by Davis Ashura
Brand gave a tight nod of agreement, saying nothing. He looked as scared as Rukh felt.
Well, Rukh wasn’t quite that scared.
The captain waited a few more seconds for the last of the stragglers to report in before giving a sharp nod to the lieutenants. Bosna wheeled his mount and led the guards north.
Four tightly bunched columns, one for each lieutenant, followed Captain Bosna. The warriors were twitchy and full of bundled energy. They glanced in all directions but maintained a disciplined silence. Sounds carried far in the low hills northwest of the Hunters Flats, and there was none of the banter that had marked the day when they had left Ashoka six weeks earlier – a lifetime ago Rukh mused. The only sounds to be heard, other than the noises of nature, were the creaking of saddles, nervous whinnies of the horses, and their steady, staccato hoof beats.
They rode at a quick pace but it was one their mounts could maintain for hours on end if need be, and the need probably would be. As the day lengthened, they pushed further north of the Hunters Flats and were now amidst the steep foothills of the Privation Mountains. Rukh saw a wispy cloud of dust rising from the northeast. It looked like it was from a small, swift-moving group. Whoever it was had already adjusted their course and would intersect the Ashokans within the hour.
Warriors from the column raced off to intercept them.
“Hope it’s not Chims,” Brand muttered.
Rukh was pretty certain they weren’t. He suspected those kicking up the dust cloud were the northern scouts. They were early. And looked to be riding flat out.
Unfortunately, it seemed like he had been right about Chims to the north.
Damn.
Soon enough, the northern scouts became visible, flanked by the warriors the captain had sent out to meet them. Their horses were lathered and blowing hard. The riders didn’t look much better. Their grim faces spoke of the news they carried.
Rukh shared a knowing glance with Keemo.
“You were right,” Keemo mouthed.
The columns came to a halt as the northern scouts rode through, making directly to Captain Bosna, who waited on the crest of a low hill.
“There are Chims up north, aren’t there?” Brand said more than asked, having nudged his chestnut mare closer.
“Probably,” Rukh replied. The scouts wouldn’t have ridden so hard for any other reason.
Brand nodded, looking glum. “Suwraith’s spit.”
The word came down the line for a halt.
The low, rounded mounds north of the Flats had given way to the taller ones of the Privation Mountain foothills. The column wended through a narrow valley, mostly cast in sunlight and surrounded by treed hills with out-thrust spears of gray stone. A narrow, cold stream cut across their course, and the warriors took the brief pause to dismount and give their steeds a quick breather as well as some water.
Rukh led his stallion to the creek, and while the horse was drinking, he took a long pull from his canteen. The stallion wanted more water, but hot as he already was, it wouldn’t be good for him to drink too much.
Farn sauntered up, wearing a smile. “Looks like a load of Chimera bilge is coming our way.”
“I think it’s been heading our way since we left Ashoka,” Keemo said in a sour voice as he arrived, over-hearing Farn’s words. “We just didn’t know it until today.”
“So then why is Farn smiling?” Brand asked.
“Because he’s got the sense of a turkey in the rain?” Keemo guessed.
Rukh let their conversation wash over. He was watching the officers.
The captain and lieutenants were poring over their maps. They reached a quick decision, and the lieutenants had all their units bunch up, drawing closer to the captain. Bosna wanted to address them again.
“We’ve got terrible news on top of bad,” the captain shouted. “Many of us may not make it home. The scouts from the north report five Fractures coming south like an avalanche. With that and the other Chims ringing us, we face almost a full Shatter. Twelve thousand of Suwraith’s beasts, and likely another three Fractures out there whose whereabouts we don’t know yet.” His face firmed; his jaw clenched. “They think they’ll roll us like a pride of lions on a single wildebeest,” he said, pausing slightly. “Well let me tell you, we aren’t a wildebeest, we’re a fragging bull buffalo, and this fragger has horns. I’ll be damned if any warrior of mine goes down like a lamb to the slaughter!” The men cheered, but settled down quickly when the Captain raised his hands for quiet. “We’ve found a place to get out of this trap, but we’ll have to ride hard. We’ll have to ride the wagon horses or a remount until they drop. Save the best horses for when we need them. Dump everything we don’t immediately need. No pots or pans. Speed is going to be more important than supplies. Tomorrow will have to take care of itself.”
