by John McCuaig
All that lay between the army of Cuzco and the army of the underworld were the Spaniards, and it seemed that they had now changed their minds about waiting for the word of Pizarro before they moved. The sight of an army of Huacas charging towards them, sent them running; some riding those fine white steeds as they headed straight for the gates to the city. Minco knew they would find them locked. It was now all too simple; they would have no option but to help his own men in defeating the army of Supay.
Minco took his place; he stood high up on the city wall to see the battle unfold. He watched with disgust as some of his men dropped their weapons at the horrendous sight before them and ran back towards the supposed safety of Cuzco. Minco could well understand their fear, but he vowed that he would search out and punish those cowards once the undead had been defeated. The army must always be loyal and disciplined; Minco would have had no choice but to make an example of them. That example would be their deaths.
However, for now, it was time for the battle to begin. On Minco’s order, the sunlight was nearly blocked out as hundreds of soldiers sent wave upon wave of sharp edged stones flying through the air towards the rapidly advancing horde. As they reloaded their slingshots, Minco could see that this first attack in the Battle of Cuzco had been far from successful; it was barely worth the effort.
All that would stop the undead was severe damage to the head or brain. Rocks bouncing off their faces, necks and bodies had next to no effect, they did not even slow down their bloodthirsty charge. By the time they were too near, less than two hundred of them, well under a tenth of their total number had fallen under the barrage of stone. The slingshot attack, usually one of their most potent tactics, had clearly failed and the undead army eagerly raced deep into the main body of his soldiers.
Minco watched from his high vantage point as axes, truncheons and staffs fought against the jaws, teeth and hands of the undead. It was not a fair fight- far from it. The soldiers of the Ukhu Pacha flooded over their terrified foes, ripping and tearing flesh as they moved forward like a great flood towards the majestic city. Even from his distant perch, Minco watched as arterial fountains of blood shot up high into the sky. He listened to the wild screams of terror, pain and death as they blended into a long chorus of unbelievable horror that vibrated throughout the valley. Then suddenly, a line of the Spaniards changed the song.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The fire sticks, their long muskets, fired over and over again, deep into the mass of rushing bodies. The shots they sent out were indiscriminate, both the dead and the living fell motionless under these volleys of hot lead. The foreign soldiers did not care who or what they hit. They just wanted to keep the advancing forces at bay and in their mad panic; they had no thoughts of separating the undead from the living. Their shots may have slowed the advance down but there was no way they could ever stop it. Still they came in seemingly never ending waves. No matter how many were felled, the numbers were constantly replenished as their victims rose up again, taking the places of the fallen as new servants of the great Supay.
One young Spaniard rose from his knee after reloading, but before he could lift up his musket, he found himself face to face with one of the demons. A once pretty girl clasped her hands on his cheeks, pulling him to her as if preparing for a kiss. She did take a taste of his lips, but only as she tore them away from the young man’s face, chewing the tender morsels in the deep, red gash that was her mouth. With a terrible, cadaverous grin, she dragged him backwards, back into her army. Siza, the Tambos girl, may have escaped Tarapoto, but she still had found her way to Cuzco with the rest of the undead.
“Retreat! Retreat!” one of the Spaniards shouted out. “Get back inside the city walls, come on, move it!” He had seen more than enough death already. Far too many of his companions had already been pulled away from the line and into the hungry maw of this bestial army. This wasn’t their battle. What was happening here?
The problem was that they were not the only ones to decide to run. Almost all of the defenders of Cuzco still breathing had seen that they had already lost this battle. Swarms of terrified men, Incan and Spaniard alike, raced in fear towards the narrow gates. Several hundred of them were attempting in a panic to get through a mere ten foot wide gap at once. Soon enough, they found themselves gridlocked; they also found the gates still locked.
The unlucky ones at the rear fell as the undead jumped on their backs, merrily chewing away on their sweet juicy flesh. Their screams of agony and despair only fed the already mad panic at the front. Those men climbed on top of one another in a desperate attempt to escape from the reaching hands of the undead. Dozens of men were crushed to their deaths under the feet of their own living comrades. Others were badly injured, even crippled in the crush and could only lie on the ground, waiting for the hands of the undead to reach down and pluck them up like fallen fruit.
Screams of pain were quickly joined by calls for help and the sobs of utter hopelessness. These pitiful sounds seemed to further encourage and lure the monsters that were right behind them.
Minco sent more of his men over to the gates in an attempt to hold them firm against the creatures advance. He was about to join them himself when something far in the distance caught his eye. He saw a solitary figure standing atop a large rock, far behind the advancing horde. Minco squinted, trying his best to bring the figure into focus and growled savagely when he realised that his suspicions had been correct.
It was the High Priest himself, Taipi was proudly watching as his army did its best to destroy the city. Taipi was the cause for all this death...Minco vowed to take his revenge on him, or whatever he was now, even if it was the last thing he did.
