Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)

by Allene Lowrey

  “Be careful, sweetling.” Her mother looked as exhausted as she sounded.

  “I will, Mama.”

  Outside, their once proud line was circled but ragged, exhausted. Everywhere camels and horses stood with their heads lowered, still panting. Many were bleeding from where their harness or saddle had chafed their withers and chests. Some were favoring a leg; others stood quivering, their feet planted. There were wagons with broken wheel spokes, axles, tongues, others with collapsed roofs. Men were unharnessing and unsaddling animals, walking them to prevent cramps. Chandi took the steps out of their wagon one at a time, seeing with every step nothing but more exhaustion and strain.

  As she walked closer to the center, she started seeing fewer people tending to wagons and animals and more tending each other. She noticed a few younglings with burns; uncles and aunties in slings or on canes; and here and there an auntie calling directions for dealing with the wounded. Auntie Kiran, a bandage wrapped around her temples, used the cane she carried as much for giving directions as for help standing. It looked like most of the wounded were being taken to the center. Chandi followed one such, limping along with his arm about another uncle’s shoulder. She felt like holding her breath.

  There was Gita, tying a bandage on her father’s shoulder. Seirya was helping Sepehr out of the circle, his shin splinted. Someone cried out. Chandi looked over to see Auntie Nikita and Remu relocating Uncle Darshan’s hip. Then she looked past them.

  On the far side of the clearing Uncle Rostam sat half-sprawled, leaning against a wagon wheel. She wasn’t sure he was conscious; he looked pale, and it took Chandi a moment to realize that he wasn’t wearing a tunic. Instead, his chest was swathed in bandages. His left arm was gone. Nearby, Uncle Shahin was leading two boys away, one of them a youngling. His shoulders slumped, but otherwise he stood tall.

  There was movement closer to her, and Chandi saw Remu helping Uncle Darshan to his feet. Perfect!

  “Remu!” She smiled as prettily as she knew how. “Here. I’ll take care of Uncle Darshan. Auntie Nikita probably needs you more than me.”

  “Hi, Chandi. Glad to see you’re all right. Thanks.” Remu’s warm tenor brought a grin to her face despite everything. Uncle Darshan shifted his supporting hand from Remu’s shoulder to Chandi’s.

  She nodded, and she and Uncle Darshan turned and began to walk towards his wagon. He used her shoulder for balance and little else. Once they were past the first line, he spoke.

  “You’re really too obvious, you know.” He smirked, shaking his head as though he could hardly believe it. “You’re nosy – just like your mother was.” Uncle Darshan spoke gently. “You came out to get information, unless I miss my guess.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “You really are just like your mother.”

  Chandi thought she detected a wistful note, but so far as she knew he’d never been one of Mama’s suitors.

  “Um, thanks.”

  Uncle Darshan took a deep breath and his smile vanished. “You sure you want to know?”

  “It’s better than wondering.”

  “I suppose you’re no youngling. All right… No one seems to have seen the watch since the alarm was raised… A lot of the scouts are either in bad shape or simply gone. They took the worst of it.

  “Esha and Rostam were hit rescuing some people on the other side of the firebreak. Looks like they were poisoned, but they may have bled the worst of it out. Can’t tell yet if they’ll make it or not.”

  A pit formed in Chandi’s stomach at the mention of Uncle Esha. He was kin.

  “We still don’t know who started the fires, but whoever it was is a hero. A couple families lost their wagons, but they’ve already been taken in, and a couple wagons that weren’t on fire haven’t shown up yet.”

  “So that’s why Uncle Shahin was walking with those boys.”

  Uncle Rostam’s wife could handle their children, but Uncle Esha was a widower. Papa would want to take them in.

  “Probably. I wonder if he knows the first thing about kids.”

  “I bet he’ll have help.”

  Uncle Darshan laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re probably right.” He stopped and turned to face her. “My wagon’s right over there. Are you going back to help, or are you going to tell Talikha what’s going on?”

