The Blood-stained Belt

by Brian H Jones

  To my surprise, nothing happened. We reached the lee of the nearest tent, stood up cautiously, and looked around. There was still no one to be seen although a number of men were lying asleep around the nearest fire. Sharma whispered to me, 'By Zabrazal, they're careless bastards! They'll pay for it. It's our turn now.' He led the way, bounding cat-like towards the men, his swift form silhouetted against the fire. After witnessing the disaster and slaughter of the morning, I felt nothing but grim exultation as I plunged my sword into the body that lay in front of me, arms flung behind his head, torso exposed in careless sleep. I struck in vengeance for the carnage of the day, I struck for Osicedi, I struck for the years of humiliation, and I struck for all of Keirine. I killed four men in quick succession and, when I looked around, I was disappointed to see that there were no more victims to hand.

  Next, we lit faggots from the fire, divided into smaller groups, set fire to the nearest tents, and killed the occupants as they tumbled out. Flushed with our success, we wanted to repeat the exercise but the noise and the flames roused the occupants of the neighbouring tents. Sharma called off the attack and we ran back towards the safety of the darkness.

  I could see Zaliek’s signal flickering near the top of the ridge and started to follow the others towards it but Sharma grabbed me and said, ‘We can do one more job before we leave.’

  ‘What? Are you crazy? The whole camp is awake. Let’s get out of here!’

  Sharma pointed to a large tent that stood about thirty paces away from us and hissed, ‘I’ll bet that’s the commander’s tent.’

  I pulled loose from Sharma's grip. Exultation had faded into apprehension. My stomach was in a knot, I was sweating all over, and I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. I hissed back, ‘All the more reason to avoid it.’

  ‘Not so!’ Sharma pulled me onto my knees and, with his mouth next to my ear, said, ‘Take a look. It’s unguarded. Follow me.’ Keeping low, he flitted around the perimeter of the camp beyond the perimeter of light. Cursing, I followed him until he stopped when there was only one small tent between us and the large tent. I dropped onto my stomach next to him and asked, ‘What are you planning?’

  Sharma hissed, ‘Maybe can get the big one.’

  I nodded glumly, thinking that the big one was probably attended by big danger. In my opinion, the best thing for us to do was to get out of there fast -- but I knew that the idea would just bounce off Sharma. He raised himself to his knees and asked, ‘Are you ready?’

  I nodded stoically and poised myself for the sprint to the tent.

  When we reached our target, Sharma pierced the canvas with a knife and peered through the gash. He grinned at me, nodded, and pointed. I took a quick look and saw a man in the act of getting out of bed. While I watched, he swung his feet onto the floor, yawned, leaned forward, and ran his hands through his disheveled hair.

  Sharma nodded and raised a thumb. We split the canvas with our swords and rushed in. The man hardly had time to register our presence before Sharma struck him a blow across the neck and I drove my sword into his ribcage. He gave one startled grunt, toppled over, and fell to the floor next to the bed. Withdrawing my sword, I turned to leave but Sharma grabbed my arm. He said, ‘Wait! There’s one more thing to do.’

  ‘He's dead! For God’s sake, let’s get out of here!’

  Sharma gave me an impatient glare, dragged the body to the middle of the floor, and unsheathed a broadsword that was hanging on a tent pole. He hissed, ‘Just getting a souvenir of our visit.’ He brought the sword down on the neck of the corpse. The blow almost completely severed the head from the body. Sharma hacked once more and the head rolled free. He stuffed the head into a canvas bag, slung it over his shoulder, and jerked his thumb in a let's-go motion.

  I said, ‘Hang on! It’s my turn now.’ I picked up a torch and flung it against the canvas. Then I followed Sharma into the darkness.

  We escaped without being noticed and made our way to the place where Zaliek’s light still flickered. When we got there, Zaliek cursed us and growled, ‘What kept you? You’re holding us up.’

  Sharma said lightly, ‘We had some extra business to attend to.’

  I pointed to the Dornite camp, where the large tent had just collapsed in a circle of fire, and said, ‘That was part of the business, commander.’

