The Blood-stained Belt

by Brian H Jones

  ‘My name is Sharma, general.’

  ‘Sharma, eh? Sharma the famous slayer of Drunuk – the same Sharma?’

  ‘Yes, general, that’s me.’

  Jainar waggled a finger thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t I hear something about an incident involving you and some Dornite bandits when you were a boy?’

  ‘Yes, general, my comrade, Jina, and I defended our flocks against three Dornite raiders.’

  ‘Defended?’ Jainar gave a short chuckle. ‘You tracked them down and killed them one by one, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, general.’

  ‘Were they soldiers or civilians?’

  ‘They were bandits, general.’

  ‘Yes. They were bandits – civilian bandits. And, if I remember correctly, after that some Dornites attacked your town. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, general.’

  ‘Did they only attack soldiers in your town?’

  ‘No, general. There were no troops in Osicedi.’

  'And your brother was killed, wasn't he?'

  'Yes, general, he was.'

  'And was he a soldier?'

  'No, general, he wasn't.'

  Jainar grunted, turned, and began to pace in front of us, hands behind his back and head down. Then he wheeled around, snapped his fingers, and said, ‘There you have it, eh? The Dornites don’t distinguish between soldiers and civilians. Nor will we.’ He jabbed a finger at us. ‘Understand one thing and understand it well. We don’t make war on civilians because we like it. We do so because it weakens the support base and morale of their soldiers. If we do that, we weaken their military effort. If we destroy their towns, we weaken their military effort. If they worry about the safety of their families, they give less attention to military matters.’ He wagged his finger at us and barked, ‘If you can’t accept it then you shouldn’t be a soldier in this army.’ Chin forward, standing with legs planted apart, Jainar said, 'Get this into your heads, and don't ever forget it – anything that weakens the Dornites –' he wagged his finger at us again – 'anything at all, no matter what it is – anything that weakens the Dornites is good for Keirine. Do you understand?'

  'Yes, general!'

  'I asked you, Do you understand? I want to hear your reply loud and clear.'

  The squad roared back at him, 'Yes, general! We hear you!'

  Jainar was thorough, leaving nothing to chance. He took us through the phases of the attack so often that we could almost have recited the plan backwards. In essence, it was a simple strategy in which every man knew what to do, how to do it, and when to break off doing it.

  On the night of the attack, the main party, consisting of fifty men, approached the town along back paths by the light of the half-moon. Jainar’s thoroughness showed in the way in which he mapped the route beforehand, sending scouts to reconnoiter the path as far as the river and then relying on Anagina’s knowledge for details of the routes from the river to the city. With the outline of the route firmly etched in our minds and with enough light to see by we had no trouble reaching the city without being observed. Twenty men under Sharma's command approached the eastern side of the town, carrying ladders and fire-pots while I was in charge of the unit that was deployed outside the main gate.

  It surprised us that there were no guards on the walls. The Dornites must have been so confident of their superiority that they thought that they could sleep safely in their beds. As a result Sharma and his men were able to select their targets at will. Within a few minutes about twenty roofs were aflame. Having accomplished their task, they withdrew to guard the smaller gates.

  It was the dry season and the flames spread quickly. From outside, we could only judge what was happening within the walls by the spreading glow and by the growing hullabaloo. After about five minutes, the gate opened and a group of young men appeared carrying buckets, obviously hoping to dowse the flames with the pathetically small amounts of water that they could carry from the river. We cut them down and dragged the bodies out of sight.

  There was so much confusion that no one inside the walls noticed the disappearance of the men. Soon the next people appeared, comprising a family party consisting of a man, a woman, and four children. We killed them as well. Even as the bodies were being dragged out of sight, there was a surge of people through the gate. We hacked and thrust at them indiscriminately. It was butchery, pure and simple. In the confusion, amidst the crackle of the flames, the roar of collapsing buildings, the shouts and screams, and in the flickering light, only the fugitives on the outskirts of the crowd knew what was happening. They pressed inwards to avoid our onslaught while trying to defend themselves with whatever they were carrying – buckets, bundles, household implements, or anything else. Their press, together with the growing rush through the gate, added to the congestion and soon people were being trampled underfoot or crushed against the wall.