  Chandi pursed her lips for a moment, then sighed. “Both. I’ll talk to Mama and Papa first, then see if there’s anything I can do to help. Do you know if we’re pressing on?”

  “One day from a city, and weeks from the next? Even as bad as it was in Q’uungerab, I expect we’re heading back.”

  “Thanks, Uncle.”

  “You’re welcome.” He tousled her hair before she hurried off.

  There were still stragglers out there. Before they left, a camel arrived in the remnants of a harness. Its wagon was gone for good, but the numbness of loss had already settled into the caravan’s bones. The horse pulling another wagon collapsed as it reached the outside of the circle. At the end of an hour the order was given to move. The caravan began winding its way north along the road. They couldn’t wait any longer if they wanted to reach Q’uungerab’s walls tonight.

  By unspoken consensus blood families stuck together as well as they could. Uncles rode up and down the line, on the lookout for animals that needed relief. Esha’s wagon, driven by Shahin, rode next to Papa’s. The two men spoke in low tones while Talikha, Chandi and Kiran minded the boys.

  * * *

  The first stars appeared in the sky as the tail of their ragged line passed under the Stormbreaker, which meant that the gates were already barred for the night. No matter; even now there probably wasn’t room for them inside. They formed the wagons into a tight half-circle against the wall and went to sleep with only a skeleton guard.

  The breakfast fire was lit at dawn the next morning as if nothing had happened. Chandi levered herself out of bed and dressed mechanically. She was still tired, and no wonder, but she could not understand her reluctance to leave the wagon. Before she could step outside she had to take a deep breath and release her tension with it. She could already smell naan cooking.

  Things were just as quiet around the cookfire. Her father spoke with the other acrobats while they ate, and her mother was off with a small circle of musicians. Chandi claimed her breakfast and went to join some of her fellow dancers. None of them had much to say, but at least the silence here was comfortable. A small stir began at the edge of the clearing, and the girls’ heads snapped around to look.

  Three city guards stepped into their gathering space, the two flankers carrying spears and wearing chafiye helmets. The one in the middle wore a long leather coat and carried a forward-curving kopis belted at the waist. He was bare-headed, and his hair fell to his shoulders in myriad tiny braids. The man had the nose of a hawk. Elder Nagendra stepped forward to greet them, fresh bread in hand.

  “Welcome to our hearth, daji.” He offered each man a piece of bread, which was perfunctorily accepted. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “First, allow me to express my condolences for your losses. Second, welcome back. I am glad to see you escaped.”

  “Your words are kind, daji.” Elder Nagendra sounded like he expected more.

  “You may or may not think so momentarily. Our Prince has declared Q’uungerab Pradesh under siege. The guard cannot offer you protection so long as you remain outside the city walls.” He paused a moment. “Your men, however, were a great help to us before you left, and as you may have noted there is no one awaiting entry at the gate. Several caravanserais are empty, as more caravans have left than arrived since the beginning of the trouble. If your people are willing to cooperate with us, I have received permission to put you up in these caravanserais and provide you with medical attention on the guard’s budget.”

  “That is extraordinarily generous.”

  “We hope to be able to learn from your experience. We still have very little idea
what we’re up against, and I believe it’s only a matter of time before the city itself comes under assault… We also hoped you might be convinced to provide some entertainment. Tensions are high, and a little relief would be welcome.”

  “Your honesty becomes you. We will discuss among ourselves and send a runner with our decision later this morning. Where should we send him, and for whom should he ask?”

  “Ask for Lieutenant Bahadur at the central station. I look forward to your response.” Bahadur gestured with the hand holding the bread, then looked at it as though he’d never seen it before. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He took a bite of the naan, and his escort followed suit. “If you will excuse us.”

  The departure of the guards left only a momentary silence in its wake before conversation sprang up around the fire. The Elders left the clearing and the hum grew.

