He wrenched his sword loose as the body fell out of the saddle. He screamed a battle cry and looked for new enemies to fight. But the Kaifs had had enough. The cannon shots through their ranks, the fall of their leader, and the seemingly-impervious armor of their foes were just too much. They turned their horses and tried to flee. A good number of them were not able get away and were hacked down from behind, but the rest galloped off as fast as they could.
“Reform! Reform!” shouted Matt. They had to keep moving. Don’t let the enemy rest or recover! He looked beyond the retreating foe and saw a man on a wooden platform a half-mile away. Yes. Yes! There was his target!
“Form up, lads! Our job’s not done yet!”
* * * * *
Thelena’s head hurt, and she was so terribly sleepy. She had heard faint screams in her sleep, but now there was another scream. It was much louder and very close; it cut through to her consciousness.
Kareen was screaming.
Her eyes snapped open.
Kareen was a few feet away, shrieking and fighting madly with—Gettain! Why? What was wrong? She was so confused!
“Thelena! Thelena, help!” Kareen scratched Gettain on the face and the large man responded with a cuff that knocked the woman senseless. He had a rope and he tied Kareen's hands behind her back.
“Today you will die, you Berssian bitch!” snarled Gettain.
“What? What are you doing?” gasped Thelena trying to understand.
“Your father’s orders, my lady. She’s needed for the sacrifice.”
“No! Stop!” The horror that coursed through her cleared some of the fog from her head, but when she reached out, she ended up sprawling on the carpet. “Gettain! Stop! I command you!”
But when she pushed herself up, Gettain and Kareen were gone.
“No! No!” she screamed. She howled. “Noooo! Kareen! Kareen, no, no no!”
She couldn’t catch her breath. The tent was spinning around her. This had to be a nightmare. A mistake. It couldn’t be true. Her father wouldn’t…
Yes. He would. He had always hated Kareen, and he would do it.
“No! Father! Don’t! Please!” she sobbed.
She tried to stand up, but she couldn’t. She crawled a few feet then caught her hand on something and fell, banging her face on a low table and cutting her lip. The pain seemed to help. The fog lifted a little bit, and she could taste the blood in her mouth. She had to get up! But her arms and legs were numb and tingly; she had no strength in them. She had to get up or Kareen would die and be damned.
She forced herself not to panic. She took a series of deep breaths and then started to crawl again. She went over to the cooking implements and found a long knife. The handle seemed cold and hard and very real in the foggy world that surrounded her. More breathing and then she crawled to the center pole of the tent. She grabbed it and painfully pulled herself upright. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Another few breaths and she let go.
“I’m coming! I’m coming, Kareen!”
She staggered out of the tent to find her friend.
* * * * *
“Hurry! Hurry!” snarled Atark. “Get them ready!”
His guardsmen were dragging the slaves into position. Four or five hundred terrified, screaming women fought madly, but uselessly as they were bound to the forked stakes in the ground. The bodies and severed heads of the previous sacrifices lying there told the women exactly what was going to happen to them. They shrieked and wailed and begged for mercy, but all to no avail. Atark’s men had become immune to such pleadings—even though they had never done this to women before. Even so, some were clearly disturbed—especially since some of the women were obviously pregnant.
Atark, himself, felt sick at the thought, but there simply was no choice! He whipped around to face the enemy and saw that they were coming on. Zarruk’s helar had been scattered. His red banner had fallen, and Atark had no doubt that his oldest friend was dead. Zarruk never would have retreated, and if he was not retreating, he was dead. He banished all doubts from his mind. The enemy was a half-mile away and coming directly toward him. The spell would burn them all! It would burn some of the fleeing warriors, too, but the coward deserved no less!
He turned to look at the sacrifices. They were all nearly in place. He recognized some of them: women taken in the very first battle at the fort. Almost all of them would belong to the men of Zarruk’s helar, but those men were all probably dead now, so it did not matter. Directly behind his platform, he saw Gettain dragging Thelena’s slave into position. The woman had blood on her face and was fighting frantically. But then she stopped and looked past Atark at the fleeing army and her expression of fear turned to one of triumph.
“You’ve lost!” she screamed at him in passable Kaifeng. “You can kill me, kill all of us, but you’ve lost, you bastard!” Gettain struck her across the face and she fell. He quickly bound her to the stake. Atark looked up and down the line of sacrifices. We haven’t lost yet, you bitch! The men all had their swords and lifted them to indicate they were ready. Atark raised his own hands and reached for the power.
“Very well! Begin!”
* * * * *
Kareen was surrounded by screams. The high pitched shrieks of women filled her ears, her mind, and her soul. She had never heard anything like it. This wasn’t the scream of women being captured, or women being raped. This was the scream of women being slaughtered.
She was one of the ones who was screaming. Her brief bit of defiance had evaporated when she found herself bound to a blood-soaked stake and looking into the eyes of a severed head only a few feet away. She was going to die, and from the terrifying hints Thelena had given her, this would be the most awful death anyone could ever die. She screamed and she struggled, but it did no good at all. The fork of the stake was sticky with the blood of the last victim, the rope held her tightly, and she couldn’t get away.
