She moved down the parapet, tripping over prone women and children, as she tried to find a spot to see. What was happening? Where was Phell? The smoke parted again.
The Kaifeng were in the fort.
She saw the enemy horsemen on the parade ground. How had they...? She looked to where the southwest bastion had been. It was a jumble of stone and wreckage, but there were Kaifeng picking their way across. The explosion had filled the dry ditch with rubble, and the enemy was coming in.
“Oh gods!” she cried. “They’re getting in! Phell! Phell, look out!” She had no idea where her fiancée was in all this mess—if he was even still alive. The thought of Phell pierced the horror that had wrapped her and she was running for the stairway. She went down as quickly as she could, pushing her way past women who were clinging to the railing, frozen in shock.
She burst out onto the parade ground, screaming for Phell. Her cries were swallowed up by the screams and groans of the wounded men and horses, the shouts of officers and sergeants trying to rally their men...
...and the high-pitched war-cries of the Kaifeng.
One of the nomads appeared right in front of her on his horse. He seemed incredibly large. Clad in leather, his long blond hair was braided and fell around his shoulders. He carried a curved sword that was stained red with blood. He was only a few yards away.
She cried out and darted back toward the barracks. The Kaifeng came after her, but the colonnaded porch frustrated his efforts to catch her and he turned away. Kareen dashed along the porch toward her home. She didn’t know where else to go. She reached the end of the porch and looked around wildly. She saw running men, but no Kaifeng were close by. She darted away from her cover...and tripped.
She fell heavily but scrambled to her feet. Then she screamed when she saw what she had tripped over. It was the upper half of a man, literally blown to bits by the exploding magazines. Crying and gasping, she tore her eyes away and stumbled toward the officers’ quarters. She wanted to find her own house and go inside and lock the door behind her. All this could be shut out behind the door of her home. Then she would crawl into her bed and wake up and this would be all right again.
There! There was her house! And Thelena was standing in front of it! If she could just get inside everything would be all right. She dodged around a screaming musketeer sergeant who had a useless musket in one hand and the collar of a terrified private in his other, and then she was on the porch next to Thelena. The woman glanced at her for a moment and then stared past her, back to the parade ground.
“Thelena! We have to get inside! We have to...”
Involuntarily, her eyes followed Thelena’s gaze. The smoke was mostly gone, although several buildings were gushing flames. There were many, many Kaifeng on the parade ground now. She could see that the gate had been opened and hundreds of horsemen were galloping in.
And they were killing everyone.
White-coated dragoon and green-coated musketeer bodies littered the ground. Hundreds of them. Kaifeng rode where they would, sabering the dazed soldiers. As she watched, a horseman drove his lance through the back of a fleeing musketeer and pinned the screaming man to the ground. Fifty yards away, a cluster of soldiers had gathered and they stood with their bayoneted muskets pointing out in all directions, trying to keep the attackers at bay. But the Kaifeng laughed and drew their bows. A shower of arrows felled a dozen men and the rest broke and fled — only to be ridden down by the lancers. Blood was everywhere. They were killing and killing and killing.
But no, not everyone.
There was a higher-pitched screaming now and Kareen saw women on the parade ground. Some were running, but many were already in the grip of Kaifeng warriors. She shrieked in horror when she saw Henja Wenning, a girl about her own age, struggling in the arms of one of the nomads. He had pulled her up onto his horse. Her skirt was gone and her blouse was torn open. She scratched at the face of her captor, and he responded with a blow to her jaw that left her limp in his grasp.
“Gods!” cried Kareen. “We have to get away!”
“There is nowhere to run,” said Thelena with a terrible calm.
She was about to grab and shake the woman when four of the Kaifeng rode toward them. Kareen cried out and then turned to flee into her house.
The door was locked. Insanely, she whirled about to get the key from Thelena. But Thelena had already been seized by one of the Kaifeng. She didn’t resist at all as she was slung over the saddle in front of him.