  Zaliek gave a grudging nod of acceptance. Then he looked at the bag that Sharma was carrying and said disapprovingly, ‘I see you had enough time to collect some loot.’

  Sharma grinned mischievously, saying smugly, ‘It’s not loot, commander. It’s a souvenir.’

  ‘A souvenir! Same thing! Any way you look at it, you could have got killed for it.’ Zaliek cursed, extinguished the torch, and growled, ‘Get moving. The Dornites will be on our trail soon.’

  Sharma said smugly, ‘Maybe not, commander.’

  Zaliek just snorted sceptically and led the way towards the top of the ridge.

  We travelled for the rest of the night, only stopping for short periods. At daybreak, we reached an abandoned village where we were able to get water, fruit, and some dry bread. There we met two of our scouts who told us that Vaxili had regrouped what remained of our army and was trying to establish a defensive position.

  While we paused for refreshment, Zaliek pointed to the bag that Sharma was carrying and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The floor of the bag was soiled with a blotchy, red-brown stain. Zaliek said, ‘That bag is disgusting. What did you steal – a lump of meat?’

  Sharma replied smugly, ‘Better than that, commander.’ He reached into the bag and hauled out the head, swinging it by the hair.

  Zaliek’s eyes widened. He took a closer look, whistled and said, ‘By Melok, that’s the head of Drunuk.’ He whistled again and looked at Sharma in admiration. ‘That’s their commander. Do you know that?’

  Sharma replied in a self--satisfied tone, ‘We thought as much, commander.’

  I said, ‘Perhaps the Dornites won’t be following us, commander.’

  Zaliek rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, ‘You haven't just bought us some time. You've bought time for the whole of Keirine. Only the Dornite federal council can appoint a new general. That means that they’ll probably be arguing about who's in charge instead of following us.’ His face split in a wide, slow grin. ‘And, if I know the Dornites, they won't stop arguing for a few months, until they've made a new appointment.’ Still grinning happily, he snorted and said, ‘The Dornites spend half their time arguing about who’s going to be the commander of their army. The rest of the time, they argue about who’s going to replace him.’

  At the time, I wondered once again how Zaliek knew so much about the Dornites. It seemed to lend credibility to the theory that he was a Dornite himself even if most people thought that he came from somewhere to the south of Kitilat. Was Zaliek telling the truth when he said that the Dornites had a particular hatred of him or was that a cover for something else? Cowardice? No, I didn’t think so. Unwilling to fight against his own people? It could be. I shrugged the thought away. There were more immediate matters to attend to.

  After a few hours we reached the large village that we marched through on the way to the battlefield. Vaxili had gathered the remnant of the army there and was trying to organise a defensive position that incorporated the outer ring of houses into a system of ditches and earth walls. However, the troops were tired and dispirited and not much had been done. As Sharma remarked as we entered the village, an attack by the Dornites during the next few hours would almost certainly force a retreat if in fact it didn't inflict another crushing defeat.

  Vaxili himself rode out to meet us. Zaliek halted, saluted, and made a brief report after which Vaxili nodded despondently and said, ‘Get something to eat and drink. You’ll find what you need in the village. Then report to the south--eastern sector.’ He wheeled his horse but Zaliek stopped him, saying, ‘My lord, we have something here that will interest you.’

  Vaxili asked wearily, ‘What is it?�
�� Zaliek nodded to Sharma, who pulled the head from the bag and held it up. Vaxili wrinkled his nose in disgust and asked disdainfully, ‘Are we as savage as the Dornites, that we carry the heads of our enemies around with us?’

  Zaliek said, ‘Your majesty, it is the head of Drunuk.’

  ‘Drunuk! Drunuk, you say? Is that so?’ Vaxili’s eyes widened and he leaned forward to take a closer look. He gave a long whistle. ‘Drunuk, eh?’ Vaxili smiled for the first time. ‘Drunuk dead! That changes things. Oh, yes, that certainly changes things.’ He got down from his horse, planted himself in front of us, and said, ‘Tell me about it.’

  When we had told our story, Vaxili took off his helmet, scratched his head vigorously, and grinned in satisfaction. He said, ‘This is a great service to Keirine. You’ve bought us time to reorganise.’ Putting his hands on our shoulders, he said, ‘Your service to Keirine will be recognised.’