Upon his words, the column became a beehive of frenzied activity as men did as the captain ordered.
Rukh found himself riding a wide-backed wagon horse. The beast was a gelding; placid and gentle in comparison to the stallion, but even he must have caught a whiff of the danger they were facing. His eyes rolled, and his tail swished with nervousness.
When they were ready, the captain gave the call: “Ride!”
The column thundered along the shoulder of a rocky, boulder-strewn hill and down the other side into a slender ravine.
Rukh found the gait of the placid workhorse almost unbearable. The animal ran in a lumbering trot, tossing Rukh about with every stride, but the horse had a great heart and never quit. Soon enough, the gelding was lathered and blowing hard, and Rukh had to leave the heavy-gaited horse behind. He switched back to the stallion. The gelding had given his best, and after Rukh had cut him loose, he found himself hoping that somehow the wagon horse wouldn’t find itself in a Chim cookpot.
The warriors had already been given a rough outline of where the captain intended for them to go – a narrow pass leading into the Privations, a place that could be held by only a handful of warriors, allowing the bulk of the Ashokans to escape – so when the column shifted southwest, the direction nearly opposite of where they needed to go, Rukh was surprised. He glanced back and sighted dust to the north and southeast. He bit back a curse. The Chims must have spotted them and moved to intercept the column, herding the Ashokans away from the relative safety of the Privation Mountains.
The captain led them out from the foothills, and the column found itself once more on the relatively barren round hills north of the Flats. The sun was just past its zenith. The heat, so prevalent in the Flats, baked the earth, drying the red clay of the ground into a hard, dusty shell. The column received temporary relief when they raced along the shadows in a deep vale. They followed a small stream which winded south before likely becoming a part of the Slave River. They crossed the brook, muddying the water, and on the other side, they darted between thickets of gray-leaved thorn bushes. The flanking hills on either side were now brush and pine covered hillocks.
Perspiration trickled down between Rukh’s shoulder blades and beaded on his forehead, dripping into his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision from the sting of salty dirt in his eyes. The stallion was covered in a sheen of sweat, but he breathed easy with a steady, willing gait.
“Good boy,” Rukh murmured, patting his horse’s shoulder.
The stallion’s ears flicked back in response.
They exited the thickets and cut north, racing the Fractures, hoping to escape the noose around their collective necks. Rukh urged them all to greater speed. The column ran silent but for the drumbeat thud of horse hooves; all of them keeping an eye on the dust cloud that marked the Chims to the north.
Rukh closely watched the west as well, where they’d swung wide. Surely they must have closed with the Fractures coming from that direction.
A few minutes later, he cursed. He had his answer. Dust clouds to the west. Fast closing. No more than an hour away.
The captain led them due north, straight back toward the f
oothills. In the narrow valleys and ravines, the larger Chims forces would be hindered. Hopefully, it would slow them down long enough for the Ashokans to slip the trap and make for the mountain pass where they could escape and head back to the city.
The current race would be a close run contest.
Rukh tried to keep his vision focused ahead, but he couldn’t help but look to the sides. The Chims to the north and west had shifted to cut them off, but as the hours passed and the late afternoon sun blazed over the hills, it became clear that the Ashokans were pulling away. They passed the northern Fractures near enough to hear the rumble of the enemy’s pounding feet. When they crested one hill in particular, they could even see the swarming Chims for a few brief seconds.
Until this moment, Rukh had never seen a living Chimera. All he had to go on were pictures, descriptions in books, and dead examples of each species of Chimera in Ashoka’s City Library. Now, he could see them all.
He took a moment to study Humanity’s enemies.
