The Severed City

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Well done, boy,’ Badranga said.

  ‘Some were wondering, my lord,’ Mandalecht said, ‘when you were going to call an end to the killing, so that the survivors can be rounded up and allowed to surrender?’

  Agang shook his head.

  ‘No surrender will be granted,’ he said. ‘The entire Holdings force must die.’

  ‘Well said, my lord,’ Drechtan nodded.

  Badranga snorted. ‘I admire your spirit, my lord,’ he said, ‘and do not doubt for a minute that the Holdings dogs deserve to perish, but were we not planning to take slaves on this great raid?’

  ‘Of course,’ Agang replied. ‘But not yet. Consider, my friend, how the battle was won. We used a combination of tricks, by hiding our true numbers, and new tactics, such as archers and pikes, that the Holdings have never seen Sanang warriors use before. They were unprepared and arrogant, thinking they would sweep us aside like they used to. The fewer Holdings witnesses remain alive, the better.’

  ‘It also sends a clear message, my lord,’ Hodang said, ‘and will chill the heart of the Holdings king.’

  ‘Then this half of the Plateau is ours to strip bare,’ Echtang said. ‘That coward on the Holdings throne will never send out another force against us, not after he learns what happened here.’

  Badranga frowned. ‘Then we’d better hope that the rest of the Plateau is more populated that what we’ve seen so far. Not a single farm or settlement since we left the mountains. Just grass, and empty hills.’

  ‘We knew the area at the southernmost edge of the Holdings-occupied Plateau was sparsely inhabited,’ Agang said. ‘Once we travel further north, we will find the rich lands you seek.’

  He stole a glance at Chane, but she kept her face still. What he had said was a lie. Chane had told him that all of the Plateau was thickly inhabited, with towns and farmsteads littering the countryside. He doubted that she had deliberately misled him, but if she was wrong about that, then what else could she be mistaken about?

  His mage Badolecht entered, a deep frown on his face.

  ‘Mage,’ Agang greeted him.

  ‘My lord,’ he said. ‘My healers are all out in the valley, doing what they can to repair the damage wrought upon the flesh of your men. I came to see if you, or any of your officers require healing.’

  ‘Thank you mage, but no,’ Agang said. ‘Go back to where you’re needed.’

  ‘Wait,’ a man called. Agang turned, and saw Lomecht stagger in, a bottle in one hand, and blood streaming from a wound in his upper leg. ‘I could do with some fixing.’

  ‘Greetings Commander,’ Agang said, ‘and well done for holding the left flank today. Your position was heavily assaulted, but you defended stoutly.’

  ‘Near two hundred of my regiment dead, my lord,’ Lomecht spat, as the mage approached. The warrior sat on a bench, and stretched his leg out.

  ‘And each did their duty,’ Hodang said.

  ‘It’s not the bastarding numbers that bother me, you halfwit,’ Lomecht shouted at the chief minister as he grimaced in pain, ‘it’s the way they died. Huddled behind shields and pikes, like fucking cowards. Their fathers would be ashamed of the way they fell today.’

  Mandalecht rose to his feet. ‘Ashamed?’ he cried. ‘You fucking imbecile. Did you not see what the Holdings cavalry did to Anganecht’s battalion? Without those shields and pikes your whole regiment would have been carved up.’

  ‘Quiet, please,’ Badolecht said, placing his hands onto Lomecht’s leg. ‘I’m trying to work.’

  Everyone stilled, and watched as the mage closed his eyes.

  Lomecht’s head arched back, an expression of half-agony, half-ecstasy on his face, as the healing power of Badolecht surged through him. He convulsed for a moment, then fell slumped onto the bench, his chest rising and falling.

  Badolecht stood, and glanced at Mandalecht. ‘You may continue berating him commander.’ He nodded and left the tent.

  Lomecht raised his head from the bench.

  ‘Sorry Chief,’ he said. ‘Sorry Commander. I might have gone temporarily mad from the pain, but I’m all right now.’

  He got to his feet, and rubbed his healed leg. ‘By the gods, that feels good.’

