To reassure herself as well as her child, she repeated her words.
“Them soon come.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Attack
1
In the Audience Chamber of the Gebbi Senafa, Emperor Dardar Alemeyu sat in private council with the two most important people in the Matile Mala Empire, next to himself: Jass Gebrem and Jass Eshana. All three were seated around a low table. Its surface was carved with scenes similar to those on the tapestries that hung throughout the palace. Other than the inevitable palace guards, no one else was in the chamber. Dusk was falling, and the light from the windows painted the royal chamber in shades of gold and gray.
The topic of this council of royal kinsmen was the Fidi, the guests from afar who were still stirring curiosity in Khambawe months after their arrival. Jass Eshana was telling the others the latest news his network of informants had passed on to him about the foreigners.
“There is division among them,” the Dejezmek said. “Those who are called the Believers mingle with our people more than the non-Believers do. The Believers ask many questions; they want to know as much about us as possible. And they seem happy to answer any questions our people have about them.”
He paused. His listeners said nothing, waiting to hear more before they commented.
“Often, the Believers talk about their god, Almovaar,” Eshana continued.
“What do they say about him?” Gebrem asked.
“That he offers much and demands little.”
The Leba snorted, but said nothing more. But he knew what the others were thinking: the Jagasti had neither offered nor demanded anything from the Matile for centuries. That thought had gnawed at him for years, even as he continued to practice a religion that was hollow at its core despite a few tantalizing shimmers on its surface from time to time.
“What about the non-Believers?” the Emperor asked.
“They seldom venture far from their ship,” Eshana replied. “They are not unfriendly, but they mostly keep to themselves. Their captain, Muldure, seems to care about little other than finishing the repairs to the ship as soon as possible.”
Gebrem and the Emperor exchanged a glance that was filled with unspoken questions: Why was repairing the ship so important? Was Muldure planning to leave Khambawe? Was Kyroun?
“I should mention another split in their ranks, Mesfin,” Eshana said. “The Fidi who are called ‘dwarves’ are living at the Tokoloshe Embassy. And we have no informants there, so I have no idea what they are doing.”
The Dejezmek left his other thoughts unspoken. He had never trusted the Tokoloshe. And if the Fidi dwarves were now in league with them ... He thrust that speculation aside and continued his report.
“Also, one of the Fidi – a non-Believer – has been spotted running with the tsotsis in the Maim.”
“He’ll have a short life then, won’t he?” Alemeyu said, his mouth curving downward in disdain for the criminals who plagued the city.
Then the Emperor turned to Gebrem.
“And what of Kyroun, the ‘Seer’ of the Almovaads?” he asked. “Although I should, perhaps, be directing this question to Tiyana, not you.”
Anger rose in the Leba, but he kept it under control. Goading, goading, always goading, cousin, he thought. Will it ever end?
“My daughter is very diligent in carrying out the task I assigned her, Mesfin,” he murmured aloud. “She is learning as much about the Seer as she can. Concerning your question, it appears that Kyroun is so consumed by guilt over the deaths that befell many of his followers on their way here that he may be more dangerous to himself than to anyone else.”
Alemeyu nodded, then opened his mouth to comment on what he had heard. Before he could say anything, Gebrem suddenly stiffened. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared like those of an impala sensing the presence of a lion.
“What is it?” the Emperor asked, leaning forward. Jass Eshana leaned forward as well, eyes narrowed in concern.
“Ashuma,” Gebrem said. His voice had become raspy, as though someone was attempting to strangle him.
“Is it Kyroun?” Eshana demanded.
“No,” Gebrem gasped. “Uloans!”
2
Jass Gebrem’s warning nearly came too late. As dusk became darkness, Jass Eshana had only a limited amount of time to organize Khambawe’s defenses before the attack the Leba’s ashuma had detected came. The city was in a frenzy, its populace gathering weapons and barricading their homes. For Gebrem’s ashuma had told him this was no coastal raid, as was usual from the Uloans. This was a full-scale assault against the city – the first in several generations.