  In the end there was very little to discuss. Before the sun reached its zenith they had hitched their wagons and were making their way through the Vri-Rodhyaji, being led to the caravanserais where they would be housed. As they moved Chandi noted several people carrying large packs joining up with them. The promised sran, probably. Auntie Nikita could use all the help she could get right now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Shahin had grown attached to Esha’s boys in the few weeks he had lived under their canvas, but Korshed insisted on taking them in. He was Esha’s brother, and that was a task that fell to blood relations. Rightly or wrongly, it felt like a betrayal, but despite his protestations the boys went with Korshed and Talikha. Now it seemed like there were always people around talking about the “Chèin’ii way.” He couldn’t tell if he’d offended them or not; either way, the situation in the caravanserai was stifling.

  Esha was beginning to recover. The city sran had ample experience with venom. Rostam, though, had no sooner swallowed the first dose of antidote than he began to spasm and voided bowels, bladder and stomach in quick succession. They didn’t hold out much hope for him at this point.

  The guard waved Shahin past as he reached the stairway up. Bahadur had convinced his superiors to allow a Chèin’ii observer on the city walls, “in deference to their aid.” As the only healthy member of the caravan who had dealt with the creatures directly, it fell to Shahin. He noted the presence of several trebuchets spaced around the inside of the wall as he climbed, as well as ballistae. A good start, probably. He was greeted by the lieutenant at the top of the southern wall.

  “I see you aren’t tired of this yet.” They started walking. “Your input has been helpful, but I’m not sure how much more you can tell us. I’m not convinced they’ll be able to hide well enough to ambush an entire city on alert.”

  “How deep are the foundations on the Stormbreaker?”

  “Are you suggesting they could burrow under it?”

  “Probably. … Now, I can’t speak to how well they climb, but I’d be willing to bet they do. I expect them to try and come up the inner walls here. Breaking through the paving stones inside seems unlikely.” Shahin noted large cauldrons being set up along the walls between the trebuchets.

  Bahadur stopped near one of the vats and turned to the guardsman working around it. “Break up this wood pile. Test out a pulley-lift – if we can store the wood below we’re better off.” This section of wall was choked enough it would be a problem when the fighting started.

  “Yes, sir.” The guardsman hurried off.

  “Boiling oil? Or burning?”

  “Both, probably. We want to create a moat of fire.”

  “And if we need to evacuate?”

  “There are explosives from the salt mines that should be able to blow open a path.”

  Shahin nodded. Those mines were their best hope of getting out. “Maybe there’s a chance of fending them off…”

  “Hmm?”

  He waved his hand by his ear. “Just my own misgivings, wondering how one kills a demon.”

  “Keep such misgivings to yourself. The last thing we need is talk of ‘demons’ floating around the rank-and-file.”

  “You haven’t seen them.” Shahin could hear the strain in his own voice. The nightmares had gotten worse since the caravan was attacked.

  “No, but I’ve seen their handiwork.” Bahadur stopped again to discuss emplacement with a sergeant.

  Shahin took a look out over the wall. How can he stay so calm? The beginnings of a dune caught his eye. “How long has that drift been building up?”

  “Drift? What drift?”

  Shahin pointed to the offending buildup, just to the east of the southern gate in the Stormbreaker. He winced a little as he turned too quickly. One of these days my ribs will heal.

  Bahadur turned to the men working on the walls. “Send for the sand crews! And make sure they have adequate guards.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Good eye.”

  The pair walked on. The sun disappeared under the horizon long before they reached the western gate, stopping often as they did to make adjustments.

  “I hope what you’re seeing is reassuring?” Bahadur asked that question every night, and every night the answer was the same.

  “A little.” Despite what he said, Shahin couldn’t shrug off the tension between his shoulders tonight. The world outside the city walls was still, with no wind yet to tug at his chafiye or chill the afternoon’s sweat.

  “Good. I–”

  A gentle whumph came from off to Bahadur’s left. They both looked just in time to see a guardsman collapse. Blood welled from the bolt-size hole in the man’s chest. Chittering, and another man collapsed. His torso toppled back like a felled tree while his legs staggered and dropped to the side.