  He stood to attention.

  ‘Congratulation on your victory, my lord,’ he said, a crooked smile on his face.

  ‘You are forgiven your outburst,’ Agang said. ‘The gods know how often I have lashed out after an injury. Go get drunk.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said. His eyes flickered over to where Chane stood for a moment, then he turned and left.

  ‘My lord,’ said Badranga. ‘Not to show any disrespect, but there have been mutterings among the warriors about your army’s tactics. The pikes most could understand, the sneaking about at night was harder to explain, but archers, my lord?’

  ‘The other chiefs can scoff all they like,’ Agang said, ‘I only care about what works. My archers thinned out the cavalry charges, and allowed us to encircle the enemy. Without them, our line would have broken somewhere, and the plan would have collapsed.’

  Badranga shook his head. ‘You make it sound so sensible, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the common warriors don’t see it like that. To kill your enemy from a hundred yards away? It’s everything the Sanang warrior code is opposed to.’

  ‘The same warrior code that allowed the Holdings to invade us for four years running?’ Agang said. ‘The same code that has kept us squabbling and fighting among ourselves for a hundred years? Look at what we achieved today, by breaking the code. When we return to Sanang I will bring in a new order, one that does not rely on obsolete traditions.’

  ‘You are not king yet,’ Badranga replied, his face reddening. ‘Nor will you be if you continue to ape the Holdings in all that you do. Our ways are not the same as theirs, and the other chiefs won’t stand for it if you try to re-make us in their image.’

  ‘Then let them challenge me,’ Agang said, staring down at him.

  A messenger entered.

  ‘My lord,’ he bowed, oblivious to the tension in the room.

  ‘Speak,’ Agang said, keeping his eyes on Badranga.

  ‘A message from the valley,’ he said. ‘Toa Banga’s warriors have discovered the remains of Anganecht Bristang, his two sons, his brother, and his brother’s son, all slain on the battlefield, along with almost all of his battalion.’

  Agang nodded to the messenger, and he left.

  ‘That accounts for all of his male relatives,’ Hodang said. ‘By rights as high chief, his lands fall to you, my lord, now ruler of the Mya river tribes.’

  Badranga’s mouth fell open. ‘Now I see,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘and I thought you’d honoured the old man by letting him lead the army.’

  He looked up at Agang.

  ‘I won’t make that mistake again.’ He bowed low. ‘My lord.’

  Chapter 10

  Rainsby

  Rainsby, Rahain-Occupied Plateau – 4th Day, Last Third Summer 505

  The rain had been pouring all day, a summer squall over the gentle slopes that stretched all the way down to the shores of the Inner Sea.

  The road had been churned to mud, and rivulets of water streamed into the over-flowing ditches on either side. Keira pulled the hood further across her face, her heavy clothes soaking, her boots sodden and falling apart. For nearly a third she had walked, alone. She had stayed close to the main road leading from where the new tunnel would exit. It ran alongside a river for the majority of the way, through countryside that was empty for the most part, excepting the odd farm and settlement. She had kept the river on her left, and headed north.

  Towards Rainsby.

  Back in Kell, while she had been resisting the Rahain occupation, she had met a few folk who had talked about the squalid Rahain town, and the large refugee camp that spread outside its walls. Nothing she had heard made her overjoyed to be going in that direction, but as she didn’t know the way back to her homeland, she had figured that at
least she would be able to meet up with some of her own folk there, and find out what had been going on since her capture.

  The leaden clouds made the early afternoon seem like dusk, and she re-joined the road as soon as she glimpsed the walls of the town ahead in the distance.

  Her fears of being recognised were eased by how quiet the traffic was. The few Rahain she saw go past her on the road moved to the other side once they noticed her height. Several looked nervous, and clutched onto their possessions as they hurried to get by.

  She smiled. They were scared of her people, and that made her happy.

  She came to the bottom of the slope, and the road levelled out. Ahead of her, she could see the town gates through the pelting rain. A low rumble of thunder echoed from the hills behind her.

