Griots

by Charles R. Saunders

  Zara threw her head back authoritatively. Fortunately, the queen’s prerogative outweighed the pettiness of custom.

  At the queen’s approach, the Zanjiian captains bowed. In the old days prostrating would have been called for, followed by a sprinkling of dust on the head. Zara did away with that form of obeisance upon her capture of the throne. The stranger bent his head minimally forward before meeting the queen’s gaze with a bold concoction of deference and roguishness.

  Zara felt a heating of her cheeks unrelated to the day’s warmth. “Toulou,” she greeted, brushing away the feeling. “You are doing a fine job with the soldiers. They certainly look impressive at drilling, but survivors of past battles against the demon-sorcerer have told me how difficult it is to kill his unearthly minions. Are you sure these new tactics you teach will be effective?”

  “They are tried and true, your majesty,” Toulou replied. “He pointed to the empee warriors. “Where they are from empees forged an empire and invoked dread in the hearts of any foe bold enough to face them on the field of battle.” Toulou extended an arm toward the pale horsemen. “The Tartors conquered half a world for their Great Khan.” The stranger indicated several more men, black skinned like the Zanjiians and empee warriors, but dressed the same as Toulou. The men were demonstrating to a large group of Zanjiians the use of an odd contraption that shot arrows with as much force as the Tartors’ bows. “Crossbows from the land of the Hann have wreaked havoc on opposing armies. These new tactics and weapons, in conjunction with traditional Zanjiian weapons, when pitted against the enemy, will be an irresistible combination.”

  Men pushing five boxes resting on two-wheeled carts caught Zara’s attention. The front and backs of the boxes were covered with holes. Long sturdy looking arrows with menacing razor-sharp points poked out of each hole.

  “What are those?” She asked, pointing at the carts.

  “Hwachas,” replied Toulou. “I obtained them from Koryyo, a kingdom south of the Hann. The demon-sorcerer will taste of their fury soon enough.”

  Zara looked at Toulou, fascinated, almost captivated. Almost. “How did you come about all of these resources?”

  “Through my travels.” Toulou smiled as if he were aware of how vague he was being.

  The queen pressed her lips irately. “Very well, Toulou. Keep your secrets. Just answer this: what brought you to the life of a mercenary?”

  “War and profit, your majesty. My two interests.”

  Zara lowered her voice. “Are there any other interests?”

  Toulou stared at the queen, allowing the question to go unanswered a little longer than protocol demanded.

  A tingle raced through Zara.

  “Perhaps,” Toulou said. He didn’t elaborate.

  Zara didn’t insist on it. She bade farewell and headed back to her palanquin, feeling a tad light headed. It must have been the day’s warmth.

  The tower had no windows, yet Ajunge could see through its solid walls as if there was no obstacle to block his view of the outside. He saw an army approaching his tower. The Zanjiian queen had still not given up. What a fool that woman was. He would have to teach her another lesson...a lesson scrawled in the blood of another doomed army. Perhaps afterward she would submit of her own accord. And then again perhaps not. The demon-sorcerer grinned in anticipation of another one-sided battle. He raised his arms to summon his hosts...

  Five thousand men, foot and cavalry, were arrayed across a swaying sea of grass, leading to the demon-sorcerer’s tower. This was the biggest force fielded by the Zanjiian queen. The infantry was spearheaded by the empee. The southern warriors carried large elephant hide shields, spanning head to toe, and wide-bladed stabbing spears. They wore only loincloths, feather plumed headdresses and sandals. The Zanjiian infantry soldiers were a bit more covered. They wore chain links over leather-armored kilts and carried their own native variations of empee shields and spears.

  The heavy infantry hefted thick wooden shields and short broad swords. They marched in formation as well as the empee. Zanjiians with crossbows were clustered in front of the infantry, cavalry in the van, led by the Tartors. Zanjiian heavy cavalry occupied the middle of the cavalry line. Light cavalry were on both flanks behind the hwacha positions.