  The alarm bells began to ring. Shahin saw a great pair of shadowy claws appear over the crest of the wall.

  “They’re up! Light the oil! …By all the absent gods, where did they come from?” Shahin grabbed a torch from the ramparts and shoved it into a nearby oil cauldron. It didn’t catch. He craned his neck to look; the cauldron gaped back at him, still empty.

  A pair of pincers on long arms crested the wall ahead of Shahin, and he thought he could see whipcord antenna beyond them. The torch became a brand. He followed as it flinched back, far enough to look over the wall. The dim light of the torch only illuminated the creature’s rod-like legs, bristling with hairs. The claws digging into the city wall could eviscerate a man on their own. A scraping screech at the edge of his hearing said there were more below, digging at the bronze on the gate.

  “Bahadur! They’re coming from below, too!”

  “Underground?”

  “The gate!”

  “You!” Bahadur grabbed a young-looking guard running along the wall. “Run to headquarters, let them know we needed every last man an hour ago.”

  “Y-yes, sir!” the youth stammered. Alarm bells could be heard ringing in other parts of the city now. Q’uungerab was surrounded. The screech was growing louder. Shahin could picture the bronze overlay curling away to reveal the underlying wood. He waved the torch in front of him, trying to fend off the monster that was once more advancing up the wall with the only weapon he had available.

  “Archers! Form up!”

  “We should get the civilians away from the gate.” Shahin realized they had probably already thought of that as the words left his mouth.

  “Leave that to my men.” Bahadur drew his kopis and slashed at a claw coming over the wall. The sword rang as though against stone. “Any fighters left among the Chèin’ii? Get them.”

  Shahin dashed off a quick salute as acknowledgment before running down the stairs and towards the caravanserai.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chandi sat, listless, waiting, in the common room of the caravanserai housing most of the clan. Uncle Shahin was late.

  Seirya’s bansuri cut a keening note over the wail of bowed dilruba. Auntie Nikita’s helpers tended the wounded in the larger rooms and prepared Uncle Rostam’s body for the pyre. He had succumbed to the poison that aftern
oon, but they could not sing: there were outsiders present.

  They could not sing, so they waited on Shahin’s nightly reassurance that all was still well. Here and there one of the adults was missing, putting a youngling to bed or watching over one as they slept. Otherwise the entire caravan was crowded into the common room of this one caravanserai.

  Over the funereal music another sound came to Chandi’s ears, clangorous and out of all rhythm or tune: brass bells. The alarm. Her shoulders tightened and all eyes turned towards the door. It seemed like an eternity passed before the sound of running footfalls reached any of their ears. The door flew open.

  “Scouts! Guards! To arms!” Uncle Shahin was red-faced and winded, but if the tightness around his eyes was any indication he wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.

  “It’s started, then?” Auntie Kiran’s voice was calm even now.

  Shahin nodded, and the tension was broken. Those who could fight took up weapons and left with him. Everyone else hurried off to gather their belongings.

  Chandi’s parents beat her to their room and were already arranging folded clothes to be tied into a bag. Chandi glanced around the room and scrambled to the small stack of her clothes. She tucked the dhoti pleats and upper drape of her sari into the back waist so she wouldn’t tangle her legs in the cloth. She tied a second sari into a bag around her small pile. Papa threw open the door to a clatter of running feet. In the hallway, more caravaners were hurrying downstairs, many with their own bags. They joined the stream of people returning to the common room, where a single guardsman now stood blocking the door.

  “You have to leave your wagons behind,” the guard was saying.

  An angry noise grew from the Chèin’ii pressing for the door, such that the guard had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “We are evacuating the entire city! You’d never get them through the streets, but we can use them to buy time.”

  The protestations grew louder.

  “This is not a request! They are already in the city. If Q’uungerab Pradesh survives the night there may be some recompense.”