  To the right, a large raised earthen embankment ran the length of the road, right up to the town walls. On the other side of the road was a sprawl of huts and small wooden structures. She scanned the buildings as she walked, but saw only Rahain faces peer through the murk in her direction.

  One emerged from a hut and sidled up to her.

  ‘What you doing out in the rain, eh?’ he said, a wide hat keeping his face dry. ‘You looking for something?’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘You wanting smokes?’

  ‘Fuck off ya scaly wee arsehole.’

  ‘No need for insults, pet,’ he said, ‘was only asking. Couldn’t see any other reason why one of you lot would be out in weather like this.’

  He scurried off back into the disorganised mess of shanty dwellings.

  Keira walked on.

  The wall of the town was mostly a timber stockade, but the gatehouse was stone-built, and towered three storeys above her. The great double gates were closed, but a small entrance door had been cut into the right hand gate, and was open. Several soldiers in dark grey uniforms slouched nearby, sheltering from the rain under an archway next to the gates.

  They looked up at her as she approached.

  She nodded to them, and made to go through the door.

  ‘Hoi!’ one shouted. ‘Stop there, you stupid sow.’

  She turned, ready to say something back, but paused when she saw at least ten crossbows trained on her, the soldiers fanning out by the gate.

  ‘Where’s your fucking pass?’ the same soldier called to her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your pass,’ he repeated, ‘to get into the town. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Maybe she’s new, boss,’ another soldier said.

  The officer sighed. ‘Not had one of those in a while. Thought every fucking Kellach savage had been through Rainsby by now.’ He looked up at her. ‘Where you from then? You speak Rahain?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘Is this how you greet visitors to your shithole of a town?’

  The officer spat. ‘None of your lip, girl, or we’ll fill you full of holes.’

  Keira smirked at him, but said nothing. She could see the itchy trigger fingers of the soldiers, and didn’t want to give them an excuse.

  ‘Okay,’ the officer said, ‘you need to go to processing, and register with them. They’ll give you a place to stay, and you can apply for a town pass.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Where’s that then?’

  ‘Back up the road,’ he pointed through the rain. ‘There’s a gap in the embankment about a hundred yards away, you must have missed it on your way down.’

  She turned, and began walking along the road, the soldiers scampering back under the shelter of the arch behind her.

  After a minute, she saw the break in the raised bank, and left the road, her boots wading through ankle-deep mud. The path through the embankment was narrow, and well-trodden. She reached the other side and gasped, as what had lain hidden from the roadside was now revealed to her.

  Fields of tents and wooden huts stretched out into the distance before her all the way to the shore, a settlement bigger than any town that she had ever seen in her homeland. Under the lowering grey clouds, and through the torrential rain, the refugee camp looked filthy and miserable, the ways between the tents churned to mud. Ahead she saw a wooden structure larger than the others, its sides streaked with mud, and she headed for it, her feet disappearing into the thick wet ground. She passed between rows of tents. Most had their front entrances closed, hiding the occupants within.

  Even in the rain, she could smell the stench of the place, a powerful sour tang at the back of her throat, of piss, shit and misery.

  She knew she probably wasn’t smelling too sweet herself. Her thick layers of clothes, stolen from farmhouse drying lines on the way, were heavy, and she was sweating in the summer humidity. Back in Kell when it rained, which it did frequently, it was always cold, and this was her first experience of a muggy Plateau storm.

  ‘You look lost, hen,’ a woman called to her from an open tent, in her own language.

  ‘Aye,’ Keira said, stopping and turning to look at the old clanswoman. ‘I am.’

  ‘You new in the camp?’

  Keira nodded.

  ‘Come in out of the rain for a minute,’ she said.

  Keira looked up and down the muddy track.

  ‘I don’t bite,’ the old woman said, grinning. ‘Nae teeth.’

  Keira stooped down, and entered the long, low tent. Behind the woman several others slouched on blankets and furs. Some were sleeping, while others smoked, their eyelids heavy and drooping. They looked at her, their expressions vacant, and none spoke.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ the old woman said, as Keira sat. ‘On rainy days like today, when there’s no work on, they just sit about and smoke. I don’t touch the stuff myself, so as you can imagine hen, I get bored shitless watching them pass out. Nice to have someone to talk to.’