  A ray of sun bright light emanated from the tower like a gleaming blade, bringing forth a horde of blade-limbed demon men. The ground quaked and springing from the earth in thick plumes of dirt and flying grass were the massive rhino-apes. The demon-men sliced the grass around them, demonstrating the lethality of their blade-sharp limbs. The rhino-apes bobbed their spiked clubs in bestial displays of ardor.

  The demon-sorcerers’ minions surged forward in a crashing wave of uncoordinated ferocity.

  Humans lit fuses behind the hwachas. Seconds later streams of arrows ignited by propellant powder zipped from the wheeled launchers, whistling across the field. Hundreds of the projectiles sailed into the packed mass of rhino-apes and demon-men striking them down in droves.

  The Tartors on both flanks galloped forward, leading the Zanjiian cavalry on a counter charge toward the enemy’s flanks. They opened up with a barrage of arrows from their composite bows.

  A rain of arching arrows swished down upon the enemy warriors hitting those the hwacha arrows missed. Half the demon-men went after the Tartor and Zanjiian horsemen. The human cavalry fled and the demon-men, who were as fast as horses, pursued. But the Tartors were as deadly in flight as when on the attack. They twisted in their saddles and released flurries of arrows that left scores of pursuing demon-men tumbling in the grass dead or injured.

  The Zanjiian horsemen who mastered the rearward shot to good effect lobbed arrows that struck their marks nearly as often as Tartor arrows. The Tartor flag bearer shifted pennants, signaling the end of the retreat. As one, Tartors and Zanjiians wheeled their mounts about and thundered straight into the teeth of the demon-men’s pursuit.

  An arrow storm blew through their ranks and more demon-men fell with shafts sticking out of their bodies. Heavy Zanjiian cavalry followed behind the light cavalry slicing through the disorganized demon-men with swords, javelins and lances. The demon-men that recovered from the severity of the human attack struck hard. Their razor arms went into motion. Men were slashed open while still mounted or dismembered or impaled while on the ground. Horses were sliced or gutted. But the heavy cavalry continued to pressure the demon-men, riding many of them down like elephants trampling grass.

  The empee received the full brunt of the rhino-apes’ charge. The enormous beasts pressed forward, their combined strength bending the middle of the human infantry line almost to the breaking point. The rhino-apes’ front ranks added to the fury of their momentum, smashing human skulls and cracking shields with their clubs. The human center buckled further. Empee warriors thrust with furious precision, sinking their stabbing spears into a wall of rhino-ape hide. The Zanjiians poured in behind the empee, supporting the center, preventing it from shattering.

  The rhino-apes’ single-minded focus on the middle caused them to neglect their flanks. On the mid flanks, crossbowmen fired off volleys of arrows, dropping nearly a full rank of rhino-apes. The second rank stumbled over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Zanjiian light infantry moved in rapidly, taking advantage of the rhino-apes’ confusion. Human spears and swords mowed a swathe of butchery along both enemy far flanks. The savage thrill of combat the rhino-apes were normally infused with when engaging these weak men was beginning to be replaced by a growing sense of alarm.

  Something was not right. It was nothing that the rhino-apes could have articulated. Their level of intelligence did not allow for in-depth analysis of their situation. All they knew was that they had somehow lost their advantage over the humans . . . that this battle was not going in their favor. Savage instinct drove them to fight and kill despite the misgivings clawing at their collective sense.

  The rhino-apes’ clubs blurred up and down in a mad frenzy of death dealing. Humans collapsed beneath those
stupendous blows but more retaliated with equal vigor. The bite of human bladed weapons was gaining in ever increasing frequency. The rhino-apes were squeezed in from all directions, making it difficult for them to raise their clubs. A rabid pincer of spears and swords closed in on the rhino-apes like the shutting jaws of a giant hungry beast.

  The few demon-men not shot down by cavalry arrows attempted to dash to the defense of their underworld allies. They were mauled by vengeful Zanjiians and pushed back into the packed mass of the center where they were either flattened by the panicked crush of their oversized comrades or perforated by human blades. The jaws of that beast closed tighter, inexorably, emboldened by human hatred, fueled by human vengeance.

  The demon-sorcerer would not have believed it possible if he had not seen it with his own eyes.