  Next day, when we marched into Koraina, our squad led the column with Sharma and me in the front rank. Sharma held the head of Drunuk aloft on a lance where it bobbed before us as a macabre symbol of success in the midst of defeat.

  The inhabitants of Koraina lined the road as we approached the town. The mood was grey and sombre. Instead of a victory march, this was the return of a force that had lost more than a third of its men, many of whom were husbands, relatives and friends of the people of Koraina. Also, there was an air of foreboding because the defeat increased the likelihood that the Dornites would sweep into southern Keirine with renewed confidence, wreaking more destruction and conquering more territory.

  As we marched through the crowd, a young woman suddenly ran forward. She was dressed in a robe of pastel colours with a golden ringlet on her head. Taller than the average, her elegant figure was enhanced by fastidious grooming and fine fabrics. Running up to Sharma, she draped her scarf around his neck and called out, ‘Sharma has killed Drunuk and Keirine rejoices.’ Dancing in front us, ululating and holding up her hands, she cried, ‘By the stroke of his sword, Sharma has turned defeat into victory.’

  Sharma called out, ‘Don’t forget my comrade Jina! We both killed Drunuk.’

  The woman called out, ‘Jina is also a hero of Keirine.’ Turning towards me, she asked, ‘Are you the Jina who is Dana’s friend?’

  I nodded. The woman gestured to the crowd and called, ‘Join us, Dana. Join us to honour Jina as well.’

  Dana ran forward, calling out, ‘Keirine rejoices in Jina and Sharma.’ She kissed me, causing me to break step. Zaliek shouted, ‘No women in the ranks! This is a line of march not a dancing troupe.’ Then he said more gently, ‘My lady Mecolo, please do not mingle with the troops.’

  She laughed and replied, ‘Zaliek, you know that I would never come between you and your duty.’

  Mecolo! So this was Vaxili’s daughter, Mecolo! Sharma and I glanced at each other. He gave me a knowing grin and then, looking ahead again, called out, ‘My lady Mecolo, I dedicate this success to you.’

  Zaliek shouted, ‘Quiet in the ranks! The next man to speak will face a disciplinary charge.’

  As more young women joined Mecolo and Dana, the group danced ahead of us, ululating and calling out, ‘Drunuk is dead. The enemy of Keirine has perished.’ Whirling and swaying, Mecolo began a song:

  Sharma of Osicedi, soldier of Keirine,

  On a lance he bears Drunuk high.

  Jina of Osicedi, comrade of Sharma,

  With his sword he laid Drunuk low.

  Her companions joined in, singing and ululating, while Mecolo whirled ever more swiftly with her arms stretched above her head and with her gown swirling about her, bell--like. The crowd closed in, shouting encouragement and calling out, ‘Sharma! Sharma! Jina! Jina! A thousand like Sharma and Jina, and Keirine is safe.’

  Vaxili had been riding just behind our detachment but now he forced his way to the head of the procession and called out tersely, ‘Mecolo, your father greets you.’

  Mecolo ran to him and put a hand on his leg. Walking by Vaxili’s side, she said, 'Mecolo and all of Keirine greet the king. They thank Zabrazal that he is safe and well.’

  Vaxili frowned, bent down, and said something sharp to Mecolo. She bit her lip, shook her head, and said something in return. Vaxili frowned even more. He gesticulated dismissively at Mecolo’s companions and then at our detachment. Mecolo tossed her head, whirled around, and called to her companions resentfully, ‘We are mere women! The king says, let the soldiers march without the interference of women.’ They ran off and the crowd opened up to give us unobstructed passage into the centre of Koraina.

  The army assembled in front of the temple and Izebol appeared on the top step, dressed in his full high priestly regalia. Vaxili moved towards him but Izebol waved him away with an abrupt gesture. Vaxili stopped short as if he had been struck in the face before he turned on his heel and stalked down the steps to take up a position in front of the first rank.