  ‘What are they smoking?’ Keira asked.

  ‘Sanang weed,’ she said. ‘Town’s full of it. It’s the one thing the lizards make sure we have plenty of.’

  Keira didn’t know who or what the Sanang were, but kept quiet, painfully aware of her ignorance.

  ‘I do have some whisky though, hen, if you want a wee dram.’

  ‘Aye,’ Keira said. ‘That’d be braw.’

  The old woman smiled, and reached for a jug and a couple of dirty mugs.

  ‘I’m Laurie,’ she said as she poured two measures of clear spirits.

  Keira sniffed the liquid as she was passed the mug.

  ‘Don’t be putting that face on,’ Laurie said. ‘I know it’s not real whisky. Fuck me, I haven’t seen any of that since we got here. It’s the best we have, but.’

  Keira nodded and drained her mug, her throat burning from the raw spirits.

  ‘Fuck, that’s nasty,’ she said. ‘Had worse.’

  ‘What’s your name, hen?’ Laurie asked.

  ‘Keilyn.’

  ‘Fuck me, a Kell,’ Laurie said. ‘Not many of you lot left. And young, too. You’ll have no bother making ends meet, trust me.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  Laurie laughed. ‘Whoring, what else? A young woman like yourself? I’m sure you’ll be able to make a living.’

  ‘I’d rather hack my own head off than open my legs for money.’

  ‘Aye well,’ Laurie cackled, ‘we’ll see if you’re still saying that after you’ve been here a while.’

  ‘Thanks for the drink,’ Keira said, rising, ‘but fuck you.’

  She stepped back outside, the rain drowning out the laughter from within the tent, and trudged down the path towards the half-canvas, half-wooden structure ahead, the largest building she had seen in the camp.

  Two enormous guards were at the door.

  ‘Is this processing?’ she called out, the sound of the rain on the canvas drumming out a cacophony.

  ‘You new?’ said one in a Domm accent.

  ‘Aye.’

  He gestured with his head, and she stepped inside.

  She walked into a large canvas entrance hall, with benches along
each wall. A man, a woman and a child sat by the main door, which led to the wooden end of the building.

  They turned as she walked over.

  ‘You new as well?’ she asked.

  ‘No, hen,’ the woman said. She was holding onto a young boy, who stuck his tongue out at Keira as she sat on the bench down from them.

  ‘This numpty here,’ she said, gesturing to the dour-faced man sitting beside her, ‘fell asleep with a lit weedstick in his hand and burnt the fucking hut down. Nearly killed the bairn.’

  ‘Does everyone round here smoke that shit?’

  ‘No, hen,’ she glowered. ‘A few get drunk all day instead.’

  The wooden door opened and a Rahain man in a dark grey military uniform walked through.

  ‘Next,’ he muttered.

  The family stood, and followed the Rahain through the door. The woman turned her head as she went.

  ‘Take my advice, hen,’ she said, ‘and get out of this shithole while you can.’

  Hours later, a freshly processed Keira stepped back outside.

  The rain was still falling hard on the camp, and the skies were now darkening. Slung over her shoulder was the flaxen sack the Rahain had given her, containing a flea-bitten blanket, some wooden clogs for getting through the mud, and a metal mug and spoon. After searching her for weapons, they had given her directions to her new accommodation, a stamped registration card to prove she was a resident of the camp, and ten tokens that could be used to purchase supplies.

  In exchange, they had wanted information: her name, her occupation, her home village, the names of her relatives, and she had lied without pause. Keilyn ae Kielie ae Kell, a shepherdess from Armdale in the Southern Kell uplands.

  The camp grew dark. Few lights were lit, and the muddy tracks were empty as the rain battered down. She heard a low roar of noise, coming from a long, squat wooden building set beside a large crossroads.

  As she got closer, she recognised the noise, and smiled.

  ‘Evening, boys,’ she said to the two burly men at the entrance.