Drakon Omnibus

by C. A. Caskabel

  What had I done?

  A brief sleep interrupted by nightmares overtook me. In my sleep, I saw maulers growling in the Forest among the children, and women screaming nailed on crosses. I saw Elbia, brown-haired and pale-skinned, smiling at me, Skullface holding her hand. And I saw the silver-haired Ouna-Ma, tall as ten men rising from the desert sands of Apelo.

  “Get up, Da-Ren,” I heard the voice.

  I woke up in the middle of the night when someone dumped water onto my face.

  “He is alive, I told you,” said the Rod. “He slept a whole day.”

  Slept a whole day? I felt like I had shut my eyes for a few breaths.

  Without even thinking I crept out of the tent before they could stop me. There were six more waiting outside with two maulers. They started to laugh while I crawled in the mud; it was soft and cold like defeat.

  “Crawl back to your hole,” shouted one of them.

  I obeyed when they raised the bows.

  The screams of the tortured kept coming throughout the second night. I tried to escape a second time, only to have them throw me back again.

  “How long?” I screamed. “Take me to him. Take me to Malan!”

  I went like this for a long time, until one of them came inside.

  “Shut up. Malan is gone. They are all gone. You stay here till you die,” he said.

  No, it didn’t make sense, if they wanted me dead, they’d have gone ahead with it.

  A worm, a cursed bat in its cave, that’s what I had become. I prayed. I prayed for the light of Selene to appear through the smokehole. My mind weakened, thinking of them, listening to the women screaming.

  I prayed to Enaka.

  “Oh Goddess sweet and beautiful

  …stay with…

  Bring back Selene

  do not hide…

  Keep Aneria and Zeria alive

  And I will bring as sacrifice

  To you.

  What? What sacrifice?

  What do you crave, Goddess?

  What do you want, demons?

  No answer. I couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t I remember the words? I remembered the faces, the ghosts. The villages of Kapoukia. Three children left behind, Noki saying that we should kill them before Urak tortures them. Did he kill them? Did they survive? I never learned. I never asked.

  In Varazam. Thousands of children. None survived. What if one did? Maybe one fortunate child got away, hidden behind a curtain, in a stable? One must have lived. There were so many of them.

  Noki massacred the Ouna-Mas and the Reghen. I had given him the order. Do they know? Noki. He took his own life. All my fault.

  I remembered the ghosts. I prayed, and the stars mocked me through the smokehole.

  “Really, Da-Ren? Do you dare to pray? Aren’t you the one who murdered Ouna-Mas and Reghen? Do you ask for help from Enaka the mistress of the Endless Night Sky who sees all? Tell us brave warrior, you who now crawl in the mud without blades, without daring to name your daughter for fear of giving her away. Do you pray to the Goddess for mercy?”

  What could I do? Nothing. Nothing would be the noble and brave thing to do. That’s what I would always say when I saw the unarmed peasants running like chickens before we ran them through with the blades. Absolutely nothing.

  A prayer at least. I didn’t believe, not anymore, but a prayer felt good, as if I could do something.

  Sweet Goddess…

  …sacrifice…

  Silence. The raindrops fell slowly on the hides, and the screams died; the maulers were not howling anymore. And then the rain fell harder and covered all sounds. Deafening silence. Water falling hard through the smokehole.

  It rained throughout the third day, soaking rain that ripped apart the tent hides in many places. But the guards were there, they changed now and then, but never left me alone. A third day knowing nothing about Aneria or Zeria.

  Save the children. I promised Zeria.

  A deathly silence. The rain stopped, and Selene graced me as she passed over the smokehole. Could she have listened to my prayers?

  She did.

  A Rod pulled me out and gave me clean clothes and new boots. A piece of fresh bread and water. A dog hide, the clothing of a Blade warrior.

  “Dress, Da-Ren, you are going to the Khun,” the Rod said.

  My heart was pumping hard; I had been given one more chance.

  Malan’s tent was large enough for twenty men to stand around. Another war council, the final one. All men. Warlords, Ssons, Reghen, two slaves.