  Izebol raised his arms and waited for silence. He called out, ‘Zabrazal grieves when his people grieve.’ Izebol paused, looked over the assembled company, and then fixed his eyes on Vaxili. He said ringingly, ‘Zabrazal speaks through his priests and Zabrazal speaks through the omens. Zabrazal will walk with you in all your endeavours if you open your ears to the words of the priests and open your eyes to the message of the omens.’ Izebol stood for a while with folded arms and lowered chin, looking out over the army and saying nothing more. There was a deep silence. Then Izebol raised his arms, pronounced a short benediction, and turned on his heels.

  As Sharma and I walked back to the camp together, I remarked, ‘Mecolo is too bold.’

  ‘Oh? You think so?’

  ‘Already she could mean trouble for us.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, Vaxili wasn’t pleased that she neglected him while she favoured us. He won't forget it.’

  Sharma grunted dismissively. Then he clapped me on the back and said cheerfully, ‘Jina, my old friend, you worry too much. If you’re not worrying about Zabrazal you’re worrying about Vaxili.’

  'Perhaps there's reason to worry.'

  Sharma draped an arm around my shoulders and said confidently, ‘Forget about it, man. We’re nothing in the eyes of gods and kings. To them, we’re just insignificant creatures, not worthy of their attention.’

  I said, ‘Even gods and kings will trample on insects if they cause annoyance.’ I meant what I said. I remembered the look on Vaxili's face when he called out to Mecolo. Worse still, I remembered the looks that he gave Sharma and me while he was talking to Mecolo. The only consolation – a small consolation -- was that Mecolo had her sights set on Sharma and not on me. Now that I had met Mecolo I could see that people spoke the truth when they said that she was vivacious, graceful and desirable. She was all of those things, and more – but rather Sharma than me. Yes, I thought, rather Sharma than me.

  I resolved to go to the temple to make my peace with Zabrazal. While I thought about it, I wondered if I had earned pluses or minuses on his divine scoreboard. Surely I had been given plenty of pluses for bravery in the service of Keirine? On the other hand, maybe I’d been awarded minuses for being the centre of public attention, even if only briefly? However, when I added up everything on my mental scoreboard, it seemed to me that the pluses must surely predominate. After all, didn’t Zabrazal have a particular affection for those who wielded the sword in the service of Keirine? On the other hand, didn't I have pride and exaltation in my heart when I looked back on my escapades in the Dornite camp? My heart sank a little and pleasurable certainty declined into apprehension. Pluses or minuses, pluses or minuses? I didn't know. I really didn’t know. That was all the more reason to make my peace with the jealous Zabrazal. In the morning I would go to the temple as a humble supplicant.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: ZABRAZAL MIGHT BE JEALOUS

  A day later, I saw Dana again. Judging by the warmth of her embrace, my share in her affection had reached a new high. She wanted to know all about the battl
e and in particular about our attack on the Dornite camp. When I finished telling the story, Dana embraced me again, giving me a long kiss that set the lightning playing across my body. I pulled her closer to me but she chuckled and moved away. Eyes shining, she swayed and began to sing the song that Mecolo composed as she danced before us:

  Sharma of Osicedi, soldier of Keirine,

  On a lance he bears Drunuk high.

  Jina of Osicedi …

  I put a finger on her lips and said, ‘No more, Dana.’

  She removed my finger, kissed it, and asked, ‘Why not? Don’t you like to be praised?’

  She looked at me so comically that I had to laugh. I said, ‘Oh, for sure, I like praise. Who doesn’t? But I don’t like to tempt fate.’

  ‘Tempt fate? What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘I mean just what I say.’

  ‘How are you tempting fate?’

  ‘Zabrazal is a jealous god.’

  Dana said teasingly, ‘You sound like a priest.’

  ‘I don’t know how to say it any other way.’

  ‘Jina, Jina, do you really think that Zabrazal will be jealous of your achievements?’ Dana took my face in her hands, saw the look in my eyes, and said, ‘Oh, you really do, don’t you?’ She stretched upwards, kissed me, and asked, ‘Can I say that I’m proud of you?’

  ‘I guess you can.’

  Still stretched up against me, Dana said, ‘This is just between the two of us. Is that making too much fuss about it? Will Zabrazal be jealous if I say it just to you?’