“Thelena!” screamed Kareen. But then another man was coming at her. She dodged aside and ran. There were coarse shouts behind her and the sound of hooves pounding. She ran and ran. If she could get out of the east gate, she could get away. She could run all the way to Berssenburg. She could find help and come back to save Matt and Phell and Thelena. She ran.
Something pulled tight around her waist and her arms were pinned to her sides as she was stopped short in mid-stride. A rope! There was a rope around her! An instant later, she shrieked again as she was hauled off her feet. Impossibly strong hands grabbed her and she was slung across a saddle just as Thelena had been. She kicked and screamed, but her hands were caught and tied together behind her. She tried to twist around but only caught a glimpse of a grinning face.
Then she was squealing in outrage. The man had his hands on her! In a fashion far more bold than anything Phell had ever done, the man was touching her! She kicked and cried with renewed panic.
She was going to be raped. Suddenly, all the generalized fears crystallized into that single thought. This man was going to rape her. All of her screams, all of her struggling would not prevent him from ripping her clothes off and raping her. She gave one last convulsive jerk and then lay limply, sobbing, while her captor’s hands continued their exploration.
But she wasn’t raped just that moment. The sounds of fighting and slaughter had died down. There was still much noise: the moans of the wounded, the crackle of burning buildings, and the cries of the women, but it was quieter than it had been since the nightmare had started.
Suddenly a great shout went up. All the Kaifeng were cheering. In fear, she looked around. There was a man up on an undamaged section of the walls. He was too far away to see clearly in the fading light, but all the Kaifeng were cheering him.
“Atark! Atark! Atark!” the men were all shouting. This must be their leader, Kareen thought numbly. The man responsible for all this horror. She was grateful that the man had distracted her captor from what he had been doing, but she knew it would not last long. She sobbed in shame.
A few yards away, she saw Thelena in the clutches of another Kaifeng. Her dress was already in shreds, and except for the lack of blood and bruises, she looked much as she had when Kareen had first seen her.
Except this time, she was smiling.
Kareen looked at the woman she considered her friend in bewilderment. How could anyone smile at a time like this? But she was smiling and the cheers went on and on.
“Atark! Atark! Atark!”
Chapter Four
Atark, shaman of the Gettai-Tatua clan, strode through the camp, surrounded by cheering warriors. The heady exultation that filled him was as intoxicating as honey-wine. Victory! Such a victory as had not been won since before the Dark Times. Men cheered and women trilled and the boys capered about. He had worked the magic and its effects had exceeded all his hopes. Not only had the enemy weapons been rendered useless, but huge explosions had torn open the walls and let the warriors inside. Zarruk and he had feared that actually gaining entry to the fort could prove difficult and costly even with the enemy guns destroyed. But it had not been so. Bold riders had leaped over the rubble and then opened the main gate. The defenders had been too dazed and disorganized to resist. From then it had been a slaughter. And not just in the fort, as hundreds of warriors had swept down into the town once the fort’s garrison had been taken care of. There were still screams coming from that direction.
There were fewer screams i
n the camp. Moans and whimpers and sobs, yes, but few screams. There were a great many prisoners, and these had been dragged and carried from the burning fort to the Kaifeng camp. The men, only a few hundred, had been tightly bound and tossed into a crude enclosure. More secure arrangements could wait until morning. A great many more women had been taken. Most of them were already in the tents with their new masters. Their screams had subsided to sobs by now. The Kaifeng women had taken charge of the children who had been captured, the small boys, younger girls, and the older women. Their fate would be decided later. Most would become slaves if they survived. A few of the youngest might be adopted into families and become Kaifeng.
The crowd of cheering people was escorting him toward the large tent of Ka-Noyen Zarruk. It was a modest structure for one who had such a victory to his credit. A bigger one would have to be made. Dozens of torches lit his path, for night had fallen. Atark only had to duck his head slightly to pass into the tent. Inside, lamps lit the space with a dim, pleasant glow. All six of the tribe leaders, the noyens, were there, along with some of the more humble buyantas, the clan leaders. They were all seated on cushions, but upon seeing Atark, they sprang to their feet and greeted him with loud voices.