A hastily assembled wall of warships and other vessels guarded the entrance to the harbor. The Fidis’ ship, however, was still not sufficiently seaworthy to join the others. Eshana dispatched soldiers to stand beside Captain Muldure and his crew on the White Gull’s wharf to help defend the foreigners’ ship. As for the Believers, they had joined Kyroun in the city to aid in preparations for the defense of the city.
Squadrons of other soldiers lining the docks formed Khambawe’s second tier of protection. In the shadows of the Ishimbi statues, they stood in silent, armored ranks, shields raised, swords and spears poised to strike and thrust. Archers were stationed on rooftops and in windows of buildings in the wharf district. Their arrows would be the Matiles’ first greeting to any Uloans who breached the barrier of ships in the harbor. Then the rest of the soldiers, aided by officers mounted on quaggas, would charge forward and drive the invaders off the docks.
That was how the last Uloan raid against the city had concluded. The first indication that circumstances would be different this time came with the wail of steel drums in the distance. Only a few Matile – fishermen driven close to the Uloan Islands by errant winds – had ever heard that sound. And they had described it as akin to the outcries of ghosts or demons.
Now, it was as though all the doomed souls in the Uloan Islands and the Matile Mala alike had united to howl a chorus of damnation and woe. On the ships and the docks, some of the soldiers covered their ears to keep out that sound, which had obviously been enhanced by ashuma. Their officers angrily ordered them to keep their hands on their weapons, even as they wished that they could cover their own tortured ears.
Eventually, the skirl of the steel drums faded – only to be replaced by voices raised in a repetitive chant. At first, the words were unintelligible, like the muttering of thunder in the distance. As the invaders drew closer, however, the two words they were saying over and over carried clearly through the mist, as though everyone in the Uloan islands was speaking in a single, demented voice:
“Retribution Time!”
Then, like gigantic beasts of prey, the vanguard of the Uloan war fleet burst through the harbor mist. The ships’ sails were furled. Single banks of oars propelled the invaders’ vessels at a speed that was both unnatural and alarming, leaving high tails of water in their wake. And they did not do what they had always done in the past.
Instead of dispersing to engage the Matile ships individually, the Uloan vessels focused their attack directly at the center of their enemies’ line of defense. Before the astonished Matile could maneuver their ships out of the attackers’ path, the rams on the Uloan prows punched hard into their hulls.
Planking cracked and caved at the devastating impact of the rams’ points. The Matile ships lurched violently, hurling soldiers and sailors off their feet and into the harbor. Their cries were barely audible over the snapping of timbers and groaning of wood wrenched asunder as the Uloan rams probed deeper into the stricken ships’ bowels.
The gap in the Matile defense line grew wider as the momentum of Uloan ships’ uncanny speed forced the ships they had targeted to move aside. Savaging their victims the way a big cat shakes its hapless quarry, the Uloan warcraft reversed the motion of their oars, pulling away and leaving the Matile ships to founder and sink. The surviving Matile sailors swam frantically toward the docks. Weighe
d down by their armor, the ship-borne soldiers went down like stones.
Realizing what their foes were attempting to do, other Matile ships moved to close the gap. But they were too late. In a seemingly endless stream, Uloan vessels now hurtled toward the docks. The magnitude of the onslaught was even greater than Jass Gebrem had thought. Not since the Storm Wars had the islanders mounted such a massive assault on the mainland. Those Matile who had time to reflect wondered if the Uloans had finally become irrevocably insane, and intended to destroy not only the Mainlanders, but themselves as well.
Through a desperate effort, the defenders managed to close the gap before all the Uloan ships could break through. As the remaining Uloans came under attack, the outer part of the harbor became a maelstrom of clashing warships as the Matile vessels launched a vicious counterattack against the invaders. But they could only engage part of the invaders’ fleet. The rest of the Uloan ships were ranging free, unimpeded by defenders.
Most of the ships that had taken advantage of the opening in the line of defense made for moorings at the docks – spots the Matile ships had vacated to join the defense line. However, three of the Uloan vessels veered away from the rest and headed directly toward the White Gull at a speed that was impossible for human rowers to have attained. It was as though the Fidis’ ship was a specific target for the invaders.