  From the summit of his tower, Ajunge’s enchanted view of the plain below enabled him to witness how the humans were winning this battle. The Zanjiians, with able assistance from foreign mercenaries, along with new and effective weapons, had demonstrated a discipline and competence not shown in previous battles. Plus, they employed an encirclement maneuver to such superb effect that they managed to surround his soldiers completely.

  Ajunge recoiled in distress at the sight of his valued warriors being cut down like weeds in a farm plot. The demon-sorcerer flailed his arms, screaming his rage at the very top of his lungs. He decided immediately that the Zanjiian queen was going to pay a final price for her defiance. He was finished with this game. Now it was time to seize what was his.

  Ajunge materialized outside the queen’s palace in a ream of light. Twelve demon men accompanied him. Imperial Guardsmen reacted to the intruders’ sudden appearance instantaneously, but they were still too late to avoid the conflagration that blasted vengefully from the demon-sorcerer’s hand. Amid the flaming clumps of human remains, the demon-men fanned out to chop down the survivors. For the surviving guardsmen who were burned over most of their bodies, the razor edge of a demon-man’s arm was a merciful release from the pain of their injuries.

  Zara was standing next to her throne surrounded by grimly determined guardsmen when the demon-sorcerer and his demon-men stormed into the throne hall.

  “It’s over, Demon,” Zara announced coldly. “You will leave my land or suffer the consequences.”

  An amused snarl lifted a corner of Ajunge’s wrinkled mouth. “Victory is not yours, wench! You may have won a battle, but not the war.”

  A voice came from behind the demon-sorcerer. “You heard the queen. She said it’s over.”

  Ajunge turned slowly to see a tall man in a loose, white sleeveless tunic standing behind him. His garb and facial scars marked him as one of the queen’s foreigners. The stranger held a straight sword in one hand a long dagger in the other. A group of bare-chested warriors carrying large shields and wide-bladed spears filed into the throne room with perfect military precision. The steely, challenging looks on their hard faces betrayed no fear. The warriors formed a semi-circle around Ajunge and his demon-men.

  The demon-sorcerer regarded the stranger as if the latter were a bug fit only to be crushed beneath his heel. “I won’t waste time with you, vermin. But I promise, the queen’s death will not be so abrupt.” Lifting his hand toward Toulou, a jet of flame shot out.

  Zara screamed in horror when she saw Toulou enveloped in a blue-white ball of fire. But when the flames subsided to nothingness, she was shocked to see that the mercenary leader was still standing, still alive. The demon-sorcerer’s fire had not burned the man, had not so much as singed him.

  Zara’s guardsmen shouted their alarm, then whooped in elation at this miracle of the stranger’s survival. The empee held steady, their bodies tensed to spring into action.

  Ajunge drew back in utter astonishment. Impossible. The man still lived. He thrust his hand out a second time releasing another current of fire that once again washed harmlessly over his intended victim.

  “You might as well surrender,” Toulou suggested implacably. “Your hold over this land is no more.”

  Ajunge stared hard at the foreigner. Then he threw back his long robe and unsheathed a double pronged sword from a jeweled scabbard. “Whatever magic is shielding you from my enchanted fire, it will not protect you from the bite of my steel.”

  The demon-sorcerer advanced, his red eyed gaze beaming a sweltering spotlight of malignancy on the stranger.

  Toulou raised his sword and dagger, bending his knees slightly in a fight stance.

  Before their blades collided, Ajunge shouted a command to his demon-men. “Kill the queen!”

  Two battles were fought within the gilded splendor of the throne hall. The larger battle involved the demon-men’s attempted assault on Queen Zara. The guardsman, inspired by the foreigner’s repelling of the demon-sorcerer’s foul magic, met the demon-men’s attack with a ferocity that obliterated their previous fear. The first rank of guardsmen sprinted forward, plunging spears and swords into their foes before the latter could position their arms to block the attack. The empee warriors came at the demon-men from behind, their wide bladed stabbing spears carving up flesh in deadly flashes of motion.

  In the second battle a sorcerer and a mercenary struggled to the death. Ajunge reveled in the exhilaration of close quarter combat. How long had it been since he used his sword, felt the sturdy heft of its hell-forged blade, the smooth flow of its motion? Too long!