“Hail to Atark! Bringer of victory! Hail to Atark! Master of fire! Hail!”
He acknowledged them with a bow, hand upon his chest. “Hail the mighty noyens!” he said. “Leaders of our brave warriors! And hail Ka-Noyen Zarruk! Leader of us all!” Most of the men cheered his words, but he noted that a few did not. The dispute from this afternoon was far from over, and they all knew it.
Atark was escorted to a cushion at Zarruk’s right hand. It was the place of honor, and he was moved. The reality of the accomplishment was only beginning to sink in. The enemy fort was taken, its garrison slain or captured. The way east lay open. A grinning Kaifeng woman handed him a goblet of wine. He drank deeply.
He was very tired, but not as tired as he had been after the first battle. Today’s magic had been vastly greater than the other, but it had not been as hard, thanks to the Ghost’s advice. He was still a little shocked by what he had ordered done; he had been shocked when the Ghost had told him what needed to be done. But he had done it. The dozen captives taken in the last fight had been brought to him, bound like hogs and terrified. Well, not all had been terrified: the Whitecoat officer had glared defiance at him until the last. Atark admired his courage, but he had died with the others just the same. As he had begun the spell and reached for the Power, one by one, the blades had fallen and the captives’ heads had followed. As each man died, his own native power had flowed out. The first had slipped away from Atark and gone wherever it was destined to go, but he had seized the next and all of the others after. He had added their strength to his own. At the height of the spell he had felt...what? He could not describe it. Bursting with power. He had felt like he was going to explode as the fort did soon after. The spell was cast. He was tired, but not spent. He still had the strength to enjoy this night.
A great deal of shouting from outside the tent caught his attention. The flaps were opened and a dozen warriors crowded through and then bowed. “Mighty Shaman! Mighty Ka! Mighty noyens! We hail you all!” they cried. “Let us present the trophies of this great victory!” The assembled leaders laughed and returned the salute. The warriors formed an aisle and several more entered carrying the captured banners of the Berssian soldiers. Two of the flags were quite large and beautifully made of silk, although one had an ugly hole burned through it and the other was torn. There was also a bundle of smaller pennants of various colors. These were all presented to Zarruk, and he directed that they be displayed around the already crowded tent. On his command, the side flaps of the tent were raised up. This not only provided more room, but let the crowd outside see in.
More trophies were brought forth. Fine crystal goblets were given to all. Zarruk and the noyens received the swords of the highest Berssian officers. They were not terribly useful weapons, but most had golden hilts and scabbards, and some had gems set into them. Then there was a cheer and a roar of laughter from outside and some much larger trophies were brought in. One by one, some of the captive women were presented. Each was tightly bound and gagged so that their weeping might not disturb the celebration. They were all completely naked and they were very beautiful. One was set down at the feet of each of the noyens. They writhed and squirmed, their eyes wide with terror. As each woman was presented, the noyen bowed and accepted the gift. Another woman, very young, slender, and with lovely dark red hair, easily the most beautiful of the seven, was placed before Zarruk. The ka bowed in place and thanked the men for the gift.
Atark looked up in surprise, and no small bit of dismay, as an eighth woman was carried in. He bit back a cry of protest when she was laid at his feet. She was the most beautiful yet and he could not help but stare. She was taller and darker and…rounder than most Kaifeng women. Rarely had he ever seen so fine a girl. The feelings she roused in him were very... disturbing. He had not lain with a woman since Shelena was murdered. And as much as he might desire to, he would not lay with this woman now.
“Hail, Oh Mighty Shaman!” said the men. “Accept this gift from us in thanks and reverence!”