  It was a sickening slaughter in which we thrust, cut, and hacked at human flesh almost without opposition. People screamed, doubled over, reeled, and staggered. They went down underfoot, the crowd pressed forward all around us, and the slaughter continued. We were at such close quarters that we stopped using swords and went to work with daggers. Our victims slumped against us, screaming and gurgling, and had to be shoved away so that we could thrust at the next target.

  After less than ten minutes, I ordered my bugler to signal the end of the engagement. If anyone had questioned my judgement, I would have said truthfully that, in the confusion and amongst the massing throng, I had lost contact with most of my men and thought it best to withdraw before they were overcome by the sheer press of bodies. However, the truth was that by then, I was more than heartily sick of the bloody, one-sided massacre. Asjolorm was being thoroughly, completely destroyed by raging fire and the deaths of a few more civilians wouldn't contribute anything more to the extent of our victory.

  Anagina confronted me as we were withdrawing. His face was flushed, his cheeks were smeared with blood, his eyes were wild, and he was waving a dagger. He screamed at me, ‘Why are you withdrawing? We haven’t finished here.’

  I said coldly, ‘It’s getting too dangerous. It’s time to leave.’

  Anagina grabbed me by the front of my jerkin, waved his dagger in front of my eyes and yelled, ‘We have them, man, we have them! We have the Dornites where we want them! This is not the time to stop!’

  I didn’t want to hang around arguing. Our comrades had withdrawn and we were already isolated. I shouted, ‘I’m in charge here and I say that it’s time to withdraw.’

  Anagina swore, pounded at my chest in frustration and turned towards the gate. I seized him by the shoulder and as he turned in surprise I smacked him across his cheek. As his jaw dropped, I hauled him around and sent him stumbling with a shove between his shoulder blades. I shouted, ‘Get going, damn you, or I’ll make you move.’

  As we jogged down the path side by side, I said, ‘Consider yourself lucky that I don’t put you on a charge. Anagina looked at me sullenly, his eyes smouldering. I added, ‘I know what they did to your father, but you’re a soldier. Remember that and forget about everything else.’ He gave me a resentful half-nod and dropped his eyes.

  The attack was my first taste of command. I liked the experience even if I didn't easily forget how, abattoir-like, we massacred unarmed and terrified people at the gates of Asjolorm.

  As we made our way down the path towards the river, we passed a few fugitives. Most of them were so concerned with their plight that they didn’t even look at us. A few recognised us as Keirineian soldiers and attacked us in wild fury, cursing and screaming. We ignored them or just shoved them aside. I guess that my men felt the same as I did; they were already sick to their stomachs of slaughter.

  As I approached the clearing where we would join the rest of our unit, someone attacked me screaming at me in the Dornite language. I felt a sharp pain down my arm and turned to defend myself, striking out with my free arm to drive back the attacker. I made contact with soft flesh, heard
a gasp of pain, and drove forward, head down, pinning the body against a tree, bending the assailant’s attacking arm backwards. As I drew back my arm to strike with my dagger, I saw that my attacker was a young woman. Her hair was loose, her eyes were wide, and her teeth were bared in pain. I held back my thrust in surprise and she lunged forward and tried to sink her teeth into my neck but I grabbed her hair and forced her head back. Our eyes met and she spat at me. Her spittle dribbled down my cheek as I pressed my body against hers. The old lightning flickered through my veins and, as the heat flushed over me, I pressed closer against her, driving into her softness. She screamed as I yanked at her hair and pulled her head further backwards. With my face close to hers, gripping her hair behind her head, pressed against her, I looked at her. It was familiar – too familiar. She reminded me of Dana in the grip of the Usserdite bandit – the same tilt of the head, the same grimace, and the same wide-eyed, desperate look. I went cold, cursed, and threw the woman away from me so that she landed on her back with a thud. Moaning in pain and fear, she tried to scramble away, supported on her elbows and digging into the ground with the back of her heels.

