his eyes look even smaller. “I don't know what to make of that! They're coming from southeast. That's the southern border of Siyara clan territory.”
“We just came through Siyara land,” Oliver said, “and Ab-Siyara didn't mention anything unusual.”
“Yeah, but the southern border is a long way from Ab-Siyara’s village, he is set back into the mountains. They'd much sooner reach Ab-Jibil if they decide to cross the clan border, and if they keep on in the direction they're going that's exactly where they'll end up. That's where we're headed next. We'll find out what they are about there.”
“It's very unusual for villagers to cross clan borders like that.” Oliver held his horse’s reins and squinted into the distance. “Do you think this might have something to do with
the Lowlander wars?” He asked, and felt his gut twisting.
“No!” Ponsy shook his head. “Lowlanders have been fighting their crazy wars for a year, there is no reason the fighting would come up here. Even the southern Highland villagers are still a long way from the Lowland settlements. It must be something else.”
“We both know war, my friend,” Oliver paused, “better than most. You know it has a way of touching everything.”
They sat in silence on their horses, watching the figures on the plain curiously until the light rain reached the crest of the scarp. Ponsy pulled the oversized boiled leather hood over his head and reigned in his mare.
“Come Cougar! Let this little mystery cook a while, it will reveal itself when it's ready.”
Oliver stayed for several moments, his dark eyes surveying the scene. Something didn't sit right in his gut. Smoke, these people. It had an air of familiarity. Old driver instincts were being triggered. Memories were pushing their way to the surface. Thunder boomed on the horizon and echoed over the tundra plains. The droplets in his lashes distorted his vision, and the distant figures were swallowed in the cloud.
In the two years since they had crash landed, he had found some semblance of peace here in the Highlands. The clans respected him. Despite inter-clan tension from old feuds, the chiefs allowed him to travel between the villages freely.
Oliver had begun to realize that the leg infection that prevented him from leaving the Highlands two years earlier had been a gift. It gave him the chance to have something resembling a normal life. At the time he was bitter, obsessed with revenge, his opportunity for retribution stolen.
The notion of being able to get back to his home planet Earth, let alone getting off this planet seemed laughable now. Helping these people had helped him bury the vengeance that had threatened to consume him. His hate for the intergalactic pirates, as he called them, and what they did to him had engulfed his mind at the start. He’d managed to cover those feelings. He no longer spent nights in despair crying when he thought of Earth, Finlay and the others, or his friends Lego and Toro who were still in orbit. But what could I do for them anyway? Yarn and his crew took everything from me! There's nothing I can do! Why are these thoughts coming back now?
Oliver's long black hair had become matted and wet across his forehead. He put his rain hood on and turned his horse away to follow Ponsy. The heavy feeling in his stomach remained as they rode toward Ab-Jibil.
“I don't know why you waste your time with those Siyara Lowland lovers.” Ab-Jibil had a tired expression, just giving the speech out of routine. Oliver had to suffer the same speech every time, a different version from each clan leader. But the short, stocky man was lacking the gusto and conviction that he normally delivered it with.
“They slaughtered those children at the battle of Mijal. We can't forget what they are and what they might be capable of again.”
Ab-Jibil failed to mention that battle was before even his time as chief, and that in retribution for the alleged act, the Jibil clan had beheaded any Siyara who strayed across the border for a decade after that.
“What's wrong? Oliver asked. “You didn't even tell me the whole story this time.” He looked at the man’s drawn face. He had bags under his eyes, and his beard looked slightly more silver than the last time.
Ab-Jibil sighed. “Aye! That obvious is it?”
Both men turned around at the sound of somebody being berated. A beautiful young woman with black hair and fierce yellow eyes was reprimanding a man, who was inconspicuously trying to escape.
Ab-Jibil shook his head. “That poor bastard! Imagine a petulant teenager mixed with the hormones of a pregnant woman and you get a fiery she-devil, spawned on the black peaks themselves.”
Oliver could see the smooth protrusion of her belly showing about five months to term. “So looks like things are going well then for the peace treaty with Hajir?”
“Ha! Peace treaty! Ha! Ab-Hajir is sitting by his fire laughing at me right now.” He looked almost desperate. “I just pray his devil daughter and the stone gods give me a boy. Another one like her would be the end of me. Quick! Around the corner, before she sees us!” He led Oliver around to the stables.
“The ruthless leader of the Jibil clan.” Oliver laughed. He knew the man really loved her, and would often brag about her beauty.
Oliver changed tact, “I see the foal is healthy.” He ran his hands down the hind leg, inspecting the animal. He had helped the birthing a few months earlier. Oliver's knowledge of animal husbandry had been a great help to the clan farming communities. It had bought him trust and respect from the clans, but it was also a link to his past and reminded him of Earth, being back at work in Southland.