The forces of Cuzco that started this battle numbered in the thousands. Now, barely a few hundred remained to face the Ukhu Pacha. Not even enough men to keep the gates closed against the teeming masses of undead that were forcing their weight upon them. They had failed. The beasts were pouring inside the city walls and spreading out in all directions. Minco let out the breath he was holding. Resignation filled his spirit, as he knew that the citizens of Cuzco were all but doomed. He only had the one goal left and he would fight to his last breath to accomplish it.
“Everyone, get back to the palace,” Minco shouted to the last remnants of his once mighty army. “Now! We must protect the King at all costs!”
As he and his men ran through the narrow streets towards the palace, dozens of Cuzco’s citizens appeared from their homes. They dropped to their knees, begging their Protector to save them from the undead army. Minco grimly ran by them, keeping his eyes trained directly ahead. His title was indeed The Protector of Cuzco, but his main duty was always to the King.
There was no choice, no other option. Years ago, Minco had taken a solemn pledge to protect his monarch at whatever the cost.
10- A City under Attack
Chaos reigned. The streets of this once great and beautiful city were now being destroyed and overrun by the rapidly growing army of Supay. A great sea of the undead raced in from the open gates, and was now en-route to the palace. The desperate citizens of Cuzco had no chance and no means of escape. Their desperate screams for help or mercy that echoed around the high cliffs only cemented their fate, as their calls led the beasts straight to them, right to their next meal.
A myriad of men, women and children ran in a mad panic through the narrow streets, there was nowhere to go but right into the eager arms of the undead. Every corner they turned, every street they traversed, was rife with the hungry monsters. The lucky ones were the few who were eaten down to the bone. Others were only infected with a few choice bites and they were left on the ground to turn into one of their own. Within a matter of minutes, those victims rose to their feet and joined in on the hunt for fresh meat.
In a last act of desperation, some of the citizens even tried to barricade themselves inside their homes, but mere strips of wood and nails were no match for the sheer, brutal strength of the horde. Families that
huddled together, hoping to hide away in cellars to ride out the vicious storm were quickly found and as the monsters burst into their rooms were ripped apart.
By this time, Pizarro had been drawn back outside the palace due to the noise of the battle. He’d never been one to hide his head in the sand during times of trouble and this was no exception to the rule. As the last few of struggling soldiers came running back to him with their fear indelibly etched onto their faces, he gathered the last of them together at the entrance to the palace.
There was no need to ask them what had transpired. He could see the beasts in the distance for himself. One look at his new foes as they made their way towards them, told Pizarro that this was not the place or the time to make a stand and fight. Another look back at the palace gates made it abundantly clear that those wooden barriers could never hold back the deluge of dead flesh. In fact, Pizarro suspected they were never designed to stave off any sort of attack and why would they? The city’s designers could never have guessed that anyone would ever get so close. Standing by his side as usual was Almargo. He and Pizarro shared a look without needing to say a word. They both knew they had to come up with something quick.
But before they could even begin to formulate a plan, Minco returned with only a few dozen of his men. “Get the King out of there, now!” he shouted to his soldiers as he came to a halt before the two Spaniards. His loyal men obeyed their orders and raced by them, on towards the stone steps of the palace.
As they approached, the few remaining Spanish soldiers formed a tight defensive line in front of the doors. Almost as one, they raised up their muskets causing the Incans to stop dead in their tracks. They faced each other impassively, but urgently, both sides aware that a far greater enemy would soon be upon them.
“Hurry, we need to get moving,” Inguill said as she appeared at the base of the steep steps with two of her own priestesses. She walked directly between both sets of warriors and shouted at them. “Do we not have enough problems without us killing each other,” she said sternly. Then she turned and directly addressed Minco and Pizarro, who both looked like startled little boys getting a dressing down from their mother. “We only have a few minutes before we are overrun.” Inguill’s flickering gaze indicated the sound of the approaching hordes.
Minco was the first one to act. He lowered his axe, came forward and stood face to face with Pizarro.
“She’s right. We need to get the King out and over to the pyramid before it’s too late,” he said. “Please, if you value your life and the lives of your men, release him now into our custody. I give you my solemn word that if we somehow manage to survive this battle with the army of the Ukhu Pacha, you’ll be free to leave these lands with your fill of our gold on your ships.”
Pizarro looked at Minco and shook his head. “Not a chance in hell, my friend. He is the only thing I have left to bargain with. If I give him to you now, you’ll have us all killed in a heartbeat. I saw it in your eyes, Minco.”
“If he dies, you must also know that you’ve no chance of escape, not from the beasts or my men,” Minco said, losing his patience with the Spaniard. “Think about what I’m asking you. Will your own men give their lives to protect him? I think not...my men will do so and gladly. If that small thing means survival for my king, I will see it done. As I said, you have my word.”
Pizarro cursed under his breath. He could see the logic in Minco’s argument. He also knew he would have more than enough to deal with, without also having to babysit a foreign King. Reluctantly, he nodded to Minco and then said to Almargo. “Let them take their King. Bring him out here.”
His man glared wordlessly, motionlessly back at him. Pizarro had never seen this reaction in all the years they had served together and now was not the time to let them start wondering. “Do it,” he roared. Without replying, Almargo snarled something under his breath, turned and went into the palace. Pizarro’s heart dropped again. He needed his friend now more than ever and this disastrous mission was driving them apart.