  Behind me, someone said, ‘Kill her, man. She’s getting away.’

  I looked around. It was Sharma. I said, ‘Let her go.’

  He said, ‘Then I’ll do it.’ He unsheathed his sword and moved forward. The woman was still scrambling backwards, whimpering, and digging her elbows and heels into the ground, wide-eyed and terrified.

  I grabbed Sharma’s arm, shouting at him, ‘Leave her, man. She’s helpless.’

  Sharma cursed and tried to shake me off but I gripped him tighter and swung him around so that my body was between him and the woman. We stood there for a moment, chest to chest, eye to eye, glaring at each other. I don't know what would have happened if, right at that moment someone hadn't shouted urgently, ‘Sharma! Jina! Get a move on! Our comrades are leaving for the river.’

  Sharma grunted, sheathed his sword, and relaxed. As we jogged down the path to the river, he said, ‘You could have had her, my friend – one way or the other.’

  I replied, ‘It's over. It’s better that way. Forget about it.’

  Sharma asked quietly but grimly, ‘Are you going soft, Jina?’

  I said, ‘There’s been enough slaughter for one night.’ I clutched my arm and felt the damp warmth of blood. The wound was painful but it didn’t seem to be deep. I thought, incongruously, that this was my first battle wound – and I got it from a woman.

  Sharma jogged a few more paces and then said, ‘Dornites are Dornites, man. Dornites are the enemy.’

  'Didn't you hear me? I said that there’s been enough slaughter for one night. Leave it be.’

  Sharma responded tight-lipped, ‘Remember our orders, man. There’s no distinction between soldiers and civilians. This is war and we’re soldiers.’

  A wave of anger swept over me, fiercer even than the lightning that had burned through me only a few minutes earlier. I said, ‘Oh, go back and fight your civilians, Sharma! Go back and cut down every damn woman and child that you can find. Hey, maybe you can find a few old men who can give you an equal contest with their walking sticks. And don't forget to bring their heads back on a lance so that we can all applaud you. Maybe we can even arrange for a few women to dance in front of you, eh?’ Sharma said nothing but I sensed how he started and stiffened with resentment. After a few paces, I said, ‘You think I’m going soft, hey? Wait until we get back to camp. You can choose your weapons and then we’ll see who’s going soft.’

  Sharma shot me a look that was both startled and appraising. He snorted as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing and, after a short silence, said, ‘Forget about it, man. I know what you’re worth.’

  ‘Do you, Sharma?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Forget about it, eh?’

  I just grunted in reply.

  Forget about it? I never forgot how the lightning-sharp exhilaration pounded through my body as I pressed against the woman, driving forward, able to have her, in Sharma's words, one way or the other. More than that, I never forgot how I saw the image of Dana’s last moments in the woman’s wild eyes, in her tilted head, and in her bared throat. Above all, I never forgot that.

  We got back to our camp just before sunrise, went through a debriefing session, and then collapsed onto our cots. However, in spite of being exhausted, at first I couldn't go to sleep. My mind was full of images of the slaughter outside the gates of Asjolorm. Then, when I did drop off to sleep, I dreamed about Dana. I dreamed that she was lying with me on the hillside near Koraina where we watched the clouds drifting across the sky. The dream was so vivid that I could hear Dana's voice saying that the clouds asked the questions. Then I imagined that she caressed and welcomed me tenderly as her lover. I dreamed that, with my eyes closed in ecstatic expectation of reaching my goal at last, I prepared to enter and possess her warm sweetness. As I entered her, I dreamed that she shuddered and gasped not as a lover but as someone in the throes of terrible pain. I opened my eyes and saw that she lay beneath me with staring eyes, with head lolling, and with her throat cut. I awoke to the sound of my own cry and didn't dare to sleep again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: ZABRAZAL’S BLESSING

  The attack was successful beyond our greatest expectations. The city of Asjolorm burned out completely and nothing but an empty husk remained. Hundreds of houses were destroyed. The governor’s precinct was a soot-streaked ruin, the oil and grain storehouses were reduced to nothing but ashes and shattered jars, while the armoury collapsed into a mound of shattered masonry and molten metal. All in all, it was a major victory that was gained at literally no cost to our own force. Moreover, at last the fight had been taken to the enemy. Ever since the Dornites established themselves on the coastal plain about two hundred years earlier, they had been the aggressors, raiding our flocks, pillaging our towns and villages, carrying off captives and seizing our territory. Now for the first time we had turned the tables on them.