  No Witch to tame them, no woman to keep them from growling and acting like animals. The Witch made them better men—with honor, respect, and fear—but had sent her away.

  “Everyone here, finally,” Malan said to me, and then spoke to the rest. “Two thousand left for Sirol, to defend it if Sapul’s army makes it there first. We are out of time. I wasted three days because I had to wait for the rest of the Archers to arrive from the South. Don’t think I waited for you to come to your senses,” he said looking at me. “Reghen, speak!”

  The Reghen spoke while two of his brothers to the right sat on a table scribing. The Tribe was writing words on parchment after all those winters. I wondered what characters they used; we didn’t have a written language.

  “As the King said: Two thousand Archers are already heading back to Sirol with most of the Ouna-Mas. We kept a few of them here, to sing before battle. The Blades, the armies of Antia and Noria, the othertriber savages of the north, all the allies and Sani’s Guardians will march for Drakontail. Sani, you have three days to cover the distance starting tomorrow morning. You rest the night there and come dawn of the fourth day you attack the legions. There are three legions of Crossers, maybe four, camped on the valley of Lenos, as you come west out of the Drakontail. It is flat land and safe for horses. You’ll have six thousand men with you. Sani, you lead them.”

  “He’ll be outnumbered three to one, maybe worse. And those men you gave him are not riders most of them. The legions of Lenos have catapults and war machines. He doesn’t stand a chance,” I said.

  “Shut up, Da-Ren, this was your plan,” said Malan.

  “He does have a good chance, because when the sun is half-high, not long after Sani unleashes his men, you will come out of the White Doe. With the five thousand Archers. You wait when all their war machines and catapults are committed toward Drakontail, and then you attack with all your strength.”

  “You want me to cross the Forest in two days, enter and come out of the White Doe by the fourth morning with five thousand Archers and without any rest attack armored legions?”

  “It can be done. We counted,” said the Reghen.

  “You counted around the hearth. Yes, I can do it with a handful of my best men. But with five thousand of yours? Out there, things happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a hundred things. Hard rain like yesterday. A bridge collapsing. Something going wrong in the caves. Betrayal. Or we are too early; Sani is late. The horses are tired. The Crossers are prepared for us. Whatever. A hundred things.”

  “Da-Ren,” Malan addressed me calmly and like someone who had found wisdom and sought my help. “Da-Ren, this time nothing can go wrong. Else we are surrounded from west and south, the othertribers who are now our allies abandon us, and we are crushed. We don’t have time. Either we lose it all and the Tribe is no more, or you do what you promise. Lead us through the White Doe.”

  “Us? Are you coming too?” I asked.

  “I am. And if you worry about Sani and your women and that priest, make sure you are there on time. Otherwise they won’t make it either.”

  “I want my men back,” I said. “Order for them to be returned to me at once, or else—”

  “I am going to be magnanimous here and not chop you to pieces in front of your woman. You will get your men and the Dasal to help you. Not the women or the children. You are no traitor, and you’ll do the right thing. Or you can go back to that tent where you
crawled for three nights. Are you with me?”

  “I am.” At least on a horse, carrying a Blade, I had a chance.

  “All of you go, prepare to march at dawn,” said Malan. “Except you, Da-Ren.”

  Only two slaves and the four Ssons remained with us. Malan came close to me slowly, dragging his wooden leg. All others have left, only their scent was still present in the silence of the tent.

  “Come, let’s drink. A new Tribe is born tonight. Better. Much will change. I have decided to marry once we’re back. A princess from Antia, when I return from the Final Battle. Sah-Ouna will announce it. She’ll do it whether she wants to or not. All the Witches will do my bidding.”

  I didn’t believe a word.

  Malan continued his monologue, stopping every few words to take another sip.

  “I will create new Truths. Every man will be able to marry one woman of his liking from now on. We must adopt some of the customs of the world if we are to rule it.”

  Nothing surprised me. Everything would change. Everything had changed. Nothing would be left standing in a few nights when the sun would set on the Final Battle.