Gettain was standing over her with his bronze sword raised. He saw her looking up at him, but his only expression was hate. She had no idea why he hated her, but she knew that he did.
And he was going to kill her.
The screams took on a new and even more urgent tone, and Kareen twisted around as much as the restraint would allow. All she could see was the backs of a line of executioners stretching away and the bodies of the women they would soon kill, kneeling and thrashing on the ground. There was no hope left. She closed her eyes and prayed to the gods. She prayed that Matt would be safe and that Thelena would not suffer too much. She prayed that the gods would take her soul in spite of what was about to happen.
And she prayed for victory.
She had seen the Kaifeng army fleeing in panic. She had glimpsed the unbroken army of the Easterners on the far ridge. Victory seemed at hand and she prayed for it.
But what was Atark doing? He was casting some new spell, and her own life would help power it. What terrible magic was he doing now? She could feel a growing heat on her face, and in spite of her terror, she opened her eyes. Atark was a few yards away on his low platform. His back was to her, and he had his arms raised over his head. Above his arms was a vast ball of red fire. It was growing larger and larger, and she could feel the intense heat of it. He was going to burn the Easterners! Burn Matt! She choked off a sob and shut her eyes again.
She could hear Death getting closer. It was marching toward her from both sides. As each executioner’s blade finished its lethal task, the next one would begin to fall. The screams of the victims peaked just before being cut off forever. She could hear it getting nearer and nearer. The heat on her face continued to grow and Death was nearly here. Just a few moments more…
Then a heavy blow hit her head, and for an instant, she thought she was dead. But no, her head was still attached to the rest of her. Had Gettain bungled his stroke somehow? And the other screams were still going on, still coming closer, it wasn’t her turn yet! Her eyes popped open, and she was stunned to see Gettain’s face staring up at
her instead of the poor wretch who had been there before. His eyes were wide with surprise, and there was a knife sticking out of his neck. Blood was still running out of the wound. What was happening?
She twisted around and saw someone standing next to her. Thelena! Her friend was standing there looking as surprised and as stunned as Gettain. She was literally reeling from side to side. How could she even stand with the drug she had taken—and with the pain from all the sacrifices so near at hand? But she was here! She was trying to save her!
“Thelena!” she shouted. “Cut me free!”
The woman looked down and seemed to see her at last. She collapsed to her knees and then slowly—oh so slowly!—reached out and pulled the knife from Gettain’s neck. Then with growing urgency, she started sawing at the rope binding Kareen to the post. It seemed to take forever, and the screams were very, very close now. All the executioners had their backs to them so they could see what the others were doing and time their death-strokes appropriately, but how long until someone noticed what was going on?
The rope around her neck loosened, and Kareen pulled back and she was free! “Quick! My hands!” She twisted around and Thelena went to work on the ropes holding her wrists. A moment later, and they were loose, too.
“Come on, Thelena! We have to get away! We have to…” A terrible need to run, to get away from the screams was filling her. But there was a growing noise off to her left that pulled her eyes that way in spite of herself.
From where she knelt, she could look right under Atark’s platform. She could look underneath and see the open field beyond. That field was filled with a solid line of horsemen, perhaps three hundred yards away. They were trotting right toward her at a steady pace, and the noise was the noise from their hooves. It was loud enough to compete with the dwindling screams of the sacrifices. The sunlight was glinting off their armor, and their banners were flying so bravely. In front, right in the center, was a man leading them. His helmet gleamed gold and he had a huge red plume…
“Matt!” she gasped. The image from her dream came back to her like a hammer blow, and in a flash, she knew that was her brother.
And Atark was about to burn him to ashes.
“No!” she cried, and without another thought, she snatched the knife out of Thelena’s hand and surged to her feet.
She went straight for the platform where Atark’s spell was swelling to completion. None of the guards could possibly reach her in time!
But then she was pulled up short, and she heard Thelena’s voice: “No! Kareen! He’s my father!” She looked back to see Thelena clutching to the hem of her skirt. Her face was twisted in pain.
That pain shot through Kareen’s heart like an arrow, but she would not be stopped! She tore her skirt loose and lunged forward again. She reached the steps to the platform, but a hand seized her ankle and tripped her. She fell a few feet behind Atark. The heat of the fire was scorching her now, but she threw herself forward again. Thelena was sobbing and she wouldn't let go!
Crying in fear and frustration, Kareen turned around in time to see the last woman’s head fall to the ground. She was out of time! She made one more frantic lunge and slashed at Atark.
She moaned in despair when the stroke was short of his back. All she succeeded in doing was driving the blade into the calf of his right leg.
The blade, the cold, iron blade.
Kareen had one instant to believe that she had failed…and then a wave of white fire, brighter than the sun, sprang from the knife and washed over her.
* * * * *
Atark had heard the screams and shouts from behind him, but he had refused to pay any heed to them…until the knife entered his flesh.