The Uloan ships fanned out, then struck with devastating impact. One rammed the White Gull amidships; the others hit its bow and stern. The three loud, crunching impacts came nearly simultaneously. After the Uloan ships pulled free, the White Gull began to sink. Pel Muldure’s frenzied curses were loud enough to be heard even above the din of the sea-battle and the Uloans’ cries of “Retribution Time.”
As soon as the other Uloan warcraft slid into the Matiles’ moorings, they disgorged their cargoes of invaders, who marched stiffly across hastily dropped gangplanks and climbed onto the docks. Shields raised, weapons pointed outward, the Uloans began a slow, deliberate march toward their waiting foes.
The way the Uloans looked startled the Matile soldiers who faced them. The warriors seemed to be fully encased in gray, form-fitting armor of a sort no one had ever seen before. Masked helmets of the same color covered their heads.
Ordinarily, the islanders fought nearly naked, like the Thabas, with bright paint decorating the scars on their skin. The uniform, armored grayness of the invaders was disconcerting. And some of the Uloans were smaller than others, as though women and children had donned the gray armor along with the men. The movements of all were awkward, as though they had awakened from a long sleep. But they marched steadily forward, and in silence as well, for the cries of “Retribution Time” had suddenly ceased.
“Loose arrows!” the commander of the Matile archers cried from the roof of an overlooking building.
A thousand bowstrings twanged. A thousand arrows arced over the heads of the Matile soldiers toward the invaders. The Uloans made no attempt to escape or protect themselves as the arrows struck, nearly every one of them reaching its target. At the commander’s order, two more volleys of death tore into the Uloans.
And not a single invader fell.
Most of the arrows had bounced from the gray patina that covered the Uloans’ bodies. Others were embedded point-deep, as if they had become lodged in hardened mud. The Uloans made no effort to pull the arrows free. Undamaged, the invaders continued to march forward. As they came closer, the Matile realized their foes were either more – or less – than human. And with that awful understanding came the beginning of the kind of fear that steals courage and causes battles to be lost.
From his vantage point alongside the commander of the archers, Jass Eshana watched the advance of the invaders. More Uloan ships had broken through and tied up at the docks. Hordes of other Uloans disembarked without interference, since the Matiles’ attention was focused on the first wave of attackers.
The newcomers did not have the peculiar crustation that covered and protected the others. The familiar daubs of bright paint adorned the scarification patterns on their bodies. Screaming maniacally and shaking their weapons, they fanned out behind their vanguard. As soon as they landed, the invaders again began their maddening chant: “Retribution Time!”
Eshana and the commander of the archers, whose name was Jass Kidan, looked at each other in dismay.
“Everyone on those damned islands who can fight must be out there,” Jass Kidan said in a near-whisper. “And the ones in front ....”
“Ashuma,” Jass Eshana said.
He turned an archer who was staring wide-eyed at the scene below.
“Go to Gebrem,” the Dejezmek instructed. “Tell him his skills are needed now, and tell him why.”
The archer nodded, slung his bow over his shoulder and headed for the nearest passage off the roof of the building. The sound of shouts and the clash of weapons rang in his ears as the Uloan and Matile forces met.
3
In the Beit Amiya, Tiyana knelt before the altar of Nama-kwah. The Mask of the goddess covered her face and an aquamarine chamma hung loosely around her. Her body was bent in an arc, muscles rigid as she invoked the ashuma of the deity she had served all her life.
An ancient statue that depicted Nama-kwah as a woman wearing a chamma made of fish scales loomed above her. The face of the idol duplicated the one on the silver mask. Its stone arms were spread wide, as though the goddess were embracing the sea, and the Matile people as a whole. In the past, that caress was as tangible as that of a lover.
Now ...