Atark reddened slightly, but then he bowed. He looked back up. “I thank you kindly for this great honor,” he said. “This is a fine gift indeed. But I beg to be allowed not to accept it.” The faces of the men fell and he felt like a churl. He should have just taken her and then given her away. Stupid. But it was too late now. “The...the discipline of my magic cannot suffer such a distracting... distraction.” There was a burst of laughter and the men looked slightly mollified. “Please give her back to the men who took her. Let them enjoy her to the fullest. They have earned it.” He looked at the men who had brought her in and a thought struck him; something that might please them. “But, if you do not object, leave her here until the feast is ended. She is a most pleasant sight and I can allow myself such a distraction for one evening.” There was more laughter now and the men were grinning. They bowed and left him.
Now the women brought in the meal. A great feast had been prepared and course after course of food and drink were served. He ate and talked with those around him and listened as the men recounted their feats in the battle. But his eyes kept drifting back to the woman. She was truly beautiful. Terrified, of course, and much shamed. Several times she tried to roll onto her stomach to hide at least part of herself, but each time she was turned back over amid much laughter. After a while, he noticed the woman staring at him. He glared back at her. He had no idea how to react. Even if he knew her language, what could he say to her? Don’t worry, I will not rape you this night. But many other men will. Perhaps you will die from the ordeal as my own daughter did. And if you survive, you can only expect the same again for as long as you live. He wished she would roll over again so she could not stare at him.
“So! Atark of the Gettai-Tatua!” shouted one of the noyen. “What shall we do next? A great victory, to be sure, but what next?”
“Next, Muskar of the Yattu? It seems to me that that is a question for the ka.” All eyes turned to Zarruk, who frowned at Atark. The ka was silent for a time and the tent grew quiet.
“We have three choices,” he said, at last. “We can return to the plains. We have won a great victory and the other tribes will honor our feats. We have collected much fine booty.” He leaned forward and gave the red-haired girl a firm pinch to a gale of laughter. “So, we can go back in honor. The Berssians will send soldiers to pursue us, but with the powers of Atark to aid us, they will only be riding to their own deaths.” The men cheered at this, but many did not look pleased otherwise. “Another choice would be to remain here,” he continued. “There is still much booty to be collected. And there are the other forts guarding the other passes. We could smash each as we have done this one. More booty from each, and once they are gone, the Berssians will find it far harder to send their murdering raiders into our
land!” More cheers. Zarruk paused and glanced at Atark. The two of them had discussed this very issue several days ago. Zarruk knew Atark’s opinion, but would he act upon it?
“Or,” said Zarruk slowly, “we have a third choice. We can go on from here — to the east.”
“To the east?” squawked Teskat of the Kuttari. “Against the Berssian Army? Madness!”
“Only a short time ago it was madness to attack this fort,” said Zarruk. “But we did it.”
“That was different! A garrison smaller than our own numbers, taken totally by surprise by Atark’s magic. Next time there will be no surprise! Some of the Whitecoats who were defending the town escaped. They will spread the word in Berssia. They will come against us in huge numbers. A score of score of scores. Even more. Such a host could overwhelm us with just swords and their gun-spears, even if Atark strips them of their gunpowder. It is madness!” A few men nodded in agreement.
Zarruk was silent again for a moment and his eyes darted to Atark. “What you say is true, Teskat. With the numbers we have here, to challenge the Berssians would indeed be madness.” Teskat leaned back with a smile of satisfaction, but Zarruk went on. “So we must increase our numbers! We here are but one nail on one finger of the fist that is the Kaifeng. We will send for the other tribes! Send word to our friends and our kin. Tell them what we have done here. Invite them to join in our next triumph! There are a score of other tribes within a week’s ride of here. Many, many more within a month. If we wait here for a bit, rest and enjoy our victory, then our numbers will grow and grow. Soon we will have ten times and more than ten times our present strength. Then we will ride! We will ride to the east!”
Fires of Memory Page 10