  A few days later Vaxili summoned Sharma and me to his headquarters. As we waited in an antechamber, I looked around curiously. The room had bare, whitewashed walls and a low wooden ceiling. It was sparsely furnished, containing only a bench, a few straight-backed chairs and a table haphazardly strewn with stacks of parchments and folded military cloaks. It was not at all what I expected to find in royal precincts. I asked Sharma in a low voice, ‘Is this the palace?’

  Sharma looked at me in amusement and relied, ‘Palace? No, this is just a house that Vaxili has converted for use as his headquarters.'

  'Where does he live?'

  Sharma jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'He lives in a house next door.’ He gave me another amused look and commented, ‘It’s in better condition than this one – a lot better by far. But don't think that Vaxili is going to be satisfied with living in converted accommodation for long.'

  'He has something else in mind, does he?'

  'For sure! What’s the use of being king if you live in a bunch of converted houses, eh?’

  ‘So --?’

  ‘So he's going to build a palace in his home village. He's already commissioned architects from Kitilat to draft the plans.'

  'Why there? It's out of the way. It's not the place for the capital of Keirine.'

  Sharma shrugged phlegmatically and answered, 'It's where Vaxili feels at home.'

  ‘What about Mecolo?’

  ‘Mecolo? What about her?’

  I asked, ‘Where does Mecolo feel at home?’

  In reply, Sharma glared at me and clammed up so hard that I could feel the tautness radiating over me like a wave of heat from an oven door. We sat there in uncomfortable silence, listening to the subterranean rumblings of our unresolved disagreement. In the silence, from behind the inner door we could hear the sound of heated conversation. I could pick out the voices of Vaxili and Jainar as well as another voice that I knew I should recognise but just couldn’t place. Sharma cocked his head and said sardonically. ‘It sounds like Za
brazal’s messenger isn’t as happy with Vaxili as he might be.’

  I listened more closely. Sharma was right: it was Izebol's voice.

  The thickness of the door prevented us from hearing clearly even although we sat in silence trying to hear what was being said while pretending to ignore the altercation. Then suddenly the door burst open and Izebol stormed out, followed by a younger priest. We jerked backwards, trying to look innocent and unconcerned. However, we might as well not have bothered because Izebol stalked across the room, ignoring us. Only when his companion touched his arm and cocked his head towards us did Izebol stop, glower at us, and then bark, ‘You! Are you Sharma?’

  Sharma got to his feet, saying, ‘Yes, your honour, I am Sharma.’

  ‘And you? Who are you?’

  ‘I am Jina, your honour.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Sharma and Jina.’ Izebol frowned and looked at us narrowly. Then he put out his hand to us and we kneeled and kissed it. Izebol said, ‘Sharma and Jina who brought back the head of Drunuk, eh?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘And the same Sharma and Jina who rescued Lady Mecolo from the Usserdite abductors, eh?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  Izebol took a step forward and studied us so closely that I felt as if I was being inspected on a parade ground. After a lengthy scrutiny he suddenly barked, ‘You had something to do with Asjolorm, I hear?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘How much, eh? How much?’

  Sharma said, ‘Well, your honour, we just suggested –‘

  ‘You just suggested the whole plan, not so?’ Izebol thrust a finger at me and demanded, ‘You! What did you have to do with it?’

  ‘Your honour, Sharma discussed his plan with me and I –‘

  Izebol grunted knowingly and silenced me with a wave. Still scrutinising us, he asked, ‘Are you servants of Zabrazal?'

  'Servants, your honour?'

  'Yes! Servants! Servants of the one true god! Are you dedicated to his service?’