Mouthing incantations that were many centuries old, Tiyana entreated Nama-kwah to roil the waters of Khambawe’s harbor; to raise foaming waves large enough to sink the Uloans’ ships and break them into kindling; to spin whirlpools that would drag the invaders into the goddess’s deep Realm; to send sharks and other sea-predators to savage the survivors.
In the distant past, when Tiyana’s ancestors among the Amiyas had knelt in the same spot and spoken the same words to the stone effigy, Nama-kwah would have acted, and her ashuma would have infused Tiyana, and it would have given her the power to do more than merely dance on the waves. But now the Goddess was silent, just as she had been during First Calling, when the Fidi ship had arrived in the midst of her dance on the waves.
Then Tiyana remembered that Nama-kwah actually had spoken to her then, whispering a single word: Danger. At the time, she thought the goddess was warning her about the Fidi. Now, she realized that Nama-kwah had foretold the massive attack by the Uloans.
Nama-kwah’s silence had returned in the Matile’s time of need. Tiyana didn’t feel even a tingle of ashuma. The Goddess had abandoned her idol; it was no more responsive than any ordinary piece of carved stone. And she had abandoned her Vessel as well. Yet Tiyana continued to speak the ancient words. She could think of nothing else to do.
Similar scenes occurred at other altars as other masked Amiyas entreated the Jagasti to whom they had been pledged as children.
The Amiya of Ufashwe, God of the wind, asked for a tempest to overwhelm the Uloan ships. The Amiya of Sama-wai, Goddess of illness and decay, called for a plague to strike the Uloans down. The Amiya of Chaile, God of fortune good and ill, prayed for the Uloans’ swords to break and their shields to turn brittle. The Amiya of Alamak, Goddess of the Stars, called for fiery stones to fall from the sky onto the heads of the invaders.
Like Tiyana’s, the prayers to those and all the other Jagasti went unheeded. All except one – that of Keshu, Amiya of Halasha, God of iron and war. Keshu asked only that the soldiers of Matile fight courageously. That prayer was the only one that was answered, though not by Halasha.
Jass Gebrem stood apart from the others. Abi in hand, he attempted to consolidate whatever ashuma the Amiyas could gather; to coalesce it into a single surge of force that would destroy the Uloans. He was performing the incantation exactly as his forefathers had, centuries ago. But he might as well have been attempting to pour water from an empty jar. Nothing was
happening. It was as though the Jagasti no longer existed.
The only ashuma Gebrem and the others could wield was whatever they could find within themselves. And he knew that would not be sufficient to defeat the Uloans ... not when their attack was so massive and overwhelming.
Earlier, for a single, awful moment, Gebrem felt the presence of his Uloan counterpart, Jass Imbiah, in his consciousness. Jass Imbiah was laughing at his attempts to resist her power ... and that derision in that laughter had pushed him to the brink of madness.
Even as he tried to gather his and the Amiyas’ meager ashuma, the Leba fought off a wave of despair.
What can I do? he asked himself yet again. What can I do?
A sound near the entrance to the Beit Amiya broke Gebrem’s concentration. He looked toward the source of the sound – and his eyes widened in surprise.
Kyroun stood in the doorway. Behind him were the Almovaad Adepts, most of whom he had come to know. All were dressed in robes of deep indigo, the color of a dark sky. As the Amiyas became aware of the presence of the Believers, the sound of their chants and incantations died down.
Anger rose in Gebrem. The Beit Amiya was forbidden to all, save the Vessels and their shamashas. He knew Kyroun and the Almovaads could not have been aware of the breach of sanctity they had just committed at the worst possible time. Now, they would learn.
But Kyroun spoke before Gebrem could begin his rebuke. And what he said quelled the Matile’s outrage.
“Please allow us to help you.”
Gebrem stared at him.
“You have nothing to lose,” the Seer said. “And there is no price to pay for our assistance.”
Gebrem kept staring.
4
Pel Muldure swung his sword at the nearest jhumbi. His blade bit deep into the gray shell that covered the jhumbi’s body. A cloud of powder flew through the air as Muldure pulled his sword back. The jhumbi staggered a moment. Then it pressed forward, forcing Muldure to retreat another step.
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