  “There will be many that will want your woman for a wife,” he continued. But I will give her to you to marry when we return victorious.”

  I had a way out.

  “I will do whatever you want,” I answered.

  “Yes, you will,” he said.

  A slave poured me wine, but I didn’t touch it. My eyes fell on the meat he had sitting on the table. I hadn’t had anything but stale bread for many nights now. Malan asked one of the slaves to cut some for me.

  “You should have died many times already, Da-Ren, but it seems that Enaka favors you. I do too. You were always there, first, in our greatest triumphs. Except for Sapul. It would have been different if you had joined me.”

  “Those men you send with Sani are doomed,” I said. “All of them.”

  “We go back a long way, Da-Ren. Even before the Sieve. Remember? Do you remember when Elbia died? Why did she? I had told you that I would tell you when we were older?”

  Elbia? Of all the deaths of this Story, he had to return to the first one.

  “Elbia was my favorite, you know,” he said. “Never told you that. But she had to fall like the Blades of Apelo, like Gunna that night, or the thousands that will fall at Drakontail. Why did Elbia die Da-Ren?”

  “She shouldn’t have,” I mumbled, looking away from him.

  “She should have. Because she was the best,” answered Malan. “Are you listening Da-Ren? Elbia died because the Goddess demanded the best.”

  “Her blood was precious,” I said.

  “You had your teachings from that Crosser priest it seems. So did I; I spent time with teachers and doctors and savants of all those tribes we conquered. Why does their god die on the cross, Da-Ren? Why does their almighty god choose to die on the cross?”

  “Because only the death of the worthy one can bring victory against evil.”

  “Do you understand, Da-Ren? Darhul cannot be defeated without immense sacrifice. We have to commit thousands in Drakontail, and they must die, else the West will not commit either. You are my chosen one. You are my favorite. I love you more than anyone. From the first moment. I ask you, demon, to die again and again, to sacrifice yourself to bring victory to the Tribe. It is what I asked of you in Apelo, and it is what I ask of you now. Will you just die for once! But you don’t. At least sacrifice your finest. Sacrifice your precious woman for our Tribe.”

  “Who shall I die for? For those with the gold chains and the arm rings that you brought here and call them the Tribe now? My Blades are long forgotten.”

  “They are the same as you and me, Da-Ren. Just as the Stories of the Cross Sorcerer are the same as ours. You, more than anyone else should know that because you spend every night with that Dasal woman. You, born by a brown-haired slave should know that.”

  He felt it too.

  “Your face looks as remote from the Tribe now as mine. How did you come to be an orphan?” I asked.

  “You ask more than you can swallow. But, unlike you, I am the one who triumphs at the end. I am the power by which we conquer. I am above tribes and gods.”

  “I think you are just tired. And drunk. Sah-Ouna saw it. Maybe she is right; you should retreat to the steppe. Take this spring to rest.”

  “Sah-Ouna is finished. I will finish her. We will move forward. You will help me. A new Tribe. Stronger. Greater. Above Ouna-Mas and Cross Sorcerers.”

  “Do whatever you want. But I can’t do what you ask. I can’t sacrifice her.”

  “Oh, but you will, there is no other way. You will bring the Archers at exactly the right time Da-Ren. Some will survive, maybe even your women. Unless you know that your woman is there, you won’t make it on time. I have to make sure that you will, that you won’t change your mind and betray us in the middle of the caves. Then we will have the ceremonies, the weddings. The Tribe you knew is finished. After the Final Battle begins the Seventh Season, that of the Kings.”

  Only then I saw, there inside his desolate tent, his tragedy. I had remained—if it could ever be possible—the one and only person that he could still trust. Hope shone in my eyes for a brief moment. If I brought him victory in the Final Battle, the Tribe would reward me. The Final Battle. Everything that I ever dreamed of in the tents of the Uncarved as a fifteen-wintered boy. Everything that whirled around my brain during those long winter nights. Until that afternoon when I first laid eyes on her.

  Malan grinned and put his arm around my shoulders.