He didn’t see the Braids, but he saw the other breeds making up the Fan Lor Kum. He saw Ur-Fels, small and dog-like. They fought in well-disciplined nests of eight or ten, and if they had the advantage, they took it, but otherwise they were cowards. Kill a few, and the rest of the nest scattered. The Tigons appeared to be upright saber-tooth cats: strong, powerful, and fast, but thankfully, their preferred tactic was to scream and leap, often with weapons discarded. Once enraged, they were easy to take down. The hooting Balants towered over their brethren, a hideous mix of baboon and elephant. Strike them on their bright-red butts or their long noses, and they went berserk, becoming as much a danger to the other Chims as to the people they were fighting. Rukh smiled without humor. What could Suwraith have been thinking when She made them?
Had Suwraith’s armies been composed of only those breeds, Humanity could have easily held off the Chimeras. It was the Baels who shifted the balance. They were midnight black and walked upright on the thick, heavy legs of the bulls they resembled. Upon their heads were curved horns, each arching three feet or more. Their preferred weapon was a trident and a barbed chain whip that glowed red as their eyes and burned with the heat of a furnace. However, what made the Baels most dangerous was a combination of their intelligence and their ability to control the other Chimeras. They brought focus and discipline to the armies of the Fan Lor Kum, the Red Hand of Justice, accounting for as many Human deaths over the centuries as Suwraith Herself. Rukh held a special hatred for them. Fragging demonseeds.
Just then, he smiled.
The column was going to make it through, despite the best efforts of the damn Baels. They had slipped through the trap laid before them, and he dared hope that he might see Ashoka again. The cold finger of fear tingling down Rukh’s spine slowly eased off. He shared a triumphant grin with Brand, Farn, and Keemo. Losing Suwraith’s beasts in the high, rugged foothills of the Privation Mountains wouldn’t be easy, but it was most certainly possible.
The word came down the line. They were going for the mountain pass, and the captain shifted their course northeast. They ran like that for several hours, and slowly, the pine and scrub covered hummocks gave way once more to rock-strewn slopes where dwarf oaks and maples clung to steep-shouldered hills. The footing became more difficult, and their pace slowed. They picked their way along the bases of scree slopes, sometimes slick from a burble of water that had found a seam in the stone, dribbling down and across their path.
Twilight: with the sun lowering and shadows measuring long, they traversed a rock-strewn hill, and the column came to a disjointed halt.
The lonely call of an eagle on the hunt came to them.
Rukh shifted nervously in his saddle and glanced around. The column was riding along the eastern base of a stony hill, deep in shadow. He didn’t know why they had stopped. They had an hour or so of daylight to get deeper into the foothills, but for some reason, Captain Bosna had called a halt. Rukh could see the captain studying his maps before rolling them up and putting them away.
He seemed on the verge of speaking, but just then a harrowing cry rose into the air from directly ahead of them. It was one Rukh had never heard before, but he knew what it was. His heart sank. It was the hissing, grating howl of the Braids, the snake-like Chimera scouts. From hills to the east and west came answering cries.
The Ashokans had been discovered. The other three Fractures the captain had warned of must have been lurking in the foothills in case the column escaped the trap to the south. The fragging Chims must have seen through the Ashokan Blends, which couldn’t mask the heavy fear and excitement hanging over the warriors like a fog. The Ashokans were in deep trouble. It didn’t take an old veteran to understand that.
Rukh saw the captain pull out his maps once more. On Bosna’s face was none of the fear and desperation Rukh was feeling. He was calm and controlled as he quickly but coolly studied the maps, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Another cry came, and Rukh’s heart skipped. The captain rolled up his map and heeled his horse forward, drawing his sword.
The word was passed down in whispers: they would attack the Braids. Generally, the Chim scouts hunted in groups of five, known as a trap. If the Ashokans could break past this grouping of Braids, they might still lose the Chims in the high hills bordering the Privations.
They picked up their pace, kicking up stone and grit. Howls continued from the east and south, answered in the farther distance. Braids in those areas would converge on the initial cries of their brethren. It would be those other traps that the Ashokans would have to work to avoid.