Pizarro needed to let out this anger, and he found some relief as he prodded his finger deep into Minco’s chest. “Just make sure that you do keep your word Incan. If I even suspect you’re up to something, I’ll kill you and your damn King. Now that is my promise.”
The entourage soon emerged from inside the palace and down the steps towards them. Minco went over to his King, with his brother now accompanying him; Minco was briefly reminded of his own brother. Momentary worry overrode all rational thought but he chased it away. His brother was a good warrior. He had to believe he was still safe. He could afford no other thoughts at this time. The king’s brother, even with the horror behind them, took a moment to explain the situation to him. The King glanced down the street, and then, almost in resignation, placed a hand on his favourite soldier’s shoulder and nodded.
“Let’s go. We need to get moving,” Minco said as he motioned the King towards the tall pyramid behind them. “We have to get over there now. It’s our only chance.”
Before they moved off, Minco spoke softly to a group of about twenty of his own men. Pizarro could not understand the Incan language, but judging by the stricken looks on their faces as they made a line across the street, he had an idea what had been said. They had been ordered to stay at the palace and to protect the Kings retreat. They were told not to let anything pass, no matter what that cost. They also knew that they had just been given a certain death sentence. Minco gave Pizarro a satisfied look, the Spaniard knew that this had proven the Incans earlier statement about what his men were prepared to do. It was also an unspoken- and an unnecessary- warning.
With speed, the uneasy mix of Incans and Spaniards made their way to the long stone bridge that led over a deep and dry moat to the pyramid. Together, they numbered close to a hundred soldiers, but it was still far too few even to think about retaliation. For now, the little group had no option but to hide and regroup.
“We need to pull the bridge in,” Minco shouted, as they were only a little way across. He no longer needed to tell them to hurry, the dreadful screaming from behind told them that the line of defence they had left back at the palace had already been breached. Glancing over their shoulders, both Minco and Pizarro could see a dozen of the undead army were through and already in hot pursuit. Only a few seconds behind them were hundreds more.
“Spaniard!” Minco shouted. “Get your men over there, onto those pulleys!” He indicated to a heavy mechanism that was located at the far end of the long bridge. “We’ll buy you some time.”
Minco shouted his next command to his men and half of the remaining Incans slowly stopped at the midway point of the bridge to form another defensive line. The rest of the survivors continued to the very end of the bridge. On arriving, Pizarro set his men to work on the heavy wheels, pulling and tugging with all their might until at last, they began to move. Creaks and groans echoed all around them as the stone bridge started to divide almost directly in the middle. The section closest to the pyramid was being withdrawn inside the main structure of the building and a gap was slowly beginning to form.
Minco and his men stood in formation on the other side, awaiting the arrival of the undead. Pizarro could only watch, as his hopes of getting his fortune seemed to disappear along with the bridge.
The first, smaller wave of undead monsters got to the bridge and charged full pelt at Minco and his men. This time, however, the line had no choice; it would have to hold.
“Go for the head,” Minco shouted, so to be heard above the screaming. “Kill the head, kill the body.” He had seen and learned enough to know that this was the only thing that could stop the soldiers of Supay.
As the first monster approached, Minco stepped forward and with his trusty axe, showed his men exactly what was needed. In one downward swoop, he split the head of the first of his attackers, the bronze blade sliding from the top of its skull right down to its chin as if going through butter. A swift kick to its bloody chest set it free from the axe
and flying backwards onto the dusty stones. His men yelled out at his victory and they too stepped forward, now ready to engage with the beasts. Axes and blades for once outnumbered the teeth and hands and in less than a minute, all the undead were vanquished, along with the loss of less than a handful of the Incan guards. Minco looked back over at the slowly widening gap of the bridge and cursed, it was still too close; the approaching undead army would be able to throw themselves over the gap. Minco knew they still had to defend the line just a little bit longer.
When he turned back to face the opposing army again, he instinctively took a little step backwards at the sight that he came across. The main group of Supay’s army were now coming over the horizon and had begun flooding onto the wide bridge. Scores of the walking dead surged towards him and the remnants of his men. They groaned and gargled in some kind of devilish delight at seeing this seemingly trapped group of fresh new victims.
“For our King and for Cuzco!” Minco shouted as he walked among his trembling soldiers. “Today, we may well die, but we’ll give our lives gladly to protect our future.” He raised his arm and bellowed out the Incan battle cry. His men could barely muster one of their own.
Dead flesh swamped and washed over the thin line. The protectors of the King fought bravely, but they had no hope; not even the slightest chance of success. Minco’s men were being devoured around him and he knew that no matter what they tried, he too would soon be joining them.
“Minco…Minco!” he could hear Inguill calling out behind him. “Jump for it! Now!”
Turning, he saw that the gap in the bridge was now large enough; in fact, it looked almost too far. He launched himself through the air towards the distant ledge. By the grace of the gods, he managed to grab it with both hands as he swung in the air. A few of his remaining men saw his attempt to escape and tried the same. Most missed their target and fell to their deaths below, but two others were lucky enough to survive and they too swung beside their leader.