Then, just as it had five years before when the Varag dagger pierced his belly, he felt all the power, all the tremendous power he had collected, sucked away from him. The power was gone, the mighty fireball was gone, and his strength was gone. He slumped to the platform, utterly drained.
There was noise all around him. Screams and shouts and the growing thunder of hooves. But he was so weak he could not stand. Then someone grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.
“Lord! Lord! You must cast the spell and save us!” In a daze, he looked and saw that it was Hobart, Gettain’s second in command. What was he doing here? Then he remembered: the battle, the charging cavalry. He looked out and saw them, only a few hundred yards away.
“Cast the spell, Lord!”
“I…I can’t. It’s too late.” The man’s face went white, but he was a brave one, and he nodded.
“All right! We must get you away!” He turned and shouted. “Bring horses for Mighty Atark! The rest of you, form a line! Hold off the enemy!”
Some men might have quailed at such an order, but these were the Atark’s bodyguard. They charged forward to put themselves between him and the oncoming horsemen, bronze swords raised in defiance. Hobart half carried him to the edge of the platform. Atark looked down.
Thelena was lying there! His daughter was lying senseless on the ground, a woman’s skirt clutched in one hand. And a few feet away was the Berssian slave woman who had so plagued him. She was lying there, her legs bare, and with a scorched and twisted knife in one hand. Her whole arm was blackened and charred, and the cloth of her blouse was smoldering. Her face was burned, and her hair nearly singed off. Now he understood. A rage started to build in him. She had ruined everything! If she wasn’t already dead, she must now die for certain!
But the horses were here and they were starting to hustle him onto one. There was no time… his daughter.
“Wait! Wait,” he croaked. “My daughter! Bring my daughter!” One of the guards scooped up Thelena and leaped onto the back of another horse. In a moment, they were riding away, leaving the Berssian slave behind.
Atark was fading. He had never felt so weary. But he had a tiny bit of strength left, and he clutched at Hobart, who was riding beside him.
“Take me to the tent! We must get the box!”
* * * * *
Matt had been quite certain he was going to die.
They had smashed through the Kaifs, reformed and then advanced again. The man on the platform was still there, and Matt was certain he was the necromancer. If they could just kill him the war would be won! But as they got closer, the man began to do something. A bright ball of fire began to grow over his head. More fireflies? What for? But no, this ball was red, not gold. It was something different.
Something different and something deadly, he was quite sure. And it was almost certainly going to be coming straight at him. He quickened the pace, but the horses were tired and carrying a lot of weight, and they just could not go faster than a canter. They closed the distance, but not quickly enough. Whatever the Kaif was doing, they were not going to get there in time to stop him. The men in his brigade were crying out in alarm, but they didn’t stop. The gods bless them, they did not stop!
But then, the red ball of fire vanished and there was a brilliant white flash. The man slumped down. A cheer went up from his men and then they began to chant:
“Gira! Gira! Gira!”
They were only two hundred yards away, and he could see men moving on the platform. Were they trying to get the necromancer to safety? No! They had to kill the bastard! But then a ragged mob of men on foot came charging past the platform. They were all screaming and waving swords. Matt looked in astonishment as they came on. It was the bravest—and stupidest—thing he’d ever seen. Disorganized infantry charging armored heavy cavalry?
But brave or stupid, a few moments later, the men crashed into them, yelling like banshees. It was a slaughter. The crazy fools were wielding bronze swords! The soft metal bent and cracked against tempered steel, and Matt’s cavalry just rode the lunatics down. But the mad charge had caused his troopers to slow, and by the time they had hacked their way through, the platform was empty. A minute later, he reached it and called a halt.
The Kaifeng camp stretched out before him. Thousands and thou
sands of tents, hundreds of thousands of animals—and the gods only knew how many fleeing Kaifs. From where they were, Matt could see that the light cavalry was already into the camp, and clouds of thick black smoke were starting to go up. The heavy regiments from the other brigades were coming up, too. The battle seemed won.
A victory, but not yet a complete one. For all of the ghastly slaughter back up on the ridge, Matt doubted that they had actually killed more than fifty-thousand of the enemy. The Kaifs still outnumbered them at least two to one. If they were allowed to rally, it could get sticky…
“Oh gods!” groaned a man at his side. Matt looked down and his stomach heaved. Hundreds of severed heads and the bodies they belonged to were scattered on each side of the platform. The sacrifices. Matt had never actually seen this before, but the men in the pen back at Berssenburg had. Their stories had haunted his nightmares since then. And now here it was in reality…
But many of the sacrifices were women…
He had not expected this. Neither had any of his men. Some of them were vomiting as they stood there. The fury began to build in him again. It had gripped him during the fight and faded since—but now it reached a new height. The bastards! The heathen bastards! That anyone could do this! Hundreds of helpless women, and they had slaughtered them! He wanted to look away, but he forced himself to look. He wanted to remember this! He looked back and forth and he suddenly spotted one woman who had not been beheaded. She was lying, face-up, at the foot of the platform. But it looked like she was dead anyway. Her face and arm were badly burned. What had the Kaif bastards done to her?
Fires of Memory Page 54