“Yep, she's going to be a beauty, just like her mum,” Ab-Jibil said happily, patting the large draft horse.
“Ponsy and I saw something on the way here. Might be nothing though.”
Ab-Jibil waited. He had come to respect Oliver immensely. He brought useful innovations to their people and seemed to truly care about the highlanders. He knew Oliver didn't normally waste words on idle chit-chat, there was too much spinning in that brain.
“A band of people from the Siyara southern border crossing into Jibil territory.” Oliver continued. He had moved to inspect the big draft horse, and his eyes stayed focused on the mare while he spoke. “They weren't hostile looking. Mainly woman and babes. Judging by their speed, they will be here tomorrow or the next day. We may well be gone by then. I'm sure they're just coming to trade, but thought you might want to know.”
Ab-Jibil watched Oliver's face carefully. “But? You think it's something else.”
Oliver inspected the horseshoes for several minutes. “I guess you'll find out soon enough if it is.”
At that moment Ponsy came around the corner. “Ayla will have to wait a little longer. They need help with the windmill construction tomorrow.” His deep, commanding voice caused the foal to nestle toward its mum.
“Should be a piece of cake after the construction of Bayad clan's windmill,” Oliver said.
“You're traveling that far east these days?” Ab-Jibil looked surprised. “Even I've never traveled that far.”
“What is a piece of cake?” Ponsy interrupted.
“Don't worry about cake,” Oliver chuckled, “I just mean it should be easy.” He turned to the chieftain. “The one we are building in Bayad is bigger than your biggest building here. Stone foundation, Very impressive. I still can't believe you used to crush the grain using animals.”
The next day Oliver and Ponsy were high up on the windmill's wooden framing, clarifying the shaft angle, and giant cog system to the construction team, when he saw the travelers stagger into the village.
A stern woman led the sorry looking band. She had wisps of grey in her black hair and old smile lines etched in the corners of her eyes, but her stony expression showed no mirth, and her face was dirt-streaked. She helped a ropy thin old man on his walking stick. The group consisted of about thirty women, children and some elderly. They were haggard and exhausted looking. One of the women was weeping and being comforted by another. The children’s faces were tear-streaked and looked ravished by hunger from their march.
Oliver came down to the village square to watch the scene. The feeling of foreboding from the previous day returned, knotting his stomach. It’s just women and children! Where are the men? I've seen this before. The two drivers watched silently as Ab-Jibil went to meet them. Ponsy's small features were set in consternation. Oliver wondered if he was having flashbacks of the same old nightmares. Whatever this was he could feel it was about to shake the tranquil life he had built.
“Taken!” Screamed the woman. “They've all been taken!” The woman broke down before Ab-Jibil, falling to her knees and weeping into his hands before he had the chance to speak. His posture softened immediately.
“Show these people into the hall! Get some food into these children!” He ordered. Several village women jumped i
nto action. It was clear they needed no prompting. They were already bustling about in a maternal manner.
“What happened, mother?” Ab-Jibil used the term mother to denote respect and recognize her as the leader.
She looked up at the chieftain with red eyes. Now that her people were being cared for, the facade of strength crumbled. “They took them!” She let out a heaving sob, still on her knees holding the chieftain's hands “My beautiful boy was forced to go with them! When Karda, my husband, tried to stop them, they killed him.” She broke down into hysterical crying. “They murdered all the ones that resisted. They left us with nothing. It was a full minute before Ab-Jibil could console her enough to get coherent words from the woman again.
“Tell me, mother! Who did this? Bain clan?” He accused. His face was fierce. “Those murderous scum! But how did they cross the river?”
“No, it wasn't highlanders! It was lowlanders. An army of them.”
“What?” Disbelief rang in his voice. “Why would lowlanders come all the way to the Siyara border to raid a village? It makes no sense.”
“Not just our village.” She searched the chieftain's eyes. “The raiding party came from the east. They already had men and boys from Jibil clan, maybe Hajir, I couldn't tell. I saw them shackled. They said the men could return from duty once the war was won. We have nothing to do with their foolish Lowland war. I don't understand it.” She broke down again. Ab-Jibil drew back in alarm, stunned.
Oliver turned to Ponsy. The dark-skinned driver nodded at him knowingly. “This stinks of driver strategy Cougar! They are pressing those boys and men into service to bolster their army.”
Oliver's heart sank. Damn it, he's right! It does stink of driver tactics! Curse their black souls. I will never be free of those pirates. He could feel the bitter revenge and hatred that had been festering come flooding to the surface. Those ultimately responsible were the second-stagers. Feelings he thought he had dealt with two years ago now felt stronger than ever. How can they do this? How can they take away my second chance too?