  Toulou ducked as the demon-sorcerer’s blade passed above him in a clean stroke that would have surely taken his head. He leaned in with his own sword, aiming for the demon-sorcerer’s heart. The mage stepped back avoiding the thrust, at the same using his blade to slap Toulou’s sword aside. Toulou countered with a diagonal dagger slash to the face. Ajunge jerked his head back. The dagger missed by inches. Ajunge whirled around like a mad dervish, his sword whizzing in cross strokes that Toulou labored to parry. A tip of the demon-sorcerer’s sword caught Toulou’s dagger arm, drawing a gash across his tricep. First blood.

  Toulou ignored the wound, his mind sorting out an array of techniques to use against his opponent. For a practitioner of the magic arts this demon-sorcerer was unexpectedly skilled with the sword, much to Toulou’s dismay.

  The demon-sorcerer squatted low enough to cut at Toulou’s ankles. Toulou leapt as the blade blurred underneath his feet. With near impossible swiftness Ajunge brought his sword up in a back swing with the intent of disemboweling the human as he landed.

  Toulou barely blocked the blow. But doing so tilted him off balance and the force of the deflection knocked the sword out of his hand.

  Toulou’s sword went flying before clattering to the floor far beyond his reach. He stumbled backward struggling to regain some equilibrium.

  The demon-sorcerer charged ahead, seeing the human in disarray. He double gripped his sword, lifting it high in a chopping position.

  Rather than resist the inevitable fall, Toulou sailed with the motion, hitting the floor in a fluid roll. He caught a split-second glimpse of a double-pronged blade flying toward him and Toulou side-rolled. A bloom of sparks erupted where Ajunge’s hot steel collided with the cold stone floor.

  Toulou leapt to his feet dagger still in hand. Skilled as the demon-sorcerer had demonstrated himself to be Toulou saw a weakness. His opponent was too hell-bent on killing, less concerned with protecting himself. He was becoming reckless.

  The demon-sorcerer brought his sword up then down in another overhand stroke. Toulou spotted an opening and glided beneath his foe’s swing. He deftly adjusted his grip on his dagger and sank it hilt-deep into the side of the demon-sorcerer’s neck.

  A vital artery severed; blood poured from the wound like water through a sieve. Ajunge staggered sideways like a drunkard, one hand pressed to his neck in a vain attempt to block the bleeding. The demon-sorcerer’s grip on his sword weakened until it slipped out of his hand. He dropped to his knees.

  Toulou stood over the dying sorcerer, marveling at how the color and consistency of th
e latter’s blood closely matched that of human blood.

  Ajunge gazed up at the foreigner, disbelief clear as daylight in his expression. His eyes and mouth were agape; his body trembling as if struggling not lose his hold on life.

  Toulou gave the demon-sorcerer another taste of his dagger. This time through the heart.

  The demon-sorcerer’s ragged breathing ceased in an instant and the rest of his body collapsed to the floor.

  Toulou stepped back, allowing the tunnel vision of his duel with the demon-sorcerer to expand and encompass the rest of the hall.

  He saw that the guardsmen and empee warriors were victorious. The lacerated bodies of the expressionless demon-men were scattered across the floor. And the queen was alive.

  Toulou met Zara’s eyes and the two shared a smile.

  The kingdom exploded in jubilation at the demon-sorcerer’s demise. Celebrations marked every corner of the land. Queen Zara opened up her palace to her joyous subjects and every space from the courtyard to the parade ground throbbed with revelers.

  Zara’s name rang to the heavens in rapturous chants.

  The queen stood on the palace terrace next to Toulou, casting an appreciative gaze upon the crowd below. While she was touched by the chants, Zara felt in no way deserving of the adulation. The credit for this victory belonged to the man beside her.

  “How did you survive the demon-sorcerer’s attack?” She asked Toulou. “What magic did you use?”

  Toulou shook his head. “There was no magic, your majesty. No charms, no amulets, no whispered spells or incantations. It was a matter of not believing.”

  “Not believing?”