  “You will be Firstblade again, first to storm into Lenos. You’ll raze Lenos. Just like Varazam. You’ve gone rusty inside the Forest with those little girls. The time for glory is now, Da-Ren.”

  He whispered the words very slowly as if he were offering me some priceless treasure and he didn’t want anyone to hear. He raised his cup and shouted to those around: “To Lenos. Burn it to the ground.”

  He’d lost it completely. In the last campaign in Thalassopolis, he’d lost his leg and his mind. And I was to be his Firstblade once again. The First Blade of the Devil in Lenos, in Varazam, in Kapoukia.

  The demon had set its trap. I had a final request.

  “I will ask only—”

  Malan interrupted me.

  “If you ask for one more thing, I will crucify, here and now, everyone you’ve ever spoken to, from old man to child. And last of all you, after you’ve suffered all their screams. We are not the same, Da-Ren, you and I. You were defeated on the last day of the Sieve. A rabbit beat you twenty winters ago. Learn to lose, Da-Ren.”

  “I will ask one more thing—” I said. “Crucify me if you want, but I’m the only one left standing here with you, I see no one else. You will let me see my people tonight, one last time. To bid them farewell.”

  “Who are your people?”

  “Baagh, Leke, Noki, Zeria…”

  He made a gesture of disgust with his hand, a grimace of disapproval. But he called one of the Rods to come closer.

  “Take him. He’s free to go. But keep him close to you at all times. Take him to see whomever he wants. You will take two Ssons with you. If he tries to betray us or escape, kill them all. The women first.”

  “Don’t be afraid; I’ll do everything you want, Malan. For me. Not for you or your Tribe,” were my last words before I turned my back to him to leave.

  He started shouting as I increased the distance between us—with me were the Rods and the Ssons:

  “Who do you think you are? Do you think that I’m doing all of this for you, Da-Ren? You are nothing in my Story! Whatever I do, I do for my Tribe, and for me. My Story. You are nothing, Da-Ren!”

  As I walked out the tent, the ruckus of the camp drowned out his last screams. Ten thousand men were bellowing harder, preparing for war. Blades, Archers, Rods, horses, oxen, wolves and Reekaal were getting ready. The Final Battle had already begun.

  But the only words that kept buzzing
in my head were his: “A wedding, marry her, after you raze Lenos, like Varazam.”

  And those words brought more images. The horse troughs, the severed heads. A wedding. Celebrate! Victory. Marry her. Walk with her through a pool of blood.

  XC.

  Too Fortunate

  Thirty-Second Spring. Three days after the Poppy Flower Moon

  It was a night for sweating blacksmiths, and it smelled of burning iron and coal dust. It was a night for war and slaughter, and it smelled of horse dung and resin wine. The wind brought the screams of the bleeding lambs and the bellows of the feasting warriors.

  “You are too fortunate, Da-Ren,” said the Reghen who followed me in haste out of Malan’s tent. “A forgotten Blade lost for so long, a man in chains until tonight, to lead us into the greatest of battles. For your own good, I hope you are worthy of this honor.”

  “For your own good, too,” I replied. “But you are right; I am to lead. Your Khun, King, whatever you call him, is not one to ride forward. It’s not just the leg; you see that man. He can’t.”

  To my surprise, the Reghen nodded in agreement with pursed lips.

  “What is to be done?” he asked. “We have no time.”

  “No, we don’t. Send your dogs out. Find the First of the Archers, and a few of his trusted Chiefs, and my men. Leke, the Dasal. Unchain them right away.”

  “My orders are to stay with you day and night. Same for those Rods,” he said, pointing to the riders who were following every step of mine.

  “I hope you can ride fast in the deep wood, then. Send others, I don’t care. But bring me Karat, Leke, Irhan. And a couple of blades for me,” I replied.

  “Again, my orders are that you and your men get blades only if we make it out of the White Doe. Not before,” he said.

  “So be it. But don’t forget to bring them. I don’t want to ride first in the battle holding a stick. Go now.”

  It took them a while before they gathered everyone.

  Leke dismounted from an open cart that carried my comrades, approached me on foot and put his hand on my shoulder.