Rukh remembered all he could of the Chims scouts. Hairless and scaled in black with a tuft of green hair atop their heads. A serpent’s head with a forked tongue tasted the air. Excellent sense of smell and hearing but relatively poor vision. And despite their reptilian appearance, they were warm-blooded. They slithered on the ground or walked upright, depending on the need. Typically, they fought with a sword, but their tails could also be used as a weapon. It took an entire trap to take down a Rahail or Muran and several traps to defeat a Kumma in the open field.
The Ashokans kept to their initial path, and the column bunched for the briefest of intervals. Rukh saw mangled flesh pass under the stallion’s hooves, and he realized they must have run down the Braid scouts who had discovered them. They circled the hill, and took a trail east. Howls directly ahead were picked up by more traps further in that direction followed by a chilling roar. It was a sound he had been trained to recognize, one he was hearing for the first time in his life on this grim day. It was the basso roar of a Bael, the leaders of Suwraith’s armies.
The Chim commander was close. If he was a Jut, he would lead a Smash, one hundred Chimeras, something the Ashokans could easily handle. But, if he was a Levner, a Fracture commander, that meant a thousand of Suwraith’s creatures. The Ashokans could still take them on and win through, but it would be a hard fight; long enough for the other Fractures to arrive and tip the balance in the favor of the Chims.
The trail split, and the column surged west, away from the roar of the Bael. Rukh urged them on, glad to be on the stallion even though the rock-strewn trail made footing unsure and slowed them to no more than a deliberate trot, almost a jog. A few horses whinnied in fear as they slipped on the scree, and a few even went down, screaming in panic. Luckily, none of them were injured, and their riders quickly remounted as their friends disregarded orders and waited on them. They rode for hours, past dusk, into the edge of night. Watch fires lit up the hills along their path, signaling their location.
Rukh cursed. Fragging Chims.
They switched directions, now heading northwest through a wooded valley. The smell of moss and mold lingered in the dry air. Oak, elm, and maple loomed large, their trunks dark and thick in the fading light. The branches high above hid them from the lurking Chims in the hills, and the ground, littered with leaves and fallen branches, made footing nearly as tricky as the rock-strewn slopes but the detritus softened the hoof be
ats, muffling their sound. They made better time through the woods and exited a half hour later, moving up the slope of a granite hill along a narrow trail. The path widened, and the captain pushed them into a canter.
Another half hour and no further cries came to them. Rukh started to breathe easier. Maybe they would make it out of here after all.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when a yipping howl, like a dog in pain, rose before them.
Ur-Fels. And judging by the number of barks, three or four nests. Suddenly, a number of arrows clattered against the rock around them. They chipped the stone but none of them struck the column. The warriors unlimbered their small, round shields and held them at the ready even as they pushed forward.
More arrows followed and now came the hissing grate of Braids and the basso roar of several Baels.
Rukh swallowed heavily, once more feeling the cold finger of fear. They were surrounded. No way to escape. He glanced at Farn and Keemo. Their faces were tight with worry. Even the veterans looked uneasy.
“We aren’t done yet,” Lieutenant Pume growled. “That’s for the damn Chims.” He leaned past the side of his mount and spit before turning to glare at the men of B Company. “We will carry out our mission. Remember who we are.”
Rukh took a steadying breath. The lieutenant was right. They were Ashokans. Most of them might die in these hills today or tonight, but all they needed was for one of them to escape.
Captain Bosna called a halt as he consulted his maps once more. He glanced around, getting his bearings before leading them off the hill and heading them south east. He spurred his horse almost to a gallop and the rest of them followed close behind. The pace was dangerous in such poor light and footing, but they didn’t have any other choice.
Rukh patted the stallion’s neck as the horse kept pace, blowing hard but showing no signs of quit. The beast might have been a right unholy terror to handle during most of the Trial, but in this run, he had been worth every moment of his pain-in-the-assedness. He had the power, speed, and endurance to run this race to its end. For that, Rukh was grateful.